milksnake-tea · 3 days
5 + 1
"The 5 times he thought he loved you, and the 1 time he knew."
rollo flame x gn!reader
contains: fluff, pining (a lot of it like oh my god), strangers to friends to lovers, rollo being emotionally constipated, lots of POV changes, slight spoilers for rollo's backstory
word count: 6.3k
note: i can't defend myself </3 my legacy is just rollo at this point and i can't stop it
tags: @crysangria
Rollo doesn’t fall in love.
He’s well aware of its existence; the City of Flowers is renowned for its rather romantic aspects. Since the beginning of time, newly budding couples somehow always managed to hide in every corner of the city - tucked away from the overall public, but obvious enough for any local. Anyone who’s lived in the city for longer than a month learns to avoid the bridges, the alleyways, and of course, any bench at night.
While he has never understood the reasonings behind lovers’ touches and dreamy stares, even Rollo is unable to deny that the affections they displayed didn’t sound so bad… If he didn’t spend his first year in the city running into couples making out at every corner.
Noble Bell was no different.
In his three years at the institution, Rollo had quickly become accustomed to scolding the couples he found in the closets, under the staircases, and in empty classrooms. He learned to tune out the swoonings and fawnings that even his fellow council members fell victim to. 
When his peers fell in and out of love, Rollo remained impartial - a stone-cold statue of a president, unswayed by human emotion.
That was, until he met you.
A friend of a friend, that was who you were. A fellow third year who stayed just under the radar: never aiming too high, but never stooping too low. Just another face in the crowd, no one whom he would need to ever speak with.
The first time he sees you is in the library, during a study session between him, his secretary, and his vice president. Despite being part of the student and already having a lot on their shoulders, Rollo’s top priority was education - and naturally, he would not let his peers fall.
It was obvious from the way their table was isolated that no one dared to even be near them. There were three other chairs at the table, but not a single soul dared to touch them, even if the library was overrun due to the upcoming exams.
Well, apparently you were not one of those souls.
“Um… Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
Even if your voice was silenced to a whisper, the library’s murmurs skidded to a halt, as though someone had pressed a pause button. Suddenly, it was as if everyone in the world was holding their breath, their piercing gazes lining your back. Even Rollo’s friends looked afraid for your safety, his secretary giving you the most incredulous of looks.
And if asking to sit at their table wasn’t bad enough, you’d made the poor choice to choose the seat directly next to Rollo himself.
You were already regretting your decision, but you’d already committed to the act. Right now, your need to study was stronger than your fear of Rollo, and you were not going to join the poor souls on the floor.
Rollo was probably the only one who seemed unaffected by your request. He only glanced up from his paper for a moment, his striking green eyes meeting your own before he gave you a curt nod and returned to his work.
To say he was surprised was an understatement. His shock only deepened when you sat down, unloading your bag and taking out all of your study materials after a quick wave to his secretary. In only three minutes, you had settled into your work - as if you weren’t sitting next to the most feared and respected man in all of Noble Bell.
It was refreshing.
Soon enough, the library forgot you, and the hushed whispers rose back up again - both with gossip and with the frustrated grumblings of struggling students. As Rollo reviewed his lessons, studiously jotting down important notes and underlining key concepts, he couldn’t help but find his gaze drifting over to you.
Although you didn’t say anything (why would you, you were in a library), he could tell that you were stressed - even more so than usual. The frustration in your eyes was one that he was familiar with, the eraser shavings and the scrambled calculations a key signal that you were having trouble. 
Looking at what you were struggling with, he recognized the practice test for your upcoming chemistry test. Being the responsible student council president he was, he naturally stepped in to assist.
“You forgot to use the formula.”
“Huh.” You startled, your voice coming out strained and irritated at the sudden interruption. Rollo points at your calculations.
“Look here,” he explained, pointing at the rate table. “When they give you the Kc, the temperature, and the balanced equation, you use this to find Kp.”
Without any sense of shame, he reaches over and writes a formula next to your calculations. His handwriting is absurdly neat - almost as though it had been printed. You blank at the formula, recognizing it as the one you’d learned in the first lesson of this unit.
You groan in frustration as you erased your writing one more time. “By the Seven… I’m so stupid.”
“Don’t belittle yourself,” Rollo comments offhandedly, returning to his notes. “It happens to the best of us. Rather than a matter of intelligence, it’s an issue in memory and sleep deprivation.”
“You’re the one with eyebags,” you instinctively mutter. Instantaneously, the world freezes as you register your snip. Your eyes widen, and you’re already spewing apologies while Rollo stands still, caught off guard. “Sorry, that wasn’t my-”
“Are you always this straightforward with strangers?” he asks, and without thinking, you shoot back a retort.
“No, are you?” Immediately, you slap a hand over your mouth, horrified. “Oh my God, I am so sorry-”
His face is turned away from you, but you swear that you caught the corners of his lips twitching - quirking up into the slightest of smiles. “Be careful with your words.”
“O-Of course," you sigh. “My bad.” 
“Take care not to do it again.” Just as quickly as it came, Rollo’s smile disappeared, returning to neutrality. Perhaps he had never smiled at all. Thinking logically, you’re more inclined to believe the latter option.
Even his fellow council members are shocked. Rollo raises a brow at the way you rub your eyes, trying to make sense of what you saw. You’re so expressive, unlike the other students who kept it all hidden behind a mask of professionalism. It was refreshing, endearing even.
“You’d better get back to work now,” he advises (although it sounds like an order), his pen moving once more. “Exams are not meant to be taken lightly.”
“Right,” you mutter. Rollo’s eyes crinkle at the blatant distaste on your face as you reluctantly return to chemistry. You weren’t the only student who hated studying, far from it, but you were definitely the most open about it - especially in front of Rollo, who was infamous for his strict personality.
It’s not long before you test the waters and lightly tug at Rollo’s sleeve. Wordlessly, he glances over, and you show him your newly formed calculations - almost like a child showing off their newest drawing to their parents.
“Is this right?”
Rollo peers over at your shoulder, scanning the work you’ve written. He nods in satisfaction, looking over at you with something akin to pride.
“Good work,” he praises.
“Thanks,” you sigh in relief. You smile up at him. “It’s mainly because you helped me, though. So thanks for that, President.”
“Just Rollo is fine,” he assures calmly. You blink.
“You sure?”
“I prefer my name rather than my status,” Rollo explains. You hum in understanding.
“Gotcha. Thanks, Rollo.”
Rollo’s pen stills. You shoot him a questioning look, but he brushes it off and continues studying. He didn’t expect you to say it so easily - maybe he’d thought you’d be more hesitant.
But he doesn’t hate it. 
Rather, a small part of him finds that he rather likes the way his name rolls off your tongue.
You don’t expect to see Rollo again after that encounter, but it seems that fate had other plans.
Magical History wasn’t your favorite class, but it wasn’t the worse. You didn’t mind learning about the wars and inventions, and if anything, that made it all the more interesting to you. But your favorite part of it was how different people took up different sides and perspectives on each part of history.
You tapped your pencil impatiently against your notebook, eyes flicking from the chalkboard and to the clock. Class wasn’t starting for another five minutes, but you were anxious to get started. Today’s lecture was primarily for review, and Lord knows you needed it.
You glance over when someone sits next to you, only to choke on your spit when you see it’s Rollo Flamme himself. You rapidly scan the lecture hall, only to become more confused when you see that there was a multitude of seats open - in fact, the room was rather vacant.
“At ease,” Rollo says, his monotone voice not helping him in the slightest. You cough, smiling at him weakly. Suddenly, his tall stature was all the more apparent. “The view from here is the best in the room.”
“Yep…” You rub your arms awkwardly, suddenly cold despite the warm uniform you don. Now you were really praying that your teacher would show up quicker.
“Are you alright?” Rollo asks, noticing your demeanor. The subtle concern in his voice would’ve surprised you if you weren’t already freaked out of your wits. “Are you perhaps cold?”
“Nope!” You hastily reply, startling him with your raised voice. “I’m just peachy.”
“Peachy?” Rollo questions, but it seems like the Seven had been looking over you that day. You’ve never been more relieved in your life to see your teacher, today’s savior, walking through the door.
You have no idea how you manage to focus on the lecture with Rollo right next to you. Just his presence enough is intimidating, suffocating even, as though he was watching, judging your every move. He doesn’t even do anything special - he’s just listening to the lecture like every other student.
Sometimes, you think you see him staring at you, but whenever you look over, he’s quick to avert his gaze. It’s almost impressive, and you almost say something about it - except even you know better than to antagonize the student council president during a lecture.
For the first half hour of the lecture, you’re stuck in this state of constant edge, barely able to relax with this 6-foot giant practically looming over your shoulder. He wasn’t even doing anything in particular, but he didn’t need to. Just being there is enough to put you into fight-or-flight mode.
Sometimes you wonder if he’s just a sadist and likes watching you squirm.
You’re very correct.
Rollo’s only half paying attention to the lecture - he knows all of the content already. Rather, he finds entertainment and peeking over at you, seeing you freeze and stiffen up whenever you catch him in the act. It’s a game of cat and mouse for him, something he finds adorable.
“Why do you keep staring at me?” you whisper from the corner of your mouth. Rollo raises a brow.
“We shouldn’t be talking in class,” he replies simply, pretending to be paying attention. You roll your eyes.
“Nice dodge,” you scoff playfully, and Rollo smiles. It’s not much - just a quirk of the lips, so small that you’d have to squint to see it. It’s a smile whose warmth is subdued, like a little match in a snowstorm. You can’t put your finger on it; it’s almost like fondness, except that doesn’t sound right for the Rollo Flamme.
"You’re smiling," you state the obvious. Yet there's a certain awe in it - someone would've thought that Rollo had grown two heads by the way you were looking at him.
Rollo’s pen stops in its movements. He seems to lag for a moment, surprised and unsure, before his lips straighten and he’s back to normal.
“Is there an issue?”
“No,” you laugh. The initial fear you had felt has dissipated. Rollo’s smile, despite being so small you'd have to look at it through a microscope, was still a smile. “Just didn’t expect it from you, y’know? Since you’re all big and serious around here.”
“I see,” Rollo says quietly, turning away. If it weren’t for his stone-cold face, you would’ve compared him akin to a kicked puppy.
“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” you say. “I think it looks nice on you.”
Rollo remains silent, but the slight widening of his eyes is key enough. It's enough to bring a smile onto your face as you return your attention to the lecture.
Rollo doesn’t say anything after that, but he doesn’t need to. Any tension that had existed between you two had evaporated, the invisible wall opening its gates. Your body has visibly relaxed, and you’re able to fully concentrate on the lesson again.
In the corner of your eye, although you’re almost certain you imagine it, you think you see Rollo’s eyes soften.
When you’re not studying your sanity away at school, you’re working.
You work part-time at one of the many bakeries in the City of Flowers, famed for their pastries. You also sell coffee and tea for the many tired students from the college (such as yourself), so you’re used to seeing many of your classmates coming in the morning.
Around a month has passed since your little moment with Rollo. To put it simply, the two of you have gotten closer.
Studying together in the library became a common occurrence as you found yourself frequenting Rollo’s table more often. Apparently, Rollo’s standards wouldn’t let you study in peace, so he opted to personally tutor you to appease his own state of mind. In his own words, he couldn’t stand by and watch a classmate struggle in front of him.
Safe to say, Rollo was a strict teacher. He wasn’t afraid to point out the inconsistencies in your work, and often gave you tips on what to do. You were afraid that he’d get irritated with how much you overthought everything, but the most he’d give you would be a gentle tug on the cheek whenever you got ahead of yourself.
You look over at your shoulder at the modules you had left to complete. Thankfully, the number of papers had drastically decreased, thanks to a certain someone. Unknowingly, a smile slips onto your face at the thought of him.
The bell rings, and you’re immediately in work mode. You plaster on a customer service smile, straightening behind the counter.
“Hello, how can I help you- Oh hey, Rollo!” Your face breaks out in a grin at the sight of your study partner. “What’re you doing here?”
Honestly, it’s weird to see him without that uniform of his. Seeing him in a casual turtleneck and coat feels almost illegal, like you’re looking at something that only certain people should see.
“Oh, it’s you,” he briefly acknowledges, bright green eyes meeting your own before scanning the vast amount of display pastries. A month ago, you would’ve taken his apathetic greeting as coldness. But having been in his presence for quite a while now, you’ve learned to pick up the smallest of ques.
“Can I get you anything?”
Rollo tears his eyes away from the tempting pastries. “A medium black coffee, please.”
You nod, nimble fingers already moving to ring him up. “Will that be all?”
“Yes,” Rollo confirms, digging into his coat pocket for his wallet. As you tell him the price, you take out a coffee cup, writing Rollo’s name on it in sharpie. Turning your back to him, you opt to add a little message alongside it.
While you make the coffee, Rollo sets himself down in the corner of the bakery, taking out his study materials. You don’t miss the way his eyes linger on the croissants, almost longingly. In the back of your head, you remember one of your conversations (you’d tried distracting him so that you could get a break. It lasted 3 minutes).
“So, what kind of food do you eat?”
“The same as everyone else.”
“No, like when you’re out. You know, like in your free time?”
“Oh. I suppose… Croissants. I’m rather fond of them.”
“Eh, makes sense.”
You figure that he’d probably skipped breakfast again, knowing him. Apparently, breakfast was optional to him. Despite being only 18, Rollo was already living the life of an overworked salaryman, always worried about his council and studying his life away.
But being the good friend you were, you weren’t letting that slide. Rollo was going to take care of himself, whether he liked it or not.
Right on cue, he stands up, walking to the counter to retrieve his drink. By all means, you give it to him, but right before he leaves, you call out to him.
“Oh, you forgot this!” 
Rollo’s brows crinkled at your exclaim. How could he have forgotten anything? The only thing he ordered was currently in his hands right now. Still, he returns to the counter, ready to call you out on your mistake.
He doesn’t get the chance to.
You press something wrapped and warm into his free hand. Looking down, Rollo’s pleasantly surprised with a freshly baked croissant. He jerks his face up to meet your gaze, confusion written all over his typically stoic face. It’s nice, to finally surprise him for a change.
“I know you didn’t eat breakfast today,” you explain cheerfully, leaning on your forearms on the bakery counter. “You didn’t think I would let you spend your day with just a coffee in your stomach, did you?”
“I can’t take this,” Rollo protested, already moving to hand you back the croissant. You click your tongue.
“Nope, you are,” you push his hand back. His hands are cold, you note. “It’s on the house, trust me. And if the owners have a problem with it, I can always pay for you.”
“No buts,” you smile cheekily up at him, propping your head onto your hand. Rollo’s ears flush at just the tips. “I know you want it anyways, so stop being stubborn and just take the thing, okay? It’s fine, don’t worry.”
Rollo stares at you, conflict flickering in his eyes. To an outsider, he’s outright glaring at you, but you know there’s no malice. 
You can already imagine the inner turmoil fighting in his mind. On one hand, he wants the croissant - he’s been eyeing it for a good ten minutes - and he’s hungry. On the other hand, his moral righteousness won’t let him take anything without paying.
But in the end, his hunger (and you) wins him over. He sighs, reluctantly giving in.
“If you insist,” he says cooly, ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest. “I’d best be going now. I’ll see you in class.”
“See you,” you wave, straightening yourself. Rollo turns to leave, but right before he does, you hear a faint murmur.
“Oh, and… thank you. For the croissant.”
“Every day, without fail, the president climbs the tower to clean the Bell of Salvation.”
It’s pouring outside when you remember the words of your friend, Rollo’s secretary. Looking outside your dorm’s window, the streets are dark as rain cascades from the sky and onto the city. Even from inside your warm room, you can feel the cold from the outside.
You can’t help but wonder if Rollo was also out there, still cleaning that Bell.
You wouldn’t put it past him, to be honest. That man was nothing if not a workaholic. Your friends in the student council had told you of how he spent countless all-nighters just to put together school events, and that wasn’t including his work as a student. But you didn’t need them to tell you any of that. Rollo’s constant eyebags and coffee addiction told you plenty enough.
You sigh to yourself, leaning onto the window. Your friend notices your sulking, sighing to himself as he walks over. You’ve been like that for a good twenty minutes now.
“President Flamme will be fine,” he says, sitting across the windowsill from you. “He always is.”
“In this weather?” you ask, barely sparing him a glance. “He’d catch a cold before he gets any cleaning done.”
“You’d be surprised,” your friend laughs. “He can be pretty persistent when he wants to be.”
You chuckle, eyes softening with the memories. “You've got that right. I still remember how he made me stay up for two hours until I could get a problem right. He even got food so that I couldn’t use it as an excuse for a break.”
“He did that for you?” Your friend’s eyes widen in surprise. You nodded sheepishly, a fond smile creeping on your face.
“Yeah, I didn’t expect it either.”
Your friend snickers knowingly. You shoot him a look, only for him to brush it off.
“Anyway, if you’re that worried over him,” he suggests, “why don’t you go up and check on him? You’re the least likely to get yelled at if you do.”
“That’s what you say,” you roll your eyes playfully. “But you have a point. Unfortunately.”
“Always do,” your friend huffs pridefully. He winks at you as he lightly pushes you toward the exit. “Don’t worry about sneaking out. I’ll cover you.”
That’s how you found yourself scaling the old bell tower, holding an extra coat in your arms, a small flame dancing in the palm of your hand for light. You were careful to keep the flame from fanning out of control, as the tower was made from wood.
Your legs ached by the time you neared the top. You had no idea how Rollo did this on a daily basis, much less in the raging storm.
The wind battered at your face the second you reached the highest story, blowing rain into your eyes and nearly putting your flame out. Struggling to shield yourself from the wild tempest, you squint through the raindrops for Rollo. Thankfully, you didn’t have to look too far.
“Rollo?” you call out, your voice straining against the wind. Faintly you can spot the tall silhouette of your friend, somehow completely fine and still dutifully polishing the bell. “Rollo!”
The silhouette freezes, and turns to meet your gaze. You sigh in relief when you see the familiar green of his eyes, pushing your way through the storm to meet him.
“What are you doing here?” Rollo asks, caught off guard by your appearance. His gaze wanders over your body, noticing how drenched you were getting. “The storm is dangerous, you’ll catch a cold.”
“That’s what I should be saying!” you huff, lightly hitting his chest. “You’ve been out here cleaning the Bell for how long again?”
“Only an hour, the rain helps-”
You roll your eyes, putting your hands on your hips. “Only an hour?! You’re the one who’s going to get sick at this rate!”
“But I’m not-”
“Yeah, yeah, no, we’re going inside,” you retort, grabbing his hand. Rollo surprisingly doesn’t protest, allowing you to drag him off his precious bell and back into the safety of the tower. It’s by no means warmer, but it’s definitely drier.
You sit down on one of the many tables inside the tower, cringing as the walls shake from the wind. But you know that the tower won’t fall. It’s old, yes, but it has prevailed through storms like this before. The Bell of Salvation’s magic still runs strong.
“Your hands are freezing,” you comment, Rollo’s hand still intertwined with your own. His hands were always cold, but today they were like blocks of ice. You run your thumbs over the palms of his hands, cupping both of them before whispering a small spell.
Warmth tickles your palms like little embers, providing you and Rollo solace in the freezing winter. You let out a breath of contentment, before realizing just what you were doing. Snatching your hand away, you frantically apologize - not noticing the dejected look in Rollo’s eyes as you do so.
“Great Seven, I am so sorry-”
“I don’t mind,” Rollo says quietly, purposely avoiding your gaze. He silently thanks the darkened room for preventing you from seeing his flushed ears.
“You don’t?” you question, looking up at him. Briefly, you saw a glimpse of red before Rollo hastily looked away, lightly shaking his head. You feel your face warm, but decide to blame it on the magic. Hurriedly, you look for a way to change the conversation.
“So… I didn’t notice it earlier, but how are you perfectly dry in that storm?” you ask, rubbing your arms, cringing when you noticed how soaked you were. Rollo looks relieved from the change of subject.
“Magic,” he explains easily, as if it were obvious. And it kind of was. You laugh nervously, rubbing the back of your neck.
“Oh, right,” you chuckle, glancing down at your ringed finger. You hummed, waving your hand and blasting yourself with a gust of hot air, effectively drying yourself. “It really solves everything, doesn’t it.”
Rollo’s face visibly sours at your comment. “Is that how you really feel?”
The coldness in his voice surprises you. You’ve never heard such hatred and malice from him before. Had you said something wrong? 
You swallow nervously. “What do you mean?”
“Do you truly think that magic solves everything?” Rollo crosses his arms, a scowl twisting his face.
“Well, it depends,” you say carefully, not wanting to set him off. You can already hear the warning bells in his tone. “The way I see it, magic’s a tool.”
“Even if it’s evil?” Rollo questions angrily. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself against him.
“I don’t think it’s evil,” you say firmly, yet softly. “I mean, look at this city. The Bell’s magic protects us, doesn’t it?”
“It didn’t protect-” Rollo cuts himself off. You give him a look, but don’t pry. It isn’t your business to ask nor to know what had happened to him for him to despise magic this much. He hadn’t said much, but it’s obvious to you.
“Like I said, magic is a tool,” you continue, facing him fully. “It’s like a knife. When you’re stabbed, you don’t blame the knife, but the person holding it.”
Rollo doesn’t say anything, but you can see the turmoil twisting in his eyes. You’re challenging something that had been in his life longer than you have, something that you’ve never seen.
You decide to take a risk, a step forward. Reaching out, you cup his hands in yours once again. Rollo only watches, confusion and anticipation keeping him curious.
You whisper your spell once again, except this time, the embers blossom into fire. Sparks of flame surround the two of you like fireflies, dancing daintily in the wind. Warmth like a mother’s embrace envelops the two of you as you hold a flickering flame in your intertwined palms.
The glow of the fire illuminates Rollo’s face, entranced by the blaze. Something moves in your chest, and you find yourself scooting closer to him so that you can bask in more of this warmth.
“Magic can be dangerous,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re right beside him at this point, your shoulders nearly brushing together. Rollo turns to look at you, his face uncharacteristically gentle. You don’t notice, keeping your gaze on your flame. “And you don’t have to like it. But it can also be beautiful.”
You laugh to yourself, sighing as you lay your head on Rollo’s shoulder. You hope he doesn’t hear how loudly your heart beats. He doesn’t react, but he also doesn’t protest.
“You know, you worried the hell out of me earlier,” you suddenly confess, the flames dancing in your eyes. “I mean, you already do, with your sleeping habits and how much pressure you put on yourself. But today was… Well, it wasn’t our best day.”
“...I’m sorry,” Rollo whispers, and you almost don’t hear it. But it’s genuine, heartfelt, and sincere. You feel an arm wrap around your waist, bringing you closer together.
You smile, relaxing into his hold.
“As long as you’re okay.”
Neither of you acknowledges the position you’re in, nor the intimacy of it. You don’t have to. For now, all you do is rest, and enjoy each other’s touch.
You don’t see it, but eventually, Rollo closes his eyes, and leans his head onto yours.
It’s the most relaxed he’s ever been.
Rollo thinks he’s going to die.
Not literally, of course, but he was pretty close.
He doesn’t know what he’s doing out here, taking a leisurely walk around the city streets with you. He has no idea how you managed to drag him out of his uptight uniform, or how you convinced him to enjoy the snow and the festivities.
He sighs, pulling up his scarf to warm his face. You already made him layer up quite a bit, but just to be safe, you also wrapped that around him to make sure he didn’t accidentally die from touching a snowflake.
He chuckles at the thought, his breath fogging in the cold winter air. The way you constantly fretted over him, overthinking everything and taking care of him… His cheeks warmed at the thought, a fond smile overtaking his lips without him noticing.
“I’m back! God, that line was so long and I swear this lady cut in front of me and I’ve never wanted to strangle someone so badly-”
Speak of the devil, and they shall appear. Rollo’s breath clogs in his throat when you run up to him, two steaming cups of hot chocolate in your hands. He can’t help but think of how cute you were in your winter apparel, all cozy and warm.
He mindlessly tunes out your rantings, only half listening as he simply stares at your lips. Even when he takes one of the cups you offer him, he only watches. Eventually, he sees you running out of air and reaches out, patting your head to shut you up.
“Are you done?” he asks. You huff, sipping your hot chocolate to make yourself feel better - nearly burning yourself in the process.
“Yeah, I’m done,” you giggle, sticking out your tongue to cool it. “Sorry about that.”
“I like hearing you talk,” Rollo assures, effectively flustering you. Reaching out, he lightly tugs your cheek. “And be careful when you drink that. You could’ve burned yourself.”
“But I didn’t,” you mutter, rubbing your cheek with a pout. Rollo raises a brow, but you brush it off. “Anyways, how’s the chocolate?”
“Hot,” Rollo says bluntly, making you snort. “But also sweet.”
“Do you like it?” Rollo nods.
“It’s perfect for a night like this,” he observes, looking out towards the bright lights that litter the snow-covered city.
“Right?” you hum cheerfully, the snow fluttering around you prettily. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”
The two of you quickly found a bench to seat yourselves on. You lean back onto the wooden chair, happily drinking away at your chocolate. You only stopped when you feel a presence at your shoulder.
Looking up, you let out a sound when you found Rollo’s face mere inches away from yours. Your breath hitched at the sudden proximity as you froze in place, becoming a mere statue.
You only snapped out of your phase when you felt something soft pressing up to the corner of your lips. Rollo dabs at you with one of his many handkerchiefs. The pure concentration on his face only manages to fluster you more until he pulls his hand back, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork.
“You had chocolate on your lips,” he explains, not noticing the way you stare at him, blood rushing to your face.
“...Oh,” you manage out, your voice small.
You can practically feel Rollo’s breath ghosting on your lips. Subconsciously, you held your breath, watching him carefully for his next move. Rollo seemed to have the same idea, uncertainty taking hold of him for the first time.
The two of you waited with bated breath, waiting for the other to take that risk. For a moment, the rest of the world disappeared into a flash of white.
But you both hesitated too long.
Rollo jumps as something tugs on his coat, effectively breaking the spell. He looks down to see one of the city goats staring up at him cutely, bleating for his attention. Begrudgingly, he sighs and reaches down to pet it.
The goat unfortunately uses that to jump on him. It attempts a bite at his cup, but thankfully, Rollo has quicker reflexes than one would think. His height also means that he’s able to hold the cup far out of the goat’s reach.
“No, you don’t,” he grits out, the goat’s weight heavy on him. “You can’t eat chocolate, fool.”
Something about Rollo unironically calling a goat a fool was just too ridiculous for you.
You break out laughing, your eyes crinkling. Rollo’s chest constricts at the sight, his arm relaxing for a second as he stares at you in awe - barely noticing when the goat tries again for his cup.
There are few things that he could call precious. But your smile, this moment, your laughter… He would say that they were the brightest treasures in the world.
—[ + 1 ]—
Rollo isn’t stupid.
He isn’t oblivious.
He knows the way he feels isn’t normal. He knows the way he wants you, craves you, needs you, is anything but. He always knew.
But what sets it in for him, is when he sees those couples in the streets of the city. When he sees those loving gazes towards one another, the way they hold hands, and how comfortable they are with each other, he’s no longer filled with indifferent disgust.
Rather, he wonders how it would feel to do that with you.
What would it be like, to be able to hold you and call you his own?
He’s wondered for a while. When you cup his hands in your own, he relishes in your warmth, but finds himself wanting more. When you look at him, he becomes lost in your eyes. When you smile, he sees your lips, wondering how they’d feel pressed up against his.
It’s a strange thing for him, to want something so badly.
So when he finds himself nestled in your arms, finally resting, he’s conflicted.
With his head laying gently on your chest, he practically melts into your hold. Your fingers thread through his hair, softly petting and massaging his scalp as you do. His eyes are closed, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist.
He's able to let go with you. He allows himself this small moment of vulnerability. He lets you hold him, finding redamancy in your touch. For in your arms, he is safe - this is his home.
"Thank you," he murmurs, his voice muffled by your clothes. You hum, playing with his hair.
"Of course," you shift the delicate locks between your fingers. "That's what friends are for."
Friends. He finds that the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Friends, yes, that was what you were. A month or two ago, he would've been fine, delighted even, to be called such a thing.
But is it so wrong to be longing for something more?
You must've felt him stiffen, as you look down at him in concern.
"You okay, Rollo?"
He really isn't. Slowly blinking his eyes open, he raises his head to look at you.
Your hand falls from his hair to cradle his face, your thumb tenderly swiping over his cheek. Rollo closes his eyes in contentment, nuzzling into your palm - almost like a kitten, you'd comment later.
"You're unfair," he mumbles, peering at you once again. You tilt your head, prompting him to continue. He reaches up, covering your hand with his own. "You dare to hold me like this, and yet you still only call me 'friend'."
You hum, looking away bashfully. "I was afraid to call you something else."
"You were afraid of nothing." Rollo lifts his head, moving your hand so that he could press a kiss to your palm. His eyes stayed trained on yours, waiting to see any reaction - as if he was asking for permission.
The look you give him is nothing short of loving. It's what pushes him to test the boundaries even further, to push himself up. You look up at him with hidden intrigue, knowing, and even anticipation - as if you knew just what was coming ahead.
Rollo lets go of your hand, taking a hold of your chin instead, tilting it up to face him. His eyes search yours carefully, still hesitant even now.
You nod your head, silently giving your approval. Your words have lost you, unable to make it past the lump in your throat.
Rollo leans forward, close enough so that your noses brush against each other. Taking one last breath, he takes the dive, closing his eyes and gently pressing his lips to yours.
Instantly, your eyes shut as if falling into a trance. Your hand trails up to the back of his head, holding him there as the other reaches to wrap around his waist - bringing him impossibly closer.
It’s over before you know it. When Rollo finally pulls away, you instinctively follow, chasing him. It’s only when Rollo lightly pushes you back that you peek your eyes open.
In the swirling forest of his eyes, you see amusement, adoration, and most importantly, gratitude.
Not a word is spoken when Rollo falls back into your arms, and you are there to welcome him, as you always have.
393 notes · View notes
foreverdolly · 3 days
penny for your thoughts | daddy!austin x mommy!reader
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this is a request for my little "three days of blurbs" event. feel free to send in your own requests ! they are still very much open.
request: baby daddy!austin, your choice if it's fluff or angst or whatev
requested by: anon
word count: 1.1k
warnings/notes: a little bit of angst and then a hell of a lot of fluff. just you and austin being great parents and still being madly in love. also austin's father, david, playing the part of cupid at his granddaughter's birthday party. hope you like it, nonnie !
The condensation on the side of the hot pink solo cup wasn’t really holding your attention, but you’d rather look anywhere else than at the man who was awkwardly standing beside you. Making small talk with someone that knew you so completely, both inside and out, was deeply uncomfortable. It felt wrong. It was almost as though the two of you had gone back in time, but this was a first date gone bad. Because the nervous butterflies had turned into nervous killer bees. Austin was no longer just an ex-Disney star that you could poke fun at, but a successful actor. You had celebrated every triumph with him. Every call back. Every photoshoot. You had loved him through absolutely all of it, and yet here you two were, racking your brains for something to say to the other to alleviate the stifling tension between you two. 
The both of you had been separated for only five months, but you had already mastered the art of co-parenting. The relationship had fallen apart because of the constant distance that his job required. You were tired of falling asleep alone. Neither one of you had cheated on the other. You didn’t hate each other- quite the opposite, really. 
You just didn’t want to make Austin choose between his career and his family. You just wanted to be happy. 
“I guess I should haul the Harley out of the garage next weekend. Pop it into my storage unit along with my other shit.” His voice startled you, making you jump and peel your eyes off of your drink. 
Having constant reminders of the dirty blonde around the home that you once shared made you feel safe. You’d been clinging to the last scraps of him like a child might do with their baby blanket. You licked at your bottom lip, about to answer him when a very small and very wet body collided with your thigh. You smiled despite the situation, immediately tangling your fingers into your daughter��s soaked hair. “Did ya see me, mommy?” Penny asked with wide eyes. Her Barbie goggles hung from around her neck, her strawberry printed bathing suit dripping water onto the deck. You shot Austin an apologetic look before shaking your head. 
“What did you do, big girl?” She was eager to show off, having just recently gotten brave enough to dunk her entire head under the water. Austin’s father, David, was currently splashing around with an entire gang of five year old girls and had somehow managed to distract them all relatively successfully. You knew what he was trying to do though. He wanted to give you and Austin some alone time. 
Neither of you had signed the divorce papers yet, which was a win in David Butler’s book. It meant there was hope. 
“I put my whole head under the water! Papa saw me do it and everything!” 
Austin joined in on congratulating her, going as far as to scoop her up and off of the ground in order to assault her soft cheeks with kisses. His white shirt was completely soaked when he let her go, the now opaque fabric clinging to his body. You made a point to look away, making sure that he didn’t catch you staring. After Penny felt as though she had been appropriately praised by her parents she jogged back over to the pool, announcing to her group of friends that they should play mermaids for the third time that day. 
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” You cleared your throat softly before looking back up at him. His eyes widened when he finally realized what conversation you were alluding to. You were struck all at once by how beautiful he was. All honey gold. “And I agree with you. I mean. . . We have Penny, and this has all been really hard on her. Knowing that you’re in L.A and not home with us has really been taking a toll. I think. . .” Was he really going to make you say it? Maybe all you two had really needed was a break. Because it had only taken you a single month to regret the hasty decision, but your pride had gotten the better of you for the remaining four. Austin never made it hard on you though. He never begged you to take him back, but he had cried to you. At least once a month. As if to remind you that he wasn’t done. As if to remind you that he was still just as in love with you as he had been when the two of you had gotten married. You might have left, but he never had. 
“You think…?” Austin breathed, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth so that he could worry at the soft skin. The sun was beginning to set, the string lights and lanterns that you and your loving husband had hung up just two years ago twinkling to life above you. 
You huffed out a nervous laugh, shaking your head in disbelief before tossing the drink into the trash bin beside you. “I think that I rushed into my decision. It was a permanent fix for a temporary situation, and I want to try again. Us, I mean. . . a family. I never stopped loving you, I just stopped feeling heard after a while. You disappeared on me and I-” Austin must have heard all that he needed to. He was quick to pull you into a tight hug, wet shirt and all. 
He was so tall and warm. And he was home. Your home. 
The blue eyed man didn’t ask for permission before kissing you. He was eager, wanting to make up for the lost months that he hadn’t been able to show you all of the physical affection that he so desperately wanted to. 
He didn’t need to though. He knew that you wanted it too by the way that you clung to him, your hands shaking at the realization that all of your problems might have just been solved. He cupped your cheeks in his palms, lazily moving his lips against yours. Like he had suddenly just been given all of the time in the world. 
“Penny? Your mommy and daddy are kissing.” 
“Really? Wait! Does this mean daddy’s gonna have a sleepover with us?”  
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venus616 · 2 days
Hi!! Requesting a spicy tasm!peter fic where he puts his photography skills to use if ya know what I mean 🔥🫶🏽
his muse; {p.p.}
Pairing: peter parker x f!reader (gif is tasm but you can interpret this as any peter parker)
Summary: peter puts his photography skills to use when you're naked
Warnings: established relationship, smut, vaginal fingering/sex, oral sex (blowjob), praise kink (if you squint), photos during sex, language, unprotected sex, 18+, NSFW
Word Count: 3.8k
A/N: hi. i love this trope So Much… like more than you will ever know, but bc i love it and i’ve seen it done multiple times with peter i was very scared to even do anything with it sjnksks but here is my finished product, i hope you like it~
(Also- it is my gift to anyone who actually likes reading my content bc ive been gone for a While and will be gone for another 2-3 weeks bc finals are not fun! so i hope this is good, enjoy!)
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You’re putting away your shared laundry when you hear a loud noise on your window sill. You don’t even flinch this far into your relationship and only shake your head, separating your clothes from his. The window opens letting in a cool breeze and Peter’s book bag hits the ground before he gets inside. 
It's only then you look and give his body, clad in his suit, a scan and smile. “You okay?” You ask. The sun already set and the crisp winter air started to fill the room. 
He scoffs before shutting the window. You turn your body around from the basket in front of you to see Peter shaking his head while taking his camera out of his bag.
The professional camera Peter spent a year saving up for when he was 18 was sat next to your much less efficient Polaroid camera. On it, there was a photo of you two celebrating your anniversary together recently. The flash showing you kissing Peter on the cheek, he’s blushing at the attention and eyes closed from the flash. 
Peter smiled at the memory before he continued speaking. 
“Why do people think it’s okay to commit crime when I’m just getting off my shift?” He sighed before setting down his bag next to your bed.
“They’re so inconsiderate,” You pout playfully while folding his clothes into his reserved drawer at your place.
Peter looks up from unpacking and focuses on your ass poking up from your position. You feel his eyes on you as your t-shirt hangs loosely on your body, and the hair on your legs prick up from the cold in the room.
Peter takes off his mask revealing his disheveled hair and takes in the sight of you like it’s his last.
Your lacy underwear decorating the plump flesh of your butt, reminding Peter of how quickly he had to leave this morning before getting to appreciate for bandaging him up last night.
His eyes continued to scan up, seeing the old t-shirt frame your shape, admiring it as if he had x-ray vision.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
Peter is brought out of his thoughts hearing your soft voice, taunting him for his staring problem.
“Don’t tempt me,” Peter quips back. He shakes his head before tossing his mask in your empty hamper. Sitting on your bed and bending over to remove his boots, his ears don’t miss your footsteps as you saunter to him.
You place your feet in between his while he looks back up to you, removing the rest of his suit. 
“It’s never stopped you before,” You cross your arms while he slips out of his suit, leaving his web shooters on. The suit is strewn across the floor and your eyes focus on Peter’s body. 
No matter how beat up he was, Peter remains to be the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. You ran your hands over his, now, yellow ribs. Compared to the purple constellation he had yesterday, you were grateful for his superhuman healing. 
He had a nasty fall yesterday, left with some scars and bruising, but thankfully this time you didn’t have to stitch him up. 
You even notice the scratch on his arm is almost gone but Peter liked wearing your special bandaids. He likes giving you a reason to buy more cartoon ones for him. 
Peter watches your eyes carefully scan his body for anything else and adores you for it. Still, he hates making you worry.
“You weren’t naked before.”
A smile creeps up on your face, a giggle disguised as a scoff when you answer: “I’m not naked.”
You don’t realize you set yourself up for Peter’s response until he smirks. His hands snake up underneath your shirt to toy with your nipples, already hard because of the cold air lingering in the room. 
A hiss escapes your mouth at feeling his larger, colder hands grip your boobs. Peter slightly grins at his affect on you. He pulls at the bottom of your shirt before raising it up your body. You oblige, pulling it over your head to toss it across your room.
His face lit up at your frontal nudity, hands placed on either side of your hips tugging at your underwear. 
“Let’s change that.” 
You roll your eyes at his response, but not without a smile plastered on your face. You could feel the heat pooling in between your thighs and the excitement in your stomach. 
“What position should I be in?” You shudder under his callus fingers. Peter lightly furrows his eyebrows when you turn, gesturing to your polaroid camera from your bedside table. 
His face relaxes when he registers what you guys are doing, not realizing how serious you were being. 
Your eyes flicker up and down his body when you turn to face him, noticing his erection bulging out of his briefs. Leaning down you use your hand to palm him through the fabric, feeling his cock pulsate in your hand.
“On your knees,” You whip your head up when Peter says that, his hands still roaming around your body. 
You quirk your eyebrow up in response. Pressing your forehead and nose to his, you plant a kiss onto his lips. Your hands are now on either of his thighs, sinking lower onto the ground as the kiss deepens. 
Before you can fully get down, you hear a light thwip and break the kiss. 
You see Peter’s wrist is flicked out with his web shooters activated, latched on to your polaroid camera. There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes before he pulls it into his hands.
Resting on your knees, you’re before him with your fingers tracing the waistband of his boxers. You carefully watch for his reactions, but he’s refamiliarizing himself with your flimsy camera you got in your teenage years as a novelty.
You cross your arms on his legs and look up at him, the camera points at you and all you can focus on is his wide smile behind the camera. “Let’s see if I still know how this works,” Peter jokes.  
You repose with both your hands on your knees, pushing your breasts out in between your arms. You didn’t realize they were hardly the focus of the photo (but still included, Peter was only human after all). 
The photo snaps and you remember you have to get used to the flash again. Blinking a few times to get used to the discomfort, the photo prints out and Peter seems pleased with himself already. 
“It hasn’t even developed yet,” You taunt, you resume palming him as you assume that was the extent of his practice shots. 
Peter shrugs while shaking the photo as gently as possible. “Hey, who’s the photographer here? I know a good subject when I see it,” He nudges you. 
When the photo barely develops, he shows you and you see yourself: half naked on your knees with your face fully in the photo. You were surprised he included that much of your face, and managed to catch you looking as confident as you could. But it was easy when Peter was behind the camera, he never fails to make you feel like his only muse. 
You blush and look away from the photo as you continue to massage him. Peter’s breath hitches at the rate at which you go at, and you smirk to yourself. 
No matter how much control Peter took in bed, he wasn’t afraid to show you how quickly he’d fold for you. It was one of the many things you appreciated about him. Another one was just how vocal he was, his whimpers before you even got to touch him were making your underwear dampen. 
When his dick starts twitching, you pull his boxers down, his cock slaps up to his stomach while he watches your movements. Locking eyes with him, you wrap both your hands around his shaft before slowly jacking him off. 
You’re mesmerized by the way his body is flexed under your touch, you almost don’t hear what he says. 
“Your mouth,” He breathes out. 
You sit up higher on your knees and kiss up his happy trail, lingering when you get closer to his cock. You hear his groan and look up, meeting his eyes.
You raise your eyebrows. “My mouth, what?” 
Your lips quirk up again, teasing him. “Use your words.” 
He rolls his eyes in response but you shake your head.  “I can stop,” You remind him. 
His brown eyes almost bulge out his head when you say that, wrapping his own hand over yours to stop your movements from pausing. He leans over to get closer to your face, the scent of you surrounding him. Peter’s face softens at your smugness. 
“Baby,” He starts. You wait to listen to how he pleads for you to stay while he leads your hands.  
“I need that pretty mouth of yours to suck my cock,” He gasps out and removes his hand when you loosen your wrist in response. Your eyes soften at the praise and Peter mentally celebrates when he leans back to his original position. 
You reposition yourself as well, with your neck getting to work as you lick a stripe underneath the shaft of his cock. Peter sharply inhales at the feeling and brings his head back up. 
You lock eyes with him when you feel the jolt in his body and open your mouth in an ‘O’ shape around the head of his cock. 
Relaxing your throat, you lower your head on his length and feel the tip of his cock hitting your uvula before you begin bobbing your head. 
Caught off guard, you could taste the saltiness of his precum on your tongue now. You gagged a bit and popped off him to lick it off in the most obscene way you could think of. 
Peter mutters, “Just like that.” and you look up. 
Forgetting he had a camera, the shutter went off to capture your tongue on the underside of his wet tip. 
You collect more saliva in your mouth while you run your hand up and down his shaft. Feeling prepared enough, you go back down on him with the drool dripping on his cock on your hands. 
Peter went crazy at the heat of your mouth and the sight of your lips around him. The only thought he had was to get the camera out again to keep this moment forever.
Getting slack jawed at this, he tangles his hands in your hair but doesn’t change your pace. He only starts pushing it out of your face as it gets in the way. 
You look up at him and see Peter pointing the camera at you as you have half his cock in your mouth. The first shot is taken, and he tries to not move too much as the photo prints out immediately.  He releases a few breathy moans at the pace you're going at while he places the new photo on the side. 
Peter silently gestures to you to get him out your mouth so you release him with a pop, flipping your hair to the side as you continue to jack him off.
“That’s good,” He mutters, when he places the camera at his eye before snapping a new photo. 
“I probably look insane,” You grumble, already feeling self conscious at how messy your hair looks, coupled alongside the drool and precum at your mouth. 
Peter shakes his head and pulls you in closer by your waist and you yelp, finding yourself now pinned under him on the bed. 
“Never,” He shakes his head, attaching his mouth to your tit as he pulls your underwear off. You immediately moan at his aggression on your sensitive nipples and he chuckles against your skin when he feels you flinch. 
Peter’s calloused hands find your clit and start massaging it, and you throw your head back in pleasure when he finds his rhythm. 
You feel a twinge of disappointment when he removes his mouth from your tits but you look up to see the camera watching you, and a shutter going off before you are even ready.
“Pete,” You warn. Your sternness doesn’t last when he slips in a finger in your embarrassingly wet cunt. You almost mewl at how full he makes you with just one finger. 
“You looked so pretty moaning like that,” Peter explains while his finger curls into you. He knew what he was doing when he smiled again, leaning down to kiss you on the lips.
Your annoyance was no match for his desperation as you eventually gave in. One of his hands cupped your cheek while his lips were frantic on yours. He’s greedy for you, almost lapping up your tongue with his own before he pulls away. 
“Just let go, forget the camera is even there,” He mumbles in your neck when you gasp at the absence of his lips. 
He slips in another finger and thrusts faster, making you nod mindlessly as you surrender all control.You grip onto his bicep as he pumps in and out of you, begging him for more friction. You can hear how wet you were, and while you were embarrassed, Peter relished in it. 
“Can you take a third for me baby?” He asks in a low voice as he sits up on the bed in between your legs. You nod vigorously but he quickly removes both fingers.
You open your mouth to complain but instead yelp out when Peter pulls both your legs closer to his chest as he kneels on the mattress. He set aside the camera briefly. 
“Yeah?” He searches for an answer.
“Yes,” You grunt out, already desperate for much more than his fingers. 
He massages your heat with his fingers again before he inserts three fingers in, jolting your body to sit up. You let out an obscene moan and couldn’t help but to massage your clit while he fucks you with his fingers. 
One hand being in competition with Peter’s while the other massages your boobs, you’re almost too dazed to notice the shutter then went off while you were closer to an orgasm.
“Fucking incredible,” Peter breathes out before putting the camera with the new photo down, and leans down to kiss you. His pace never falters, making you whimper against his lips. 
“I’m about to cum,” You announce shakily. Peter swallows your pleas with a kiss and just curls his fingers against your g-spot faster. You feel that familiar build up in the pit of your stomach and the pace of your clenching pick up. 
“Cum all over my fingers baby,” He answers, and you immediately let go. You hold Peter closer as you cum, heaving underneath him like you’re in heat. Your body Peter continues to finger you but only because he loves the way you suction around him. 
He still lets you come down from your high, kissing you through it and massaging your breasts with his free hand during. When your breathing slows down, he sits back up and removes his fingers from you. 
“Need you inside of me,” You remind him as you reach over to palm his already hard cock against his stomach.
“Gonna let me cum inside of you?” He asks, holding his cock in his hand already glistening with your wetness. He readjusts to line himself up to your pussy awaiting your answer.
You cock your head with your arms supporting your body from the bed. “I’ll let you cum wherever you want,” You say. 
Peter grunts at your answer before inserting himself into your entrance, and immediately throws his head back at the feeling, your warmth and wetness engulfing him. 
“So fucking tight,” He comments, and you silently agree as you feel yourself stretching out on him. Your eyes fluttered shut as you clenched around him. 
“Fuck,” you moan out as he finds a comfortable pace for the both of you. 
Or that’s what you thought. 
You hear a shutter from your camera and realize he took a picture (or two) of you in this position beneath him, moaning out for him flat on the bed with his cock inside of you. 
You didn’t have time to care as when he got his shots he immediately started to rock into you, and you felt the strength of him against your thighs before he picked up the pace. 
You watch him thrust into you and slowly lose himself above you.
“I love the way you feel around me,” He pants out, closing in on your body with his forearms framing your face. You nod as the bed squeaks and your hands roam his body, stopping at his shoulders and the nape of his neck. 
Peter obliges to your physical demands and dips down to suck on your neck, causing you to whimper as your body continues to jolt from his thrusts. His soft brown hair tickles your skin as his teeth chew at the sensitive skin in your neck. You don’t know whether to giggle or moan, but you’re vocal regardless. 
“Go faster,” You whine, becoming impatient with him. 
“I’m not gonna last if I go faster,” He growls against your skin, sending vibrations down your spine. He thrusted slower, bringing his hand down to the back of your knee to bend it closer to your body. You felt him hitting your g-spot repeatedly that you knew you weren’t going to last any longer like that. 
“I don’t care,” You cry out. Peter scoffs in your neck as if to say a begrudging ‘Fine.’ and kisses you on the cheek before kneeling back up. He’s already twitching inside you before he begins thrusting again. You almost forget what you got yourself into until you feel his balls slap against your cunt repeatedly. 
A string of curses escape both your mouths, yours because he’s just so big and you can feel the tension build up in your stomach again. Peter’s cusses are because you just won’t stop clenching around him in response, he feels like he might burst the next time you tighten around him. 
“Fuck, fuck fuck,” He mutters before spilling into you. 
You go slack jawed at the feeling of him cumming inside of you. It feels hot between your thighs, in between the burning feeling of his hard thighs slapping against your softer ones, and feeling him twitch and coat your insides and the outside of your cunt with his load. 
You cry out as he almost slips out of you, but realize he’s gonna take another picture. You’re not sure what to do, or what exactly he’s capturing but you decide to listen to his earlier advice and let it happen. Peter places the camera on his eye while his cock almost goes soft half away inside of you, and you can feel him rubbing his cum around your thighs and up your hips. 
He mutters another curse, before snapping the picture. You close your eyes and your legs when you decide that that was the last photo and miss how Peter compiles all of them on your bedside table. 
Eventually, you look up and see him pulling back up his underwear and beckoning you to see the photos. When you get up and see 6 photos lined up from tonight. 
One of you on your knees, your breasts protruding and almost being the main focus of the photo if it wasn't for your face. You want to laugh at how excited your eyes looked but you know it was only because of who was behind the camera. 
Two more during and after the blowjob, one of you in the middle taking Peter in your mouth and giving the camera (but really, Peter) siren eyes. The other was you slightly disheveled, but Peter swore you were the prettiest girl in the world with drool around your mouth.
A third of you being fingered, your head is thrown back in unfiltered pleasure from his fingers, your breasts sitting high on your chest as you’re on your back and your nipples were glistening in the photo due to the suckling that happened off camera. While scanning this photo, you realize that being caught in the moment wasn’t such a bad thing and Peter is silently celebrating he caught your O face in action. 
The fourth was similar but you had more control over your pleasure as you’re on camera massaging your breasts and hand on your pussy. You feel like a vixen with the way you’re fondling yourself, Peter silently agrees as he knows you look like one. 
Fifth and sixth photo show the before and after of Peter fucking you senseless. Fifth with your body being still underneath his, and the photo displaying that exhilarating feeling you both get when your bodies meet in the first thrust. And the sixth photo when you’re both comfortable enough to come down from your high together. The sticky, white cum is slayed over your sopping, wet pussy and Peter’s fingers and cock in the frame to remind you who fucks you like this. 
“Do you like these? I can burn them away if you don’t,” Peter runs his hands through his hair nervously, not trying to make you uncomfortable if the bit had gone too far. 
You only shake your head with a laugh bubbling in your throat at his consideration and hug his much taller frame from behind. It felt good to rest your head on his back, while his arms engulf yours from the front. 
“I love them, I love you,” You speak low but loudly enough so he can hear, and feel, your words. 
“Which ones do you want to keep?” He asks. 
You know it’s out of courtesy, just one of those things you two got used to asking each other after taking pictures on this camera. You kept the silly anniversary photo while he kept the very nice one he took of you. 
“It’s all for you,” You answer. Peter sputters quickly, turning back around to see your face when you say it, you only nod in full seriousness. 
He leans down to kiss your cheek as a thank you and you only smile back. 
“I think you’d get more use out of it than me,” You add with a tinge of humor. Peter only plays it off with another suggestion while hugging you from the front. His arms wrap around your shoulders while you rest your head in the crook of his neck. 
“You know what though?” He asks, trailing his hands down to your naked hips, stopping to cup the round of your ass. 
“What?” You mutter in his hold, already feeling your body heat up at the thought of round 2. 
Peter smirks before snaking one of his hands to your pussy. Knowing that you’re about to start throbbing, at the thought of him. You gasp before he speaks and he chuckles while he proposes his new idea. 
“I think it’s only fair if we make a movie now.”
237 notes · View notes
Private Moment | Natasha Romanoff
Summary: You and Natasha share a private moment at one of Tony's parties
Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Male Reader
Warning: Smut (minors dni), language
Word Count: 622
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You weren’t normally one for parties and loud music, but as Natasha’s moans echoed through the small bathroom you were grateful that the noise was drowning out the private moment you two were sharing.
“Fuck, Nat,” you moaned as you thrusted into her.  She was bent over the bathroom sink, gripping onto the counter as your hips slammed into her ass repeatedly.  You shoved her dress higher up her stomach to get better access to her hips, gripping them tighter as you felt her walls tighten around you.
“Baby, I’m so close,” she whined.  She loved the way you filled her up, how your cock always managed to hit the right spots within her.  The arousal rose inside her, increased by the thrill of potentially being caught by some poor soul who simply needed to use the bathroom.  But she loved it.  She’d been teasing you all evening.  A slight touch here and a flirtatious glance there hadn’t completely done it, but the moment she whispered that she wasn’t wearing any panties underneath her tight black dress you grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her to the nearest room.  You weren’t one for sex in public places either, but the way your girlfriend was coaxing you on thrilled you.
“Shhh, sweetheart.  You don’t want anyone to hear what we’re doing, do you?”  Natasha shook her head quickly, the only sound coming in the tiny water closet coming from her absolutely soaked pussy.  “Or do you want them to hear us?” you teased.  “Do you want them to see how I make you come completely undone, how I’m the one in control of you?”  Your words elicited a groan from your girlfriend, who bowed her head as she felt the familiar knot growing in her tummy.
“Fuck,” she breathed.  She looked up and saw her reflection in the mirror.  Her lips were still swollen from the makeout session you two had when you first pulled her into the bathroom.  Her hair was disheveled from the way you ran your fingers through it and pulled it back the way she liked it.  And then she looked up and saw you, biting your lip as you closed your eyes and raised your head toward the ceiling as you continued to plow into her from behind.
“Oh god, Natty, I’m gonna cum.”  She brought a hand down from the counter to circle her clit, wanting to bring herself closer to her climax.  As she bowed her head, you grabbed her throat to pull her head up.  “I want you to watch yourself when I cum in you,” you whispered in her ear.
Your words sent her over the edge.  She watched as her mouth opened and a loud moan escaped her lips as she felt ecstasy surge through her veins.  Her walls fluttered around you and you released inside her, shooting your cum deep within her as your fingers loosened around her throat and your thrusts slowed.
“God I love when you do that,” she breathed, resting her head against the cool marble as you pulled out of her, strands of cum dribbling down her legs.
“What, cum in you?” you asked, pulling your pants and boxers back up.
“Fuck me,” she breathed, a completely relaxed smile on her face.  You chuckled as you pulled her dress back down over her ass, giving it a smack before turning her around.
“Later, darling.  We don’t want everyone to know what we’re doing.”  You leaned closer to whisper in her ear as you pulled her hips closer to you.  “But when we get home tonight I promise that I’ll fuck you so long and hard that you’ll have my cum dripping out of your pussy for days.”      
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Paring: Xavier Thorpe x shy!goth!nb!readerWords count: 1478Summary: Reader is goth, and they do wear chockers, so Xavier decides to buy reader a new one... One that would remind them of him.A/N : so, I'm a bit shy posting this 😶
I mean, that's definitely cringe, and it's my first smut so pls don't judge me.
I'm definitely gonna runaway in Mexico after posting this
Sorry for the bad grammar, if you notice some mistakes just correct me, please :3
Another thing is that none of the gifs int this are mine, so credits to the autors!
Even if that's not the best, I hope you enjoy it :) 
Warnings: smut without plot, p in v, oral ( f and m receiving ) cursing 
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" See you next week, don't forget your homework! " The teacher said.
You get up and leave the classroom with your  classmates.
When you arrive in your dorm, the first thing you notice Is a note on your desk, that says :
" I have to give you something.See you at my dorm, 09:30 P.M.              -Xavier " 
Of course you were curious, who knows what your boyfriend had in mind.
At 09:30 sharp you were knocking at the door of his dorm.
" Hey puppy, come here "  your heart skipped a beat at the nickname.
You entred in his dorm, noticing that his roommate wasn't there.
You had a feeling that night was gonna be fun.
" So, my love, what did you wanted to show me? " You asked him." Well, I had to give you this " he said with a smirk on his face, giving you a pack.
" Oh, thank you so much " you gaved him a kiss.You open the box, not expecting a... Very particular thing.
Ok, you're goth, so you do wear chockers sometimes, but that was diffrent from any other chocker you've ever seen.
It had a tag on It with your name and a " mine " written on it.Your cheeks were turning red.
"I know how much you like your chokers, so I decided to buy you another one... One that would remind you of me " his face was so close to yours, you broke the space between you two and you kissed him.
His tongue entered your mouth, kissing you deeply.His words where doing something on your body, but you didn't even know what.
" So, puppy... Why don't you put it on now, hm? "" Y-yeah " you answer, your cheeks turning even more red. 
That was exciting, of course, but you were so shy in front of your boyfriend.
And you knew he loved that.
You put it on, fastening it on your neck." You look so good in it puppy " he said, leaving a lovemark on your neck, right over the choker.
You leave a little moan as he do that, you could feel he smile, praised by your moan.
He sits on his bed, pulling you on his lap.
You kiss him on the lips, then you start leaving kisses on his jawline.
You start to descend with your kisses, and you start leaving lovemarks all over his neck.
You stop worshiping his body for a moment, the time for taking off his shirt, then you go back to leave lovemarks on his chest too." Seem like someone wants to mark their territory, right puppy? " He jokes, taking off your shirt and your bra.
He takes a moment to admire your body, his hand starting to massage your breast, as he uses his mouth on the other.
You could feel how hard he was, but he still wanted to make you feel good first." X-xavier,  wait. I want to make you feel good too, my love ".
" Oh, well, if you insist, puppy. I'm all yours " he says, as he help you taking off his sweatpants.You could clearly see his bulge from the fabric of his boxers.
You take them off too, and start with small licks on the tip of his cock.
" Please, baby don't play with me" he says.You take all you can of him, using your hands on what you couldn't reach.
His hands moves to your head, guiding your moviments slowly.
Soon he starts to fuck your mouth as he wants, letting out sweet moans as he get closer to his release.He pushes his head back in pleasure as he cums inside your mouth. 
"Oh, fuck puppy you did so good for me, I think you deserve a reward for being so good baby " he says, making you sit on his lap again.
The heat between your thighs starting to build as you feel his cock still hard against your core, covered by your pants.
Without even realizing it you start to slowly moving your hips, riding on his thigh.
"Do you like it babe? fucking yourself on my thigh?" he asks you, as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, nodding.
He grabbed you by your hips and helped you move, listening to your every little moan you maked.
But he didn't want you to come like that.
"that's enough, puppy. I want to eat you out and make you cum on my mouth, not like this... does that sound good, baby?" you nod once more, your face now on fire.
Not that you didn't like it, because you loved when he eated you out, but you were very shy, even if you were alone with your boyfriend.
"Baby, i need you to use your words" He said "yes, yes my love, sounds great...please do it, you know I like it " " and please don't make me talk again, you know how shy I am ".
He laughed at your words, because he loved your shyness, and of course teasing you about it." Yeah baby, I'm gonna make you scream my name, is that considered talking? " He jokes.
 " Oh yeah, so you like to joke about it? I won't be able to scream your name if I go back to my dorm, right?""ok, ok, I'll stop, don't get mad at me baby ".
He  makes you lay on his bed while he takes off your pants.He start to drags a trail of kisses from your breasts to the bottom of your panties, taking them off too.
He pulls your legs up to his shoulders, immediately starting to lick your pussy.You began to moan under hismouth as he ate you out like he was hungry for your taste.
Your legs were shaking as he started to finger you, his tongue drawing circles on your sensitive clit.He notices it right away, from the way your thighs were shaking and your pussy was squeezing against his fingers that you were close to your release.
"I'm- I'm gonna cum, Xavier" you say as he speeds up his movements.
Even when you come moaning his name, he doesn't accenates to stop.
Your were playing with his hairs as he still didn't stop to eat you out, determined to overstimulate you.
"please, my love, stop ... I need you inside me, and I know you need me too, baby" you say, when he's already made you come again." Yeah puppy, anything you want " he says as he stops licking your pussy, coming back up to give you a kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
" Ready for more, baby? "  " Yes, yes I am my love " you say, wanting more of him.
He doesn't even wait a second, he pulls himself on you completely, filling you all the way.
You let out a loud moan, immediatly covering your mout in embarassment.
" Oh don't cover your mouth puppy, I wanna hear your moans. Everyone has to hear you, baby " he wishpers in your ears.
He pulls himself almost completely out of you, just to push himself back in, pounding against that point that made you see the stars.
You were a moaning mess under him,your nails scraped his back as he thrust in and out of you, your breaths ragged.
The room was filled with your moans and the sounds of skin to skin, nothing more.
You moaned his name as you cummed, your walls thightening around his cock.You could fell how close he was.
His thrusts were getting more irregular, his cock filling you another last time as he cummed into you, his white, warm liquid filling your pussy.
You stay like this for a little more, until he pulls himself out of you and lies down next to you.
His lips were once again on yours as he pressed you against his chest.
"Would you like to take a shower, baby?" He asks" Yeah, but I wanna stay like this for a little bit " .
It goes without saying that you fell asleep like this, next to each other; luckily the next day you hadn't lessons.
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ᴏᴋ ꜱᴏ, ꜱᴄᴀʀᴀᴍᴏᴜᴄʜᴇ
Imagine a Modern!Roommates!AU with Scara and you two have movie nights every Friday
Sometimes you doze off after three to four movies and he doesn't have the heart to move you, so he just wraps an arm across you to make the sofa less compact and just falls asleep there aswell
After a fair amount of experience with this he brings pillows and blankets to every movie night but won't elaborate when you question him about it, just gently shoving your head away from him and telling you to focus on the movie
You know the reason behind it, but it doesn't hurt to tease him a bit and make if admit right?
Yeah except he blurts out a confession in an attempt to deny his affection lmfao
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h0neyfire · 3 days
Warmer | Rhett Abbott x Reader
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Word Count: 3600 Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: Fem!Reader, blowjobs, oral (reader receiving), slight snowballing if you squint, implied risk of getting caught by ye ole parents! :D
The candle in your palm flickers vibrantly as you ease the door to a shut, set into a frenzy by the subtle breeze born from even this tiny motion. In your grasp, the icy metal of the knob burns right through you, eating away at your already cold hand. 
Aside from this singular sugar cookie-scented candle, your bedroom is nothing but darkness. Not a singular light, even from your cellphone, lying on the bedside table with its empty battery. Some good that the portable power bank was; charging by about five percent of your battery life per hour. 
A hamster on a wheel would be faster than this.
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Fortunately, it's much warmer under your sheets, and the discomfort that comes with being under so many heavy sheets is much easier to ignore. It's hard to complain when you don't have any other options.
The only other options you have are starting a fire right here in your bed or snuggling into the never-ending furnace that is Rhett Abbott. Neither are feasible options, unfortunately. Not when a fire risks burning the house down, and you have no way of contacting Rhett. If he's responded to your texts about the surprise snowfall, you haven't received anything.
Thank you, phone battery, for running dry just minutes after the snowfall knocked the electricity out. 
You wonder if Rhett's got power over on his ranch. Surely he doesn't; usually, if one house in Wabang doesn't have electricity, the rest of the town is having much of the same luck. Fortunately for him, though, he always has the luxury of packing up and moving into a motel for the night. 
You don't. Not when your father is the local pastor and makes it a point that you all stay because there is always a family to help. Someone always needs shelter, he says.
Outside, the icy wind blows harder, howling as it whips around the house, squeezing through the tiny cracks of your window. You can feel the already low-temperature drop even further; any lower, and you're sure that it may start snowing in here. Another gust of wind and your window audibly clunks, perhaps contracting from the cold. 
Just as you're snuggling further into the heavy blankets, the window makes that sound again. Strange, is it cracking? Can cold wind even break a window? Flickering your eyes open, you peek over at the window. It doesn't exactly look broken; in fact, it looks just the same as it always has. 
Something black pops up from below, striking the window. There's that noise again.
Every fiber in your body screams at you to get back into bed, crawl under the covers, and hibernate until Spring, but your feet hit the cold floor all the same. Only beginning to regret it when you raise the window, letting all that damned cold air in, just for the sake of foolishly sticking your head outside. 
"Rhett, what the fuck are you doing?" You hiss, wrapping your arms around yourself. 
Even in the dark, you can see the whites of Rhett's teeth as he smiles up at you, giddy. "Hi."
There's not a single footprint on the lawn; you're sure he's walked through the tire tracks rather than across the yard. He's gotten smart. Last time, he did leave prints, and your father called the police to file a report because he thought someone was trespassing to peek in the windows at night. 
The rope fire escape ladder is just as cold in your hands as you remove it from its box and lower the end of it out the window. It's so quiet in the house that you're almost afraid that even the soft clicking of the material against the wall will disturb your parents. Nobody comes, though. Not even as Rhett clambers up, gracefully smacking the back of his head up against the windowsill.
"What in the world are you doing here?" It's late; you don't know how late, but it feels late.  
There's that goofy grin again, so big that his eyes crinkle with it, and he can barely form his next words, "well, how else am I supposed to make sure my baby is safe and warm during a blizzard?"
If it were physically possible, your eyes could just roll right into the back of your head and never come back out. 
"Is that so?" As you slowly shut your window, careful not to make any sounds that will disturb your parents, Rhett wraps himself around you. 
Wandering hands wrapping around your waist, drawing his warm, firm chest up against your back, "what? You don't believe me?"
"Oh, I believe you," turning in his grasp, you're pleased to find that he's already bending down to meet your eye, allowing you to rub your cold noses together with ease, "I just think you wanted to cuddle."
He can't argue with that, not when he's proven in the past that he can and will make a two-hour trip just to sleep with you in his arms one more night. The gentle nudge of blunt fingernails and flickering of eyes, dancing between you and the bed, is enough all on its own. Just a few wayward steps and you're falling back into the nest of blankets you've accumulated.
A nest of blankets that, suddenly, wasn't worth your time because a walking furnace is settling right next to you. His head settles onto the same pillow as you, legs tangling together as big arms encircle you once more. You're sure he'd draw you into his chest, your head tucked just under his chin if he wasn't so keen on kissing you right now.
"What the hell..." his eyebrows furrow, leaning in to steal a kiss from your lips again. It's hard to talk when he's kissing you again, pausing and then stealing one more, stubbornly trying to figure out this conundrum on his own. "Why do your lips taste like mint?"
Oh, that. 
"Candy cane flavored chapstick," you offer, "you can taste it?"
Humming, he comes back to get another taste of you, "sure can, sunshine." 
If you'd known he was coming, maybe you would have put on one of those sparkly lip glosses your Aunt gifted you for Christmas. You still remember the last time you wore one. When Rhett kissed you silly before a rodeo, and he had to get on a bull with his lips still sparkling from you. How they still glistened in that dingy bar, and how pale that girl's face got when she realized why. 
That's a memory you'll savor when you're alone. Right now, you're too distracted by the soft suction at your bottom lip, the teeth that nip at it. His presence so warm that you can feel your cold bones begin to thaw, replaced with a growing, flaming need for something you can't put your finger on.
These little fleeting pecks aren't enough, short, chaste lip locks that don't fully allow you to savor the man that's tracing his nails up and down your spine. It's not enough, not when his thigh unintentionally squirms higher, pressing against you in the subtlest of ways. Your hands knot in his shirt, pulling him closer to you, trying for something more. 
Rhett chuckles against your lips, "and here you thought I had ulterior motives."
Nonetheless, he gives you what you want. A flush of relief rolls through you as he pushes you onto your back, effortlessly rolling on top of you. Rhett's never denied a request such as this, not when he's actively holding himself back from bending you over every time he sees you, but it still makes you nervous to ask. 
The weight that settles on top of you is so deliciously familiar; him, all of him pressed up against you, so close that you can smell his aftershave and the artificial strawberry of his shampoo. Hungry lips tangle with yours, licking at your lower lip with each kiss but not quite letting your tongues meet. 
A calloused thumb strokes at the meet of your jaw, gentle but firm, holding you there whilst he does as he pleases. Your hand twitches against his neck, overcome with the urge to tangle your fingers into those long curls resting against his nape and to pull. And that is exactly what you do.
Rhett's lips fall open with a gasp, and that is truly all you need to surge up, your impatient tongue tangling with his. They dance together with perfect, needy synchrony, meeting and exploring with each long, messy lock of lips. His hand dips down, effortlessly slipping its way under your shirt and creeping upward until it cups a soft breast. The rough drag of his thumb against your soft nipple is enough to have you squirming below him.
"So impatient," he mutters, smile forming against your lips, "love when you get like this."
One more peck against your lips, and then he's kissing his way across your cheek, taking special care to nibble at your jaw as he passes over it on his way down. Wet tongue tickling down the sensitive skin of your neck, bypassing in favor of sinking his teeth into your exposed collarbone, hard enough to leave a subtle indent that his tongue quickly soothes over. 
Cold air nips at your skin as he pushes your shirt up, high enough for him to have access to your breasts but not quite asking you to take the garment off. Even in the dark of the room, you can see the fond twinkle in his eye as he plants a kiss right between them. 
"So pretty," he praises, and oh, what a wondrous feeling his tongue against your nipple is. 
It doesn't stay long; a few swirls of his tongue, and then he's moving on to give the other one equal treatment. You can just about feel the ice forming in the saliva he's left behind, and you suppose that's why he's so sparing with them for once, tucking the shirt back over them when he's done. 
Your hips rise at the same time his fingers hitch over the hem of your panties, tugging them down with such ease, only taking his mouth off your skin long enough to get the fabric fully off you. 
"—shh," taking his mouth off our cunt for just long enough to get his words out, "don't want your parent's wakin' up, do we?" 
His tongue is so hot against you, like a wet flame. It spreads you open so easily, tickling at your entrance and then up, up, up until it can swirl around that already swollen bud. If you weren't wet before, you are now, downright dripping with his saliva as he settles into a comfortable routine. 
"Poor preacher would have a heart attack," speaking directly into you, deep voice vibrating against where you're most sensitive, "seein' a man eatin' his daughter's sweet little pussy." 
As if to emphasize his filthy words, big hands settle upon the backs of your knees, raising them up until they're comfortably settled over his broad shoulders. Thighs caging his face as he sucks on your clit like it's candy. 
Again, your fingers itch to curl into his messy hair, and that's exactly what you do; grip locking the back of his head and weakly holding him there. Rhett groans directly into you, leaning further into you as if he can't get enough. That tongue swirls back and forth, over and over, until your hips squirm in an effort to escape it. 
He has a little bit of mercy on you, momentarily leaving your pulsating clit in favor of tracing the thin rim of your entrance. Then dipping in, once, twice, the tip of his nose nudging your clit with each motion before he pulls back just enough to wet two of his fingers with his own tongue. 
"Such a tight little thing," he cooes, thick fingers easing into you as he speaks. 
They're already crooked, so well-versed that they don't even need to try to find the little spot resting against your gummy inner walls. Perfectly rough callouses spiral right against it, leaving your thighs spasming and clenching around Rhett's head.
It's hard not to miss that big smile, barely concealed by your sex, as he returns to working your clit. You're whining, squirming helplessly below him as he devours everything you have to offer him and then some. It's too much, too much.
Darkened eyes flicker up at you, eagerly drinking in your expression, "come on, sweet thing," pausing to suck gently at your clit, fingers quickening, such simple actions that make you tremble, "cum on my face."
You barely even feel it coming on; just a few simple words, and it's snowballing into an avalanche. One, two, three, four more flicks of his tongue against you, and your back is arching, legs just about locking around his head as you cum with a barely concealed whimper. Hips convulsing as Rhett pushes harder against you, licking you through it until your back weakly hits the mattress.
"So good for me," kissing your inner thigh, he sits back on his haunches, finally letting your legs fall from his shoulders. Even from just his fingers, you can feel yourself clenching around nothing as they ease out of you, so starkly empty compared to before. 
You can't see it, but you can feel a familiar hardness press against your hip when he comes back up to you, wet lips pecking your own. Your open palm finds him, pressing lightly against the bulge in his slacks, and now it's Rhett's turn to whine into the quiet, open air.
"You don't have to worry about me," he murmurs, hair falling into his face as he speaks, "you should be tired, yeah?"
The very notion of it has you yawning, unintentionally triggering one from your sleepy-eyed cowboy as well. Even so, you don't think you can ever be too tired to see his eyelashes flutter as he cums on your tongue. 
"Not too tired for you," as if to emphasize your statement, you pat your chest, "just don't feel like sitting up, is all."
Rhett's eyes flicker, back and forth between your chest and you, as if he's waiting on you to change your mind. Even as you reach up to push his hair back behind his ear, you don't falter on your words. 
Slow, he sits up, swinging a leg over your chest to straddle you so close that you can just barely catch glimpse of him straining against the material of his pants. Still too hesitant to put his weight down on you, but that's just fine, all you have to do is push yourself up against the headboard a little, and you've got the perfect angle. 
There's no hesitation in the way you find the zipper of his pants, the soft fleece giving so easily as you gently reach inside. All you do is grasp him, nothing more, but he lets out a heavy breath, dropping his head into the arms he's folded atop your headboard. 
"Sensitive?" To which he nods. 
"Just a little," and you're sure he'd fuss more if it weren't for the circumstances. 
It's clear in the way he hides his face in the crook of his arm that this simple change in position has flustered him. All of that confidence long melted away. Yet, he's still just as hard as ever, heavy in your palm as you work him out of his cotton confines. Already leaks into your loose grasp, easily slicking your thumb as you run it along the soft skin of his head. Usually, he's only like this when...
"Something tells me you've been like this for more than a few minutes," you observe quietly. Tentatively, your hand circles around him and slowly strokes downward, and he just about jumps out of his skin.
"More or so the past week," his voice strained. There's a slight tremble in his thighs as your hand glides back up, one you're certain hasn't been brought on by the cold. "I hope you're happy that you've ruined my hand for me, doll."
It's a blessing that there isn't a singular light on in the room because you know damn well he'd give you hell for smiling at such a statement. His problem. Your compliment. 
With a firm grip on his chiseled hip bone, you nudge him forward, silently asking him to raise his hips up and toward you. They follow your lead, timidly drawing closer until you can comfortably bring your tongue to his tip, wetly swirling around it and reveling in the breathy gasp it elicits. Then, urging him forward once more until the plush head slides past your parted, swollen lips. 
"Baby," Rhett's just barely audible, even as he groans under the wise workings of your tongue, soft swirls, and chasings of veins that run along the underside of his cock.
Hollowing your cheeks, you bring him closer, those muscled hips ever so pliant and willing under your grasp. It's so easy this way, able to do nothing but focus on leading him and sucking in each and every inch he has to offer until he's bumping the back of your throat. You hold him there for a moment, adjusting to the sensation, then draw him back. 
Above you, Rhett pants like a dog, hips beginning to tremble in your hand as you lead him into a rhythm that, even despite the slowness, he struggles to maintain. So sensitive, you reckon the last time he got off was the last time he saw you. When you surprised him at an out-of-town rodeo two weeks ago, and he just about missed his ride because he was too busy laying you down in the front seat of that old GMC. 
He's still too quiet, even with the risk of your parents overhearing; you need to hear him. Breathing heavily through your nose on this next slow thrust of his hips, you push your head forward, easing him just centimeters further down your throat. Draw him back, and then again, further this time. 
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," finally, he peeks out from behind the crook of his elbow, keening high in his throat as you hold him there and swallow around him, "feels good." 
It's not the furthest you've managed to take him, but it's the most comfortable, and by God, he does not complain either way. Baby blues glisten as they watch you take him, slowly but surely becoming more confident in his motions until he's properly fucking his cock in and out of your eager mouth. 
Outside your bedroom, the floorboards creak under the weight of someone, likely your mother, on their way to the bathroom across the hall. Rhett's breath hitches. You keep going, downright smiling around him as you intentionally bring him even further down your throat for a fleeting second, just to feel him jolt above you. 
God, isn't it a hell of a sight to see Rhett Abbott reach up and clamp his own hand over his mouth to stay quiet. 
Those footsteps continue past your room, pausing momentarily, and for a second, you're concerned that maybe they can hear you sucking idly at the head of his cock like it's a damn lollipop. Then, you're blessed with the sound of a bathroom door creaking shut.
Rhett's cock twitches in that telltale way it always does when he's close. You draw him back in, jaw aching as you suck him down once more. Those pretty eyes screw themselves shut with the tiniest whimper, just barely concealed. Keening higher and higher in his throat as you work him with everything you've got. 
Drawing back once more, your tongue spirals, once, twice, thrice, before his entire body twitches above you, and hot, salty cum hits your waiting tongue. You swallow around him, with each and every spurt and twitch of his throbbing cock. His whimper just barely concealed by the sound of water flushing across the hall. 
You don't have time to let him go; one tap of your tongue at his sensitive head, and he jolts backward, popping out of your mouth, a small rope of pearly white hitting your lips. 
Breathless, he leans down the best he can, hands tangling in your hair to lift your head just high enough for him to kiss you. Unphased by the cum that winds up mixing between your lips.
"—don't care 'bout it," and by God does he not, eager tongue licking into your mouth the same way it always does, teasing at your bottom lip until you grant him access. 
It's dizzying, your already breathless lungs burning as he kisses you, and you're sure he must taste himself; hell, you can still taste him. 
"Can I stay with you?" He murmurs, ever so quiet as footsteps squeak back to their respective bedroom. 
"I'm not sure how well I can hide you," both of you frown at your words; you both know that the bedroom door doesn't lock anymore, the mechanism probably as old as Perry. And no amount of made-up stories can cover up for when one of your parents walks in.
That knowledge doesn't make the downward turn of his lips any less painful; even running your hands through his hair, nails scraping his scalp in the way he likes, doesn't make it go away. 
"...but I can stay with you," you offer, timid all of a sudden, "can lie, say I went somewhere to get warmer, and hope for the best." 
The corner of his lip turns upward, "I take it; I'm that somewhere to get warmer?"
Neither of you needs a verbal answer to that; you already know just what warmer might entail. 
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loppy-darii · 1 day
Everyone gets the shock achievement
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circiad · 9 hours
Could u pls do a rlyyyy angsty arthur imagine? xx
you don't know me│arthur leclerc
type: imagine pairing: arthur leclerc x fem!reader word count: 800 summary: after arthur's recent f2 signing, hurt and argument ensue. requested: yesh! read the request above <3 warnings/mood: swearing and angst!!!! but hi. ily. bye.
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you don't know me. an imagine set in december, twenty-twenty-two.
love makes you regret everything, ever. is that even love?
in some weird twist of fate, prema had signed arthur for another year with them in formula two. the news had come out in your manhattan space with a view of gardens and crowds, and awaiting a call from arthur, you bit your tongue. i shouldn't be thinking shit like that. it was there, though, whether moral or not. it was in the tone of your thoughts, the scepticism, the disgust diluted with love.
you doubted it would happen, and wished it wouldn't.
and yet, arthur would be no doubt thrilled. you could see it already; a wide grin, a bear hug, relief at a renewed chance. he would pop champagne and delight you in the plan he would have for the new year, one of rigorous training and success. his lightened eyes and messy hair under a beanie and hoodie, ducking for cover under a harsh winter. you could see him in this half-true way that was so unique to you. with him, it was a fill-in-the-blanks process, always.
the afternoon passed in a dull session. arthur did not call. nor did he answer. you grew impatient. you went outside, you came back in.
a ring at the door - it couldn't be.
you should've known the universe better than this. it was.
his skin had gone a little pale under his layers as new york wind lashed against his cheeks, a little rosy. his eyes locked onto yours in a sign so intimate it could only be his. arthur.
embracing like lost lovers, you guided him inside and felt his shaking, urging him to peel off his outer layers and take a warm blanket by the fireplace. it crackled as an undertone to the conversation. you sat beside him, warming his hands with yours.
'you did it, baby.'
'yep,' he smiled, 'i did, amour. what did i tell you?'
'of course', you were reminded. 'the bet.'
silence fell like sleep, inviting and restraining. but unlike sleep, it was less than welcome. you both knew that this wasn't built on entirely merit. arthur hadn't performed this year like that.
'so...have you talked to, like, your brother yet, about it?'
'charles? why?'
'i was just wondering. he must be happy about it.'
his face dropped, the smile wiped. 'why do we need to talk about him all the time? why can't it just be about me tonight, amour?'
'it's fine. just drop it.'
that familiar ache and doubt set in firm as arthur frowned. 'no, really. you don't see me as an extension of him, do you?'
'what? of course not.'
'that's what all the tabloids say...', he murmured, looking at the ground. 'you haven't been reading them?'
'they're rubbish, you know that.'
he looked up at you with part vulnerability, part disgust. 'then why bring up charles, like all of them?'
'i wasn't-'
arthur was standing now, blanket off his back. he was on offense now. 'i'm my own fucking person! you should know that, you of all people!'
'jesus, not everyone is trying to doubt you, arthur!', you yelled, matching his energy.
'no-no, listen. it's always charles! i'm always in his fucking shadow, like a kid, for fucks sake! they're always talking to me to get to him, always adding my last name to everything. and you're one of them. fuck, i can't belive i didn't see it earlier. fuck.
'arthur, you know i wouldn't see you like that! don't be fucking irrational; charles was never a part of this.'
'yeah', you trembled. 'this.'
'well, to hell with this!'
your voice went cold and void, like it wasn't a part of you. 'you don't mean that.'
'oh fuck, here you go again with all this, trying to act like a saint', arthur shouted, pacing around the kitchen. 'it's so fucking draining, to be around you.'
'you can't even imagine how tired you make me!'
'then it's mutual! mutual hate! mutual whatever-this-is!'
arthur looked at you, but it wasn't him. actually, it was really him. raw him. true him. and it was disgusting. the brushstrokes had become too obvious, the writing on the wall so clear. as much as he loved you, he loved the game, and loved it more. he was an eager participant before he was ever your man. you could not change this.
you did not wish anything else than the worst in those moments. that his career would crash and burn, that he would be resolved to 'charles' little brother', that he would not find peace. was it moral? no. but morals had been replaced with words - equally as possessive.
'you don't know me', arthur remarked with a chuckle as he left the front door wide open. you slammed it behind him. the war, however, was still not over...
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make-me-imagine · 9 hours
Hold My Hand
Plot: Tensions and feelings arise when you and Sherlock end up in a precarious situation when running from a murderer.
Prompts: Forced Proximity, Sexual Tension (mild), “Hold my hand and don’t you dare let go.” <changed slightly, I hope you don't mind
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes (Enola Holmes) x Gn!Reader
Written for @multifandomfix for their birthday event. Happy Birthday! I couldn't decide on one prompt so I kind of mashed a bunch together lol.
Warnings: Nothing really.
Words: 1k.
A/N: After watched Enola Holmes 1&2 I've been debating writing for Sherlock. I have a Christmas fic planned for him, and I thought this might be a good time to test it out. Also I had no idea what to title this lol.
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Your throat was hoarse as you ran down the cobblestone street. You glanced behind you, seeing the man chasing you not far behind. Glancing to your right, you saw Sherlock, jaw clenched, hair flying as he ran beside you.
When you agreed to help Enola with her current case - which she fervently assured you wold be an easy one - running from a murderous and crooked inspector with Sherlock Holmes beside you, was not how you thought it would end up.
Slipping through a small group of people, you stumbled to a stop, as your eyes cast over the busy market square.
"The market?" You asked out of breath.
"Yes, we could lose him in here."
The bustling crowds would surely provide you cover from your assailant, giving you time to lose him, but you risked being split up in the busy crowd.
Apparently Sherlock had this same thought, as you felt his hand reach down and grab your own. You felt your heart jolt in your chest as you looked from his hand, to his eyes, which he locked with yours.
"Hold my hand and don't let go." His voice was tense, and his gaze sharp.
You nodded, before he quickly started off into the crowded market. His hand was gripped tightly around yours as you ran close behind him, slipping through the crowds of people.
Looking back behind you, you spotted the familiar bowler hat of the man chasing you, as he bobbed through the crowd. You could tell he was losing sight of you as he hesitated in his steps.
"Were losing him!" You called to Sherlock as you weaved past a large group of vendors.
Taking a sharp left, and slipping past a market stall, Sherlock pulled you into a thin, darkened crevasse of an alleyway.
The alleyway forced proximity between the two of you, as your chests pressed together. You felt Sherlock slowly let go of your hand. You moved your hands and planted them against the wall behind you. The pressure of Sherlock's grip slowly fading.
Noting the closeness of your bodies, you found yourself holding your breath. Your eyes locked for a moment and you felt something pass between you, before you both broke eye contact and peered out into the crowds.
If your sudden avoidance of eye contact was to avoid the tension that palpitated between you, or to look for your assailant, you weren't sure.
Your eyes moved from one person to another, waiting to see the man pass by. After a few moments of not seeing him, you felt nervousness and relief wash over you. You may have lost him for now, but he could be anywhere.
Looking back to Sherlock, you felt a small jolt course through you, as you saw his eyes already locked on you. You felt the back of your neck heat up, as his eyes bored into you.
The detective had made you nervous from the moment you met him. The way his eyes seemed to follow your every movement, the way he studied you, you couldn't help but wonder what he could see. It had to be something notable since he seemed determined to keep you with him since he agreed to help Enola with her case a day prior.
Finally breaking the tension that seemed to be growing heavier between you, you spoke with a hushed voice. "What now?"
Sherlock seemed to snap out of his thoughts as you spoke. He paused for a moment as he took a breath.
"Now, we slip out into the crowd, grab something that could disguise us, and find our way back to Enola. Hopefully she and Tewkesbury have gathered the evidence she needed while we were being chased through London. She should have had plenty of time. Once we have it, we take the evidence to Lestrade, and then-" He paused, his voice going silent.
You rose your brow lightly "And then?" You asked.
"And then-" He began, his voice soft, but you saw his thought falter as he spoke "And then the case is done."
You weren't sure why you thought he intended to say something else, but you felt the disappointment of it anyways. You nodded your head as you forced yourself to look away from him.
Peering out into the crowds, you mumbled softly. "Sneak out. Find a disguise. Find Enola. Case closed. Sounds easy enough."
Looking back at Sherlock, he had a soft smile on his face "Something Sounding easy, and being easy don't always coincide."
You smiled softly and shrugged your head "I guess we'll find out if it does this time."
As you began to step out from the alleyway, you jumped back when you felt Sherlock grab your hand
"What?" You asked as you looked around hurriedly "Did you see him?"
"No, no, we're fine, it's just..."
You eyed him with curiosity as he seemed lost for words. "What is it Sherlock?"
"I- I don't know how much time we will have to talk once we leave this alley and get back to Enola."
You felt your heartbeat speed up as your neck grew hot again. It was unusual seeing Sherlock Holmes uncertain.
"I- I have enjoyed my time with you these last few days. You...pique my interest in ways I find to be unexpected. So, if- if it is desirable to you. Perhaps, once this case is over, you would be willing to have dinner with me?"
His previously downcast gaze slowly rose to meet yours. The restraint you had to use not to show your surprise was great. But you remained stoic, before you smiled softly at him.
"I would love to have dinner with you Sherlock."
You saw the small hint of relief wash over his face before he smiled. With a nod of his head he spoke softly "Great. I could pick you up tomorrow, around six?"
You repressed the grin pulling at your face as you nodded "Alright, six it is."
His smile grew wider for a moment before he remembered your current situation. He cleared his throat.
"Perhaps we should go now, before we are found here."
You were jolted back into the moment as you nodded your head "Yes, right."
You both spared each other soft knowing smiles before you slipped from your hideaway. Sherlock's hand reluctantly slipped away from yours as you quickly returning to your previous business. But both of you anew with an excited and expectant energy.
xx End xx
General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry
I have every intention of writing at least one more Sherlock fic, so if you wish to be tagged in that, or any future Sherlock fics, let me know! (Please be specific which Sherlock Holmes as there are multiple I write for)
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darklcy · 2 days
𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.
└─── °∘❉∘° ───┘
[ daily prompt creds : @xstreetsx | classic best friends to lovers ]
‣ eddie munson x reader ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ゚. stranger things masterlist | 601 words | playful fluff
‣  it's been a bit! this is the first piece i wrote for eddie ever, so please enjoy :)
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The fabric tightened around the skin of your knees when you perched yourself at the concrete steps, the rush of caffeine creating the ball of your foot to bounce. The sky above greeted you with a low hue of blue, barely a cloud dotting the canvas. Luckily the autumn air hadn’t froze too much, only ranging through the sixties as opposed to the charred winds of winter.
A wave of frustration escaped through a groan as you checked your watch for the tenth time in the last minute. 
7:30 AM
He was late. Again.
Teeth chewing on the skin of your lip, your foot tempo sped up while your nerves outraced the boy who was supposed to be here five minutes ago.  Deciding to hop off your porch and wait by the curve, as if fate struck your house with a laugh, the familiar screech of wheels echoed from down the street.
His van toppled over itself as he whipped through a turn, ignoring the red stop sign just before your house. His music blasted from the stereo, as always, and the beat only intensified when he braked before you and lowered the passenger side window. He wore a casual toothy grin, left hand dangling over the wheel with the right caressing your seat.
Without a response, you yanked open the door and stumbled inside. Eddie scoffed and raised his right hand.
“What, no ‘morning’ back?”
You unzipped the front pocket of your bag to dig out some chapstick.
“No, I’m feeling grumpy.”
“Why, d’you have a bad dream or something?”
Clapping both hands on the wheel, he steered off your street with an abrupt jolt to the acceleration. 
“Mmm..Not really.”
You mumbled through your chapstick application. Eddie glanced at you for a moment before his eyes fell to the fabric of your pants, a quick smile perking up his lips.
“Are those new?”
“Is what new.”
His hand nudged your knee. “These.”
You blinked. Stuffing the chapstick back in your bag, you hoped he didn’t realize your staring of his hand lingering nearby. 
“Oh. Yeah, I went to this new place with Robin the other day.”
His lack of reaction made you frown. “Do you like them?”
“Yeah. They’re cool.”
Cool. Cool..
What a vague word. The compliment echoed in your mind, as if you had to study every syllable and meaning. Did he mean cool as in, he’d-wear-them-cool, or cool like he-doesn’t-actually-think-so-cool. Maybe you could take him to that place, too. 
“Soo. I got Iron Maiden's new tape yesterday. Wanna listen?”
You grinned. “Yeah, sure.”
Popping the cassette inside the stereo, the unfamiliar rhythm of Iron Maiden’s Live in Death faded throughout the van, drowning out any conversation as you two listened. The ride to school wasn’t long, about fifteen minutes, though with him it felt like five seconds. Whether it was his disastrous driving or the adrenaline, you couldn’t decipher. 
So it was annoying how fast school came to you that day. And it was annoying how ‘cool’ kept lingering in the folders of your mind. It was so annoying that you wanted him to call more things cool, so you could compare how he said it to you versus others. So annoying. And he too, is annoying.
“See you later, chika.”
He shouted over the music as you stepped out of his van, preparing to unwind from the annoying day at school. You waved him off with a brief goodbye, giving him his dismissal before he sped down the street, the music going with him. A sigh left you as you watched. He’s so annoying.
|◁ II ▷|
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zoeykallus · 6 hours
Hello! Hope you're having a great day! I have as wondering if I could get a crosshair x female reader where she always has shoes, but for some reason is walking around the Marauder bare foot (like wreaker stole them as a prank or something) and steps on one of crosshair's discarded toothpicks? This happened to an old friend of mine and I think of it every time I see him chewing a toothpick.
Interesting thought, let me look into this...
Crosshair x F!Reader One-Shot - The Toothpick Incident
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Implied Romance / Kiss
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Pre Relationship
"Where the heck are my shoes again?" you grumble, checking under your bunk.
You've just gotten out of the shower and are walking around on bare feet, your socks in your hand.
"Wrecker? Where are my shoes?"
Echo answers you from the cockpit, "Wrecker's out with Hunter."
You sigh in annoyance and look around.
"I think he hid my shoes again".
Echo looks out of the cockpit and says, "I'm afraid I don't know where they are".
You walk towards Echo, in the direction of the cockpit, maybe Wrecker has hidden them somewhere there, or in the engine room. You draw in a sharp breath as you feel a sharp pain in the sole of your left foot. Hurriedly, you sit down on the bunk to your right and look at your foot.
There's a damn toothpick stuck in your foot. You pull it out, cursing, and see Crosshair coming down the hallway to your right and stopping. For a moment, he seems to hold his breath. You hold the toothpick in the air.
"Are you serious?" you growl, "Your stupid toothpicks are everywhere. This is the second time in one day that I've found one this way! Stop just throwing them on the floor, you slob!"
Crosshair is actually a very tidy guy, it's just that the thing with his toothpicks is anything but tidy.
He looks at you mutely, at first, not having a retort ready.
Finally, he says, "I'm not a slob, you know that."
"Oh yes, you are, as far as your stupid toothpicks are concerned".
He grinds his teeth, you can see his jaw muscles working. Crosshair knows you're right. You stand up and limp over to him. You stop right in front of him, toothpick still raised.
"If I step in one of your toothpicks again, I'm going to put it where you definitely don't want it".
Crosshair growls, "Why are you walking around without shoes anyway?"
"Wrecker hid them again, but that doesn't matter, you just throwing those things on the floor in here is really unacceptable."
"Take it up with Wrecker"
When he wants to go further, you hold him by the arm. He looks at you piercingly.
"I will, but the toothpick thing still has to stop!"
He looks at your hand on his arm and grumbles, "If you're not going to mess with me, you'd better let go now."
Stubbornly, you glare at him.
"Don't you get smart with me now, chicken legs!"
Crosshair turns all the way around to face you again, growling, "What was that, Kitten?"
You hear hasty footsteps behind you. Echo, disengages your hand from the sniper's arm and stands between you.
"That's better," he says with a strained smile, "We don't want to get into any mischief in Hunter's absence."
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Echo was able to keep you apart, at least for the moment. But a few hours later, on the same day, you have your socks on, but you still haven't found your shoes when you step into a toothpick again.
The Sniper comes out of the cockpit and sees you pulling another toothpick out of your foot. You hold it up, your eyes narrowed to critical, angry slits.
"That's enough, come here, so I can stick this thing where it hurts!"
Crosshair growls challengingly, "Come here then if you dare."
You stomp towards him, determined to do something, you just don't really know what. As you open your mouth to raise the toothpick and give him a piece of your mind, he suddenly grabs your jaw with his hand.
In the next moment his lips are on yours, and you feel how, against your will, every resistance, every anger and every word that you had just prepared for your telling off, dissolved into nothing.
The kiss seems to last an eternity, and you finally return it, moaning softly as his tongue gently enters and begins to chase your tongue.
Echo, who came rushing out of the cockpit to prevent the worst, stood there not knowing quite what to do.
"Um, I think I'll go to the engine room and keep Tech company."
Neither of you even noticed him. When your lips parted, and you looked at him from half-closed lids, you said softly, "I hate you"
Crosshair smirks and says confidently, "No, you don't".
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Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)
@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99
@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310
@misogirl828 @tech-deck
@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri
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a-gal-with-taste · 13 hours
Pauper (Oneshot)
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After the Zaunite Isles take their independence, there is some expectation of a high-born bride to sooth-away the remaining stings of the rebellion.
As a simple maid to a high-born lady, there are some expectations to follow every order given. Even the order to take her place, her name, her face... And her expected-betrothed.
If only there was an order not to fall in love. It would make thing all the more simpler.
Inspired by @designfailure56​ lovely art, found HERE
Silco X F!Reader | Wordcount: 5674 | AO3
Princess & Pauper/Regency AU, drama, romantic tension, love, banter, flirting, romanticism, guilt, lying, identity-reveal, angst, internal conflict, soooooo self-indulgent 
There was no uncertain-part within you, that withheld the knowledge that you were risking doom and heartbreak by following this command in its entirety. 
Surely, all those under the rule of the reigning family knew full-well that their loyalty, their dedication was not to be faltering, nor was it to be questioned upon the granting of direct-order.
A part of you, however, still hosted rebel thoughts, and wished you had simply ran, the very-instant Lady Clara of Piltover summoned you alone to her chambers. A certainly rare-occasion, for her ladyship seemed eager to host a certain hatred for all aspects that reminded her of her status; from her loathing of balls, glaring-eye towards lovely gowns, and even having a certain annoyance for the leagues of servants waiting on her hand and foot.
Having been the one on hand-and-feet for your entire life, you couldn’t exactly sympathize with her.
And yet, bound by duty and pay, you came at her call, and found yourself at her door upon her summons. Being summoned-alone was not the detail that aroused any suspicions or dread.
It wasn’t until Clara grinned at you, with a smile sparkling in secrets, did you think to feel the hints of dread at the sight of a gown in hand, and a vial of dye in her other palm, whilst her own attire was inconspicuously common, hair colored in your own shade.
Before that night, when a maid of Lady Clara disappeared, and her Ladyship seemed oddly quieted the following morning, you had always giggled at the coincidence of visage, between proper lady, and proper-pauper.
Half a year after taking her place, you cursed the resemblance you shared with the woman. Sometimes, you even cursed your own face, for this deception would, inevitably, be the doom of you upon its discovery, a fact you felt in constant-mourning over...
"My lady."
You not only mourned the forthcoming loss of your employment. You also mourned the fact that this would, regardless of inevitable outcome, be the final night you could reasonably be-allowed in the company of the man calling for you. A man, who made your heart beat louder upon the simple act of rousing your attention from more anxious-thoughts.
A legendary captain of the local waters. A headache to the high-borns you work for, and who they worked for. A gentleman, in theory, with hands far-more calloused and bloodied than your own, in practice.
A king. The King of Zaun.
The man was a king, and yet, he called to you with all the reverence and respect as if it were you who wore the crown. 
"My lady?"
"... Forgive me.  I am extraordinarily horrid, being lost in thoughts," You murmur, in true apology, as you reach up to pinch the edge of the solid-gold mask. The masquerade-theme of this season’s ball, had been an idea set in place long-before you took on the more-daring mask of the Lady... 
A seemingly innocent fact that made you wonder, how just how long her true Ladyship had plotted this, with your damning obedience and familiar-face in mind. 
Soothing the gilded-gold into place across your eyes, you suffered a quietly-sharp inhale, before turning smoothly to your companion.
Your companion, and Clara’s betrothed. 
The fact made your heart beat even-louder, and more painfully.
“Good-sir,” Managing a brilliant smile, you raised your hand delicately with the back of your gloved-knuckles extended. Relief blossomed warmly as he took no notice of your lack of hesitation, and instead stepped forward, dipping to brush lips across your hand. “You are quite late. I feared your absence.”
Silco, king of the freshly-independent Zaunite isles and waters, rose slowly back to his full-height, with a barely-noticeable curl on his thin-lips. 
Half his face was shrouded in a mask that was entirely scandalous, and partially hellish - a joke, you imagine, but there is more fascination than humor as you study. The deep contours meld in colors of blood, of black, punctuated in sharp-curves and ending with an even sharper-horn near his temple.
His eye, always hidden behind a dark-patch, is barely-visible behind the severe mask and glints like a ruby born from obsidian.
“Forgive me, dear lady,” Silco mused slowly, voice a low rumble that eased deep into your bones, and roused you again from your thoughts. “I had other business that required attendance this evening, though, I know that does not surely forgive my tardiness.”
“I have already decided upon forgiveness for your transgression,” You assured him, smiling as he tilted his head to the side, his own brand of mirth clear in his bright-green eye.
“Are you certain? Such a sin as lateness is not a crime to be overlooked so readily, even by the most gracious and forgiving.”
“Yet you have been a perfect-gentleman in all other aspects. Surely leniency can be offered now, due your prior good behavior.”
The smile widens microscopically on his face, and your heart beats like a drum at the sight.
“Still, condolences are a necessity, in light of my own rude actions,” He notes, turning on his heel, and offering an elbow out to you. The red-eye of his gleams behind the devilish mask. “Walk with me?”
He hardly needed to ask. You’d walk with him every step, every minute, of every life, if you could be allowed to; but by the present circumstances, you knew it was an impossibility. 
You knew that whatever fleeting affections you have for him, were indeed required to be fleeting. While the true Lady Clara did not divulge the details of her return, from whatever grand adventure she sought to avoid future-engagement, you knew entirely well that her boredom would return, and then so would she.
What became of you then, was still unknown. Mayhaps she would pay you greatly, and dismiss you even greater-distances away, or perhaps she would desire little evidence of her escape, and only the Gods would know of what became of that poor, missing maid from her service.
You did not think Lady Clara capable of such cruelty. But, still, you would have never thought she was capable of forcing you to play her part in the first place, so your expectations of her were quite out-of-sorts.
Regardless, one thing was clear: The real Lady Clara would return, someday sooner, rather than later. 
She would dismiss the betrothal, or she would endure it. Mayhaps her forever-unsatisfied personality would clash with that of the man of Zaun, and the engagement would break on mutual-terms.
Regardless, upon her return, your companionship with Silco would be at its end. A relationship doomed from the start, destroyed the moment you were tasked into removing the mask, not just of the masquerade, but of this entire affair. It was not only expected, but a necessity, to avoid rousing suspicion or risking detection of the scheme, should he see a lowly-servant bearing the same face, same voice of her Lady.
Upon the real Lady Clara’s return, you would never be allowed to walk at Silco’s side again.
With that melancholy thought, you swallowed thick at the lump in your throat, and slid your arm through his elbow, before he grew more concerned at your extended-silences of thought. You already did too many of those. “I shall walk with you, always,” You assured him, smiling with the lie.
He smiled at the lie too, and your heart was beating so fast, you swore it began to crack inside its confines. You would not be surprised, when it did.
Arm in arm, he guided you away from the already faint bustling of the dance-hall, into the privacy of the gardens. This was not the first time such privacy was sought, for you spent many mornings after the imposed-deception out here among the roses and fountains. Solitude was a well-treasured gift, when one is playing imposter, but in the arm of a king, it feels like a twisted-version of a reward for all your efforts.
All the strain, the headaches, panic and worry melt-away as you’re guided further into the gardens, stars-shimmering brightly overhead as the breeze gently ghosts over you both, prompting your body to seek closer-shelter against his side. 
“Had I known it would take only the touch of wind to guide you to my side...”
“I pray, my good sir, that you are not attempting to tease me!” You said, incredulous even as you bit back a chuckle. “And so soon after I showed forgiveness...”
“Ah, I am but a scoundrel of the worst-breed, according to the betters of both you and I, my lady. I’m astounded you have forgotten.”
“Probably because you are anything but, at least in my eyes and experience,” You said, tilting your head back to gaze up at him, the light of stars catching on the gold-contours of your mask, and offering a bright-gleam to your eyes behind them. “You have more-often been a delightful gentleman to accompany... a man worthy of a crown, dare I say.”
His footsteps come to a slow stop, his green eye gleaming as it gazes down to you. A simple tilt, and both mismatching eyes look down at you for a long moment, emotions seemingly nonexistent, or too well-buried for many to discern his exact-feelings, but ultimately, there’s a softness in his volume and eyes that is impossible to miss when he speaks to you.
“Do you dare say I am worthy of anything else, my lady?”
Breath catching within your lungs, you inhaled quietly, holding the air trapped within you as you continued to behold his rare gaze of tenderness - reveling in it, for Gods know how much longer you were allowed to be looked-at in such a way.
“I say you are worthy of it all, good sir,” You whispered, breathless. “And I shall pray you receive all that is worthy of you.”
This time, the softness at the edge of his vision could not be imagined, nor could the odd, determined glint that flashed in his red-eye... solidifying of some sort of resolve, mayhaps? What it truly signified, you were unsure, for his arm tightened around yours as he escorted the way towards a marble bench, laden with creeping-vines of concrete and stone.
“Many would disagree with such sentiment, darling.”
“There are not many who know you,” You countered as he sat you down upon the bench. The chill was momentary, for while his arm left you, there was only a beat before his hand was offered, one you took into your own silk-covered palm with a delicate squeeze of your fingers. “Half year’s time is long enough for one such as I to know what kind of man you are, and what you deserve, in my opinion.”
Silco hums, hand warm around yours, with thumb stroking slowly over the ridges of your knuckles. “Would you consider yourself to be a person who knows me well, then?”
“I would certainly hope,” You said, honestly, but assured nonetheless. Again, all meetings between the Zaunite Ruler and ‘Lady Clara’ had been done through masquerade, and through physical and metaphorical masks, of politeness and courtesy. An unspoken clause to Zaun’s independence, the Lady poses as a well-standing, well-suited match to further solidifying the trade deals and strengthening the bond between the nations.
It had been for duty, something which Clara seemed eager to avoid all her life. 
Upon introduction, it was clear Silco cared for little-else in comparison. Pleasantries were surface-level, with even that first, cold brush of lips against your knuckles feeling superficial. A dullness in his gaze, a careful shield that you thought entirely impenetrable even with your smiles, more enthusiastic, borderline hysteric efforts to ensure the gentleman enjoyed the company of ‘Lady Clara.’
For the first handfuls of meetings, it seemed fruitless. A man contented at performing his duty and little else, he had only been polite, and you had only felt more and more unsuited for the role-assigned to you.
You didn’t know this man at all, and truly believed that you never would.
Then, he mentioned a daughter. 
Offhanded, brief and few-details beyond her passion for tinkering, but you had latched onto that information like a life-line, presenting the hope for salvation in the form of a top-line kit, paid with most of your previous-wages, with a smile as radiant as the sun at the next dance.
Expressing hopes that it would inspire the enjoyment of his tinkering-daughter, it had only earned his silence for the night, and you thought all the efforts were wasted.
But the reward came slow, steadily after. A walk in the gardens the following gathering, discussions growing more personable, less-plain, with even half-hidden eyes gazing at you with a shifting-light in the green depths, and glints of red beyond the mask/
You came to know Silco. 
Not entirely, and perhaps you would never fully know the man, but he had come to know ‘Clara’ enough, that only another month of evening-gatherings came to pass, before the treaty of Zaun and Piltover was subtly-solidified when he referred to you as his ‘betrothed.’
“Lost in thought again, I presume?” The stern-edge to his voice was betrayed by the faint smirk on his lips when your eyes flashed back up to him, away from the edge of your ornate-skirt you had been worrying with your free-hand. “You look like you’re struggling with a puzzle in your mind.”
“You are indeed a headache to decipher,” Teasing, your own smirk softening with another slow-passing of his thumb over your knuckles, following an amused hum. “But despite this, I will not retract my earlier statement. Despite the mysteries, I consider you a man worthy of the crown, and all else that should pass. I shall pray it only ever be-good, from this moment on.”
“And what of you?”
Your breath caught; only partially for the subtle tightening of his fingers around your own. 
Silco only smiled, leaning down to loom over you, but your heart clenched only for other-reasons besides fear.
“Do you think yourself worthy, sweet betrothed of mine?”
No, was the immediate, and true answer to such a question. 
In your heart, as it sits, and wants, and awaits being-broken inside your chest, you knew all-too well that it was honest, despite the deception you had played. No-more were you worthy of him than if you still wore the attire of a maid in-truth - done-away with the gold and finery, and facing him as one amongst the lowest of the low.
That alone was enough to taint your deservingness, the deception-besides only solidifying the fact that you were unsuited, illegitimate to even be in consideration for the role of betrothed. 
“Mayhaps I ought to pray for good-things to come to you as well,” Silco murmurs, gazing down into your eyes as his other-hand stretches up. The next-breath is released in a shudder, as his ebony-silk gloves touch at your cheekbone, temple, before soothing back wayward hairs - in the shade of the true Lady Clara - from your face. “If not because you deserve them, then because we shall soon be bound in matrimony. All good things to you, shall be good unto me.”
“Then I apologize in advance.”
“Do not. I am content to take the good, and the horrid, in-stride alongside you.”
Said so plainly, so matter-of-factly... you wondered if he was trying to break your heart, or if it was simply his basic-nature to do so, without even being aware of it.
“Careful, good sir,” You murmur, quiet enough that the sound of your voice-cracking goes unawares. “Or I'd accuse you of loving me.”
“A vile accusation.”
Your face grows cold in the night-air as his palm leaves your face, but warmth returns in abundance, as the man sits at your side. As risque as he dared, gloved hand slipped behind you and around, settling on your waist-side as his fingers splayed at your skin, tapping at one of the bones of your corset. 
It brought you closer to his side, and even closer to his lips, as he murmured against the crown of your head, “Vile, but truth is so often an ugly thing, isn’t it?”
Hands curled into your thickly-layered skirts as you tucked your chin down. “Yes,” you whispered, guilt and delight mingling as a single, troubled entity inside you. “The truth is ugly.”
Silence reigned between you. Outwardly, there was peace between you, but inside of your heart was a swirling hurricane, the shrieking of distressed-winds only barely held-back behind your teeth, along with swirls of lies... 
You feared its release as the silence drew on, his warm breath stirring at your falsely-coloured hair in the blissful, terrible silence, before he filled the air with smooth words instead, “Are you happy, with our engagement?”
Gods, you would be. 
You could be, if it was truly a marriage between yourself, and him. Knowing it was for him and Lady Clara, however, made you anything but. “I am the most delighted,” You assured him, tone betraying the words, but a practiced smile balancing out lies with truth. “Such a union would make any woman pleased, and I, am certainly pleasured.”
“I am glad,” He said, speaking each syllable and letter in a low-harmony, that inspired you to lean closer, perhaps more than appropriate, against his chest. Silco’s hand tightened, enough to make you draw breath at the touch of his fingertips pressing into your side... the air all came out of you in a rush, when next he spoke, “We can marry tonight, should you wish it, darling.”
Tonight. Tonight?
Suddenly his hands felt too warm, and breath, even warmer and smelling faintly of spiced smoke, closed-in against your ear as he spoke in a whisper, smooth and rushed like a wave over what remained of your good-senses, “My ship lies in the harbor - the reason for my tardiness. We could be wed by moonrise, untouchable at sea by dawn, in Zaun by tomorrow’s twilight... and from there, bound for life, then eternity, if we are so lucky.”
Your heart breaks, and comes alive at the mere thought. Enough to reinvigorate you to at least attempt to speak at the wonderful, horrible plan.
Fingers soothing over the ribs of your corset, somehow you froze even further when you felt the subtle smile against the curve of your ear. “Grand-ceremony is something neither you nor I desire... Piltovian grandeur is something you-yourself claim to disdain, I seem to recall.”
Only because you knew the work that went into it. The fair-share of Piltovian weddings of high-class were backed by days upon days of labor, sore hands and boneless exhaustion ignored for the sake of grand-ceremony, often lasting mere hours. Always thankless, even under the guise of your Lady, you found increasing discomfort at allowing the maids you worked alongside to do your bidding, something you had confessed in-confidence to the man not long-ago.
He remembered, and seemed to admire you for it. Enough to make concessions on your behalf.
“Y-yes, but,” You swallowed, suddenly feeling light, perhaps even faint. “There... There is the matter of paperwork. And surely the treaty-”
“-Would be satisfied. As I can promise you, you would so-soon be as well.”
You are no longer prepared to faint, but to absolutely swoon at such implications, paired with the hints of a roguish-smirk on the Zaunites face, brushing the tip of your ear whilst his fingers petted lightly at your ribcage.
Still. “My parents...”
“...Do you honestly want them in-attendance? They hardly seem to know you, my lady.”
“Do you still wish for it? To marry me?” Ever confident, always composed, the man without a crown says it almost simply. Any other would think his tone flippant, with what great-ease he exhibits when speaking the question.
And thank the Gods for it, or this deception would’ve been doomed from the very start. Your heart still races, from the fact that you want to say yes, when everything hinges on the fact that you say no.
A slow exhale, shocked-nerves crackling with both dread and want, becoming soothed at the barest touch. “Silco, I...”
But you know him enough that his simple question is far from simple, and his tone, flippant and easy, does not reflect the hesitation you know he truly feels.
You shouldn’t. It was not something meant for you, no matter how appealing it sounded, but- “I... of course, but I cannot-”
“My lady, you are being entirely contradicting of yourself. For your sake, perhaps I would suggest honesty?”
He sounds... entirely earnest. Calming, patient, like a hunter soothing a cornered-animal, which is too perfect an analogy for the way your heart feels ready to race from your very chest, every nerve sparking with the desire to run.
Run deeper into his grasp, or run away - you are unsure, and with his knuckles strumming lightly against your skin, his attempts to comfort you are both a blessing, and a curse to your heart’s desires.
You want him. He isn’t yours to want.
Both thoughts swirl and swirl, turning and turning, on and on - until Silco says your name, and you, like the hunted, give in to the instinctive urge to simply escape.
Not one to keep you trapped, the arm slides from around you, freeing your body from a cage, but entrapping your wrist in a smaller, subtler one when you attempt to stand. “Darling-”
“Forgive me, I-... I know it is in my duty, but I cannot-”
Silco says your name, again, and then, at last, you realize what he said:
He said your name.
He said your name, and not the name of Lady Clara.
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mikaseidukas · 2 days
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Hello again!! Sorry I've been so inactive for so long! For me it's easy to veer off doing other things (or nothing at all sometimes) but determined to try and return to uploads. May not finish off the inktober stuff, but plenty of things to try out :)
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rainiishowers · 3 days
Its 3.38 am,i have not been able to stop thinking about crow parenting with mammon lmaoo if u want to, can u write a fic /oneshot for it!! Thank you :D i go back to sleep now😭
Summary: It's been about a week since MC has confessed to Mammon and they started dating. However, in doing so, MC has become a crow parent to Mammon's bird familiars. Genre: Fluff Warnings: Not proofread, kinda messy ---
Now, if there was one thing MC wasn’t expecting being in the Devildom, it was...  Becoming a crow parent. They weren’t complaining, but ever since MC and Mammon had been dating, the crows grew a lot more affectionate with MC, even mimicking the way Mammon calls them “human”.  Now at RAD, one or two crows would perch on top of MC’s shoulders, squawking and cooing, even asking for food during lunch time, which MC happily provides. Once Lucifer commented on the family that the crows, MC and Mammon have. MC, tired of the insults that Mammon had been given during the week, proudly stares at him. “What? Are you jealous that Mammon, the crows and I have a stable family structure?” And Lucifer couldn’t do anything about it, because they walk off, with a crow laughing at the eldest while perched on MC’s shoulder. MC had grown fond of the crows and Mammon, the way the second eldest and the crows would bicker for their attention, they found it endearing yet sometimes annoying.  One day, MC went to Mammon’s room and found Mammon sitting asleep on his couch while the crows nestled on his shoulders, sleeping They chuckle quietly to themselves and walk over to kiss Mammon’s forehead and grab a blanket before sitting down and nestling on the other side.
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inmydreamswestay · 1 day
Aemond Targaryen - His runaway wife (PART 3)
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 PART 1 PART 2  
* * *
In which Aralyn Targaryen can't escape the monster that haunts her nightmares...
"Aralyn, may the Gods have mercy on us all! You look absolutely beautiful tonight," Aegon's familiar voice spoke loudly, his eyes glued to her curves as she and Aemond walked towards the long table.
Ignoring the way the other prince studied her, Aralyn kept her head high, trying her best to come up with something polite to say. She could feel Aemond's grip on her arm tighten at the comment from his older brother and she also knew that the only reason why he didn't lung forward to snap Aegon's neck, was simply because they were family and the fact that he had promised her just before they went down to not make a scene throughout the whole evening.
If he would stay true to his words was something that Aralyn was yet to find out.
"Seems like those weeks visiting your family really have made you glow," Aegon beamed, a strange look in his eyes as they stopped by the empty seats next to him.
Visiting her family?
Aralyn furrowed her brows at his comment but quickly realized that was probably the story Aemond had given his family after she had escaped that night.
Standing behind her chair, she did not dare to say or move when she noticed the glare Aemond sent his brother. If looks could kill, Aegon would have been in a pile of dust by now.
"Stop staring at my wife, dear brother, and keep your goddamn eyes on your own wife instead," Aemond said slowly, his voice cold as ice.
"Why? She's not here as you can tell," Aegon mocked, a small smirk plastered in the corner of his lips as he quickly glanced back at Aralyn before he went on, "How can any man in here even pretend they are happy with their wives when you are married to the most beautiful one of them all?".
"Enough!," Aemond's fist came crashing down onto the table with a loud thud, causing a few wine glasses to spill.
A servant hurriedly made his way over to clean up the mess, avoiding looking at everyone though Aralyn quietly thanked him which caused the poor man to give her a weak smile as he picked up the cups before leaving.
Not wanting her husband to make a scene, Aralyn quickly grabbed Aemond's hand, gently, the same moment as his mother, Alicent Hightower, the Queen, rose from her chair, a concerned expression on her face as she started to make her way toward her sons since Aemond's angry voice had not gone unnoticed by her.
"Keep your fucking eyes off of my wife, brother, or I swear to the Gods, you will not live long enough to become king," Aemond spoke, his own voice filled with venom and hatred as he met his brother's challenging glare.
Only raising a brow at his younger brother's threat, Aegon shrugged before falling back into his chair again, sulking, "Empty threats, brother. We both know I do not desire to rule this poor kingdom. If anything, I might as well sail away with the first ship that leaves in the morning".
"Please do," Aemond replied coldly as he sat down, pulling Aralyn with him by their entwined hands and she blushed furiously as she clumsily tried to get up from his lap, but Aemond only held her tighter to his hard body. Aegon watched in amusement, a slight snicker leaving his lips as he watched Aralyn struggle against Aemond's grip.
It felt as if the devil had his claws on her Aralyn thought bitterly as she tried to get up from her husband's lap.
Biting her earlobe gently, Aemond whispered quietly so only she could hear him, "Stay and behave, my love".
His tone was soft and barely audible, yet Aralyn knew the threat that lingered behind his words. His words were a command, not a request.
Before she could throw back an insult or two, the voice that belonged to her mother in law, interrupted the tension brewing at the table. Or perhaps, adding more tension to the air. Aralyn did not know if it was possible to feel more humiliated than she already was, being seated in such intimated position with Aemond in front of his mother and brother, made her feel very uncomfortable. And she knew Aemond was enjoying every second of it, especially when he threw her a knowing smirk before he quickly glanced at his mother.
"What is going on here?," Alicent asked, lowering her voice since a few servants passed by, her eyes glancing back and forth between her two sons.
Behind her with a frown, stood her protector, Ser Criston Cole. He was a man Aralyn did not know very well, yet she could not stand him. There was just something off about him. He seemed highly arrogant just like her husband, yet there was a clear difference between the two men.
Ser Crison did not radiate the calmness that Aemond did. It was a calmness that frightened Aralyn because she knew oh so well how cunning her dragon could be.
"Ah, my dear mother. Come to greet your favorite sons, have you?," Aemond said in an amused tone and Aralyn could not decide whether he was mocking his own mother or not though she went for the latter since she knew he respected the Queen.
"My only sons, yes," Alicent replied, her eyes studying both her grown up children with a worried look before her eyes finally landed on Aralyn.
Aralyn tried her best to look comfortable, but as Aemond's hand started to slowly touch her thigh from under the skirt, she knew she was failing miserably.
Oh that sly man and his stupid games
"Aralyn, I'm very glad to see you have returned. Tell me, how was the stay at Winterfell?," The Queen asked kindly though there was a flicker in her eyes as she studied the young woman.
When Aemond had shown up at the gates with this beauty from the North all these months ago, Alicent had been very unsure what to think of the whole situation. If it had been up to her, her son would have been married to a traditional, white haired Targaryen woman, but she had also known that talking her son out of his marriage plan with Aralyn Stark would be like talking to a brick wall. Her youngest son was smart and scheming, but also so incredibly stubborn and hotheaded.
And now that the Queen had seen the way her son looked at his beloved wife, she knew that Aemond would kill anyone who tried to take her away from him. Splitting the marriage now would only lead to a war that she did not desire to persuade.
Blinking, Aralyn felt the gears in her brain work hard, trying to come up with something useful to say, but as Aemond harshly squeezed her thigh, she knew she had to hurry.
"It was cold," She managed to blurt out, blushing furiously since sitting on Aemond's lap in front of his mother, in front of the damn Queen, was not how she wanted to have this conversation. She could feel the slight vibration from Aemond's chest as he chuckled, noticing her nervousness.
"I am not surprised, but surely a Northern woman like yourself is used to the winter," Alicent pointed out kindly and seated down next to them in the very seat that Aralyn was supposed to sit in.
Was this really how her life was going to be? She could not even pick her own seat, she thought annoyed to herself.
"Yes of course," Aralyn replied quickly with a soft smile, feeling slightly stupid, "It's just been a while since I have been home, and I have gotten so used to the warm here in the East that my body needed a few days to acclimate."
"Your home is where I am, my love," Aemond corrected her sharply, his eye on her as she laughed warmly, nodding, putting on an act while at the same time trying her best to ignore how his hand kept going further and further up her thigh. Kicking him hard against his leg, she was not surprised that he didn't react at all. He merely sent her a mocking smile, but nonetheless, did his hand stop. Instead, it rested safely on the inside of her thigh, just circling her skin with his fingers and she hated that a part of her enjoyed the feeling of his touch.
"Well, I'm glad to see you have returned. You seem to be the only one who knows how to calm down my son," Alicent sighed with a smile, gripping Aralyn's hand only to squeeze it gently for a second before she let go, "I never thought I would see my son happily married to anyone, he never struck me as someone who wanted to settle down, but here we are."
She passed Aemond a loving smile before she rose up from the chair, her eyes suddenly glued to something on the other side of the table.
She quickly glanced at Aralyn and Aemond, giving them a nod and a tight smile, "Excuse me, there is someone I need to greet".
The Queen slowly made her way along the table and Aralyn could not help but wonder what had caught her attention.
But, she did not need to ponder long for a second later, Aegon's amused voice cut through the silence, "Ah, what a pleasure to have this part of the family in our halls once more. For some reason they always bring the fun with them, don't they, brother?".
Aralyn could feel Aemond's body tense against her. Even his grip on her tighten and as she quickly glanced over to where the Queen had headed, even among all the white tops that suddenly filled the room, it took her less than a second to notice the silver hair that belonged to Daemon Targaryen, her husband's ruthless uncle.
The only one who understood her
Before she could look away, knowing that Aemond's evil side was slowly crawling through the surface since he loathed the family members who had just arrived, Daemon's eyes met hers from across the room and she could not help but notice the slight nod he passed her way. Returning the gesture with a weak smile, she knew by the end of the night that Daemon would seek her out. He had always listened to her though they had not really shared that many conversations together seeing as Aemond barely ever left her out of his sight. And the Gods only knew how much Aemond both hated and admired his uncle, but Aralyn had a feeling that he absolutely could not stand letting her be alone with his uncle.
"Why are they here?," Aemond mumbled coldly, his voice bringing her out of her thoughts as he went on, "I could do without ever seeing their faces again. They bring shame to our family name".
"I believe our father invited them, brother," Aegon replied in a bored tone, "Why, I do not know. You can go ask him".
"What, and leave you to sit here alone with my wife? I think not," Aemond sent him a sharp look which only caused Aegon to grin, his eyes back on Aralyn once again, but just when Aemond was about to throw another snarky remark,  Aegon quickly turned his attention to his own wife, Helaena Targaryen, who slowly made her way over to them with a yellow flower in her pale hands.
Ignoring her greeting, Aegon only huffed before glaring towards the entrance where people were starting to stream in, ready to drink, eat and dance the night away.
Aemond only nodded to his sister, his jaw was still clenched and Aralyn could tell that he was tempted to punch his older brother.
"Evening, Aralyn," Helaena said in a sweet voice as she sat down on the other side of Aegon, who was still ignoring her arrival.
Aralyn sent the pale girl a gentle smile, "Evening, princess. What a beautiful flower you are holding. May I ask if you know the name of it?".
She had always liked Helaene even though the pale girl always seemed so distant.
"I believe its an evening star-," Helaena started to answer gently, but was quickly interrupted by Aegon's bored voice, who for some reason seemed to pay attention to their conversation even though his eyes were glued to the scenes in front of him, "It's a fucking flower, that's all we need to know".
"My wife asked our sister a question," Aemond's cold voice said slowly, his jaw clenched, "And I would very much like for my wife to get her answer, so do us all a favor and shut your mouth before I close it for you, brother".
Rolling his eyes, Aegon didn't bother to even reply.
Instead, he only rose up, taking his cup with him before he nodded with his head towards the family reunion further down, "Think I'm going to go greet our cousins. See if they are men or little children still".
"They look like young, handsome men now," Helaene pointed out kindly.
"I did not ask for your opinion, so keep your mouth shut," Aegon only sneered as he passed her and Aralyn could not help but feel for the young Targaryen as she sent her rude husband a defeated smile which he did not see.
Their marriage had been arranged, just like hers, but still, watching their interactions with one another, Aralyn knew that Aegon did not show his wife any respect at all. And this was all in the open, she did not dare wonder how it was behind closed doors. Aemond might not be perfect, but he never cut her off nor did he ever tell her to shut her mouth.
"Ladies, our future king," Aemond said quietly as he stared after his brother and Aralyn could practically feel the loathe he had for his older brother. It radiated from him whenever Aegon was in the same room as them and a part of Aralyn was truly afraid that her husband might end up killing his own brother one day.
She wouldnt be surprised if it happened, she knew how much Aemond wanted to rule Westeros.
It was the one thing he desired the most after his lust and love for her.
Once most people had arrived and the feast started, Aralyn had hoped that she would be able to speak more with Helaene, but seeing as Aegon was seated between them and Aemond still refused to let her off his lap, she did not get much time to start any conversation with the princess.
She had hoped Aemond would have allowed her to talk to his sister, to tell his brother to keep his mouth shut since she was in no position to do so, but Aemond did not seem to even pay attention to Helaene's failed attempts to talk to his wife. Or perhaps he did not wish for Aralyn to talk to anyone but him, she thought to herself, frowning.
To be honest, she barely spoke to anyone. Aemond kept his grip on her and she was forced to spend most of her time listening to his heartbeat or the few comments he would say to his brother. Both the Targaryen brothers seemed extremely bored, but so was she.
Picking at her food, she barely had the stomach to finish the last piece, but it was not like she hadn't eaten. Because she had. A lot. Mainly because she had no one to talk to except Aemond who would whisper romantic or tainted words in her ear. The princess had tried slightly to talk to Aralyn, to hear how her trip to Winterfell was, but Aegon had cut her off each time, claiming her annoying voice would be the death of him.
"Eat, my love," Aemond whispered since Aralyn had only been poking the meat for the last minute or two. He felt her sigh against him and so he tilted her chin with his index finger, giving her a gentle smile, "Are you full? Or perhaps you want me to feed you?".
"No, I'm not a child, Aemond," Aralyn replied, rolling her eyes, but Aemond only brushed her comment aside as he grabbed the fork out of her hand before pointing it toward her mouth.
She shook her head and glared at him, "In case you haven't noticed, all I seem to do is eat seeing as I am apparently not allowed to talk to anyone but you".
"You don't need anyone but me," Aemond replied simply before gesturing for her to part her lips, to eat the last piece of the meat which was dangling from the fork.
"Open your mouth for me, my love," He said, smirking before he leaned closer to her ear and whispered so only she could hear him, "It wouldn't be the first time you did, so don't act shy".
"Aemond!," Aralyn scowled, blushing madly as she gently slapped his arm.
Aemond only chuckled before planting a kiss against her temple, "My pretty, little wife, we both know you aren't as innocent as you want the world to think".
Not wanting him to keep talking about things she rather keep private, things she was not proud of, Aralyn allowed him to feed her, but she made sure to give him a glare as she chew the meat.
"Good girl," Aemond whispered pleased, nibbling on her earlobe, his cold breath sending shivers down her spine. His hand lazily began to stroke her thigh again.
As the music started to play, inviting everyone to dance, Aralyn was surprised to watch as Aegon and Helaene rose up, their hands entwined. Aegon did not strike her as a man who liked to dance, but as she noticed the frown that covered his face, she figured he was doing it simply because it was his duty as the coming King.
She watched as their made their way to the dance area. All eyes were on them since they were the first ones to dance, but shortly after their first steps, more and more people started to rise from their seats, ready to be a part of the music.
Aralyn could feel Aemond's stiff body beneath her. He was still stroking her skin. She knew he was not much of a dancer, but she was getting restless and the boredom from this whole evening was starting to practically itch. She had been sitting on his lap for nearly two hours, eating, listening to conversations around the table, eating more, listening to the King's speech about politics and then she had been eating more.
As she sat there watching all the dancing people, her eyes suddenly met the dark eyes that belonged to Daemon. He was seated further down at the table, sipping wine, a bored look on his face, but as their eyes met, he gave her a small tilt with his head, smirking. Raising his cup he toasted towards them and Aralyn smiled before she raised her own glass, mimicking his friendly movement.
"Dont think for a second I don't see what is going on, my love," Aemond whispered in her ear, biting it, hard.
Aralyn gasped in pain before clutching her ear quickly.
She glared at her husband with narrowed eyes, "You won't let me talk to anyone. Surely a small toast won't harm".
"You can talk, just not to him," Aemond shrugged, his eyes glued to his uncle for a moment while he tried his best to hide the dark thoughts that filled his mind. There had been a time in his life when all Aemond wanted was to become like his uncle. Brave, cunning, ruthless, and vile and though they probably shared some similar features, he was not about to let his beautiful wife form a friendship with the older Targaryen. He did not trust his uncle and he did not want to share his wife with anyone. She was his and his alone.
Gazing back at his wife again who had an annoyed look plastered on her beautiful face, Aemond took in her words for a moment. Did he really hide her from everyone? Was she afraid to talk to people because of him? He knew if that was the truth, that he would never fully gain her trust and that was not a reward he wanted to lose.
It was a selfish wish simply because he needed her to trust him because hopefully, it would be easier for her to forgive him for all the terrible acts he would probably commit in the future.
With that self centered thought in the back of his mind, Aemond abruptly grabbed Aralyn's cup and placed it back on the table before he stood up, bringing her with him. Holding onto her waist from behind, he directed them towards the dancing crowd, his head resting on top of her exposed shoulders, planting trails of kisses there, making sure that every goddamn man in here saw that she belonged to him.
"Let us dance, my love," He murmured against her skin, and Aralyn could not help but smile as they joined the crowd.
Finally, she got to do something she knew instead of just being seated in his lap while everyone else was enjoying the company and the music.
Turning her around, Aemond wrapped one arm securely against her waist while with his other hand, he entwined his fingers with hers. The smile that was dancing on his wife's lips as they began to move, their bodies shifting elegantly with the music, made him smile as well. A sincere smile, that kind of smile that would only appear on his face whenever he was with Aralyn. His beautiful Northen wife. His Queen. His everything.
As they kept moving elegantly across the floor, Aralyn could not help but feel butterflies in her stomach. Dancing with Aemond was not something she had done often, maybe once or twice after their wedding and as they kept moving together, she noticed how relaxed she actually was at this very moment. Maybe it was the music or perhaps it was the wine that was running through her veins, but as Aemond kept looking at her as if she was the air he breathed, she had to silently admit to herself that she actually felt content.
This moment was filled with a peace she had longed to feel between herself and her husband and as she tilted her head to look at him better, she realized she did not want this dance to end. She was actually enjoying herself and her husband's company.
"What's on your mind, my love?," Aemond asked quietly.
Biting her lip for a moment, a lustful look flashed through her husband's eye as Aralyn replied in a gentle voice, "That I very much enjoy this dance with you".
"Good," Aemond replied and pressed his body closer to hers, closing the gap between them.
Lowering his head, he pressed his warm lips against hers, and Aralyn more than welcomed his touch of affection. Forgetting for a moment that they were in the middle of a crowd, she let go of his hand only to grab hold of his chin with both her hands, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Aemond's lips moved tenderly across hers and there was no doubt that he craved her. She could feel it in the way he kissed her, pouring his affection for her into this very kiss and as the seconds started to pass, she could not deny that he actually made her feel good. She wanted this. She wanted her husband.
Kissing her harder, Aemond let out a moan, not giving a damn if anyone was watching or listening. The music was pretty loud, he would have been surprised if anyone noticed the sound of pleasure that had escaped his throat, but in his mind, he knew that there were definitely eyes on them. Not just because he was the prince, but because his pretty little wife looked absolutely gorgeous. The maids had curled her long hair and the dress she wore hugged her curves perfectly. His heart was burning with desire for his woman and Aemond knew that he would not be able to control the dragon inside him for too long. He craved her and needed her. Desperately.
Pulling away, he needed a few seconds to compose himself before he breathlessly muttered, his head resting against hers, "Say the words and I swear to the Gods, I will toss you over my shoulder and carry you back to the bedroom".
However, before Aralyn could reply, she felt Aemond's whole body stiffen as a movement behind her stole his attention and so she quickly turned around, still a bit flustered from the kiss and his tempting offer to continue this dance in their privacy of their bedchamber.
A handsome young man whom she did not know was standing in front of them. Although aware he had interrupted something personal, the man did not seem too affected. His eyes were glued to Aralyn in a way that made her feel slightly uncomfortable.
Aemond must have noticed her change of mood because his grip on her tighten while at the same time turning them slightly around so that she was half hidden behind his frame.
"Keep walking," Aemond spoke quietly to the other man.
"My prince Aemond, the name is Tion of house Lannister-," The young man began, but Aemond quickly cut him off, "I don't care who you are, but I do however care about my wife and the look in your eyes is not something I wish to see in any man's eyes when they glance at her, so do us both a favor and keep walking".
Aralyn shuddered slightly at Aemond's tone. For anyone watching it probably looked as if their prince had everything under control and though Aemond's body was completely undisturbed, Aralyn could feel his temper lurking beneath his calm composure.
"I simply wanted to ask the beautiful lady if she wanted to honor me with a dance," Tion pointed out and Aralyn almost let out a laugh, but she quickly swallowed it.
Had this Tion Lannister a death wish? Had he no clue who was standing between the two of them? Was he not aware that Aemond would gladly kill any man who dared speak to her, especially a man that would request a dance with her?
"What did you just say?," Aemond's voice was deadly quiet and it was only when his voice reached Aralyn's ears that she realized that most people around them had stopped dancing, their eyes glued to the scene in front of them. They all seemed to be on their toes, ready to escape the prince's wrath at any moment. Yet they could not look away from Aemond's figure.
The music stopped as well and Aralyn watched with a nervous look as the Queen rose up from her chair, her hands clenched as she stared at the scene her son was making.
"Aemond, don't," Aralyn whispered as she pulled on his arm, trying to tug him away before he would do anything ruthless, but when he didn't budge at all nor did he seem to have heard her, she knew with a sinking feeling in her stomach that Aemond had made up his mind.
Tion Lannister was already a dead man.
In the corner of her eye, she noticed Daemon and Rhaenyra standing up slowly from their chairs as well and though Daemon was giving Aralyn a worried look, she did not return it. She was too focused on trying to get Aemond's attention, her palms sweating and her hands trembling as she kept pulling on his arm, whispering his name over and over.
The young soldier, Tion, seemed a bit taken back at Aemond's question, but then he replied with a raised brow, "I said I wanted to ask the lady for a dance-"
The rest of the sentence was cut off by Aemond's sharp dagger as the young soldier was pushed back as the one eyed prince lunged forward with a swift agility that caught Aralyn off guard. The shiny weapon was tightly held against the man's throat as Aemond's hand gripped his neck, hard, preventing the man from moving as well as the threat from the coldness of the dagger.
"Aemond!," The Queen shouted from the table as she hurriedly began to make her way through the crowd which barely moved at all. They all seemed captivated by the scene though they were all aware they would not witness a happy ending.
"Aemond, please, let go," Aralyn begged desperately as she stepped forward, grabbing his arm again, her eyes giving him a pleading look as he slowly turned to look at her, his own eye filled with a coldness that scared her.
"Dont do anything stupid," She went on, hating how pathetic she sounded, but she refused to stand by and watch him kill another man again, "Let's go back to the bedchamber. It's not worth it. He isn't worth it, Aemond."
Silence lingered between the dragon and the wolf for a moment before Aemond sent her a loving smile that did not match the deadly act that held onto his mind. They both knew it was too late.
"You're right. He isn't, " Aemond answered quietly, but before Aralyn could beg again, Aemond's dagger silently sliced open the throat of the young man before turning to look at Aralyn again, a disturbed, soul stirring look on his face as their eyes met again, "You are".
The young man immediately staggered backward, blood spilling down his body as he clung to his own throat. The crowd screamed and took several steps back and a few Lannisters soldiers rushed forward to catch their fallen comrade before he hit the ground while King's Landing soldiers immediately came to their prince's rescue, rallying around him, ready to fight off Lannisters soldiers if it came to that.
Gurgling gasps filled the silence of the room along with whispering and shouts from both the Queen and the King, both calling for soldiers and their son, but Aralyn did not pay attention to any of them.
Her eyes were glued to the smile that lingered on Aemond's face as they stared at one another and she could not help but take a step back as he reached his hand out to her. The pain of rejection shot through his eye for a second as he took in her trembling figure, but Aralyn refused to feel sorry for him. She felt sick to her stomach.
"I can't believe you did that," She whispered quietly, a few tears streaming down her cheek as she looked at him and she knew she would be haunted by the slight smile that covered his handsome face.
It was the very same smile he had worn the day their eyes met back in Winterfell, the very moment, unbeknownst to her, when she had lost her freedom.
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