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alwaysmicado · 6 months

Text

What you need

2.9k | 18+ NSFW | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 4

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, facesitting, unprotected p in v, creampie, pet names, Joel is the little spoon Summary: Joel is sick and your pussy's the best medicine. A/N: This one’s just cute! 🤍 After the next two parts or so, we’ll start to get into it for real. Fucking around is fun, but it doesn’t last forever, does it…

pt. 1 ・ pt. 2 ・ pt. 3 ・ series masterlist ・ AO3

You: How was the client? Joel: I stayed home, not feeling too well You: You need anything? Joel: Just you ;) You: I’ll be there in 30. Stay in bed! Joel: No no babe, it’s okay Missed Call Missed Call Missed Call Joel: You’re unbelievable

“Oh, come on,” you groan and lift the measuring cup towards Joel’s lips. “Why are you such a stubborn baby, huh? Just drink the fuck-”

You stop yourself when you see him raise an eyebrow, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of his pale lips. He’s sitting in bed, his back supported by pillows, his head leaning against the wooden headboard panel.

Propping Joel up comfortably like this was a struggle in and of itself since this grown, successful man only sleeps with one, worn-out pillow he’s probably had since before you were born, so you also had to get two plumper ones from his couch to provide enough support for his poor back. What is it with him and refusing comfort?

At least now you know what to get him for his birthday in September…

“Hmm, you love it,” he teases and puts his hand on your waist to pinch you lightly.

“I would love it if you stopped fighting me and just took the damn NyQuil,” you counter and search his eyes. They’re heavy-lidded and glassy, revealing the exhaustion Joel’s been trying to fight all day.

You sigh and softly brush a strand of sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. He’s running a fever and the cool, damp washcloth you put on his forehead to alleviate at least some of his evident discomfort only did so much.

At this point, you really just need him to listen to you for once, take the damn medicine and, most importantly, lie down and give his body the rest it so desperately needs.

You look at the collection of bottles on the nightstand next to him and shake your head. Since you didn’t know what his symptoms were before you came, you stopped at a pharmacy on your way over and bought everything : DayQuil, NyQuil, a bottle of cough syrup, peppermint tea, a bunch of pain meds, Epsom salts with eucalyptus and essential oils, fresh produce to make a smoothie - hell, even a thermometer because you weren’t sure if he has one.

The only thing missing is the patient’s cooperation.

“I appreciate your care, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, reaching for your hand to pepper your palm with soft kisses, “but I really don’t need any of that. I’m just a bit under the weather, that’s all.”

“You’d rather die than admit you’re sick, huh,” you state with a tilted head and raised eyebrows.

“Now that’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it,” he murmurs and nibbles on your arm.

“Says the grown man who gagged from the tiniest sip of green smoothie,” you scoff.

“Yeah, well, that shit was disgusting,” he chuckles, pulling you closer by your waist so you’re straddling his lap. “C’mere, sweetheart.”

“You have a fever, Joel,” you sigh and cup his cheeks. “I’m worried, okay?”

“About little old me?” He smiles and squeezes your hips.

“Yeah,” you lean in to press soft kisses to his cheek. “And I need you to let me help you, so tell me what-”

“Sit on my face.”

“Huh?” You sit back up and look into his eyes in surprise.

“Take your slutty little pants off and sit on my face,” he repeats with a cocked eyebrow.

“How is that-”

“I’ll take the meds if you do,” he interrupts with a smirk, his eye crinkles giving away his genuine amusement at this genius suggestion.

You sigh deeply and look at the ceiling. How is this guy real? “And a whole smoothie,” you murmur as you get up.

You push your shorts down together with your panties, let them fall to the floor, then climb back onto the bed to straddle Joel’s lap without the covers separating you this time. He looks at you hungrily, the fever completely forgotten as he sees and feels your naked cunt and thighs.

“Mmm, that’s it, baby,” he groans softly, his big hands on you immediately, gripping your ass and moving you up and down the length of his hardening cock. “Look at the mess you’re already making on me,” he murmurs, turned on by the wetness you’re spreading over his gray sweatpants.

“You get off on caring for me, hm?” He taunts with a smug grin.

“Oh, shut up,” you roll your eyes and capture his lips in a bruising kiss. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, as close as he possibly can, kissing you greedily. You writhe and wriggle on his lap, moaning into his mouth, your hands tangled in his hair.

He breaks the kiss to nibble and bite at the soft skin of your neck, leaving marks behind. You’re letting it slide this time, enjoying the tantalizing sensation of slight pain mixed with the soft touch of his lips and facial hair that’s causing your pussy to clench around nothing.

You’re just going to have to wear a silk scarf or something to work.

“God, I wanna taste you so bad, baby,” Joel moans into the crook of your neck, his eyes closed. You bite your lip and hum as the friction of your movements on Joel’s pants stimulates your clit perfectly.

“You gonna be good if I let you?” You purr into his ear with a roll of your hips, eliciting a soft whimper from him.

“You come all over my face, angel, and I’ll do whatever you want,” he whispers, his fingers digging into your sides.

“Alright, baby,” you coo and lift your weight off his lap. “Lie down for me.”

Joel scoots down and lays his head on the pillows, looking at you intently with big eyes. You position yourself over his face, hold on to the bed’s headboard panel and lower your hips carefully.

“Look so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles before hooking his arms over your thighs and pulling you further down. His warm breath and facial hair tickle you as he kisses your lips softly, then drags his nose through your wet folds, inhaling your mesmerizing scent and nudging your swollen clit before repeating the movement.

You throw your head back and moan softly as he slides his tongue between your folds, lapping at your dripping hole and pushing in ever so slightly before circling your clit. Your fingers tangle in his dark curls as the vibrations of his deep groans intensify every movement of his lips and tongue.

“Fuck, you taste divine like always,” Joel breathes as he dips his tongue into your wet heat to lap up as much of you as he can. You look down and clench around his tongue when you see his blown pupils and frenzied look. His mouth moves at a relentless pace, making you squirm and tug on his curls harder. You’re so close already.

When your moans get louder and Joel feels you grinding your pussy on his face harder to chase your imminent high, he can’t resist biting the marks already adorning your skin.

“Ow, fuck!” You cry out in surprise at the sudden pain shooting through you. You hadn’t even noticed the purple bruises on your inner thighs when you showered and got dressed today.

Maybe it should concern you that your body hasn’t been without bruises for a few months now. But it doesn’t, if you’re being honest with yourself. You just weren’t planning on showing someone else’s marks off to Joel this time. You really weren’t.

“Fun night?” Joel asks with a smirk before sucking on your swollen clit hard, keeping you in place with his hands splayed over your ass.

“Can’t complain,” you bite back back, or at least try to, since your voice devolves into a soft whine at Joel’s harsh treatment of your sensitive bundle of nerves. The deliciously painful feeling is almost enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh fuck, that’s it,” you moan as he starts lapping at your dripping hole again, his nose rubbing against your clit with every stroke. “Feels so good, baby.”

Joel groans with each lick to your puffy folds and throbbing clit, hooking his arms over your legs again and digging his fingers into your skin. “Please, Joel,” you whine, tugging on his hair harder.

“Use my face, angel,” he pants breathlessly, completely drunk on your pussy. You’re the sweetest thing he’s ever seen or tasted. “Take what you need from me.”

He's bucking his hips, trying to get as much friction from his pants as possible, precum leaking out of this cock steadily.

“I’m– oh fuck –I’m gonna come,” you moan, sliding your drenched pussy over Joel’s tongue and nose frantically. He hums blissfully, holding on to your thighs and watching your face as you arch your back and fall apart with a strangled moan.

You come on his tongue, your hips stuttering and your whole body trembling from the intense orgasm. Joel groans as he eagerly drinks your cum and slowly licks you clean when he feels you come down again. You yelp and your hips jolt at the overstimulation when he sucks your pulsating clit into his mouth, savoring your taste.

You lift your hips and look down at him, your chest heaving and a satisfied smile playing on your lips when you see his jaw and facial hair dripping with a mix of his saliva and your cum. He looks gorgeous like this.

You swing your leg over Joel’s chest and lie down beside him. He turns to face you and gently traces your thigh with his warm hand, still breathing heavily. You scoot closer, so you’re flush with his body and place your bent leg between his.

“Kiss me, Joel,” you purr as you nudge his wet nose with yours and caress his cheek with your palm. He gives you a smile before leaning in and capturing your swollen lips with his. You part your lips and allow his tongue to slip inside, feeding you your own cum. He grabs your ass to pull you closer against him, your bodies pressed together heatedly, both breathing heavily as you feel the thud of your combined heartbeat. Joel groans into your mouth softly as he rubs his throbbing cock against your hip, his hand traveling along your waist to your belly. You thrust your hips so your pussy rubs against his thigh on the bed, more than ready to come again.

“So perfect,” Joel murmurs against your lips as he slides his hand under your shirt and palms your breast. He tweaks your hard nipple, eliciting a soft moan from you. He furrows his brow and looks into your eyes intently, his pupils even bigger than before. Every fiber of his fevered body is aching for you, to be close to you, to become one with you, to be yours.

You see something shift in his face, but can’t put your finger on what it is, so you don't say anything.

“Can I fuck you?” He mumbles into your neck where he’s kissing and biting at you sloppily, his hand still massaging your breast and his cock screaming for release.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You breathe, your need for Joel to be alright still trumping your primal need to get off. You're an animal, not an asshole.

“I’m more than okay, darlin’,” he reassures you with a tired smile.

“And you’re not gonna die on me halfway through?”

“Don’t care,” he murmurs and takes your hand to press it against his erection. You rub up and down his length slowly as he slides his hand between your legs. You groan when he circles your sensitive clit a few times before sliding two of his fingers into your warm cunt. He pumps them in and out a few times before adding a third, the heel of his palm putting delicious pressure on your clit.

“You want me to ride you, baby?” You pant, feeling your second orgasm build already.

“Can we-,” Joel breathes, his cock throbbing, “can we just stay like this?”

“Of course,” you nod and help him pull down his sweatpants. He pulls his fingers out of you and wets his cock with your slick before removing his pants fully. “C’mere,” you coo as you draw him close to you and drape your leg over his hip. He strokes his length a few times before nudging your entrance with his pulsating tip and sliding in in one smooth thrust. He wraps his arm around you, splaying his hand on your back under your shirt, moaning into your hair when he bottoms out.

“Oh shit, you feel too good, baby,” he groans and holds on to your ass cheek to pull you toward him in unison with his frantic thrusts. “I– fuck –I ain’t gonna last long,” he pants. “You want me to fill you up?”

“Yeah,” you nod with a needy moan, your brow furrowed. Joel’s cock is hitting your g-spot repeatedly, causing the muscles in your thighs and lower belly to tense and your climax to approach rapidly.

“Tell me, baby,” he breathes, his cock massaging your inner walls with every snap of his hips.

“I-I want you to come inside me, Joel,” you whine, your nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, please fill me up.”

He can feel your walls tightening around him and your whole body tensing, so he tilts your head up by gripping the nape of your neck. “Look at me, baby,” he breathes and grinds his pelvis against your clit. It only takes a few more of his thrusts for the tension in your belly to snap with an intensity you’re never able to achieve on your own. Or with anyone else for that matter.

You come with his name on your lips, your walls spasming and contracting around his cock as you ride out your orgasm. Seeing and hearing and feeling you in such a state of ecstasy due to his touch pushes him over the edge, emptying himself deep inside of you with a breathless groan. He stays buried inside you as his cock pulses and your pussy swallows every last drop of his warm cum.

You stay like that for a minute, limbs intertwined, skin hot and sweaty, breathing heavily, hearts pounding, looking at each other curiously. You slowly trace Joel’s eye crinkles with your fingertips, then gently run your fingers along his perfect nose before moving further down to gently touch the bare spot on his jaw where his facial hair never grows.

“What’re you doing,” he chuckles, drawing shapes on your ass and thigh with his fingertips.

“Nothing,” you lie with a warm smile. “Just looking at the man who most definitely just gave me all of his germs and will most definitely come and clean my apartment when I’m lying in bed with a fever."

Joel rolls his eyes in mock offense and you giggle. “Told you to stay away when you showed up here,” he murmurs and slaps your ass playfully.

“Oh, Joel,” you sigh, “you’ve come inside me so many times that our DNA is probably the same at this point.” You kiss his forehead. “I don’t care about a few germs if I get to ride your face and hear your cute little whimpers when you almost come in your pants like a teenager.”

Joel's cheeks flush with a mix of fever and embarrassment as he catches the hint of a grin on your face. “Stop it,” he grumbles, the corner of his lips twitching involuntarily. “You’re mean.”

“And you’re impossible,” you chuckle, your hand reaching out gently to stroke his forehead and tousled hair in a soothing gesture. His eyelids flutter at your touch and a faint sigh escapes him, a small surrender to the tenderness you’re offering.

— “Thank you, darlin’,” Joel murmurs before setting down the glass on the nightstand and laying his head on the pillow mountain you’ve built for him. “I’m just gonna lie down for a bit.”

“Alright, baby” you coo, walking over to your bag to retrieve your phone, then sitting on the bed beside him. You play a game for a few minutes, relaxing and monitoring Joel’s rhythmic breathing. He’s lying on his belly, his head turned away from you, his left knee pulled toward his chest. It’s the same exact pose you sleep in.

In another life you might fall asleep like this together every night, two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly, completing each other. You smile softly at the thought and reach out to stroke his back.

“All your fault,” Joel grumbles into the pillows.

“Huh?” You ask, startled and confused. You thought he was fast asleep.

“Haven’t seen you in over a week,” he mumbles. “Bad for my system.”

You chuckle and plant a soft kiss on his temple. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Won’t happen again.”

“Just stay for a while,” he murmurs, his voice a mere whisper. You linger for a few seconds, studying his profile, before lying down behind him. He instinctively turns from his belly onto his side, so you can drape your arm over him.

“You can sleep now, baby,” you whisper as you nestle against his back, molding your body to his contours, your warm breath ghosting the nape of his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

---

Thank you for reading! 🤍

part 3 || part 5 || series masterlist

#fwb!joel miller x f!reader #fwb!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller AU #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller fluff #the last of us fic #smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

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jinnie-ret · 6 months

Note

9th member whos family is extremely unsupportive of their career choices, skz do their best to cheer them up after a loud argument that the boys overhear. their family is rude and downright mean to their 9th member and they cant let them be put down by their family so they remind her that theyre her family. love your writing.

family is complicated

stray kids x ninth member!reader (platonic)

genre: angst, fluff

content warnings: emotionally abusive parents

word count: 1.6k

summary: after your troubling phone call is overhead by all of the boys, they comfort you and reassure you that they are your true family

Thank you sm for your request!! I hope you enjoy this one too :)))

MAIN MASTERLIST

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"Y/Nnie! Lunch is ready," Chan called the maknae into the kitchen, plating up some food for her. Although they lived in different dorms now, Y/N staying with 3RACHA and Hyunjin, and Lee Know and Felix staying with VocalRACHA, they decided to do a whole group meal today.

Everyone was sat waiting at the table, before a sluggish looking Y/N padded into the kitchen, wiping sleep away from her eyes.

"Aw bless her, she looks exhausted," Felix whispered and frowned to Han, who nodded along.

"It's her mum and dad again, don't mention them yeah?" Han quietly replied, offering a light smile to Y/N when she plonked herself down into the chair opposite him.

"Mmm, what's for breakfast?" Y/N blinked her eyes rapidly, where redness could be seen around the lids. After an endless streams of texts from her parents last night, she cried herself to sleep, the boys doing their best to comfort her before she allowed herself to break down.

"It's lunch time, silly," Hyunjin fondly giggled as he ruffled her hair and placed a cup of tea down in front of her. "Here, peppermint tea, I know it's your favourite."

"Thanks Jinnie," Y/N tilted her head upwards and he smiled and scrunched his nose at her in response.

"It's nice having lunch together like this, I feel like we haven't done it in a while," Jeongin commented, twirling some ramen with his chopsticks.

"We had fried chicken at the company like two days ago," Changbin pointed out and laughed.

"Yeah but it's different being sat around the table with a home cooked meal," Lee Know nodded and agreed with Jeongin.

"It's different now, like sometimes I get a facetime and just have Seungmin staring at me whilst he eats like," Han starts laughing, and mimics the face the puppy like member of the group would pull.

"What do you think about eating on your own, Seungmin? Now that we've split into different dorms," Chan asked curiously from one end of the table.

"I love it so much," Seungmin genuinely and joyfully says, causing everyone to break out into laugh, Hyunjin's iconic cackle sticking out amongst them all. Even Y/N, in a tired quiet mood, broke out into a smile.

But that happy mood, was torn in half by the ringtone that blared from Y/N's phone. She picked up her phone and sighed when she saw the contact name, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Are you ok, Y/N?" Minho queried gently from next to her, making his tone more caring and comforting like he always did when he spoke to her. She was similar to Felix in that she had a sensitive heart.

"I'm f-fine, umm, I've got to take this," Y/N scoots out of her chair from the dining table, and walks round the corner from the kitchen into the hallway that followed down to their individual bedrooms.

"I'm worried about her," Jeongin spoke up, a frown tugging on his features, the corners of his mouth pulled downwards.

"I swear if that's her parents-" Changbin gritted his teeth.

"When will you come home and leave that useless job behind you?"

"Mum, why do you always do this to me? I'm doing something that I truly love and you always dismiss it!"

"I don't care about what you enjoy doing. You're not thinking about your family. How could you leave us like this? It's disrespectful. You've betrayed us!"

"I send money to you every month! I support you! I do everything I can, mum!"

"Your everything isn't good enough, Y/N. You're an embarrassment to the whole family."

"Mum don't say that!"

Then there was the sound of the phone call being hung up on, and Y/N quickly dashed past the opening of the hallway to rush into the bathroom.

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, girl. I thought you may have changed your mind after my wise words last night, but I can see you're still as stupid and ignorant as ever."

"Y/N-" Han stood up to stop her and grab her attention, but she had already slammed the door.

"Have they always been that bad?" Seungmin questioned, appalled at the phone call they all overheard.

In her tired state, Y/N must have put the call on loudspeaker, and not realised that the boys had heard it too.

"I knew they were bad but... hearing her own mother yell at her like that... I thought the texts were bad," Chan sighed and shook his head. His hands rested on the table and he cracked his knuckles together.

"Why, what happened with the texts? Hannie said just to act normal but..." Felix brought up what he had said earlier.

"Yesterday she got some threatening texts from her dad, telling her he'd fly over to Seoul and personally drag her back home, and if she didn't 'comply and obey him' he'd make sure that she'd 'pay for it'," Hyunjin sighed, quoting the exact words he read from Y/N's phone himself.

"That bastard threatened violence?!" Lee Know exclaimed in disbelief, his fist clenched tightly around the edge of the table.

"We should check on her," Jeongin got up as he shook his head, walking round to the bathroom and knocking on the door. "Y/Nnie? Do you want to talk about what happened, love? We all heard," he added onto the end.

"No, it's fine, Innie. I'm ok, please don't come in," Y/N's voice cracked. "I just want some time to myself," she whimpered from the cold bathroom floor, rocking back and forth as she tried to process the words her own mother threw at her once more. Her mind was frantically pulling her in all sorts of different directions, saying 'what if' a thousand times.

"Sweetheart, please talk to us, we're worried about you," Felix's deep voice came from the other side of the door.

"I'm fine," Y/N sniffled, shakily standing up as her head pounded from all of the stress.

"You're not, we can hear it in your voice, Y/Nnie," Lee Know said firmly, a hint of frustration in his voice but only because he cared about her so much.

"Please open the door, Y/N," Jeongin tried again, hand resting against the door.

"She's not going to, mate," Bang Chan sighed, slumping down into the sofa, stretching out his neck and body. "She said she wants to be alone."

But then, the lock to the bathroom door clicked, revealing an exhausted looking Y/N who had tear streams down her face, as well as red eyes and a red nose.

"I don't want to talk about it," Y/N could barely look up at the three members that had been stood outside of the bathroom waiting for her.

"That's fine, just come sit with us, yeah?" Felix grabbed her hand gently.

"Don't shut us out, please," Lee Know ducked his head down to look into her eyes, and the girl nodded, still looking down at her feet. He rested his hand on her lower back as they encouraged her to head through to the lounge.

"Come here," Hyunjin opened his arms immediately as soon as she entered the room and just like that she was glued to his side.

"Y/N, I know you won't want to talk about it, but let us talk to you, ok?" Changbin started, "The way you have been treated by your parents, is by all means, not ok."

"And we want you to know, because we heard what your mum said, you are enough for us," Seungmin added on.

Their kind words caused her to let out a sob, and she heard coos and hushes around her of 'oh, Y/N!'.

"Darling, please don't get upset," Han crouched down in front of Y/N and wiped her tears away, and Hyunjin's arms tightened around her.

"I-it's just, it's-" Y/N couldn't get her words out before another sob ripped from her throat.

"Y/Nnie, breathe, it's ok love, take your time," Chan gently spoke up, causing her to listen to his words and actively take some deep breaths.

"We won't let you feel down ever again from the things they had said or done to you," Lee Know promised.

"We're your family, Y/Nnie," Jeongin cracked a small smile, eyes glistening with tears of his own.

"I wish you had been my family from the start. I feel like I've wasted so much of my life already," Y/N cried out, her hands digging into her legs.

"Oh, if we could have been a group from the start I'm sure we would have. Just think this, you've got us now. I know it's easier said then done, but don't worry about the past. Let's just think about our future, ok?" Changbin said from next to her on the sofa, gently pulling her hands away from her lap to prevent her from causing more harm.

"But what if-" Y/N stuttered and stopped herself from continuing once more.

"There are no what ifs with us, Y/N," Hyunjin rubbed circles into her shoulders.

"Yeah, you're stuck with us now," Han joked, trying to lighten the mood, and it worked.

For a few more moments you revelled in the comfort of being with your members, your family before going on with the rest of your day. And if anyone asked Chan if he blocked your mum and dad's phone numbers, he'd say no, of course. If they were really worried, they had other ways of getting in contact. It wouldn't hurt anyone. Just make your lives easier as a family.

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @backintomykpopphaseagain @sakufilms @hanjiquokkaaa @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @cheesemonky

#skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fic #skz ninth imagines #skz ninth #skz ninth member imagines #skz ninth member #stray kids ninth #stray kids ninth member #skz 9th member reader #skz 9th member #stray kids 9th member

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mooshywrites · 2 months

Note

Hello hello! May I request a Halsin one shot or companion headcannons of how they would react to you having the flu? I've caught the most recent bug going around and it has absolutely floored me 😞🤧 thank you x

How they take care of you when you’re sick

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A/N ~ I’ve been so under the weather lately as well so I love this sm ;~;

Masterlist

Art commissions

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Astarion ~

~ Astarion was a very begrudging nurse

~ He couldn’t deny the fact that being around a sick person disgusted him on some level, but he couldn’t see you suffering alone

~ It was almost comical to watch him, grimacing as he approached your sniffling bundle of sick

~ He was so brave however, even landing a small kiss on your forehead as he situated you to be more comfortable

~ As a compromise, he settled in across the room, reading to you throughout the day to keep you company

~ In your sleepy and delirious state, you would feel him replacing the wet rag on your head, softly chiding you for having such a strong fever

~ Despite his attitude, you knew he was worried about you, rarely leaving you alone for more than a few minutes at a time

~ “Please get better soon, darling. I’m simply not cut out for such affectionate work”

Halsin ~

~ Halsin was a little lost when you came down with a cold that his healing magic didn’t fix

~ He had no basis of what to do when his magic failed, so it was interesting seeing him try to come up with ways to help

~ At first, all he could think to do was bundle you as tight as he could in a fluffy blanket, holding you close to keep away the chills

~ When that didn’t help your stuffy nose, instead of setting you down to try something else, he simply carried you around as he thought

~ You felt like an overgrown baby, bundled up and tucked tightly against the Druid’s chest

~ Finally, he decided the only remedy would be lots of affection and some very warm peppermint tea

~ He fed you the brew spoonful by spoonful, almost as if he didn’t trust you not to choke on it in your feverish state

~ “Sip slowly, my heart, can’t have you dying on me so suddenly”

Gale ~

~ When you started complaining to Gale that you were coming down with a cold, you expected the wizard to be a doting and affectionate partner

~ You did NOT expect him to become some sort of depraved mad scientist

~ After corralling you to the bed and snuggling you up in a plethora of blankets and giving you a smooch on the top of your head, he beelined it to the kichen

~ Your fever had you flitting in and out of sleep, so you didn’t quite know how much time had passed before Gale had returned

~ It took you a minute to realize what he was carrying, your eyes widening at the ray of various soups he had concocted

~ The rest of the day was spent lazily, your wizard reading to you from your favorite books as he rotated the soups for you to try

~ To your delight, most of them were delicious, though some neared the edge of all things bitter and medicinal

~ Gale’s hand never left your own, squeezing appreciatively as you tried every bowl

~ “Don’t eat too much now, I’m not quite sure how those potions will mix with each other, love.”

Wyll ~

~ Wyll was a nervous wreck when he realized you were sick

~ You had to spend most of the morning calming him down, convincing him not to wrap you up and race you to the nearest healer

~ You assured him it was a minor case of the sniffles, a minor fever that probably wouldn’t last the day

~ After he had finally relaxed, he insisted on waiting on you hand and foot

~ He was ever present, refilling your water and handkerchief before you could put it back on the table

~ The duke even poured a basin of warm water, keeping a hot towel over your feet constantly

~ It was nice being cared for so diligently, despite your hellishly progressing cold

~ When it reached evening and your cold hadn’t subsided, Wyll gently carried you to bed, tutting over you nervously

~ “Whether I have to kidnap you myself, you will be going to a healer tomorrow, my sweet.”

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starlitmark · 11 months

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Summary: San and Seonghwa are away from home during your heat, so they ask Yeosang to help you out. Pairing: Dragon!Yeosang x bunny fem!reader Tropes: hybrid au, poly au Genre: smut, fluff Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language, pet names, mentions of pregnancy Smut Warnings: heat, oral (f receive), dragon cock, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, mommy kink, light dacryphilia Word Count: 6,836 Note: enjoy this chapter of CTASF 🫶 dedicated to the amazing @downtoamagicalland and @mejuii I appreciate you both so much for beta-reading this for me!

Previously: Cuddles & Throw Blankets || CTASF Masterlist

Yeosang couldn’t believe his ears. It may very well be a dream, a very specific and weird dream. He’s sitting on Seonghwa’s tattoo bench while the elder dragon cleans up his back after a touch-up. Seonghwa looks at him through the full-length mirror in front of them. Yeosang isn’t sure how to react. He just stares at the blue-eyed dragon. It seems he wants an answer, and fast.

“You want me to what?” he jumps slightly when Seonghwa sprays a bit more disinfectant cleanser on his back.

“We want you to help Hops through her heat.” Seonghwa reiterates plainly while wiping the fresh tattoo.

“I don’t understand, won’t-” “San isn’t going to be here because he’s going on a business trip in Milan.” the black-scaled dragon explains, “I’m booked solid all week and won’t be able to stay at the lair and help her. We know she likes you a lot, and you like her. We trust you to help her through this.”

Yeosang’s electric green eyes slit thinner at Seonghwa through the mirror. This has to be a test. There’s no way it’s not. Seonghwa pats his bare shoulder, letting him know that he’s done cleaning. Yeosang looks up at his older friend, trying to determine if this is truly a test of his loyalty or if they genuinely want him to help their girlfriend. Seonghwa’s blue eyes dilate and give the bronze dragon a gentle smile.

“We’re serious, Sang. Take care of our girl for us.”

You’re fucked. Not literally; you wish you were literally being fucked. You hadn’t expected your heat to come while Seonghwa was out at the shop. San wasn’t even in the country. You have no idea what to do, and you can’t exactly leave the lair either, or you’ll get jumped by the first alpha that catches your scent. You called Seonghwa, but his phone went to voicemail. He’s likely working on that massive backpiece he sketched last week while you made some jewelry. You know San can’t fly back the day after he left, but still, you call him.

“Hello? You okay, treasure?” San’s early morning voice rings through your phone.

Your knees nearly buckle hearing his gravelly morning voice, “Sannie.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks with more concern.

“I- I don’t know what to do…” you whisper, “You’re in Milan, a-and Hwa isn’t answering his phone, but-” you cut yourself off.

You hear him shifting in bed, “Tell me what’s wrong, treasure.”

“My heat is starting….” you admit.

You hear him chuckle on the other end of the call. It makes a shiver run up your spine.

“Go find Yeosang, treasure.”

“W-what?”

“Hwa talked to him last week. He’ll take care of you this week while we can’t.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “I should go find Yeosang then. I feel myself getting hotter.”

“Mmm,” he hums, “you go do that, Hops. Keep me updated.”

“I will. I love you.”

“Love you too, Hops.”

You hang up the call and allow yourself to sniff out Yeosang’s distinct minty scent. Due to how sensitive everything is right now, you don’t have much difficulty sniffing him out. Then, of course, you get a mixture of pine and gingerbread from Mingi’s room. You know Yunho’s in there with him. There’s a strong pull to go in there and ask the tall oranged-eyed dragon to help you, but you go against your wishes and respect what your boyfriends deem best for you in this situation. After all, you’re absolutely not thinking straight anymore.

Your ears droop as you stand outside Yeosang’s door. His peppermint tea scent is soothing but also makes heat swirl low in your belly. Timidly, you knock on the door and wait for a response. You pick at the edges of your nails while you wait. It’s a habit both San and Seonghwa are trying to get you to stop, but you can’t seem to shake it.

“Come in, Hops.” you hear Yeosang call through the door.

You push the door open to find him sitting at his desk, looking over color swatches for his current project. Instead of sitting in the comfy armchair beside his desk, you stand on the fluffy area rug behind him, waiting for some sort of confirmation that he knows you’re there. You jump and let out a small squeak when the door snaps shut on its own accord behind you.

“It was just Jongho using one of his vines to close the door for you.” he states simply, not looking up from his papers.

“H-how did you know it was me?” you ask, now toying with the tip of your ear.

“Hops, I can smell you. We all can.” he tells you.

He turns around to face you, looking you up and down before walking over. He tips your chin up to look at him in the eye. Like with your boyfriends the first time, you feel the intense flight or fight reaction growing in you. Your nose twitches lightly out of a purely natural response.

“Your heat is here. You smell so fucking good. Like a batch of freshly baked sugar cookies.” he smirks, his bright green eyes almost swirling with desire.

“I- um,” you stutter, “Sannie told me to find you.” you blurt out.

He nods, “I chatted with Seonghwa last week when he touched up my tattoo. They want me to take care of you. How clear is your head still?”

“Pretty.” you breathe out, leaning up to hopefully move his pace along.

He places his other hand on your waist, pushing you back down to be flat on your feet.

“How long does your heat normally last, tiny bunny?”

“Max, eight days. Minimum, four.” you say.

Your eyes keep flitting back and forth between his eyes and lips. You feel tiny bits of crystals pricking your chin and hip, wanting to form from his fingertips. He’s holding back; you don’t want him to. Your snow-white ears fall flat against your head as you try to lean up again. You watch how his eyes slit thinner as a last resort to hold onto the last bits of self-control.

“Sangie,” you nearly moan, “please take care of me.”

“Hops, you know we need to at least-”

“It hurts. I just need you in me now.” you beg.

Yeosang growls before surging forward to place his lips against yours. You let a whine slip past your lips into the kiss. Feeling his lips against yours finally makes heat rush through your body even more than your heat typically causes. Your tail flutters lightly behind you, reveling in the affection you’re receiving from the bronze dragon hybrid. The way he kisses you steals the air from your lungs. The longer he kisses you, the more you feel slick gushing from between your thighs.

When you’re about ready to beg again, you feel the back of your legs hit his mattress. You pull back and let yourself fall against his bed despite wanting to stay lost in the kiss. When you make eye contact, you feel the rush of fight or flight again. Only this time, you feel your thighs part and lay against the mattress. Yeosang’s green eyes are nearly fully engulfed in the electric color. His pupils are hardly visible at this point. His veiny arms have barely there dustings of shiny bronze scales. One of those arms comes closer to you. You feel the few scales on his forearm graze against your exposed skin. He runs two fingers along the fabric of your shorts. The shorts aren’t doing much, though. They’re stuck to your puffy, soaked folds, leaving little to the imagination.

“Look at that, Hops.” he muses, “You’ve leaked through these itty bitty shorts of yours. Are you that needy already?”

“Yeosang, please,” you practically cry, “I need you so bad.”

Yeosang doesn’t waste another moment. His body is over yours, and you can feel his hard length grinding against your sopping wet core. You release a continuous stream of whines and moans in lieu of begging him to fuck you properly. Within moments you’ve managed to soak the front of his pants in your slick. You’re so far gone already, though, that you’re shameless about it. Yet again, though, he pulls away from your body, and you let out a noise of dissatisfaction at his action. He slips your soaked shorts off your body, watching how a string of slick stretches from your pussy to the fabric for a few moments. The sleep shorts are discarded on the floor; you couldn’t be bothered to check where.

“I’ve heard,” he chuckles, kneeling down next to the bed, “that omega slick, specifically, bunny omega slick, tastes amazing. I think I better have a taste, don’t you think?”

“Yeosang,” you whimper.

He smirks and starts placing small kisses along your inner thigh, reaching about two inches from where you need him most before switching legs and kissing that one instead. You buck your hips up, hoping he finally gives you the attention you desperately crave. The more time he takes, the more your mind is fogged by your heat. You don’t know how to communicate how desperate you truly are; you aren’t even sure words exist to describe your feelings.

When you feel you’re about to burst at the seams, Yeosang licks a wide stripe over your folds. Your thighs quiver at the feeling. When your eyes meet, you see how the vibrant green seems to almost swirl in his eyes. It’s entrancing the way he looks at you as if you’re his prey but also as if you’re the only woman in the world. The sight makes your heat swirl more aggressively through your body. His tongue explores every bit of your swollen pussy it can. Slurping and kissing noises are the only thing heard besides your moans. You briefly look at him and see his sharp canine teeth shine. A jolt of fear runs through your system before it’s quickly overtaken by lust again.

“So fucking good.” he hums against your folds, “The rumors are true; omega bunny slick tastes like heaven. Tastes as good as you smell, little bunny.”

“Sangie,” you whine, earning a hum of acknowledgment from the bronze dragon, “need you- need you inside me. Please, inside me now.”

He nods and places a soft kiss against the hood of your clit one last time before standing up. You drag your (San’s) t-shirt off your body and toss it somewhere else in the room. You watch as Yeosang strips in front of you. Your ears fall flat against your hair, and your thighs squeeze together, seeing how gorgeous he is beneath his clothes. His muscles are sculpted everywhere; it’s enough to make you drool (more than you already might be). The sight of his tattoo makes your mind reel with different debauched thoughts. The way the long sword goes down his spine with a crescent moon behind it in the center. The sword’s hilt starts at the base of his neck, and the blade’s tip stops about an inch above his hips. It suits him well, and you can imagine how gorgeous it looks when his back muscles are flexed.

When he turns back to you, you think you may combust from the desperation you have for the green-eyed dragon. First, your eyes flit across his muscles—how his toned torso makes your tail flutter behind you. Then your eyes fall to the muscles of his lower stomach, how they lead your eyes to one place. Finally, you feel a gush of slick leak from your needy hole. His cock is something you’ve never experienced before. You thought at first, maybe, that the differences between your boyfriends’ cocks were simply coincidental due to how the dragon genetics worked for each of them. Now though, you know that each dragon has something unique.

Yeosang’s is on the longer side. You’ll struggle a little bit to take him just due to how tiny you are compared to him and all the Thunder, if you’re being completely honest. He has spiral grooves down the entirety of his member. You know, not only will it feel phenomenal having him inside you, but also that it’ll make for a very pretty sight when he cums inside you.

You must’ve made a noise of some sort because Yeosang chuckles at you. He reclaims his place over you. His tip barely grazes against your entrance. He leans down, just far enough away that you can’t kiss him. His dark hair is falling down in his face as he looks at you. A playful smirk finds its way onto his lips.

“Your eyes are so dilated, little bunny. I can hardly see the blue anymore. Are you really that needy?”

“Yeosang,” you nearly sob, “I need you so bad. Please just fuck me already. Need you, need you so bad. Breed me, fuck me, use me. Please!”

“Shh,” he hushes your sobs, wiping a stray tear from your eye in the process. “I got you, little bun.”

His tip prods through your folds, and he slowly pushes into you. Your hands fly to grip the back of his hair as he takes his time. Your fingers dance along a few bronze scales along his hairline. You can’t see them, but tracing them with your fingertips is enough for now. You desperately want to tell him he doesn’t need to be so careful. But, the tiny bit of logical thinking you have left knows he’ll still take his time with this part, at least.

“You’re so fucking wet, Hops. You smell so fucking good too. Fuck.” he muses through soft pants.

“Sangie,” you beg, “more. I need more.”

“We’re about halfway, bun. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m in fucking heat. Fuck me like you mean it.”

You notice how he takes a sharp breath in. Despite your rather enticing pleas, he’s trying to keep himself levelheaded and patient. He keeps his slow pace as he pushes each inch into you. Once he’s fully sheathed inside you, he searches your face again for discomfort. Not a single clue of that is found, though. Instead, he’s met with the most lust-filled, debauched look he’s ever seen.

“Sangie, fuck me. It’s too hot. ‘M too hot. Need you so bad.” you whine.

“Are you sure?”

“Fuck me right now!” you demand, “Or I’ll go find one of the others to do it.”

His eyes go narrow at your comment. The same kind of possessive look that San gives the others if they get too close when he’s in a bad mood. It’s extremely hot. You find yourself baring your neck in submission to him and your nose twitching again out of some sort of twisted lust-fueled fear.

“That’s a good little bunny.” he says condescendingly, “Now, are you ready for me to take care of this bothersome heat?”

“P-please, Yeosang, you already feel so good.” you admit.

He gives a shallow thrust just to see how you react to it. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head, and one of your ears twitches in pleasure. The way the grooves of his cock feel inside you send you beyond cloud nine. You’re tight around him, tighter than anyone else he’s fucked in the past. San and Seonghwa were right, fucking a pretty little bunny is an indescribable experience. He thrusts into you slowly at first. Yeosang studies every movement and facial expression you make. That is until your hands dance away from his hair and dig into his shoulders. Something about digging your blunt nails into his skin makes him insane.

His thrusts instantly become rough. You let out a choked moan, and your fingers dug into his skin just a bit more. Finally, he presses his body down against yours fully. The feeling of his skin against yours makes your mind go in a million different directions at once. You find yourself hooking your ankles together behind his back. You just want him as close as you can possibly get him. Your orgasm is already bubbling so close to the surface just because of how his cock is and how desperate you are.

You don’t warn him when your orgasm comes bursting through you. You spasm beneath him, your nails digging deeper into his skin. He gasps and lets out a moan. The sound alone makes you feel as though you may cum again instantly. His thrusts get stronger and faster as you ride out your high. The spiral grooves make the whole experience even more euphoric, even though you didn’t think it possible—your tail twitches and shivers behind you, and your ears and nose twitch.

“Fuck, Hops.” he groans in your ear, “I’m gonna fuck this little pussy full. You want me to breed you full, hmm?” “Please, Yeosang, please! Breed me full of your hatchlings. I need it so bad.” you beg as the slow burn of a second orgasm builds.

Yeosang growls again, and his sharp teeth prick at your neck. You can feel small bits of crystals on his fingertips again. The slight pain of the sharpness of both his teeth and crystals feel so good in an odd way. You want more. When he cums he buries himself fully inside you, stilling as he cums. You can feel the cum filling you and sliding back out via the grooves in his cock. As much as you’d love to be plugged up by him and his cum you know that the sight of your small hole leaking his cum is probably much prettier.

“So fucking good for me.” he muses, kissing your collarbone.

“Sangie,” you whimper, running your fingers through his hair.

“Hmm?”

“I think I’ll be okay for an hour or so before another wave comes.” you explain, “After a quick nap can we go to my nest?”

He nods, “If that’s what’ll make you comfortable, bun.”

Yeosang kisses your lips softly before pulling out of you and stepping away to find something to clean you both up with. He returns with a small towel and begins the process of cleaning as gently as he can. You try to pull away from him a few times, whining about how you want to keep his cum leaking out of you. He’s not letting that happen, though. He knows not only will your boyfriends kill him if he doesn’t care for you properly but also that it’s not healthy for you to have it in you for too long.

Once you’re both cleaned up, Yeosang quickly lifts you and places you under a light sheet on his bed. You requested not to have the comforter (as amazing as it smelled) because you knew you’d get far too hot too fast. Yeosang climbs under the sheet after you. You almost instantly find yourself nestling your head against his muscular chest, and he starts petting your ears. This is comfortable. This feels right.

“Sangie,” you ask, half asleep.

“Yes, bun?”

“Can you make any mineral?”

“Yeah, any mineral or mineral compounds. Why did I hurt you at all accidentally?” he starts to worry.

“No, no.” you chuckle, snuggling closer, “Can you make them any shape too?”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he holds his hand that isn’t wrapped around you, palm up. You watch different minerals appear in the air just above his palm and slowly form into a crystal shaped like a small rabbit. It’s a pale blue color with slightly lighter blue banding around it. The rabbit is comfortably lying with its ears back. The newly formed crystal lowers onto his palm, and he moves it so it’s pinched between his fingers.

“Any shape, any minerals.”

“Why this one?” you ask quietly.

“Blue lace agate,” he starts, “stone of communication. People become more confident and articulate regarding their emotions due to this stone. You’re kind of like that for the Thunder. That’s why. We never really talked out our fights or disagreements before you came along. So having you here really makes a difference, Hops.”

You lift your head up slightly and look at him. His electric eyes are filled with sincerity. His typically thinly slit pupils are dilated, showing his affection toward you. Your ears are standing upright now. Yeosang chuckles lightly, and you give him a confused look. He reaches up and scratches the base of your pure white ears.

“Your ears keep turning to listen to everything.” he explains.

“O-oh,” you find yourself becoming shy, “I didn’t even realize I was doing that.”

“I know,” he smiles softly, “that’s why I laughed. It was cute.”

You’re about to respond, but a light knock sounds on the door. One of your ears shoots toward the sound, and then you properly turn your head toward it. Yeosang sighs but calls to let the person know they can come in. You can smell them through the door, though. It’s Jongho. You can’t mistake his book smell for anyone else. He doesn’t look up at first when he pushes the door open. Instead, his eyes are fixated on the tall tumbler filled with some sort of tea.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it smells like Christmas threw up in h-”

He quickly shuts up when he looks over at the bed where you and Yeosang are still lying. The sheet doesn’t cover your upper body, but you’re not exposed. He can only see your back since your chest is half against the mattress and half against Yeosang’s chest. Jongho quickly turns around, nearly knocking over a houseplant with his dark blue tail. You feel a chuckle start to rise in your throat, but then the heat of a blush runs through your body when you feel Yeosang pull the sheet up over your shoulders. Jongho stays facing Yeosang’s bookshelf when he starts talking again.

“I made some tea for her to drink. It’s that one with the, um, the pregnancy prevention whatever flower.”

Yeosang chuckles, “Yeah, ‘the pregnancy prevention whatever flower’, you’re the damn flora dragon. So you should know the name of it, right?”

“That’s not important right now. I’m putting it on the shelf over here. Get it when you want.”

You sigh, “Just bring it over here. There’s a little table next to me.”

Jongho visibly tenses up, and you see how small vines twine around his fingers. You aren’t trying to make him feel uncomfortable. That’s the last thing you want to do. You just want to offer him a more straightforward solution. Slowly, Jongho turns around, putting a hand in front of his eyes so he only sees just the ground in front of him. He ends up stubbing his toe on the small table anyway. Jongho lets out a slightly pained noise and sets the cup down. You reach over and grab his wrist before he can pull his hand away. The sheet falls off your one shoulder, but your back remains mostly covered.

“Jongho,” you speak softly.

Finally, he takes the hand covering his eyes away and makes eye contact with you. His golden eyes are swirling with some sort of emotion you can’t find words to describe. You don’t say anything at first but offer him a gentle smile. He keeps the same slightly panicked but attentive face.

“Thank you,” you say, “I really appreciate the tea. Is your foot okay?”

“Y-yeah! Great!” he answers a little too quickly, “I’ll just go before another wave hits you.” he chuckles awkwardly before releasing his wrist from your hold.

Jongho is out the door within seconds, and vines stretch back to shut the door behind him. Your heart sinks a little bit, thinking you made him uncomfortable. Yeosang must’ve noticed because his arm wraps tighter around you. When you look up at him, you see a smile resting on his lips while he looks at you. You reach up and run your fingers through his hair along his hairline. He leans into the touch each time your fingertips run across his shiny scales.

“You’re trying to distract me.” he muses, though his eyes stay closed.

“Why do you say that?” you muse back.

“You’re brushing through my hair, but I can smell that your sweet sugar cookie scent is slightly burnt now. What’s wrong?”

You sigh, “I made him uncomfortable.”

“Jongho?” he asks. You nod in response, “You didn’t, little bunny. He doesn’t want to cross a line that he can’t.”

You choose not to think about what he means by that, “Can we go to my nest now?”

“Of course, little bunny. Can you bear to have clothes on for a little bit while we go down the hall to your room?”

You nod at him. He gets up with a slight groan and walks to his closet. He grabs a hoodie and stops at his dresser to grab a pair of sweatpants. Once he’s standing in front of you again, he holds the hoodie up and gently slips it over your head. You think you may not make it to your nest being so wrapped up in his scent. But, when you slide your arms into the sleeves and pop your head out, you see Yeosang looking at you with that same endearing look from earlier.

“You look good in my clothes.” he tells you, “We should keep you this way.”

“Don’t start being protective like Sannie.” you pout.

“Little bunny, you walked into being coveted the moment you joined the Thunder.” he muses.

He offers you a hand to help you stand up. When you stand, the hoodie falls down to be the length of a short dress on you. Yeosang’s sweatpants hang low on his hips, and you desperately want to tug them down and learn what it feels like to have his cock down your throat. You somehow maintain your composure, though, and watch as he grabs your tea from the nightstand. You start your short walk down the hallway, and soon as you’re about halfway down the hall. You feel a second wave of heat takes over your body. You feel the slick coating your thighs, and when Yeosang whips his head around to face you, his eyes are wide. You’re stood in the middle of a communal space in a lust-drunk state. This could get bad, fast. Luckily your room is just another five steps away. He drags you in, shuts the door tightly behind him, and places the tumbler on the small desk next to the door.

He doesn’t expect you to pin him against the door when he closes it. He had expected you to grovel in front of him, begging for his cock again as you had just a little bit ago. Now you’re confident and demanding for him to submit to you. Nothing could’ve prepared him for you in this frame of mind. You’re typically rather meek and prefer to be guided than guide someone else. Seeing you like this, it does something to him. He bears his neck to you as you bury your face against his chest. You’re still so small compared to him; he could easily overpower you if he wanted to. Yet, he doesn’t want to. He wants to submit to you.

“Hops,” he tries to sound firm, though it comes out rather meek.

“Sangie,” you mirror with a sultry tone.

“What are you playing at?”

“Strip and go lay down.” you practically demand, “I’m riding that cock until you cry.”

The rush of something strange goes through him. Yeosang’s never been talked to like that by anyone, especially a prey hybrid. He wants more. Letting you control everything sounds like something he’ll thrive in. Will he ever tell the rest of the Thunder what he’s letting you do? Never. But the rush of submitting to a little bunny has him practically melting in your touch.

When you release him from his place pinned against the door, he releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He slips his sweatpants off his body and walks toward your nest. You stalk up behind him and wrap your small body around him from behind. Your hand snakes down to wrap around his cock. Yeosang lets out a whine like he’s never done before. He feels pliant, ready to bend to whatever you choose at that moment. He tries to buck up into your touch, but you immediately release your hold on him.

“We’re playing my way now, okay, little dragon?” you question condescendingly.

“Y-yes,” he pants.

“Hmm? What was that?” you ask again.

“Yes, m-mommy.” he quips.

You chuckle victoriously and let him climb into your nest. He shifts a little bit back and forth to get comfortable in the space. The scents of Seonghwa and San are prevalent in the room, but they aren’t unwelcome at all. Still, your sugar cookie scent is so overwhelming and powerful that it makes Yeosang’s cock leak a bit of precum in anticipation of being wrapped up in your soaked, swollen pussy again. You crawl over his form and sit right on top of his cock. The spiral grooves of it feel like heaven when you start grinding against him.

“Please,” he whines, his eyebrows furrowing with desire.

“Who are you talking to like that?” you bite.

You lean down to nibble at his throat. Small bits of caramel and dark brown colored stone start rising from his fingertips. The deep color is laced with the fiery red of another stone that desperately wants to form. Pulling back, you notice how his dark pupils nearly overtake his bright green eyes. You’ve never seen his eyes blown so wide, but it makes you even more cocky.

“Go on. Ask nicely, and maybe I’ll let this useless cock inside me after all.”

“Please, Mommy. Please use me.”

That rush of power runs through you again, and a gush of slick escapes your needy hole. Raising yourself up on your knees, you hold the dragon hybrid’s member just below your entrance. Tears prick lightly at the corners of Yeosang’s green eyes as you lower yourself onto him. A pornographic sigh escapes your lips as you feel him fully sheathed inside you. You don’t give him a moment to process how good you feel around him. He desperately wants to hold you. Touch you anywhere you let him as you ride him. Your pace is anything but gentle; your pussy makes squelching noises each time you bounce down on him. An orgasm already threatens to snap inside you despite just starting this round. Something about the grooves running down his shaft makes you feel a way that you’ve never felt before. You’ll have to try out all the Thunder members at this rate to see how good each one of them feels. Another time though.

“Mommy, you’re squeezing me too tight. Wanna- gonna-”

You still your movements, “No. You don’t cum until I say so.”

“But-” he looks like he may cry, “Don’t you wanna be bred, Mommy?”

“Of course, sweet boy, you’ll wait until mommy cums, though. Then you can breed me all you want.”

You start riding him again and let your orgasm tighten in your lower belly. Then, before you can process anything, you feel that tightly wound chord snap. Your walls spasm around him. He lets out small whimpers and whines at the feeling, holding off his own orgasm as best he can. Your soft white ears fall back as you let the orgasm take control of your body, and your tail twitches and shivers with each bounce you do.

“Breed me, little dragon. Breed, Mommy.” you sigh as you come down from your high.

“T-thank you, Mommy.”

Yeosang cums hot and fast inside you. His already pitchy whines become even more pitchy and whiny somehow. You don’t give him a break, even as he releases inside you. Your harsh, fast pace continues making for an even needier dragon beneath you. He practically wails when he comes down from his high and realizes how harshly you’re still riding him. Yeosang’s eyes well up with tears, and you watch as those tears roll down his cheeks a moment later. His hands grip your waist tightly, and the red and brown crystals prick at your skin.

“‘S too much. Mommy, too much!” he begs for a break.

“I told you I’m riding this cock until I’m satisfied, and” you pause and lean down to his ear, “I’m not satisfied yet.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, hearing you whisper in his ear. He’s not sure if he wants to cry more or try to take control of the situation. His head is so fogged with you, your scent, your pussy. He doesn’t know how to handle it anymore. His arms go limp at his sides again, letting you do whatever you want to him. Time feels like an illusion to both of you at this point. You’re unsure how many rounds you go or how filthy the nest is from the mixture of cum and slick.

The power shifts back and forth between you throughout the next few hours. You can smell the others roaming about the apartment, trying very hard not to focus on the sugar cookies and peppermint tea scents coming from your nest. This wave of heat seems to be much longer and more intense than any other you’ve experienced all the time you’ve had your heat. Maybe it’s just because you have a proper partner this time; perhaps it’s because of something else. Right now, though, you don’t have the energy or level-headedness to figure it out.

Yeosang is resting beside you. He deserves it after the amount you put him through, regardless of who controlled the situation. He’s lying on his stomach with his head turned toward you. He looks exceptionally peaceful despite the intensity of the situation. You let your fingers card through his hair a few times, admiring the bronze scales along his hairline. Slowly, your hand dances lower to trace his tattoo lightly. Goosebumps appear on his skin as your fingertips trace the art. Having Yeosang in your nest is already amazing, but having him be so comfortable in this space with you is an even better feeling.

You almost get lost in your thoughts but hear knocking on the door. One of your ears again turns toward the sound. You call the person in since you’re between waves. The door creaks open carefully, and then you’re hit with a hefty waft of your elder boyfriend’s scent. You’ve been so engulfed in Yeosang’s scent you didn’t even register Seonghwa’s scent. He steps into the room fully before shutting it tightly behind him. Grabbing the tea on the way, he sits on the bed beside you.

“How are you feeling, my love?” he asks, passing you the tea.

You take a sip, “Good! Yeosang’s been really helping a lot.”

Seonghwa’s eyes dart over to the bronze dragon, “How is he fairing?” he asks, moving a lock of Yeosang’s hair out of his face.

“I really wore him out,” you admit with a blush. Seonghwa chuckles and yawns, “What time is it?”

“Nearly midnight. You should get some rest while you can.”

You nod, “Good night, Hwa. I love you.”

He smiles, “I love you too. I’ll see you once your heat is officially done.” he kisses your cheek before heading toward the door, “Don’t forget to finish that tea. We can’t have hatchlings running around just yet.”

Your heat lasts a few more days. Yeosang manages to keep up somehow. San calls a few times between waves and chats with you both. Once, he called in the midst of a wave and spoke to you during it. You couldn’t recall what you talked about, well, more like what he was telling you. Jongho popped in a few more times to give you more tea. Each time was just as awkward as the first. Still, you find yourself thinking about the navy dragon and wondering what Yeosang meant by the younger not wishing to cross a line.

The two of you stayed locked up in your nest. Yeosang, at one point, tried to leave, and you had a breakdown about it. The dragon quickly learned, do not leave you alone during your heat or bad things happen. You sobbed uncontrollably in his lap for five minutes until you felt grounded again. You do not know how long it has been, nor do you care. All you know is San is home when you’re finally stable enough to reemerge from your room. Your nose twitches as his familiar sea breeze scent fills it. You bounce down the hallway to see him placing his luggage down. He chuckles, seeing you, and you throw yourself into his arms. His strong arms wrap around your waist tightly. Seonghwa isn’t home. He’s likely at the studio already nose-deep in work. San gives a knowing look to Yeosang before the bronze dragon speaks.

“I tried to tell her to stay in the nest and let you come to her.” Yeosang explains, “She wouldn’t listen, though.”

“Did Sangie take care of you, treasure?”

You nod into his shoulder, “Very well.”

“You smell so much like him right now.” he playfully growls, “You’re not in heat anymore?” “No,” you chuckle, “I had my heat crash this morning.”

“It was not a pretty sight,” Yeosang interjects, “I’ve never seen her breakdown like that before.”

You pull yourself out of your boyfriend’s hold to walk back over to Yeosang. Then, wrapping your arms around his shoulders (causing you to be on your tip toes), you gently kiss him on the nose.

“You took such good care of me! No one’s ever taken care of me in heat like that,” you admit.

Yeosang communicates with San silently before wrapping his arms around your middle, “I’m happy I could help, little bunny.”

Later that night, once Seonghwa returns home from the studio, he finds San sitting in the bronze dragon’s bedroom. Seonghwa narrows his eyes. His pupils are slit thin. Something is up. He knows it. He steps into the room and finds that you and Yeosang are there too. You’re happily curled up in Yeosang’s lap while chatting with your boyfriend. San’s body language conveys his relaxedness despite you sitting on Yeosang.

“Seonghwa!” you beam, running up to hug him.

“Hi, bun. You feeling better now?”

“Much,” you giggle, your blue eyes sparkling up at him, “We actually wanted to ask you something.”

Seonghwa’s eyes dart his eyes between the three of you, searching for some sort of non-verbal answer. You smile sweetly, hoping to soothe him slightly. Unfortunately, his typically sweet strawberry jam scent seems a bit sour due to the lack of conversation right now. You climb out of Yeosang’s lap and walk over to Seonghwa. Taking his hands in yours, you look up into his bright blue eyes. How your eyes sparkle looking at him gives him hope of a good question and his strawberry jam scent returns to its standard sweetness.

“Sannie and I talked after he got home and agreed that we really like Yeosang in this dynamic. He took great care of me and didn’t take advantage of me even though he could’ve at any point. And-” you pause, “I know you chose him to care for me for a reason.”

Seonghwa’s brows furrow briefly, then melt into a sweet smile, “So what do you, Sannie, and Sangie want to ask me?”

“How do you feel about Yeosang joining our relationship?” San questions.

Seonghwa looks at the green-eyed dragon who has yet to chime in. His eyes ask a silent question. He already knows the answer, though. A small piece of Carnelian had formed in the bronze dragon’s palm, giving away his thoughts.

“What do you want, Yeosang?” Seonghwa asks gently.

“I want-” Yeosang shifts in his chair slightly, “I would really like it if you would let me join this relationship.”

Your eyes plead for Seonghwa to answer with a yes. Of course, you already know he will, but it never hurt to give him your sparkly begging eyes too. Seonghwa smirks at San, then lets his hand lightly stroke your cheek.

“And to think, San was getting all jealous just before I talked to Yeosang about helping you. Anything to say for yourself, Sannie?”

San shrugs, “Change of heart, I guess.”

“So?” Yeosang asks, almost meekly.

“Welcome to our relationship Yeosang. You better get some of your clothes in Hops’ nest before she steals some.”

You giggle, “I don’t think his scent is coming out of that thing any time soon.”

“San and I better get our scents back in that thing, huh?” he asks with a suggestive lilt.

“H-hwa?”

“I think it might be time to play with our bunny again. What do you think, San?”

“I think so too.” he chuckles, “You coming, Yeosang?” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @sanjoongie @jaehunnyy @ericssmile @anyamaris

#yeosang smut #cultofdionysusnet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #yeosang fanfic #yeosang x reader

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marlenesluv · 8 months

Text

Sick Day. (CL)

summary: you woke up not feeling good, having to cancel on your date with charles, but he has an idea.

warnings: none! this is pure fluff.

note: lowercase intended!

masterlist here -> masterlist link

^ check my list for all my other works! ^

waking up sick was one of the worst things to happen. the scratchy throat, runny nose, and coughing up a lung. another horrible thing? having to cancel on your boyfriend on a day he took off to spend with you.

you grabbed your phone at six thirty in the morning, way too early to be up, but your cough had woken you. quickly, you texted charles, wanting to let him know that your day was officially off. you didn’t want to get him sick, but you also don’t think you had it in you to get dressed.

after sending your messages, you grabbed a cup and filled it with cold tap water, taking some advil and an allergy pill for your runny nose.

you then grabbed a mug and made some peppermint tea, which always helped to alleviate some of the obnoxious symptoms.

putting on gilmore girls, you nestled under your fuzzy blanket and watched as rory talked to logan. just then, your phone went off a few times

you grumbled, wishing your boyfriend wasn’t so stubborn. the last thing you wanted was to get him sick and cost him a race.

sniffling, you tapped on your screen, replying to him in hopes he hadn’t left yet.

it was futile. you accepted it as you continued to watch your show, sipping on your tea as you continued to cough and sniff. the allergy pill hadn’t kicked in yet, advil the same, a headache forming.

ten minutes later, you heard your door unlock. knowing it was charles, you shimmed further underneath your blanket, hoping he would stay outside of you blanket and away from your germs.

“ma chérie? i know you’re in the living room. i hear your show on.” charles shouted, taking his shoes off by the door and walking into the living room, finding gilmore girls playing and a blanket over his girlfriend.

“baby, what are you doing under there?” as he finished his sentence, he lifted a corner of the blanket up, causing you to stuff your head into the pillow and yank the blanket back down.

“you can’t just hide under there…” he trailed off, because he knew you could.

he walked to the kitchen with his bag in one hand, taking the soup out and grabbing your favorite hoodie, freshly sprayed with his cologne, and he had been wearing it yesterday.

“chérie? i put my hoodie on the coffee table if you want it, i’m going to warm up some soup for us.” you groaned in reply, waiting for his step to retreat as you poked your head out and slipped the hoodie on, breathing in his cologne, already feeling a little better.

however, that didn’t last long as charles snuck behind the couch and jumped over the back, hugging you like a mad man.

“charles! no! get off of me! i’m going to get you sick. go away!” you yelped, trying to escape his strong arms. curse him and his extensive workouts.

“absolutely not. i miss you and we will spend the day together if it’s the last thing i do.” he tightened his arms before pressing a kiss to your forehead before he got up and grabbed the soup.

you pulled the blanket over your arms as you watched him walk around your kitchen like it was his own. the fact that he had been here a thousand times and you still got butterflies was insane. you loved him beyond words, the little things, even after three years, made you fall even more.

little things like: bringing you coffee in the morning, spending the night watching movies, and now, warming you some soup because you’re sick.

“here. chicken noodle and toast. what episode are you on?” charles asked, pulling some of the blanket on his lap as he started to eat his soup.

“logan and rory and arguing. she made an article making fun of privileged people-“ he cut you off before you could finish.

“-even though she is privileged? she’s annoying this season.” you giggled, smiling at the tv and laying your head on charles’ shoulder.

before you started dating, he had never seen a second of the show. now? he’s seen gilmore girls over 5 times, the first watch with you, the second was so he could understand it better, and the rest have been with you.

so, yeah, charles knew almost every scene, but so did you. you didn’t need words when you were next to him. fever and all, the only thing on your mind was the beautiful boy next to you.

“i love you, chérie.” charles said as he kissed your head, making you blush.

“i love you too, beau.”

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ma chérie - my darling

chérie - darling

beau - handsome

(all french)

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(reposts, comments, and likes are appreciated!^-^)

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x y/n #formula one #f1 #formula 1 #charles leclerc fluff

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ohtobeleah · 8 months

Text

Bruises // Jake Seresin

Chapter One: [Happily Ever Afters Don’t Exist]

Summary: A certain naval aviator shows up on your front doorstep right on cue. Because when the nightmares are too hard to handle on their own? You and Jake find solace in one another’s presence.

Word Count: 2.5k

Series Warnings: Heavy themes of violence, sexual assault, torture. 18+ content. Minors DNI. Mature themes. Being held in captivity. Hostage style situation. Main character death! Whump, Angst. Conversations that discuss antisocial & antisemitism views.

Author Note: THIS SERIES IS CONFRONTING, FICTIONAL, AND DEPICTS IMAGES OF TORTURE. DO NOT READ PAST THIS POINT IF YOU BELIEVE THAT THIS SERIES WILL BE DETRIMENTAL TO YOUR MENTAL STABILITY. CURATE YOUR OWN TIMELINE.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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Sunday- August 13th 2023. Present Day

We all remember the bedtime stories of our childhoods. The shoe that fits Cinderella, the frog that turns into a prince, Sleeping Beauty is awakened with a kiss. Once upon a time and then they lived happily ever after.

Fairy tales—the stuff of dreams. The problem is, fairy tales don’t come true. It’s the other stories, the ones that begin with dark and stormy nights, and end in the unspeakable. It’s the nightmares that always seem to become reality.

You shot up from your spot in your bed trying to regulate your breathing from yet another nightmare, the nightmares you already lived through that your mind, body and soul couldn’t let go of, the overwhelming fear had triggered yet another panic induced asthma attack. Your inhaler sat close by on your bedside table.

You came to quickly realise after all that you’d been through that the person that invented the phrase ‘Happily Ever After’ Should have his ass kicked and kicked hard. Because ‘Happily Ever After’ Didn’t exist.

Sleep didn't come easy anymore, especially at night. Since you’d been on mandated medical leave you did your best to sleep during the day and stay awake all night, just to keep the voices in your head silent. It did little to curve the nightmares though, the sounds of tortuous screams that would send you into a dizzying fit of terrors until you realised you were safe. That you were home and that you were in your own bed, not on some dirty cell floor a million miles away with no hope of ever seeing your loved ones again.

A knock at your front door in the middle of the night would usually have your heart racing. People don't knock on peoples doors in the middle of the night, and if they do? Your mother always taught you not to answer unless you were expecting company.

As you padded over to your front door with a warm cup of peppermint tea in your hand, you had to wonder what one it was this time that brought the wounded soul to your doorstep. You opened your front door to reveal the very person you had actually been expecting for all the wrong reasons. He stood with his shoulders slumped in his grey sweats and an old longhorns T-shirt that looked worse than he did. Sad emerald green eyes met yours as he ran a nervous hand through his sandy locks, hell, this never got any easier.

Jake Seresin showing up on your doorstep at one in the morning had become a thing. On the nights he wasn't dragging his tail up your three porch steps, you were banging against his courtyard gate. Both as desperate for company as each other. Yet neither of you would admit you were struggling. But the unspoken was as loud as silence could ever be.

You’d both witnessed and experienced the unthinkable, unspeakable acts of violence that should have killed you both. But yet here you were, making him peppermint tea at one in the morning, trying to hide the fact whenever you looked at him all you saw was the way his body bled and bruised.

“What one was it this time?” You asked as you handed Jake the tea you'd made for him, having expected him any minute now. He still had bruises that littered his cheeks and eye socket. Doctors had reassured you that his broken jaw would heal in time, for someone with the gift of the gap not talking though was a difficult task. But being in an induced coma for the first week since being admitted helped the swelling a lot. He looked more like himself now.

Lieutenant Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin. The very embodiment of a human ken doll. He looked like the Jake you knew before the mission that nearly killed you both. Everyday that passed he looked less and less like the version of himself that would have said or done anything to keep you alive. That had done everything he could have.

“The one where they made me hurt you.” Jake mumbled as he stepped past the threshold of your humble abode and accepted the cup of warm peppermint tea you had made for him. He appreciated the warm sensation, it grounded him. “I get that one alot, whenever I close my eyes–” Jake paused as he drank in the sight of you. You looked healthier now. Brighter. Your eyes weren't so full of fear and your lip wasn't as split anymore. “All I see is you and how I couldn’t save you.”

You and Jake had shared all your darkest nightmares with one another, he was the only person who understood what you were going through, what you sounded like while your skin was cut and your bones were broken. He was the only one who understood when you told him your body didn’t feel like yours anymore. And you were the only one who understood what it was like to want to die just to feel peace. To escape hell. You’d seen the limits each other could tolerate, and you'd seen each other's breaking points. Neither of you could escape the burning guilt you held for each other. It was a bond that you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy.

With all the love you held for each other you’d both agreed now just wasn’t the right time. A relationship seemed like the worst thing to jump head first into after experiencing hell on earth. But with that mutual understanding came a deep hesitation to believe any of it was ever real to begin with.

“Well, you did.” You reminded Jake as his eyes wandered down to where your hand and wrist still remained in a cast. He could still remember the way you screamed out in utter agony when the hammer smashed your bones, how you looked when infection took over. “I’m here because of you.” He didn’t reply straight away as he took a sip of the warm peppermint tea you’d made for him. He watched silently as you closed your front door—making sure to lock it and switch off the patio light. It was the middle of the night after all.

Jake Seresin was a wreck, you knew that much. The people who knew him better than most would often tell you he was a shell of his former cocky, egomaniacal self. They all missed that version of Jake—the one who could give anyone a headache just by his charm alone, but was present and aware.

But the Jake you knew was just as scared and bruised as you. Even if he wouldn’t admit it, the mutual midnight visits were enough of an explanation, and you didn’t push. He didn’t push either. The two of you just existed, trying to navigate through the trauma of the situation the two of you found yourselves in. Marked confidential and sealed indefinitely. Plagued with the sounds of each other’s tortuous screams.

“You were there because of me too.” Jake finally replied, his voice was soft and barely audible. “You were my responsibility.” He bowed his head in shame, regret had followed him everywhere since the two of you had gone down. “I failed you.”

It was your turn to listen and take in the heaviness of Jake's admission. An admission you’d heard a hundred times before and would surely hear a thousand times more. It was Jake's truth, his version of reality.

“You didn’t fail me, Seresin.” You sighed softly as you walked your way around to stand before him. Jake looked at you with so much guilt, so much anguish in his eyes. Those deep green emerald eyes. “Because we’re home, we’re safe, you’re standing here drinking my peppermint tea and I’m about to reach up and kiss you—“ You placed your hand on the back of Jake's neck, slowly, tentatively. “Because you didn’t fail me, you saved me.” Jake knew that was true to some extent, you were holding on for dear life when rescue came. Without them, without Jake begging you to stay, you probably wouldn’t have.

“Please—“ Jake whispered as tears fell from his lash line. “Just one.” You did. It wasn’t hard touching Jake, or loving him or kissing him or doing anything that made you feel connected. If it were anyone else you’d struggle. But not with Hangman.

It was the softest of kisses, the most fleeting of things, but you did what you said you were going to do and reached up to kiss Jake's lips.

Jake raised his eyebrows in reaction to your softness but soon closed his eyes knowing he was safe and pulled you closer by the small of your waist with just one hand. He still held the peppermint tea in the other. Savouring every single moment, every fleeting touch you were willing to give him.

“You didn’t fail me Jake, I’m standing right here, because you kept me going—you kept me alive.” You knew exactly what Jake needed to hear as he let his forehead rest against yours. You cupped his cheeks to catch the tears that had begun to fall down his slightly bruised cheeks. You caught Jake's tears with the pads of your thumbs, just like you’d done when he was covered in his own blood.

“You gave me hope and we’re okay Jake, we’re okay.” All Jake did was nod with closed eyes. He needed your gentle touch to ground him, keep him from falling into the dark depths of the hole he was standing on the edge of.

“We’re okay.” The same hole that you had teetered on the edge of. “We’re okay.” Jake repeated a few times as he kept his eyes closed. He was afraid that when he opened his eyes you’d be gone. “We’re okay.” He whispered just one more time before he opened his eyes, you were still there, his weapon’s system office, his responsibility, his one and only guiding light. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” You pressed your lips together in a fine line before you stepped away. Heading towards the kitchen where you’d left your own cup of tea. “I’m glad you’re here actually.” You sheepishly admitted. “I was going to try and get some rest but couldn’t fall asleep alone.” Jake knew what you were asking of him—he’d asked you a fair few times himself. But again, it was all coded.

“I’m pretty tired, could use an hour or two.” He replied with half a smile that only graced half his face. Jake followed you over to the hallway he knew led down to your bedroom. Completely lit so that not an ounce of darkness could shroud your recovery process. “I’ll stay.”

“Thanks.” You looked up at Jake as he looked at you, both as broken as each other. He still saw the uncertainty in your eyes, the fear that your time had left you with. Jake could argue you had it worse than he did, but you’d say it wasn’t a competition. “I think I sleep easier with you here than when you’re not.”

“If I wasn’t so haunted by your screams Hollywood, I’d be flattered.” Jake teased as he took a sip of his tea. The tea you’d made just for him in the mug you knew he liked. It was easy to joke about small details, it’s how you and Jake got by, but the sad reality was it was all true. There was a time where Jake Seresin would have taken that compliment and turned it into something more sexually explicit. But now? Even when the two of you did embark on showing one another what it was like to touch the stars and all Jake saw was you in that cell screaming for those men to stop. In his nightmares as he’d lay beside you he felt like one of them.

Jake caught himself falling into a k-hole of thoughts as he took another sip of his tea to bring him back down to earth. “But yeah, I sleep better with you by my side too.”

It was weird going from being so sure of every word Jake spoke in the time you were held together, to all these ‘Thinks’ and ‘Pretty Sures.’ But you knew the ‘I love yous’ shared and the admiration admitted were all just tactics to keep each other alive. At least on Jake’s behalf you assumed. For you? Every word of it was real. Every plea for Jake to keep his eyes open was real. Every cry of mercy for them to stop beating him was real. Every ‘take me’ every ‘I love you’ every ‘don’t you dare die on me, not now.’ Was real. Every ‘when we make it home, I’ll never let you go.’ Was real.

“Good.” You yawned, exhausted from all the sleepless nights and half ass attempts during the day. “Because I’m exhausted.”

“Feels like we’re on a train that’s going like two hundred miles an hour without any breaks.” Jake began walking with you towards your bedroom. A bedroom he’d become so familiar in he knew where you kept your socks and what corner you favoured for dirty laundry. “And as much as you wanna stop that train we can’t get off, for some fucking reason we just can’t get off.” He continued as you pushed your door open, still lit from almost every light you owned. “Wouldn’t it though—wouldn’t it just be so nice to step off onto the platform for a minute?” Jake asked as you took his tea and placed it up on the dresser beside yours. Coaxing him forward and towards your bed by his hand.

“It would be nice.” You tried not to cry.” “It would be so nice.” You knew what Jake meant, what the platform was a metaphor for. You couldn’t say you hadn’t thought about it—the sweet release death would bring. “But I’m not quitting on you now Hangman.” You held back tears as you kissed Jake again, this time with more passion and fire in your intention and this time he kissed you back.

The back of your knees hit the side of your bed and you were down, with Jake falling with you. It was the closest to love the pair of you would get. Relearning what gentle romance was. Relearning to understand that not every touch was rough.

“So you don’t get to quit on me.” You reminded him sternly. It was just the trauma talking. You’d give anything to go back to the way things were before, when the two of you hardly spoke. When the pair of you bickered and argued and didn’t engage in pity sex out of an existential obligation to one another just to feel something besides hopelessness and pain. “Because we made it out, we got out and we survived—“ You cried into his mouth as tears of his own dripped off his cheeks down onto yours. “And we’ll survive whatever else is left to come, okay, you and me?”

Jake didn’t give you an answer, but he nodded silently before he took your lips hostage again. His hands were gentle against you—afraid that he’d hurt healing wounds. But he could never. He could never hurt you as much as they did.

“Just you and me Hollywood."

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Tags 🏷️ @americaarse @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @athenabarnes @imaginecrushes @whyareallnamesgone @mjmaximoffbarnes @amiets2 @mads-weasley @gabbyella @ephemeralninon @xoxabs88xox @pedrohoe04 @starkleila @je-suis-prest-rachel @clancycucumber230 @maisie-rebloging-blog @callsign-barbell @obiwankenobis-lap @some-lovely-day @paperbag333 @callsign-magnolia @jhiddles03 @hardballoonlove @shanimallina87 @seitmai @abaker74 @missemrose @starset21 @kmc1989

#bruises // jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x female!reader #jake seresin angst #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman x reader #top gun hangman

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 month

Text

To a Tea 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Part of the Sweet and Spicy AU

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A demanding customer grows increasingly needy.

Character: Raymond Smith

The title is a pun, don't @ me.

Please comment and reblog if it’s not too much. I always love getting to chat about these stories and hearing all your ideas! You all are wonderful and loved.

“He’s here,” Jenna’s warning brings you attention away from siphoning what’s left off the peppermint leaves into the fresh tin.

You glance over without any other directive. He always waits in that same spot. Even if the table’s empty, he doesn’t sit right away. You give you co-worker a look and smile as you put the lid on the tin and slide it out of the way.

You wash your hands thoroughly before you grab the cylinder of disinfecting wipes and sweep around the end of the counter. You step out onto the tea room floor as his eyes find you, expecting you. You’ve adjusted to his ritual, almost compelled to it.

“Hello, Raymond,” you great as you approach the empty table for two where he sits with his back to the wall and his eyes towards the door.

“Miss,” he greets in his way.

He’s a bit uptight. Others might say worse but once you learn his quirks, he’s very human. Even if everything else about him is mysterious.

Sometimes you build stories about him in his head. His glasses, his neatly styled hair, and his combed beard suggest a man with an eye for his appearance. His suits might be better fit to library or a professor’s podium. Not sleek enough for a board room. Then you think he might be a writer of sorts but you’ve never seen him with a laptop or pen and most of the local authors don’t show up without one or the other.

You take out a wipe and take your time in getting every inch of the table. You back up as he removes his jacket and you back out of his way. He sidles around the and sits, shoulders set as he grips the table and straightens it.

Whoever he is, he’s very precise.

“Usual?” You ask with a smile.

He looks at you and reaches to pinch the arm of his glasses. The first time he came in, you remember you could’ve melted at his gaze. So stony and unyielding, you wondered why he was even there. Now, there is an ease to it. He prefers the familiar and you have become that.

“Yes, usual,” he agrees.

You nod and swiftly turn on your heel. You go back behind the counter as Jenna snoops from behind the cookie display. You shake your head at her as you wash your hands a second time. He will certainly note that as well.

You go to steep his cup of English Breakfast as the other woman nears and watches the steaming water at your side.

“Don’t know how you do it. He should just have tea at home.”

“Can’t complain for business,” you shrug.

“Why bother? All that fuss for a cuppa.”

“Maybe he likes the ambience?” You suggest.

“He said the lights give him headaches.”

“Oh?”

“Well, he pays his bill. That’s all I ask for,” you add a teaspoon of milk, measuring it out exactly and you move the tab of the bag to hang to the left of the handle.

“Mm, and he sures asks a lot of you, don’t he?” She crosses her arms.

“Jenna,” you look towards the till where a customer waits.

“Ugh, you’re such a bore,” she chides.

You go back into the tea room and cross to Raymond’s table. You set the cup and saucer before him.

“Enjoy,” you insist.

“Cheers,” he hooks his finger into the handle and turns the cup to an exact angle.

You lean back on your heel and he raises his palm, “do you... have any suggestions?”

“For?” You wonder.

“I thought to try something with my tea today. What do you recommend?”

“Well, were we thinking something savoury or sweet?” You reply breezily, “our cheese scones are delicious, and there is the chives and onion bake. I sneak one every Friday. Erm, there are the white chocolate shortbread on special and I think we’ve sold out of the cherry tarts. Oh, if you’d like a combination, there is the cranberry cheddar scone. I don’t mind it but I hate the crumbles.”

He considers you thoughtfully and crosses his arms. He mills the decision with his lips clamped. His blues eyes narrow behind his lenses.

“Do you have plain shortbread?”

“Of course,” you chime, “two for a pound.”

“Two will do,” he agrees.

You hold your smile and once more set off on your mission. He might be stringent, a bit repressed, but you’ve dealt with worse customers. More demanding, sometimes outrightt rude.

You dip behind the counter and grab a plate. You use the tongs to take two of the shortbread biscuit and place them on a clean plate. You take a napkin with you and once more emerge from behind the displays.

You approach Raymond as he sips his tea. You put the plate and serviette before him. He thanks you and adjusts his tie, letting his hand drift down his vest.

“Is that it, sir? Tea alright?”

“That’s it,” he affirms.

“Great, you know where I’ll be,” you chirp and spin.

You stop before you can bring your foot down as he calls your name. He’s only ever said it once. The first time you met. It’s always ‘miss’.

You turn to face him, “yes?”

“Your apron strings are uneven...” he says. “Just figured... I’d warn you.”

You nearly laugh. What an odd thing to worry about. You reach back behind your waist and feels the lengths. Sure enough, you’ve tied them entirely off kilter. You suppose you don’t pay too much attention to that.

“Thanks for letting me know.”

He nods and examines one of the cookies. Then his eyes flick up and keep you from another retreat, “I could fix it.”

“Oh, er, that’s fine,” you wave him off, “not a big deal.”

“It doesn’t bother you?” He wonders.

“Not really,” you shrug, “does it bother you?”

His brows raise slightly and he taps the cookie, shaking off the crumbs as much as he can. He leans forward and nibbles over the plate, making certain not to litter over the edge. He puts the biscuit down and wipes his fingers on the napkin.

“It does,” he says.

You won’t laugh at him. It would truly be at his expense, it’s just a very unexpected offer. You put your arms straight, “if you want.”

You near and turn your back to him. You sense him leaning forward as you stand stalk straight and watch the tea room. The smell of cinnamon and cloves fills the warm space, the shades giving an orangish hue to the din. There are low tables near the center with pillow seats, and the high tables along the walls. You know all the creaks and cracks better than your own home.

You feel him tug the knot loose and his fingers work agilely to tie a new knot. He lets it hang but just as quickly looses it again. You try not to move as he does it several times before he relents.

“There, ears and tails match,” he declares.

You step away and turn to send him a smile, “thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything, only raises his cup and doffs it in a kind gesture before he sips. You twist away again. You should help Jenna before the rush begins. That’s the only thing about Raymond, he does take up a lot of time.

#raymond smith #dark raymond smith #dark!raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #the gentlemen #drabble #sweet and spicy #au #series #to a tea

157 notes · View notes

short-honey-badger · 4 months

Text

One Piece Masterlist

This masterlist now contains more than just reader inserts! Enjoy!

Dracule Mihawk

Peppermint Tea has it's own Masterlist! It's become a little too big for this one!

Link to AO3 -> Peppermint Tea

Masterlist for those that prefer tumblr!

Shanks

Phantom Pain Masterlist

Nsfw!!!

Better this Way

Distracted

Breakfast in Bed

No One but You

Buggy the Clown

Life Imitates Art

Life Imitates Art 2

Sanji Vinsmoke

Cherish

Nsfw!!!

Picky Eater

Roronoa Zoro

"Can't help that they like my chest"

Trafalgar Law

Lipstick Stains

Lip gloss

Heart Condition

Nsfw!!!

Trouble Sleeping

Trouble Sleeping 2

Sir Crocodile

Older Men

Nsfw

Stuck Between the Gator and the Flamingo *Previously Warlords' Assistant* - Contains Doffy

Forgetful Valentine's

Another Bird Too Many (Dofuwani + Mihawk)

Doflamingo

Feeling Forgotten

Puppet Master

Portgas D. Ace

Go back to sleep, Ace

"Damn right, I would."

350 notes · View notes

asumofwords · 11 months

Text

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: The amount of messages about Alys have made me laugh so much that my stomach ended up in stitches and i felt sick hahaha. Thankful as always for all of your love and comments, I LOVE reading everything you guys have to say !!! Enjoy <3

Chapter 63 : The Witch of Harrenhal

Two large dragons circled each other in the sky. One black, and one green. They flew high and danced, breathing fire at one another as they flew through the large flames.

The great, green dragon breathed a flame too large for the black dragon, and it plummeted from the sky. The green dragon was so scared, and flew down to catch its friend, before it fell into the waves below.

Large talons cut the black dragon as it slept in the green dragons grip, flying them both to a forrest of Weirwood trees. Their white and brown bark glowing in the sky, as crimson leaves fell softly to the ground.

The green dragon was so scared that it had killed its friend, and sat by the black dragon, day and night, not eating nor sleeping, waiting for it to wake. The green dragon begged the skies to let its friend survive, weeping silently as it watched the rise and fall of the black dragons chest.

Soon the black dragon woke, and the green dragon watched in anticipation and relief. But when the onyx dragon saw the green dragon beside it, it breathed fire at the green dragon, scared and angry, and cried out into the sky.

“Why did you burn me so badly?" It cried, "I thought we were friends? Are we not friends anymore?” The shadowy dragon roared as they stalked about the forest floor, circling one another.

“I did not mean to.” Said the green dragon, preparing itself for the black dragons fire, “I was trying to make you see.”

The black dragon stopped its stalking, large, shining talons digging into the soft soil, “Make me see?” Asked the black dragon, shaking its large horned head, smoke pouring from its nose.

The green dragon smiled, baring its large yellowed teeth to the forest, “Yes, make you see.” It spoke, tail swishing behind it, “That you are stronger than you think.”

You woke in the room as the noises of the maids entering rose you from your dream. You rubbed your eyes as you looked beside you. Aemond was not was not there. You pulled yourself to sit as the dull ache of cramps began to ebb back with your consciousness.

The maids greeted you that morning with a smile and 'good morrow', as they moved about the chambers. They informed you that they had brought peppermint tea for you, as requested by Prince Aemond, and that they would be changing your sheets again.

You looked down at the bed. There were small bloody smudges and smears from where his wet fingers and your blood and bumped against the pale sheets, and pooled below you.

You sat up in bed, and the eldest maid came towards you, bringing a robe for you to wrap around yourself, as you made to move towards the table. When you had stood, you noticed bloody finger marks in the front of your chemise, and you blushed in shame. You asked the two maids if they knew were your Lord Husband had gone, and neither of them knew.

You ate quietly as they changed your sheets, and you greedily drank from the pot of peppermint tea, enjoying the minty flavour it left in your mouth. The two maids dressed you for the day, and left the chambers with a quiet farewell.

You spent another day reading in the gardens, looking out at the water, wondering where Aemond would be.

Perhaps he rises early to assist Aegon with preparations for the day?

Or better yet, did he wake Aegon up from his drunken sleep?

Was he forced to dress and bathe his older brother who would surely not do it himself?

When the day grew long, and the air became crisp, you left to your chambers and had sat at the table and waited for Aemond’s return as the sun fell behind the horizon, sky growing dark. You had pondered on where he was, what he was doing. When the chamber doors had opened, you expected to see your uncle entering, long hair pulled back, and dark leather robes tight on his body.

But it was not your uncle, instead the two maids that tended to you both, plates of food and wine in their hands. They had entered the chambers quietly and placed your supper in front of to you, and only yours. There was no plate, or cutlery, or goblet placed opposite you in anticipation for the Prince’s return.

Looking up at the two girls as they made their way to exit your shared chambers, you called out to them.

“Is Aemond joining me for supper?”

The younger maid looked down at her feet whilst the eldest answered your question, gently and confidently.

“No, My Lady. We were told he is not in Kings Landing.”

Not in the Keep?

Had he gone again?

And so soon after arriving?

“Well,” You paused, waiting for the maids to fill in the gaps, but they didn’t.

“Where is my Lord Husband?”

The youngest shuffled on her feet, whilst the eldest looked down at her, before back at you.

“Lady Alicent did not tell us, Princess.”

You swallowed, mind racing.

“Very well. Thank you, you may go.” You excused the girls, watching them bow to you before leaving the chambers with great speed. As if the conversation made them uncomfortable.

Where was he?

Did Aegon send him away?

Was this his duty to the realm?

Would you be finding yourself alone more often?

You sat at the table confused and ate, before readying yourself for bed alone. The maids had come again later to collect your plates, and brought another steaming pot of peppermint tea for you. You drank it and sat in bed, the candles being blown out, and a dark glow settled in the room as you waited for Aemond to return.

But he didn’t.

The next day you had done the same.

You went down to the garden and brought ‘The Fourteen Flames’ with you to read. You had sat on the bench, amongst the plush pillows and read until the sun lowered in the sky, and it was time to eat. You went back to your chambers and ate your supper, and watched in anticipation for the maids to bring the second setting for Aemond.

They didn’t.

And so you went to bed again alone.

On the third day of waiting, a creeping fear began to settle into your bones.

How long would Aemond be gone?

Did Aegon know where he was?

Had he sent him away knowing that he wouldn’t be here with you?

Did Aegon know that you were alone in your chambers?

When that evening rolled through and the maids brought in your supper, you had waited until they left the chambers, quickly scooping up the knife, hiding it beneath the pillow of your bed. When they had returned to take your empty plates and bring your pot of tea, they had searched high and low for the missing knife. They had looked on the floor and table, and even under the bed in search of the utensil you had told them had fallen and could not find.

The eldest maid watched you with distrust, and you had made promise to her that you were sure it would turn up, and that when Aemond returned you would ask him to help you look for it. She did not press it, and discontinued her search with the younger maid.

They seemed to have a method to their serving.

They had readied you for bed and left, as they always did, and you were left alone, as you always were, in your darkened chambers, hand under your pillow, with your fist firmly grasped around the knife you had hidden.

If this was your only source of protection, then so be it.

You had found yourself so restless in your sheets, tossing and turning, that you had opted to empty the decanter of spiced wine, letting the alcohol drag you down into a heavy sleep. You woke the next morning with a foggy mind and dry mouth, and moved through your routine without the Prince returning.

Anxiety built with each day passing and the absence of Aemond’s presence, and so to soothe this anxiety, you had turned to the cup for help. The spiced wine dulled your senses, and smothered your rising fear, leaving you in a hazy numbness that allowed for you to rest through the night undisturbed.

By the seventh rise and set of the sun, you had grown tired of not knowing where Aemond was as the anxiety continued to mount, and beside it, anger. You had grown so desperate, that you had even attempted to find Alicent, to ask her where her son had gone, and when he would be returning. But it was as though she too had become elusive, and you found you could not find her.

Was she avoiding you?

Did she know of where Aemond was?

Or was there something bigger happening?

Something that you had not caught onto yet.

Above the rising fear of Aegon’s return to your chambers, and the anxiety of not knowing where Aemond was, or what he was doing, there was an unsettling loneliness that sat in your chest.

There was no familiar presence around you.

How long had you been in the Keep?

How long had you spent alone?

You were so used to the constant chatter and company of your brothers or family back on Dragonstone, that the silence of the Keep unnerved you.

There was no one to talk to, not even Lucerys or Helaena had come to visit you in his absence, and so you were left to your racing thoughts, which quickly turned to paranoia and the quiet solitude you had grown to despise. You were so desperate for a human connection that even Aemond’s company would suffice.

It was pathetic.

You knew you shouldn’t miss him. You knew it was wrong. But you chalked it up to fear and anxiety and the horrible isolation of the Keep. The maids would barely talk to you, and you had no yearning to speak to Otto or Ser Cole. Even the Maester who served you and came to visit you at your request, had barely spoken a word under the watchful eye of Ser Criston.

It was making you stir crazy.

It was making you antsy.

It was making you pace about the chambers and lose sleep at night, waiting for either of the Targaryen Prince’s to enter your chambers. It was the not knowing that was so torturous. Not knowing when Aemond would return. Not knowing if he would be cruel when he did. Not knowing if Aegon was lurking about in the shadows, or the plotting of Otto and Alicent.

It was mind numbing and mind racing all at once.

You had finished your book thrice, and not even the library could offer mental stimulation like a conversation would. And so you had begun to drink even more, emptying the decanter of spiced Dornish wine that always sat on the side of the room. You began to ask the maids to bring up more wine for you, to the point where they would bring a second decanter each day, just so you would not summon them to your chambers again.

Today was like any other day that droned along unattended, unaccompanied, and abandoned. You woke with a bitter taste in your mouth, eyes lazily flicking to the side of the bed to find it empty, as it had been the day before. You had gotten out of bed and ate quietly as the maids prepared you, opting to drink three cups of spiced wine rather than the fresh juice and water. You had left the chambers, book in hand, and goblet of wine in the other, as you moved down to the garden to spend another monotonous day of habit by the ocean.

Your blood had gone, and the spike in energy you had gotten from it made you all the more impatient for your husbands return.

You did not even know why you were impatient.

Were you truly that lonely that you would seek out his comfort and presence, to satiate the aching pit that had cracked open inside of you?

Yes.

But it was not something that you could help.

You sat looking out at the waves, pointlessly flicking the pages back and forth, not even reading them as you sipped from your goblet. It was almost empty already, and you knew that you would either have to hail down a servant walking amongst the garden, or trudge back up to your chambers to refill it.

The waves and the sound of the pages being flicked back and forth filled the space around you, until you polished off your goblet of wine. The sun had only just reached its peak, high in the sky, seemingly crawling at slower than a snails pace.

The warmth of alcohol wrapped itself around you. You most certainly felt a buzz from the wine, or at least, were already drunk. Either way, you pulled yourself to stand, feeling light and heavy all at once, and made your way back into the Keep where you could finish your first decanter of the day.

But as you made your way through the Keep, you began to feel angry, heat rising in your cheeks.

Where was he?

Did he expect you to hang around waiting for him? Like a dog?

Why had he not told you of his leave?

Did he not care that he left you alone with Aegon?

Anger built and built inside of you, festering, and curdling until you made your decision. You would find where he was. And you would be told now. You heavily slammed the book and empty goblet on the ledge of the corridor, walking with purpose towards the Throne Room.

If you were to get anything done, you would have to do it yourself.

As you always had.

You pushed open the doors, moving past the slow moving guards, as one announced your arrival to the room in confusion.

Aegon sat on the Iron Throne looking bored, chin leant in his hand, but as soon as he saw you enter, wild fire dancing in your eyes and steps echoing through the chamber, he smiled brightly, sitting up straight as he clapped his hands together, the noise echoing around you.

“The beautiful Princess Y/n.” His voice boomed into the space, “Have you come to witness me rule?”

“Where is Aemond?” You demanded, standing at the bottom of the steps as you looked up at him.

Ser Cole stood at the bottom of the throne, hand on the pummel of his sword as he looked at you, whilst Otto stood beside Aegon at the top, watching you from beneath his nose. The Iron Throne dwarfed all by its sheer size, and the sharp glinting edges of the swords shone against Aegon’s green robes.

Leant against the front of the Iron Throne, beside Aegons thighs, was Aegon the Conquerors sword, far too large and far too heavy for Aegon to ever properly use. You had remembered watching him as a child in the training yard, swinging a wooden sword around lazily and in disinterest. Once, Cole had handed him a real blade, and you had watched in amusement as he struggled to swing it higher than his hips. You did not imagine that in his years of whoring and drinking that he would have found time to go to the training yard with his brother or Ser Cole.

You let your eyes roam the rest of the chambers, in search of a familiar pair of violet and sapphire eyes. There were guards and knights on the side of the room, and members of Aegon’s small council stood around the throne nearby, watching the interaction between their King and his niece.

Alicent was beside Aegon, on the opposite side of Otto, wearing all green with her hair tied behind her head in a tight braided bun. Her eyes did not look at you, instead looking straight past you as though you weren’t there.

Aegon laughed loudly at your question, finding mirth in your anger.

“He did not tell you?” He asked, looking down at you.

You frowned, waiting for him to answer you.

Alicent sighed, shifting beside Aegon as she looked down at her hands.

“You do not know?” Aegon questioned you again, smile falling from his face as he searched yours with his eyes, looking for any tell of your questioning.

You stayed quiet as Aegon leant back against the Iron Throne once more. Tilting his head he fought a smirk that tried to worm its way on his cheeks. He fought it terribly. His hair was wavy with the crown sitting heavily atop, pushing hairs out sideways from its weight.

The King scoffed, clicking his tongue at you.

“Aemond left for Harrenhal. It’s where he always goes when he feels lonely.”

You straightened your back as you craned your neck looking up at your eldest uncle.

“What is his business in Harrenhal?”

Aegon’s laughter echoed in the chambers again as he mocked you, Alicent and Otto shifting beside him.

“He has no business in Harrenhal… Only pleasure.”

You could not hold back the sneer that broke onto your face.

“I am happy to warm your bed in his place.”

Your hands curled into fists as you stared at him.

“I will tell you this because I am feeling generous today,” Aegon began, “When my brother returns from Harrenhal, ask him about Alys Rivers.”

You felt like a bucket of water had been thrown over your head.

Alys Rivers.

It was her.

The witch of Harrenhal.

You felt a pang of jealousy in your gut as you thought of it, but then immediately questioned yourself, stamping out the bitterness that rose in the back of your throat.

Why are you jealous? If she warms his bed, then perhaps he will leave you alone.

With this new knowledge you spun on your heel, flicking your eyes to Alicent Hightower, who’s gaze was still on her hands. You left the chamber loudly, skirts flying behind you in embarrassment and rage.

Your husband was having an affair.

Your husband was leaving Kings Landing, as he was free to do, and taking a woman into his bed, whilst you were stuck alone, not free to leave and forced to warm his.

You slammed your chamber doors open, the wood loudly hitting the back of the wall as you moved into the space, rage boiling up inside of you, its heat rising higher, and higher the more you paced about the chambers.

How dare he.

How fucking dare he.

Openly fucking a Strong bastard. A House in which he had so many grievances with.

He was openly fucking a bastard and everyone had known, except you.

You moved to the side of the room, not bothering to fill the goblet with wine, instead drinking straight from the second decanter, feeling the alcohol burn its way meanly down your throat. You wiped your lips with the sleeve of your gown, as a low growl passed through your lips.

Fuck him.

How fucking dare he.

The highest of humiliations for a wife in court.

He was making a mockery of you and the treaty.

And you knew that you should not care, and that you should be relieved, and that his time spent away from you gave you a reprieve that you so desperately needed, and his time with her saved you from his cruelty. But there was an undeniable anger that still raged through you. And the most tiniest whispers of fear.

If he grew bored of you, would he have you killed and have her put in your place?

Your eyes flicked to beside the decanter. There beside where it sat, was Aemond’s quill and ink, with loose pieces of spare parchment rolled beside it. You grabbed the ink and quill moving it to the table, small drops of ink spilling over and onto your hand. You raced back to collect some parchment and slapped it down onto the table.

If he wished to humiliate you, you could hurt him.

You could.

You could ask for star fruit.

Fuck them all.

You could burn this entire Keep to the ground, if you asked.

You could.

You began to write on the page, script messy and scribbled, your ink covered fingers smudging the parchment.

‘Rhaenyra and Daemon,

It seems that due to my husbands travelling throughout the realm, and his extended stay in Harrenhal, he has been unable to deliver me Star Fruit. I have been craving its sweet flesh, and I must ask you, almost desperately, to send a barrel promptly to m-‘

You paused as your hand wrote the script.

What would this mean if you sent this?

You knew what it meant.

War would break out again, and losses would come with it.

You felt burning shame inside of you as you looked at the letter.

How could you let him stir you to anger so quickly? How could you let him move you to such violence? And for what? An affair? Would the losses of your family be worth this petty grievance? Would you feel well inside of yourself to tell them that you asked for star fruit because Aemond was sleeping with another?

How would you feel knowing that one of your own died because of you?

Because of this.

You needed to be smarter.

Your hand trembled and you stood, scrunching the letter as you marched towards the fireplace. You tossed the crumpled parchment into the flames, watching the fire devour it the pale paper, blackening its edges as the ink bubbled on its surface, until soon it was completely gone.

Your request for help was no more. Burnt to ashes.

Devoured by fire.

You went to sleep that evening with little appetite and a fire burning within.

Three days passed when Aemond finally returned to the Red Keep. You had been sitting in the garden, sulking and sullen, when you heard the great roar of Vhagar. You had leant over the edge of the stone ledge and looked up into the sky, watching as her large green form flew over the top of you, making her way to the other side of the Keep to let Aemond back into the castle.

An odd stirring of excitement ran through you at his return, which was dampened by the sour knowledge of where he had been, and why he had been gone so long.

You had to prevent yourself from racing back to the chambers, so instead, you forced yourself to finish four pages of the book in your lap. You then took yourself around the entirety of the garden alone, fighting the way your body tried to race towards your shared chambers to talk to him, or growl at him.

When you had finally made your way into the Keep, Aemond was in your chambers, speaking with his mother Alicent.

Both of their eyes flitted to you when you had arrived, and you felt that you had interrupted a conversation about you. They both fell silent as they observed you, Aemond's hands clutching his mothers arms softly as she held him. The Dowager Queen dropped her arms away from her son and bid him a quiet goodbye, uttering your name as she passed you in greeting. Aemond turned away from the door and moved towards the table, tidying a pile of scrolls, as you were left by the door.

Aemond did not turn to greet you, nor did he mumble your name, or call you wife as he always did. He was quiet, and it made the days of anxiety and fear, anger and disgust, mount inside of you like a tidal wave.

“Where were you?”

Aemond turned to look at you shortly before moving back to his task, long fingers shuffling the scrolls. You stormed across the room and stood beside him, leaning half on the table, as you tried to force your way into his line of sight.

To force him to look at you.

“Where were you?” You asked again, voice sharper. All patience gone at the sight of his cool demeanour and dismissal of your arrival.

“It is of no concern to you.” He shrugged you off.

It made anger rise in your cheeks.

“Harrenhal.” You answered for him.

Aemond’s hands stilled for the slightest of moments, before moving back around the table, collecting the scrolls into a pile to lift them. Your hand shot out and you swiped the scrolls from his hand, the rolls of parchment flying in different directions to the floor.

Where had this anger come from?

“Do you lay with another?” You seethed, chest rising and falling, waiting for him to answer you.

To look at you. To acknowledge your accusations.

To acknowledge his wrongs.

“You will pick those up.” Aemond spoke calmly, looking at the scrolls laid out about the chambers.

“Udligon nyke.” Answer me, You growled.

Aemond finally turned his body towards you, watching as rage and anger rolled through you with every breath. At how you watched him with a furrowed brow, and sneer on your lips, small hands curled into tight fists at your sides. Your hair wild from the speed of moving across the room, and how your pupils expanded as you waited for him to answer.

You were seething.

“It seems you already know.”

Your mouth opened and shut, trying to think of how to respond.

How to make him hurt.

“I thought you would be gladdened for my absence.” Aemond mused, looking down at you.

“You make a fool of me at court. For all knew where my husband was except his own wife! You left me to sit and wait for your return not knowing where you were, nor when you would be back. You left me alone with him!”

Aemond did not respond, his lips in a relaxed line as he watched you.

Why was he watching you?

Why wouldn’t he say something?

Your hands moved to shove at his chest, hitting him with force as he barely budged from his spot. You did it again, and yet he still did not react.

“Answer me.” You hit him again, watching as he let you take out your anger on him, “Fucking craven!” You yelled, hand slapping the unscarred side of his face.

Aemond’s hands reached up and grabbed your wrists tightly in a bruising grip, yanking you against him.

“That’s enough.” He said lowly, looking down at you, eye shining dangerously.

You felt so angry.

The rage just kept bubbling and bubbling, the tide rising higher, and higher within you as you stared at him. You tried to rip your hands from his grip but he would not let you go. Instead Aemond moved his face forward and kissed the crown of your head.

Just as Daemon would.

“Get off of me.” You wriggled in his grip, jerking yourself from his hold.

Aemond hummed, moving towards the chamber doors to leave.

“I expect you to clean up your mess.” He called over his shoulder, before leaving you to stand in the room, anger overflowing.

You let out an angry scream as you looked at the door shut.

You turned your head to look at your ‘mess’.

You thought of picking up his scrolls and throwing them into the fire. Of watching them burn with satisfaction, knowing that when he would return and ask where they were, you would say that you had eliminated the mess he spoke off. You thought of stamping your feet on top of the perfectly rolled scrolls, crushing them and tearing them beneath your shoes. But the longer you stood and stared at the scrolls, the more you came to your senses and cooled down.

Do not lose yourself to anger.

You needed to be smart.

You begrudgingly picked up the scrolls and placed them on the side of the table, counting six in total. All perfectly rolled with their green wax seal. He was to send these letters out. A new thought popped into your mind.

What if he was sending a letter to Alys?

Were they plotting together?

Did he love her?

Would she coax him into killing you so that she may take your place?

For all you knew, she could be a very real threat. If she was with Aemond by choice, knowing what he did to her House, having witnessed it, witnessed his rage, knowing that he was a kinslayer and cruel; She was a dangerous person indeed.

You spent the rest of your day sulking in your chambers, and when the evening rolled though, you and Aemond ate together, for the first time in almost ten days, in tense silence. There was more you wanted to say. More you needed to say. But you also knew you needed to be smart.

If this was something he knew would hurt you, or could use to break you, he would do it.

And so you sat in the awkward silence, as politely as you could, answering the shallow questions he asked about what you did with your days alone. You had told him truthfully what you had done, minus the drinking, and of how you had read most days by the sea. You behaved as best as you could, and pushed your anger deep down into your chest, to use when you needed.

For now you needed to be smart.

After spending your evening in an uncomfortable tension, both of you behaving to the best of your shared ability, you went to bed and slept. Aemond did not reach over to touch you with his fingers, nor thrust his length into your core. He had rolled to his side of the bed and slept soundly, as heat rose in your cheeks from the anger that still simmered.

Aemond had not been cruel, nor had he reacted to your outburst. He had stayed level headed and let you scream and shove him. He didn’t even try to goad you into an argument that evening.

What was his motive?

Did she make him kinder to you?

What was happening?

You slept uneasily that night, and woke when you felt Aemond stir to start his day. You sat up in bed, a warmth settling in your stomach, as you watched him move about the chambers, looking at the pile of scrolls for a moment, the pile you had made, just as he had commanded, before he picked them all up, looking at you to bid you a good day, door shutting quietly behind him.

You ate as you always did, and were dressed as you always were, but there was something sitting under your skin that made you stay in your chambers that day. When the maids had brushed your hair or touched your skin to dress you, you had been set alight. There was a buzzing sensation that ran through you, and you found that you ached to be touched.

You yearned to be touched.

You missed the simple pleasures of being held, or the warmth of a hand, or hug. The simple presses of lips to your cheek, or the graze of a hand in your hair. But this yearning had grown, and instead of the desire to simply be wrapped in the arms of someone you loved, it had smouldered into a need.

Not once in your life had you ever felt a state of arousal like this. You had tried to ignore it, rubbing your thighs together to satiate the ache that continued to build, and build within you, flames of heat licking at your face and crux of your thighs. But no matter what you did, it did not help. You drank some wine, thinking it would numb you, but instead, it amplified your want.

When was the last time you had brought yourself pleasure?

Back on Dragonstone?

How long had that been?

You were no stranger to your body or desire, and when the urge came to call, you had always brought yourself to your peak with your hand without shame.

But Aemond had brought you pleasure like never before, even before he had left. He had brought you to your peak twice on his skilled fingers.

Your core clenched at the memory.

All you could think about was his fingers sliding through your slick folds, rubbing on your sensitive bud until you cried out into the chambers. You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through the front of your hair. You worried your lip with your teeth and nibbled on it in thought.

Aemond would be gone in the Throne Room with his brother all day, and the maids had already been….

What else would you do beside read, and drink, and wait for the day to end.

You looked at your bed as you made your decision.

You walked over, climbing onto the sheets as you bent your legs. You breathed shakily as you let a hand move to trail itself softly over the top of your breast, a small whimper escaping your lips.

You hiked your skirts up over your knees, bringing your fingers down to touch tentatively at your core. Your folds were already slick with desire and as you rolled a confident finger from your slit to your bud. You moaned, back arching as pleasure rolled through you.

You let your fingertips rolled over the top of your bud as you closed your eyes, imaging the skilled hands of a lover that was not the silver hair of your uncle.

You thought of Darras and his striking green eyes, his soft tongue delving into your folds as you arched into his face, thinking of him lapping through your folds at your nectar that dripped out of you.

Your fingers quickened their pace, but the more you thought of Darras, the more you could not see him above you. You tried to think of Ser Darke, your knight, but his image did not spark arousal, and instead sparked shame.

Angrily, you rubbed harder at yourself, desperate to reach your peak, feeling the coil tighten quickly but never quite snapping. A constant feeling of being stuck on the other side of the hill, never quite getting to the top to tumble down on the other side. You huffed a breath through your nose, wriggling into the sheets further as the image of Aemond on top of you flicked into your mind.

Your core clenched and you shamefully continued. You thought of how he had fucked himself into you gently, praising you. Of how he had called you beautiful, while his skilled fingers swirled over your bud. Your release came quickly and suddenly, and you moaned loudly into the empty chambers as you rode your peak.

The room was hot and your legs flopped open in exhaustion, hand wiping itself on your chemise between your thighs as you closed your eyes, feeling the waves of pleasure slowly dim. Your core throbbed, and you found that although the want had gone, there was still a lingering heat within you.

Rolling on your side, you blinked at the wall.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

Was it because you had never had a touch of another?

That his touch is the only one you had known and could refer to?

Then you thought of Alys.

He got to experience pleasure from her. He got to lay with her, and share a bed with her, yet you were stuck only knowing him and his touch.

How many others had he been with? How many more had he touched, whilst you lay dry and alone?

But you remembered your fathers words.

A political marriage does not mean you have to suffer a dead marital bed.

You could find your pleasure elsewhere.

If Aemond was going to fuck Alys, then you should be able to fuck someone else.

You needed to remember why you were in this Keep.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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pbelfz · 1 year

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Two to One | 13 |

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader x Midoriya Chapter Title: Default Dance Chapter 12 | Chapter 14 Story Masterlist Summary: You are a simple college girl working at a cheap, back alley café! The top heroes, Deku and Ground Zero, visit your work in hopes of ordering coffee, but they pick something else up instead. You begin an interesting relationship with the pair, while slowly becoming aware of certain underhanded tactics they are using. Idolization isn't always that bad... Right?

WARNINGS: controlling, manipulative?

Deku never smiled as much as he did on television.

Izuku came down with a hearty fever within the first two nights of (Y/n) officially moving in.

Katsuki was quick to point his finger at her, blaming her for bringing her city germs into the house, but Izuku insisted one of his high school interns was coughing in his office a few days prior. Regardless, Katsuki kept his distance from both of them.

In the few hours he was awake, Izuku worked from home, sending reports to his agency secretaries and signing off on investigation collaborations. He slept most of the day otherwise, leaving (Y/n) alone in the spacious house.

All of her personal belongings were relocated to the new house, but it’d been an overwhelming feat to unpack most of the boxes – not that she had that many to begin with. Still, it gnawed at her how final this all seemed. She couldn’t help but feel like she jumped the gun a little too quickly when she saw the face her RA gave her when they exchanged lease documentation.

She’d never lived with any of her previous partners before. What would she tell Hana if she wanted to come over to hang out? Would Deku or Katsuki even be okay with her having guests at all? The last time she recalled needing approval for friends visiting was when she lived with her parents.

Her frown tightened as she performed the next dance move of Rich Girl by Gwen Stefani. She remained sour even as the TV screen dinged, signifying a perfect score.

Izuku groaned into the pillow, hearing the music travel up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Even with the door closed, it grew harder and harder for him to block out the nasally ‘Nana na na na na’s, the ache in his head pulsing with each beat, right behind his forehead. He texted (Y/n) a few minutes ago to turn the TV down, but she must not have seen it. He supposed this was his cue to get up.

Izuku – slowly, with no urgency about him – made his way to the kitchen. His cold was getting worse, but he didn’t want to worry Katsuki or (Y/n). He glanced at (Y/n) in the living room once he reached the bottom of the stairs, and on a normal day, his interest would’ve piqued to see her playing Just Dance.

However, today was not that day.

He turned and continued to the kitchen.

Izuku’s eyes could hardly stay open as he made himself a cup of peppermint tea, adding some honey for his throat. He took his time with it. Why not, right? Gwen Stefani was serenading him.

Deku never smiled as much as he did on television. That was one of the first things (Y/n) noticed when she moved in.

‘If I was a rich girl, nana na na na na–,’

(Y/n) was completely enthralled in the game, but once she turned around for a spin, she locked eyes with Izuku, who was leaning against the wall with his cup of tea.

“EE-eezuku!” She covered her mouth to conceal the tail end of her yelp before scrambling to finally turn off that damn game. “How long–?”

“Did you get my text?” Izuku cut (Y/n) off more harshly than intended, which took her by surprise. He’s never the one to do that. Izuku noticed his slip-up as quickly as she did, and he took a sip of his tea, glancing at the floor.

“No, I left my phone upstairs. What did it say?” (Y/n)’s voice was soft, worried that she missed something important. Izuku shifted his weight, his reply just as soft as hers, much gentler than his previous interruption.

“I was just trying to sleep,” his gaze flickered to the TV hanging on the wall behind her. (Y/n) got the hint.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Izuku nodded before turning away, withdrawing from her. “It’s okay.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but feel compelled to follow him to the kitchen.

“How are you feeling?”

Izuku opened the fridge, bending over to check the lower shelves for something quick to eat. “Better.”

“Good.” She withheld the urge to feel his forehead to check his fever.

Izuku grabbed some bread, meat, and cheese to make a sandwich. He didn’t look at (Y/n) as he reached for condiments, which were right next to her.

Is he really that upset that she didn’t turn the TV down?

“Are you mad at me?”

It’s only natural to ask.

Izuku finally looked up at (Y/n), his face almost appalled at the question. “No,” was all he offered before biting into his sandwich and walking past her. “Just tired. And sick.”

He left her in the kitchen by herself.

With all of the audacity Katsuki carries, (Y/n) never anticipated how attentive he was towards Izuku.

She felt creepy, watching from the doorway as Katsuki spoon-fed Izuku the last of the homemade soup his mother dropped off. (Y/n) was in class when Mitsuki came by, but from what little Katsuki shared of his homelife, the Bakugous were a gourmet family, so it was no surprise they had their own recipe for everything.

Regardless of how big the house was, (Y/n) still felt lumpy and in the way. Katsuki brushed by her when they crossed paths in the hallways, almost purposefully knocking shoulders with hers. She didn’t have the heart to ask him if he actually was doing it on purpose, though; she still felt like a guest here.

More so now than ever, as she watched Katsuki kneel by the edge of bed, stroking the back of Izuku’s neck. Izuku was dozing off with a cooling pad on his forehead. They were muttering to each other about something, and Katsuki wore just a hint of a smile on his face as he monitored a drowsy Deku. (Y/n) didn’t want to interrupt them. They surely noticed she was there, but Katsuki wasn’t going to make an effort to call her in; Izuku was the priority at the moment. She observed how they looked at each other, and a black, tarry pit in her stomach kept telling her it was different from how they looked at her. Their hands found one another, Katsuki’s thickened skin naturally a comfort for Izuku, just as Izuku’s scars were for Katsuki.

(Y/n) hoped she caught the flu next week.

She turned and went back downstairs.

Days passed, and Izuku’s cold lessened into an irritating sore throat.

Izuku became antsy, not accustomed to being away from work for so long. The house was spotless from the compulsive cleaning he did when Katsuki wasn’t around (he would’ve gotten yelled at). (Y/n) gently suggested he continue resting, but her words went ignored. She then offered to help but was disregarded. That was fine with her; she was behind on her assignments because of her shifts at Satou’s.

Izuku’s weights clanged in the basement gym while she proofread a 10-page essay. (Y/n)’s fingers tapped on the keyboard, unable to focus on her work as she listened to her boyfriend work out. Two minutes passed, and there was silence. (Y/n) fixed a sentence on her document.

Clang!

She paused and waited.

Silence for another minute.

(Y/n) read another paragraph.

Clang!

Her concentration muddled once more, she groaned and closed her laptop.

Izuku almost instantly threw himself back into hero duty the second Katsuki’s mothering radar subsided.

The Bakugou-Midoriya-(Y/n) household found what their “normal” was.

Disgruntled Katsuki.

Overworked Izuku.

Unoccupied (Y/n).

It’s not like she was necessarily waiting for them to do anything with her! It’s just this situation screamed “roommates”. Isn’t that what they were now, though? Roommates with benefits, except they haven’t done anything sexual since Izuku’s got sick. (Y/n) wanted to talk to the two heroes to clear up any boundaries, but the throuple were hardly ever in the house at the same time. (Y/n) busied herself with schoolwork, carrying about her business as she usually would back in her apartment, except now there were two hunkering men lumbering about.

“Deku and I made dinner reservations for all of us tomorrow,” Katsuki mentioned over his shoulder.

Neither of them bothered to mention this to her before right now. (Y/n) tightened her lip to keep from rolling her eyes.

“I don’t think I can go. I’m going out tomorrow,” (Y/n) pondered aloud, scrolling through Instagram on her phone.

Katsuki’s attention, previously only halfway in the conversation, was now yanked fully into it. He finished his rep, setting the weighted barbell above him on the bar holder before sitting up on the bench. Sweat gleamed from his torso, and he grabbed the nearest rag to wipe his forehead.

“This is the first time I’m hearing about this,” he grunted, glancing up at (Y/n). She shrugged, still invested in her phone.

“I guess it was kinda last minute.” A slight jab.

Katsuki was quiet for a moment, trying to be careful about his words. “Does Deku know?” He asked, trekking over to the dumbbells.

“Does Deku know what?” Izuku suddenly called from beyond the basement stairs, the sound of the front door closing behind him. (Y/n) glanced upwards, noting how Deku always appeared at just the right moment.

Izuku took his sneakers off in the foyer, exchanging them for his slippers before bounding down the stairs. He was noticeably tired, and even though he wasn’t in his hero costume anymore, his clothes still seemed worn. He may have run into another villain on the way home.

Katsuki snorted a dry laugh, giving (Y/n) a look as he began another set for his workout. The dumbbells were bigger than (Y/n)’s head.

“I’m just going to a karaoke party tomorrow. Maybe some barhopping,” (Y/n) peeped from her place on the floor next to the weight rack. Katsuki glanced at his partner.

Izuku’s mouth tightened ever so slightly, but only Katsuki caught it. “Oh.”

“Who are you going with?” Izuku asked, hiding the hesitance in his tone as he stepped further into the basement.

Katsuki set the dumbbells down much quieter than Izuku did. (Y/n) didn’t know why they were making such a big deal about this.

“Hana. My coworker from Satou’s.”

Both men appeared to be in thought.

Izuku spoke first. “We can talk about it after we shower, okay?” He suggested with a soft smile, leaning back as an invitation for (Y/n) to follow him upstairs to the bathroom. (Y/n) remained seated on the gym floor.

“What’s the big deal?” She asked. Part of her was looking for a fight; they felt it. She wanted to do something with her friends, and they finally decided now was the time to give her attention? Katsuki and Izuku looked at each other. Katsuki was more reclusive than Izuku when voicing his concerns, so he withdrew as he wiped the bench down with a rag. Izuku sighed.

“We’re just worried,” Izuku spoke for the both of them, as he naturally did. (Y/n) blinked, setting her phone to the side as she prepared to hear them out.

“About what? I’m gonna be with my friends.”

Izuku scratched the back of his ear and stepped over to her, crouching down to her height on the floor.

“Everyone there is cool, I promise,” (Y/n) softened her voice, trying to comfort them further.

“(Y/n), we’re concerned about the college culture.”

(Y/n) furrowed her brow at that and glanced at Katsuki, who was watching the exchange.

“What do you mean by th–?”

“Just don’t be a whore,” Katsuki all but blurted as he picked up his water bottle and started chugging.

“Katsuki!” Izuku shouted over his shoulder. The volume didn’t seem to affect Katsuki, but it made (Y/n) jump. There was a beat of silence, as if Izuku was debating on yelling something else, but instead he turned back to look at her with an apologetic expression.

“We’re just worried about drinking and all that,” Izuku tried to explain, returning to his regular pitch. (Y/n) glanced between both of his eyes and held her tongue because she was about to tell him he sounded more like a father than a hero. “While they may not be villains, some people can do pretty villainous things, like slip something into your drink. If you’re going to drink, keep your drink on your person, and try not to take your eye off of it,” Izuku warned. (Y/n) shifted, and although she felt like he was overexaggerating everything, she still felt uneasy under his gaze.

“Yeah, I know…”

“And can you text our groupchat when you get there tomorrow? What time is it at? And the address?” Izuku asked, pulling his personal phone out of his pocket.

“Yeah, of course. I was going to, anyway,” (Y/n) picked her own phone back up to check her texts with Hana. “Karaoke is at around 8:30 PM at 228 Yugun.”

“Text every thirty minutes,” came Katsuki’s request. (Y/n) looked over at him, then back at Izuku, who seemed to be typing the address and time into his phone reminders. There wasn’t any rebuttal from the other hero, so this seemed to be a consensus between the two of them.

“Okay.”

It was so much easier to socialize with Hana by (Y/n)’s side.

(Y/n) cheered along with everyone as Hana completed the song on the screen. It wasn’t perfect, but Hana laughed off her mistakes, something (Y/n) always admired about her.

Their other friend from school, Chiharu, was a naturally gifted singer and was getting high score after high score on each song. Natsuko and Jin, who were dating, sang a duet but were too tipsy to get a score above 37%. Every time someone offered (Y/n) the mic, she politely declined, satisfied with simply sipping on her drink and eating some of the platter.

“Jin fucked that one up that time!” Natsuko laughed, slipping her jacket off and resting it on the seat behind her. Jin was carefree and good-natured. Patient. Everyone in the group knew Jin and Nat were a good match. Jin was flipping through the available list of songs, her shoulder-length hair swaying when she wiped some of the beer from her lip.

“You can’t blame all of that on me,” Jin retorted playfully. Chiharu suddenly shot up from her seat, pointing at the screen.

“Wait! Pick that one! Pick that one! I know the Tiktok dance to it.”

“Oh, God, nooooooo, boooooo,” Hana moaned with a thumbs down.

“Wait, no, I wanna see her do it!” Came Nat from the other side of the room.

(Y/n) sunk into the couch, cradling her drink as she glanced from person to person, a blissful smile on her face. After a dedicated discussion, Jin finally picked the Tiktok song. Just as Chiharu was warming up for her dance, (Y/n)’s phone vibrated. She pulled it out of her bag.

(09:48) Katsuki : What time you coming back?

(09:50) (Y/N)ヾ☆* : not sure yet

Katsuki is typing…

(09:50) Katsuki : Can you ask?

(Y/n) sighed and scratched her head.

(09:51) (Y/N)ヾ☆* : i asked. No one knows

Katsuki started typing again. He was typing for a while, but then the bubble disappeared. (Y/n) stared at the screen. He began typing again.

(09:53) Katsuki : Deku’s picking you up

(09:53) Katsuki : When you’re done.

(Y/n) replied with a thumbs up emoji.

(09:54) Katsuki : So let us know when you’re almost done, so he can head over there.

(09:54) Katsuki : Are you drinking?

Jesus Christ, Katsuki can talk when he wants to. (Y/n) shifted in her seat, setting her drink down on the table in front of her so she can type with both hands. Hana eyed her.

(09:55) (Y/N)ヾ☆* : I will

(Y/n) didn’t know if he responded because she shoved her phone back into her bag. She looked over and saw Hana already looking at her.

“You okay?” Hana asked.

“Oh, yeah. Just group project stuff.”

Hana nodded, understanding. Nat then came over and handed mics to her and (Y/n).

“I picked out this duet just for you two.”

(Y/n) and Hana stood on the curb with their arms locked at the elbow as they waved goodbye to their friends, watching the three of them stumble away in the direction of their apartments. Jin and Natsuko lived together, and Chiharu lived in the complex around the corner from them. Hana lived on the opposite side of the city campus, so (Y/n) offered to walk her. They were both laughing at a video someone posted on Twitter of the Deku Fortnite skin.

“Why didn’t they include Shoto? Dynamight and Deku, but no Shoto?”

“I don’t know, maybe he didn’t approve it,” (Y/n) remarked, watching Deku’s character dance on Hana’s phone. “And with good reason.”

“And Dynamight did?!”

(Y/n) shrugged, sputtering a laugh. “Maybe Dynamight likes the game.” By force of habit, (Y/n) pulled her own phone out of her bag to check her notifications. She ended up ignoring it for most of the night, so she couldn’t imagine what she missed.

To her surprise, she only missed one text from Katsuki and one text from Izuku. Izuku was letting her know the time he was picking her up at, which was… in 3 minutes.

(Y/n) stopped walking, her sudden halt pulling Hana back. Hana looked at her, confused.

“So, my ride is actually a few minutes away, and I only gave them the address to the karaoke bar…”

Hana understood, and she smiled. “Oh, okay! Text me when you get home?”

(Y/n) didn’t think Hana realized she didn’t live on campus anymore.

“Of course.”

Izuku pulled up to the curb in the sleek black car he and Katsuki alternated driving. They had other cars, but they both must’ve preferred this one. It was 1 in the morning, and the streets were starting to quiet down.

He wordlessly unlocked the car, and (Y/n) popped into the passenger side, smiling. Izuku didn’t give much of a greeting as he pulled off as soon as she buckled in.

(Y/n) broke the silence first. “I didn’t know you were in Fortnite.”

It was dark in the car, but (Y/n) could see the way his brow furrowed as he drove, as if he were trying to recall what on earth she was referring to.

“Katsuki’s in Fortnite, too,” she giggled. “Your costumes look a lot different, though.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he was no louder than a mumble as he looked past (Y/n) to make a turn.

(Y/n) sunk into her seat, taking this as her cue to leave him alone. Where Katsuki pushed her when he was upset, Izuku ignored her.

“How was your night?” He finally asked, after the lights of the city became sparser. (Y/n) perked up.

“It was a lot of fun! I was a little nervous to sing, so I spent a lot of time watching my friends, but Hana and I did a song together near the end.”

She didn’t know, but Izuku could smell the alcohol on (Y/n)’s breath, and he slightly turned his head away from her as she spoke.

“You have a lot to drink?” He asked quietly, a hand leaving the steering wheel to scratch his ear.

“No, not a lot.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t really–”

“How much, (Y/n)?”

(Y/n) looked over at him, blinking. Izuku’s gaze was still fixed on the road.

“I think no more than five,” she peeped. She watched him.

Izuku continued driving. They were almost home.

“You think?”

“I think, yeah.”

He was silent. He made another turn, and the light from a streetlamp shined down on half of his face, so (Y/n) could finally discern him. He appeared unaffected.

(Y/n) didn’t know what else to say, and whatever buzz she was feeling before quickly dissipated. She sat there with her hands folded in her lap. If this was Katsuki, she would’ve yelled back at him, but this was Izuku. Izuku has a different command about him.

The car was parked, and (Y/n) looked up. They were home. Izuku turned the car off, but he didn’t unbuckle. He turned to (Y/n), the light from the porch finally illuminating his face enough to give (Y/n) an emotion she recognized: pity.

“Please try to keep track next time.”

(Y/n) didn’t know what to say.

“Okay…”

Izuku got out of the car, closed the door, and headed inside with his hands in his pockets, leaving (Y/n) alone in the car.

#this is forever going to be the chapter that ive stared at for months #tto #bakudeku x reader #deku x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou #deku x bakugou x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader

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sourpatchys · 3 months

Text

Tea prompts; Daryl Dixon

You can find the original prompt post here!

These are really fun! Let me know if there are any other characters you’d like to see!

Warning: none! This is completely SFW! (Surprising I know, but I love soft Daryl!)

A/n: F!reader! I know I usually make my works GN, so I apologize in advance, but this is very AFAB leaning, I hope you can still enjoy!

Guidelines Masterlist Daryl!Masterlist

Lemon tea; What are mornings like with them?

Groggy is probably the best word to describe it. Daryl wakes up at the crack of dawn— ready at start the day and get moving as soon as his eyes open.

He’s going to try his best not to wake you, he loves to watch the twitch of your eyelashes and the peaceful look on your face. Though— sometimes— even being as quiet as he possibly can, the lack of warmth beside you wakes you anyways.

Those are the days where he decides to crawl next to you again, running his fingers through your hair and trying his damndest to lure you back to sleep.

He doesn’t want you to face the world and he doesn’t want that peaceful look in your face to disappear once you open your eyes.

He always leaves a kiss on your forehead, whispering sweet nothings into your ears before departing. His raspy morning voice always creating a bubble around you, like a soft blanket from your childhood, wrapping you tight.

—

Peppermint tea; What do they get exited about?

Surprisingly enough, it doesn’t take much to get Daryl excited.

He’s skeptical of everything and he doesn’t trust anyone, but one good dinner, one good catch or a warm, perfectly tempered, night is just enough to make him forget all the bad in the world for a few seconds.

Food especially gets him going. He’s become a sort of provider— he’s good at what he does and he takes pride in his ability to feed those he cares about. If it’s a good meal, one that has people patting him on the back, he’s going to get a little giddy.

And outwardly he may not show it— too embarrassed to display how absolutely amazing he feels— but inside he’s chucking his heels in victory.

—

Chamomile tea; What is their sleep schedule like? Does it change around their s/o?

Daryl doesn’t have much of a sleep schedule.

He prefers being awake and alert when you’re on the road, and can go days without a wink and still be able to function perfectly fine. (Albeit a bit more grumpy and reserved)

He’s also a light sleeper, any noise, dangerous or otherwise, can wake him up in the blink of an eye.

If there’s a safe place to stay— such as the prison or Alexandria— he sleeps like a baby. Never a full eight hours, but five or six get the job done well enough.

With you that doesn’t change much.

If you’re on the road together he prefers to stay awake the entire time. If you wanted to stand guard to allow him to sleep he’d definitely fight you on it—claiming he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing you were out there by yourself. (even if he was only a couple feet away)

When you’re together in a safer environment, with a bed and walls to protect you, he sleeps a bit deeper. The sound of a pin dropping wouldn’t wake him, so long as your warm body is pressed against him he’s content— he’s safe and he knows you are too.

—

Earl grey tea; How did they court their s/o?

Courting is a strong word— much too strong for how Daryl and you became a couple.

He did nice things for you, finding and giving you things he thought you would enjoy whenever he went on runs. But he never let himself truly feel that unfamiliar pull of affection.

Truly, he didn’t believe that he could protect you or that he deserved you at all.

It didn’t take long for the others no notice. You were always on the back of Daryl’s bike, he was always gifting you fun rocks and he’d somehow always manage to find your favorite candy on runs.

He didn’t court you— he simply gave more of himself to you than anyone else— until eventually you got the hint.

—

Milk tea; what are their kisses like?

Kisses with Daryl have phases.

Sometimes, he gives you short pecks, tingling your face with the scratch of his beard for only a millisecond before pulling away.

Sometimes they’re deep, enthusiastic, and oh so full of life. Harsh presses full of static— he wraps his arms around you and swings you around— completely unwilling to let go, uncaring of who’s watching or what anyone will think.

And sometimes, his kisses feel like a waterfall, so delicate and beautiful. These kisses are full of passion, they thrive in the moment and they prove to the both of you that— you are alive— and you’re alive together.

—

Coffee; Do they get jealous easily? How do they show it?

Yes and no. Daryl doesn’t really care what you do, who you hang around or how you act— in the grand scheme of things he’s probably the most lax partner you could ever have.

However, he does fear for others impact on you. In his mind— if someone were to tell you that he wasn’t good enough— maybe you’d believe them. Maybe passing comments and disgusted looks would drive you away from him.

He trusts you— mind body and soul— but in doing so he also fears his trust.

He’s jealous in the way— where if someone were to make a move on you, touch you in a way he didn’t like— he’d talk to you about it first. He values your opinion, even if that opinion could hurt him in the end.

If you were uncomfortable, if you also didn’t like the way you were touched— he’d skin that fucker alive.

He has his outburst sometimes— where maybe a comment was just too much for him to handle— if he was already having a shitty day and it was just the cherry on top— nothing could hold him back.

He’s not the loud redneck that came for everyone’s throats in the beginning— but that part of him still lingers, and he’s not afraid to show his bark and his bite of the situation calls for it. Especially when it comes to his woman.

—

Rosehip tea; How romantic are they? How do they show affection?

Daryl’s a clumsy romantic. He’s going to try— of course he is— but that doesn’t mean he’s good at it.

He’ll bring you flowers and knickknacks, cook your favorite meal whenever he’s able— and he gives the best neck and back massages in town.

But in all honesty— he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He’s running on pure instinct, on what he thinks a girl would want. Just give him patience, give him time to understand you as an individual.

He’s interested in whatever hobbies you’ve managed to keep with you through it all— he wants to learn about you but he’s afraid to ask questions.

He’s touch starved, so once he’s comfortable enough he’s going to start holding you. Whether it be your hand, your thigh, or even an arm slugged around your shoulders.

All in all, he’s going to struggle, he’s going to mess up and he may even fight you on it— but he’s still going to do his best, because that’s what he thinks you deserve.

—

Black tea; What do they look for in a person?

Daryl stopped looking for a person a long time ago. When he was looking, all he really wanted was someone willing to care for him— someone he could trust.

He’s never cared much about looks, body type or even hygiene. Just a girl he could love and a girl who would love him in return.

Never in his life has he felt worthy— and he craves that feeling of validation so badly. All he really wants is someone who will stick by his side through anything and everything— someone who can look past his rough persona without him breaking it down himself.

He wants to be seen without worrying about being perceived.

—

Pomegranate tea; At what point did they know they lived their s/o?

It didn’t take long.

When it sunk in for him— when he truly realized that he had it, and that he had it bad. It was after he heard you laugh for what felt like the first time.

Being on the road and fighting for survival— there really wasn’t much room for laughter, joy or anything remotely positive. For months all anyone had done was keep their heads down, praying for a moment of clarity.

Once you had taken over the prison, that first night camped outside in the grass, you had laughed. Looking back he couldn’t remember why you were laughing, he couldn’t remember what joke was told or what amusing thing you may have seen.

But he does remember that twinkle in your eye, the way your nose scrunched up and the fullness in your cheeks. He remembers the sound of your laugh, so calming and innocent— so addictive and contagious.

After that, he couldn’t look at you the same anymore. All he could see was that scene replaying on memory like a scratched record doomed to repeat.

It gave him more than enough reason to keep going, and he decided then and there that his life’s mission would be to see that scene as many times as possible.

—

Matcha tea; How and when do they propose to their s/o?

As stated above— Daryl’s a clumsy romantic.

The longer the two of you are together, the more he’s going to realize just how much he wants it to last forever. (Or whatever time left the two of you have)

The way he would go about it wouldn’t be necessarily ‘correct’, he wouldn’t have a ring or a speech lined up— and he definitely wouldn’t ask you if you wanted to be ‘Mrs. Dixon’.

You’d probably make a joke about being his wife— claiming something along the lines of ‘happy wife happy life’, more to make yourself laugh than anything else.

He would brood over it, mumble some things under his breath and continue on— but he’d keep that little joking phrase in the back of his mind.

Then, in Alexandria— when it comes time for introductions— he’d beat you to it, calling you his wife and telling the townsfolk to stay the fuck away from you.

And from that point on— regardless of legality— you become husband and wife.

—

Chai tea; How do they spice up their relationship?

There isn’t much to do in regards of spicing up a relationship, especially at the end of the world.

However, Daryl always makes it a point to take you away from it all.

He designates spots for just the two of you no matter where the group may be. He’ll go on runs by himself just go he can find a quiet place for the two of you.

Sometimes it’s a field of wild flowers, other times it’s just a clearing in between a couple large trees— but it’s always something, and it’s always just for you.

No place is ever going to be entirely secure and safe, and he knows that, but if he can make even a little space of heaven for you— he always does— no matter how long he has to search for it.

—

Hibiscus tea; What’s their favorite place to take their s/o?

It’s not so much a place as it is an activity— but he loves to hunt with you.

Going out into the great outdoors, looking for game and just spending quality time with you.

Growing up, hunting trips were the only way he got to see the soft side of his father, and it was a huge point of relation between Merle and him as well. So being able to share that with you, even if it’s not something you would normally do on your own, it’s his absolute favorite thing.

In the times we’re he’s hunting with you, separate from the group as he’s following the trail of whatever animal is closest— it almost feels like he’s back in the old world again. Free from abuse and bad decisions— he feels normal. He feels content.

And when you’re by his side, he feels as though anything is possible.

—

Green tea; How do they comfort their s/o?

Daryl’s way of comforting, is story telling. He, as a person, has experienced many things in his life— before and after the collapse.

He wants you to know, whether you’re angry, sad or just frustrated, that you aren’t alone. He comforts with comparisons and large bear hugs. He’ll whisper stories from times lost and hold you so close you can feel his heart thumping as if it were in your own chest.

He doesn’t pride himself on his comforting abilities, it’s not something he ever had to worry much about— but with you— truly all he wants is to see you smile again.

He’s okay with making a fool out of himself just to see you crack a smirk, he’s okay with hugging you and holding you close for weeks at a time if that’s what you need— he’s okay with hurting anyone who’s wronged you and he’s okay with helping you seek revenge.

Daryl doesn’t care what it takes— words, jokes or violence— he will do anything so long as you feel better in the end.

—

Russian caravan tea; How experienced are they with relationships?

Not at all. Daryl has had flings, one night stands and maybe even a friend with benefits at one point or another. But a real genuine relationship, to be loved and love in return— it’s completely new to him.

He has no basis for what to do or what to expect, his mother and father weren’t exactly lovey dovey for the time they were together. Merle never had a girl of his own, treating women as nothing more than play things whenever he could get his hands on one.

He’s completely lost, and he’s too embarrassed to ask anyone else for advice. It’s trial and error! And he hopes— with everything in him— that you don’t mind how truly clueless he can be.

—

English breakfast tea; Would they want a family?

The short answer is yes— Daryl wants a family.

The long answer however, is that he’s terrified of what having a family would entail. He wants to have a child with you— he wants— no, he craves— that domestic bliss that he’s only ever felt with you.

He wants to hear the pitter patter of small footsteps running up to him, he wants to be woken up in the middle of the night because of nightmares, he wants to be a father.

But he’s terrified. He’s scared of being just like his own, he’s afraid of losing his temper, he’s afraid of his bad days and what that could mean for someone so small and vulnerable.

He’s scared for you— about what a pregnancy in this world could mean for you and the life you share with him.

He would never ask. Never once would the words ever escape his mouth, forever locked in his mind unable to be free.

If you were to ask however, if you also wanted that kind of life with him— no matter how afraid he may be— he would give it to you.

If you were to fall pregnant without prior discussion, if it were an accident and you were afraid. He would be your rock, doing everything in his power to save you from that darkness.

All Daryl really wants— is to have and experience life with you— no matter what that may entail.

—

Rooibos tea; what’s their favorite thing to do with their s/o?

As stated above— Daryl likes to hunt with you, bringing one of the only nice moments from his childhood to the surface and experiencing it with you.

However, besides that— he generally just enjoys being with you.

Holding you close, knowing you’re in his reach— he knows that at any moment you could be taken away from him— so any and every second he spends with you is pure unadulterated bliss.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead daryl #twd #daryl dixon headcanon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd daryl #daryl twd #the walking dead #the walking dead imagine

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stellar-skyy · 1 month

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INTERSTELLAR TEASHOP — 200 followers event.

“welcome, customer! please, take a seat. our menu is right here; feel free to order when you are ready!”

in a quiet corner of the sky, there is a teashop is tucked in between the stars. as you enter, the bell makes a quiet chime in sync with the cheerful employee's greeting, while a light jazz plays in the background. the employee gestures towards a board displaying a list of drinks. it hangs over the counter, above where a row of completed orders await collection. (masterlist.)

there are only a few others inside the shop, all huddled in comfortable-looking armchairs with drinks clutched in their hands. through the window, an array of stars cast a cool glow over each visitor. the place is quiet and cozy, and smells strongly of tea.

it's about time to order, don't you think? (15/15 slots filled!)

EDIT: all slots have been filled! any orders sent in after this point will be rejected!

“oh, are you ready? let me grab my notepad!”

☆ — so, who was this order for? (character)

orders are welcome for the following characters! please note that the names that are bolded are allowed iced tea (a.k.a. platonic requests) only.

GENSHIN: Alhaitham, Arataki Itto, Arlecchino, Bennett, Chiori, Collei, Columbina, Cyno, Faruzan, Fischl, Freminet, Furina, Hu Tao, Kaveh, Kaedehara Kazuha, Kujou Sara, Layla, Lynette, Lyney, Nilou, Qiqi, Sangonomiya Kokomi, Shikanoin Heizou, Tartaglia, Tighnari, Venti, Wanderer/Scaramouche, Xingqiu, Yoimiya, Zhongli HONKAI STAR RAIL: Arlan, Asta, Aventurine, Blade, Clara, Dan Heng (including Imbibitor Lunae), Herta, Himeko, Kafka, March 7th, Natasha, Sampo, Silver Wolf, Tingyun, Welt, Yanqing.

☆ — oh and before i forget, did you want your drink hot or cold? (genre)

hot tea — romantic; iced tea — platonic.

☆ — alright, now that is out of the way... what tea would you like? (prompt)

EARL GREY TEA — losing the one you love the most; watching them slip right through your fingers. BLACK TEA — sacrifice; they were always willing to give their life for yours, but they weren't prepared for you to trade your life for theirs. CHAI — a quiet moment of bliss with someone you love. WHITE TEA — a dance, shared between the two of you. ENGLISH BREAKFAST TEA — a letter, from someone special. (please specify your relationship with the character!) CINNAMON TEA (note: this tea is served hot only!) — agreeing to 'date' each other for mutual benefit gets tricky when one begins to develop actual feelings. PEPPERMINT TEA (note: this tea is served hot only!) — jealousy, burning in their chest as they watch you grow closer to someone who isn't them. MATCHA TEA — an injury, that is carefully cared for by them. LEMONGRASS TEA — they see you're struggling, and they're there to relieve the burden from your shoulders. OOLONG TEA — a chance meeting, that promises a delightful future for the both of you. CHAMOMILE TEA — you may be sick, but they are there to care for you throughout. LAVENDER TEA (note: this tea is served iced only!) — familial ties weren't enough to stop you from growing apart, and now you don't know if the damage can ever be repaired. HIBISCUS TEA — reassurance, from one that knows no matter what hardships you face, you will get through it. ORANGE BLOSSOM TEA (note: this tea is served hot only!) — a proposal, wherein two hearts join as one. (please specify who is proposing!) LEMON & GINGER TEA (note: this tea is served iced only!) — no matter what you go through, you are family, and they will always be there for you. HONEY & VANILLA TEA — sometimes, one just wants to feel loved. and they will hold you close until you never doubt it. STRAWBERRY & RASPBERRY TEA — baking is always better when it's with the ones you love. POMEGRANATE TEA — (royalty au!) wherein you and them are both nobility. BLACKCURRENT TEA — (hanahaki au!) you adore them, but you know they don't feel the same. and it is killing you. MANGO TEA — you have been friends since childhood; you loved each other then, and you love each other now.

☆ — if there are any more details you would like to include, please leave them in your order and i will try to add them! if you are confused, here are some example orders:

— could i order an iced chamomile tea for tighnari? — i would like a peppermint tea for aventurine. if you could, please add some extra angst as well. — can i get a english breakfast tea for kazuha, served hot? and our relationship is lovers, of course.

☆ — have you decided already? wow, that was fast!

“before i wrap up your order, there are a few things to note...”

⤷ there isn't a limit of orders per person, but please wait until i have finished your current order before sending in another!

⤷ one character and one prompt in each order please!

⤷ remember i am a full time student! i do want to get to everyone, but if i get a lot of orders, there may be a delay.

⤷ edit: i will only be doing 15 requests, and all of those slots have been filled! i may open up requests again but do not send a request until they are officially open.

“excellent! i will let you know as soon as your drink is ready~”

#✒️ — writing #[ interstellar teashop ☆ﾟ. ]#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

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ctitan98official · 3 months

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What each RE8 lady smells like

Okay, yes there have been jokes going around about Alcina smelling like lavender and the girls reeking of blood and death, but… These are my head canons for how I think they smell. Let’s get into it!

Alcina:

Definitely wears very nice perfume in my opinion. Not too much, just a very light spritz of it.

I also think she might smell like roses. She does wear three of them on her dress, so… Why not? Plus, it does seem pretty romantic.

She obviously does smell a bit like cigarette smoke, but I don’t think it would be too overwhelming. Just a hint of it.

She might also have the faintest scent of alcohol on her because of how much wine she drinks. She does run a winery too so that might have something to do with it.

Donna:

I think Donna smells like flowers.

She loves to garden and tend to plants so it makes sense that she would smell of them.

I also think she smells like fresh herbs and delicious Italian food when she cooks.

She loves to read, so I think she also smells of books and paper. She probably likes to sit in a cozy nook nestled in between a pile of old books and the smell just kind of surrounds her. It’s pleasant and not overpowering.

She might also smell like cedar and other woods when she’s working on dolls.

Miranda:

I don’t think Miranda wears perfume. She finds it distracting.

I think that you can often smell the faint burn of antiseptic on her after she has finished her work in the lab.

She also loves to drink tea, so I think she might have a slight herbal smell like old grey or white tea.

Her home also smells of different kinds of tea and it kind of just clings to her.

Maybe she smells like traditional Romanian dishes when she cooks.

She is very obsessed with hygiene and cleaning, so I think that she would also smell of light soaps.

Bela:

Like her mother, I think Bela wears nice perfumes.

For some reason, she strikes me as smelling of vanilla and warm spices like cinnamon.

Basically, anything in chai tea: Cloves, cardamom, cinnamon, star anise… You get the picture.

She smells like fall. Just very comforting scents. However, I don’t think she smells like apples or pumpkin. I just don’t get that vibe.

I think that she also might smell of old parchment and books considering how much time she spends in the library.

Cassandra:

Cass loves to be outside and go exploring. I think she would smell very earthy.

She smells like the forest, so maybe she has a pine tree scent going on?

I also think that she smells like freshly fallen rain. It’s an invigorating scent and it’s kind of refreshing.

I think she would like crisp and clean smells, so I think that she likes the smell of peppermint.

Obviously, with how much time she spends in the dungeon, that musky aroma starts clinging to her after being down there for a while. But I think she likes to freshen up once she’s done so she can kind of keep that part of her life distanced.

Daniela:

I think that Dani has a very sweet scent, like sugar cookies or birthday cake. It matches her personality.

I think she also wears perfume, but she likes to steal Bela’s and wear it instead of the ones that Alcina gave her.

She is so bright and happy. I think she might also smell like citrus or other summery scents.

Maybe a hint of cocoa butter. I think she likes to moisturize and keep her skin healthy.

Dani likes to soak and take nice long baths. As far as how she smells right after freshening up, it depends on what soaps she has available, but she’s not picky.

Masterlist

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jreads · 11 months

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A Total Coincidence (Part 01)

Rating: totally family friendly 👍🏼

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Foul language, Mentions of blood, It's pretty angsty

A/N: OHHHHH we're so back. If you're new here, welcome. If not, welcome back! I am extremely excited for this. Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated. You can comment on this post or the masterlist to be added to the taglist!

You work a tiring and thankless corporate job. It pays well but it’s draining. You put a façade on in the office, one of polite, unruffled professionalism, but it slips quite quickly as soon as you push your way through the polished revolving glass doors of the modern high-rise.

He knows all of this because he watches you.

It’s not creepy, he attempts to convince himself, because he goes to that coffee shop too. The cozy, dim-lit one that overlooks your place of work. Granted, he used to only go once every blue moon. He’s there far more often now, in a darkened back booth, at the same time in the day.

A total coincidence.

Simon Riley never used to spend a lot of time in London. He has a permanent address there, under a fake name, just to smooth over certain legalities. He never bothered too much with the details. In between assignments he comes back to ensure everything is as it should be, and to water the small cactus on the windowsill, a joking gift from MacTavish following their op in Las Almas. It’s one of those low-maintenance ones; you should soak the soil once every two months just to ensure it doesn’t turn a duller shade of green. Simon is half certain he could feed the thing gasoline and it would still flourish. But he liked his routine. It was touch and go, busy, never too much time in one place. The injury threw a damn wrench in it all.

The team had been deployed somewhere in the South American jungle, attempting to uncover part of an elusive arms trafficking operation. While the job had been successful, Ghost had been rewarded with one in the gut. Hemorrhage, internal bleeding, the works. They had patched him up real well, but the Captain had insisted he take some time, at least until after Christmas. He hadn’t wanted to. There’s nothing to do. It gets all too quiet when he is left to his own devices. He gets restless. But in this café, under warm string lights and surrounded by chatter, it isn’t as lonely. Especially for the ten minutes just after 17:00 hours when you come in to place your order.

He isn’t entirely sure what had drawn him to you in the first place. I could have been any number of things. The light gait of your walk, the way you struggle with the heavy door, your sweet voice, or the way you treat the serving staff. They all like you. Especially the ginger kid with the glasses… he likes you a bit too much. It could have been the way you shrug off your blazer in the late summer heat, folding it into the crook of your elbow and rolling your neck. It could have been the way you usually fumble to hold everything in one hand, always one cup, one paper bag, along with your purse, jacket, blue light glasses. Peppermint tea, he had found out when he had walked too closely past you one day. You were delicately trying to pry the lid from your cup to let the drink cool and—even through the mask—he had smelled the fresh aroma of it. He lists all the possible causes of his interest as if there is some hidden, puzzling meaning behind them. Realistically, it’s probably just because he finds you real fucking pretty.

Whatever the reason, he has formed some strange one-sided connection with you. You haven’t noticed him, maybe you never will, because he sits in the darkest corner of the shop, hood pulled over his head and medical mask in place whenever he isn’t eating or drinking. He’s been reading a lot recently, James Patterson, John le Carré, but George R. R. Martin is his current. It’s a welcome change of pace. And a good excuse to spend the bulk of the afternoon here, nursing a black coffee and croissant BLT.

It's still summer and in central London, it’s sweltering. The café has their AC blasting, but as the sun dips low between the buildings it reflects off city glass and into the tiny shop, heating it like a microwave. The warmth feels oppressive today, even with his change to an iced coffee. The hoodie doesn’t help. That’s one of the only downsides of being here; he can’t shuck the damn hoodie. The tattoos would draw enough eyes, but the scars would make people stare. If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s people not minding their bloody business.

The ginger kid, Harvey, as his name tag says, sets an oscillating fan atop the espresso machine. Fat lot of good it’ll do on a day like this. As if in spite of his inner dialogue, its artificial breeze flutters Simon’s bookmark right off the table and to the wood-panelled floor. Reflexes faster than his memory, he bends down to grab it and bites his tongue to fight back what would have been a rather nasty string of curses.

“You’ll have to watch it for a bit. No folding forward or back, or to the sides.”

“So I can’t even fucking move now, hey?”

“Just be careful. The stiches should hold, but I don’t want you testing it, alright?”

Well now he had just gone and bloody tested it. Fucking hell. He had copious bandages overtop, but he needed to make sure nothing had pulled. If it had, he’d be sitting in a pool of his own blood by dinnertime. Masking another grunt of pain and fighting off his dizziness, he heads for the bathroom. No one will bother the shit on his table, the employees are usually pretty good about that.

The fluorescents flicker on automatically as the door shuts. He lifts his hoodie up and inspects the damage. Nothing is showing through, thank fuck. But he bets when he changes the wrappings later tonight, the gauze underneath will probably hold evidence of his stupid mistake.

He hates it, the wound. And hates himself for it. It’s a reminder that he’s not invincible… that he’s anything but. That despite the skull mask and the layers of armour and the assault rifle slung over his shoulder, he’s only human. Weak. He’s had injuries before, stabs and slashes and broken bones. But none quite so severe as one well-placed gunshot wound. Usually he bounces back pretty fast, but this time…

Simon hates the paleness of the face in the mirror. He thinks, just for a moment, of throwing his fist into the glass, just to rid himself of the reflection. Opting instead for a frustrated sigh, he rearranges the sweatshirt once more before throwing the door open and rounding the corner, stopping just inches from where you lean against the wall, waiting on the barista.

Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed the time. Your back is to him and you’re on your phone, texting away. He snoops, just a little. He’ll reprimand himself for it later. It’s your mother. She’s asking if you’ve eaten and sending pictures of a mischievous looking grey cat. He watches your shoulders shake in a light laugh. There’s a lock of hair obscuring the pulse in your neck and he wants to brush it away.

Enough, you bloody creep.

“Pardon,” he mumbles, pushing past you.

“Sorry.” You press yourself close to the wall as he moves, barely looking up from the screen. He can smell your fragrance. You’re so small compared to him; he can’t stop himself from picturing what his hand would look like splayed possessively over the small of your back.

Fucking hell, he needs to stop.

You’re oblivious to his thought process, engrossed still in the conversation with your mum. Only when the employee says your name do you look up, smiling even wider and profusely thanking as you reach for your cup. He likes your name, he thinks. It suits you. What would it sound like on his tongue if he said it aloud?

He’s going bloody soft. Simon theorizes that Johnny is largely to blame. He had been introverted before that op, preferring to work alone, avoiding interaction with others unless completely necessary. Since then, he found himself missing the raucous laughter of the task force, the cracking of army humor jokes. He couldn’t find it in himself to care much, though. After all, it’s not like it was making him any worse at his job.

His reputation had preceded him in the jungle. Once the cartel had caught wind of 141 touching down, they were talking about him, fear lacing their voices. El Crânio, they called him. The Skull. The kill count had been fucking brutal.

It feels strange to be thinking about that in a place like this. It’s like two different lives that don’t ever intersect. Three even, if he counts his real identity. Ghost, Simon, and William. Will is the name he gives to the barista here, the one on the bills that come to the flat, the one attached to the SIM in his phone, the one on the fake driver’s licence and motorbike certificate in his wallet. He hates it, but he wasn’t the one who got to choose it.

He watches the way you play a coin from your change between your fingers, spinning it over the back of your thumb before catching it. You tend to fiddle with things while you wait: debit card, pens, hair pins, like your hands are aching for something to do. He can empathize. He’s started biting his nails again.

The employees have worked fast today, and you have your tea and biscuit in hand in record time. It almost seems unfair. Five minutes he gets with you, watching at a distance. At least he knows he’ll see you again tomorrow.

And he does. Again and again and again. Over a few weeks, the hole in his gut starts to heal, but it’s replaced with a new one. Something more insistent and far less easy to treat.

One day, you’re late. He starts to ruminate without meaning to but naturally, his mind goes down darker routes. He shakes the unwanted thoughts off, trying not to dwell on just how much they unnerve him. But you show up eventually, smile still plastered on. He wonders if it’s real.

“They’re extending my day,” you’re telling the server. “Not by much, just one or two hours.” Something about an expedited move from digital to hardcopy files. “At least it’s overtime pay.”

He doesn’t like it. The days are getting shorter; it’s getting darker earlier. He doesn’t like the idea of you walking home alone in the shadows of the London streets. Crime is on the rise; there’s all sorts lingering around the city at night. But then again, it shouldn’t bother him. It’s not his commute; you’re not his.

He sticks around most days though, just to make sure you get out alright.

Today is different. It’s different because it’s 19:00 hours and you have dark circles under your eyes and you’re staring at nothing in particular and when the barista hands you your drink you say thank you, but you don’t smile. You always smile. And he’s trying to tell himself that it’s none of his business, that it’s not his problem but it is. Suddenly, it’s his biggest problem.

He holds the door open for you as you leave because it’s all he can do. You thank him, quietly, but don’t even look up from the floor. He won’t follow you; that’s crossing a line, a breach of privacy. So, he turns towards his own flat, looking back only once to see you disappear behind a street corner.

He sees your haggard face in his dream that night.

The next few days are more of the same. Even the coffee shop employees are starting to talk about it. How you look tired, shaky. Harvey talks about asking for your number as a way to cheer you up. The baristas all shut him down pretty quickly.

Weeks pass. He’s almost done the Game of Thrones series. But you’re only getting worse.

It’s October now, and the autumn chill is starting to set in. You wear a black trench over your office clothes, tugging it closed to fight the cold of the wind. Your eyes look bloodshot, hollow, like it’s been weeks since you’ve slept. He knows the look intimately; he sees it enough in the mirror. Ginge has asked for your number anyway, and you’ve politely declined. Ever the diplomat. He feels bad for smiling at the dismayed look on the boy’s face. Luckily, it hides behind his mask.

It rains the next day. Torrentially. It’s the kind that can dampen a thick cotton sweater within seconds, so he begrudgingly takes an umbrella with him. The shop is warm and ambient, a world within a world. The coffee tastes better on a day like today, warm, bitter, and reviving. He loses himself in his book, looking up only to realize that it’s passed your time. He thinks for a moment that he might have missed you, but that’s impossible. He could have blindfolds on and still feel your presence.

You haven’t shown up. There’s a twist of something akin to anguish in his chest and he tells himself to calm down. Maybe they kept you late; you’ll show up eventually.

Except you don’t.

Soon, the workers are wiping down tables and raising chairs. He has no choice but to abandon his station and venture back out into the cold. Something is off. It might seem silly, but he’s learned never to discount his hunches. So, he sets up camp in the courtyard, umbrella obscuring what little is visible of his face, and he waits. And waits. And waits.

It’s nearing 22:00 hours when you finally exit the elevators and break for the revolving doors. He knows something is wrong immediately, your feet are moving too fast and you’re casting glances over your shoulder as if you’re being followed. As soon as you exit the building you’re running, as fast as your heeled pumps can allow.

“Fucking hell.” He’s up within seconds, umbrella closed and leaving him open to the onslaught of rain. He jogs to try and keep up, a safe distance behind but you’re too fast. By the time he rounds the corner, he’s lost you.

He’s checking each cross street, turning back on himself. The patter of raindrops is almost deafening, the cabs sending sprays of sludge up from the gutters as they race down the laneway. But through it all—as he’s been trained to—he hears sounds of a struggle. A scream, half muffled. It’s yours. He knows it immediately. Simon follows it as if he’s tracking you. One block north, one west. A half. Retracing his steps. There’s no sounds past the slick splash of car tires on wet asphalt. An alley lies to his left, no streetlights. He’s about to venture down it when you come hurtling around the corner, straight into his chest. Your coat is ripped, hair soaking, and he swears there’s blood on your clothes. Your tired eyes are panicked and laced with fear, looking at him with desperation. He doesn’t have time to be shocked. Because from behind you comes a hooded man, tall build, muscular, though not nearly as big as him. Taking hold of your forearm, he draws you behind him. The man pauses.

“Can I help you?” Simon asks. His voice is anything but friendly. The man seems to size him up and decide the fight is unwise, turning on his heel and walking briskly back the way he came. Good. He’d go after the guy, but he sure as shit isn’t leaving you alone in the middle of the street.

You ‘re clinging to the sleeve of his hoodie and shaking like a leaf. He has slid into that lethal calm familiar to field work, assessing the location, noting information, protecting. Once the man is out of sight, he’s got your face in his hands and your skin is so soft but so cold.

“You alright?” he asks, already fully aware of the answer. You can’t even speak, barely looking at him, just back down the alley as if your pursuer might remerge. Shock, he thinks. What was he supposed to do with a civvy in shock? Get them to a safe place, speak calmly and stably, check for injury.

“Right, come on.” He pulls you lightly by the arm and you follow without much resistance, probably too weak to refuse. Like hell he’s letting you go anywhere by yourself right now. It’s almost unsettling how small your wrist feels in his hand, fragile, too easily breakable.

His flat is warm, but you’re still shivering. Simon had deposited you on the couch after helping you shrug out of your destroyed jacket. A blanket sits around your shoulders now, and the kettle is boiling. He’s retrieved his somewhat depleted med kit from the bathroom, kneeling on the floor in front of you. Distantly, he curses himself for not replenishing bandages from the drugstore. There’s a nasty cut on your upper arm, open and bleeding, a knife slash. Anger isn’t something he can afford to feel right now.

“Let’s have a look,” he says, more to himself then anything. You haven’t said a word to him. But when he dabs at the wound with clean gauze, you grasp at his forearm, inhaling sharply.

“I know. I gotta clean and stitch it though, alright?” He’s never been great at patch ups, but he has been trained. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but you can’t keep bleeding either. Fucking hell, he wishes he had gentler hands. Or something stronger than ibuprofen.

“You drink?” he offers. You nod. Good enough. He brings you back a glass of whiskey. You down it, wincing at the strength, offering the empty glass back to him. He takes it, placing it on the low table before assessing you again.

Clean. Disinfect. Needle, thread, vertical mattress stich. Under up, under down and tie off. This would be a breeze for the field medic. But his fingers are thick and much less nimble. You keep clutching at his arm through the sleeve, squeezing to stave off some of the pain. His eyes flicker up occasionally to check your face, but your own are tightly shut. He can tell you’re gritting your teeth, but you barely make a sound. Impressive, though it’s probably partially due to adrenaline. He ties off the final stitch. “Done.”

When you open your eyes there’s relief in them. And a loosening of tense muscles that is worrisome because it’s happening too fast. Your upper body is swaying, and your features are going unfocused, and he knows what happens next.

He manages to cradle your head just before it hits the arm of the sofa.

Bloody fucking hell.

You wake up in a bed that isn’t yours.

It’s plain. In fact, the whole room is. Grey-brown drywall and exposed brick. White sheets, white bedspread. The only real piece of décor is a bookshelf, spanning a considerable length of the wall, practically exploding with titles. What the hell?

You rise onto your elbows only to gasp in pain.

It’s a nasty looking cut, red and swollen around the edges but tied together with neat stitches. The sight of it opens a floodgate of memories, one after the other, ending with the man who saved you, shrouded in darkness.

Shit. This wasn’t good. None of this was good. You need your phone, but all of your belongings had been in your handbag, lost in that alley. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, onto cool tile. Tiptoe out the doorway, taking in pieces of the quiet apartment as you go. Industrial design, morning light, a view of the city, a tiny cactus on the sill.

“You’re awake.” The Manchester accent is heavy and laced with concern. You spin on the source only to stop dead.

His brown hair is so light it might as well be blonde, eyes dark with the shadow of lowered brows, skin peppered with pale pink scars. Prominent ones over his left eyebrow and bottom lip. The hint of a tattoo peeking out the collar of his t-shirt. Though eerily beautiful, his face is one that might send people running. But you find you aren’t afraid of him, not in the slightest.

“You wanna tell me what happened back there?”

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