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ma1dita · 2 months

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buddy system

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.2k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where he comes with you to rescue your twin brothers, Pollux and Castor. A weekend 'quest' teaches you a lot about Luke, and about yourself too. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

a/n: um i cant apologize for this word count and ive been looking at this for too long so fuck. Anyways do yall think Luke felt bad when he found out Castor died in battle because of his army in this universe? just me?? okay :) also trouble gets a cool magic item that makes an appearance here, kinda works like polyjuice but with smoke

(posted 2/7/24 betad by lovely ellie @lixzey might edit again when i get some sleep)

—

“No. You might be my father, but you’re crazy, man!”

You’re standing in D’s office at the Big House, and what was supposed to be a short talk before the counselors’ meeting has turned into a full-blown argument. It’s hard to focus on anything other than the words leaving your godrent’s mouth.

You’re going to pick up your little brothers.

“Those two statements are both true, kid. You’re old enough to understand that!”

They need your help.

“You’re really letting your 16-year-old daughter drive down to Florida by herself to pick up some kids she’s never met? Won’t even send me with any quest companions, or like, Grover?” you say exasperatedly, before slumping down into a seat.

“Think of it as family bonding! They’re great from what I remember. You all need to get along anyway.”

Whether it was jealousy or the sudden urge to be petty, you impulsively grab your dad’s Diet Coke and chug it, crushing the can with your fist as a tiny act of rebellion.

Another one appears on the desk and you chuck it over your shoulder. Mr. D sighs as he conjures another one, to which you do the same thing.

“I can do this all day, kid.”

“So can I, and you know if I do, we’ll be sitting here until I’m 40,” you say expectantly, tapping your fingers on the hardwood surface of his desk.

“What do you want?”

The keys to his car are a start, as well as extra pocket money—but there was something, or rather, someone missing to make sure this weekend goes as smoothly as possible.

Your smirk widens at your father, and he wonders when you’ve gotten good at playing his own game.

It’s like looking into a mirror but his worst nightmare manifested as a teenage girl.

—

There are only two things Luke can think about when he hears the sound of your laughter.

The first is that, unlike your angelic singing that could rival the Muses, your laughter takes after the sound of a maniac, an incredulous crescendo that only something curated by Hades in the deepest pits of Tartarus could produce. It was almost madness-inducing, and it went off in his brain like you were a siren (although he means the kind used for weather advisory, he too gets lured in by your laughter each time he hears it like he’s lost at sea).

Second, as he watches you storm down the lawn of the Big House, your anger brewing something comparable to a Category 5, he raises an eyebrow and thinks, well this ought to be good. Or entertaining at the very least.

“You,” you growl at him, guttural and sharp like the finger you jab into his chest, “we’re going on a quest!”

“Me?” Luke blurts, eyebrows furrowing at you.

A loud groan echoes through the grassy space between the house and the counselors as everyone looks up to see Mr. D dragging his hands down his face at the sheer thought of his daughter causing him more gray hairs.

“That’s not what we agreed on, kid!” “If you want any of your children to come back to this hellhole in one piece I need backup!” “There’s more of you?”

Both you and your dad glare at Luke now, like he’s interrupting a private conversation.

“Since when do you like asking for help, princess?”

Mr. D’s arms are crossed over his chest as he speaks to you. Though your height severely differs due to the wooden steps of the Big House, the air is palpable with fear only an Olympian could invoke, reminding the counselors that the man wearing the ugliest Hawaiian shirt known to humankind, is in fact inhuman. You, however, are standing tall in the freshly-cut grass in your combat boots with wrath that could rival Ares’ as you stare your father down like the rest of them wouldn’t get struck into the next lifetime due to your impertinence, as Annabeth loves to call it. She looks up at Luke, with her eyes conveying that she thinks you must be clinically insane, but he knows that already so he shrugs.

“I’m not asking for it, I’m demanding it. Besides, he’s like my ESA,” you say, then taking Luke by surprise as you grab him by the wrist and drag him off the front lawn. You think you can hear Beckendorf and Clarisse bite back chuckles.

“Someone tell Rodriguez he’s in charge of 11!” you yell into the air, and words of affirmation and good luck are muttered in response.

“Don’t I get a say in this, trouble?” Luke says playfully, tugging at your arm lightly but unresisting as you sigh and pull him along. Who in their right mind says no to a long weekend away from this place? Monsters and demigods be damned.

“No. Besides, they’re gonna need more luck than we do.”

“Liam, I don’t know why she trusts you, but if my daughter dies, I’ll make sure you’re next!” Mr. D yells out to your retreating figures, and all of the counselors turn to face him realizing that without you, well… that means he actually has to be in charge.

“So what’s the meeting supposed to be about, Annabelle?” Mr. D says, looking at Annabeth only knowing that she’s supposed to be the smart one—and the small girl sighs.

This is gonna be the longest weekend yet.

—

You’re speeding down I-95 with the windows down and the wind brushing through both of your hair. While Luke watches you from the passenger seat with the road signs blurring past his periphery, he also notices that it’s the first time in a while that he’s seen you this carefree. With both of you taking up counselor positions a few months ago, and your dad appointing you to be in charge of all of them (because why have a counselor for a population of one), there’s a lot about you that’s grown up in the two years you two have known each other. But what type of demigod gets to enjoy their childhood anyway, right? Luke can only remember bits and pieces of his.

“How do you even know where we’re going? I can barely read the signs,” he asks.

“Cool blessing from my stepmom. Ariadne’s chill. We talk sometimes and she likes that I keep D in check, so now I can never get lost,” you grin toothily, violet eyes flickering to meet his.

“Was it true what your dad said? That you trust me?”

His voice is a bit louder than it should be over the wind tunnel that blocks out the sound of the radio as the air whips in and out of the car.

“Well, I wouldn't say trust,” you drag out, leaning back against your seat with your eyes still on the road, “More like if I got abducted by a harpy, I think you could cut its wings off and give me a fighting chance at living.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t invite Mason to come,” he mumbles, and you smirk.

“Who?”

His hands are clenched in his lap as a blush brushes his cheeks, windswept in the rays of the late summer sun.

“Your boyfriend. Wouldn’t he be a better companion?”

Something about the older son of Apollo always ground his gears. It was even worse that you both would sing Broadway musicals together during his sparring sessions. Your harmonious voices echoing from the amphitheater aside, the repetitive grating feeling in his stomach reminds him not to go see Hamilton if he ever makes it out to the city.

“He’s not…” you huff, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel as you think hard on what to say next, “He’s nothing serious.” You pull the sun visor down as you squint, tilting your head in case he says something else, but you hear nothing. Luke’s staring at your side profile, unable to hide his grin at the new information, biting his cheek.

“Besides, he’s a fucking terrible shot. And you’re supposed to be the best, so I’ve heard. Who else would I want on this trip with me?”

He chuckles at this lightly, your words bolstering his ego.

“So you’ve heard.”

And for a second, the sight of his smile distracts you enough that the car swerves a tiny bit closer to the median. You both ignore it and keep driving.

—-

Hypnos increases his hold on your senses as you finally take a break somewhere in North Carolina, taking refuge in a dimly lit corner of a gas station parking lot. The old car reeks of greasy fast food and all the sugar Luke could get his hands on at rest stops (it was really cute to see him indulge in more normal things like sweets instead of swordsmanship), and both of your seats are leaned back, but it’s hard to get comfortable after having your butt in the same seat for several hours.

You readjust yourself again, making the car shake a bit as you turn over to face Luke.

“What’s wrong?” he mumbles through closed eyes. His head’s banged against the window one too many times, and it was starting to get annoying.

“Sorry. Just can’t sleep. Thinking too hard.”

He sighs, reaching over to toss your pillow into the backseat, and as you sit up, he rips your blanket off of you too.

“Hey!”

You go silent when you watch him make a makeshift bed for you, turning back with tired eyes as he gestures, “Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

“I feel bad, Luke. You’re taller than me and your knees almost hit the dashboard.”

He rubs at his eyes, looking at you impatiently, and you know his body is calling for comfort too.

“I’ve slept in worse conditions, you gotta remember that, trouble.” The stories Annie used to tell you about the both of them sleeping on the streets pull at your heart, and as you crawl towards the back, you move before you think rationally–tugging on his arm.

“Come on over here.”

“You sure?” “Before I change my mind, yeah.”

You both move around trying to find a place both of you can be comfortable in, first starting with your heads at opposite windows, legs tangling in the middle before he laughs a little too hard at your fumbling and you launch your pillow at his face. Awkwardly, you climb over his legs into his outstretched arms, slotting yourself against his side as he pulls your hair up from getting trapped between his shoulder and your back.

It’s deadly quiet, and Luke thinks if you could move any closer to him, you might hear his heart thundering in his chest.

“You smell like french fries,” you grumble into his sweater, and his laughter shakes you like an earthquake, uprooting the faint traces of sleep in your mind.

“At least the monsters won’t find us. Gonna be harder when the twins get here. A lot of demigod smell to ward off.”

You don’t answer, and he thinks you may have fallen asleep until he notices your hand playing with the frays of his sweater.

“Trouble?”

“They’re really little,” you mumble, so low that he barely hears the hesitance in your voice.

“The monsters? Yeah, I fucking ho–” “Pollux and Castor. My…half-siblings, with really Greek names, and a mom that depends on me getting them to camp safely…” you trail off before your head jerks up to meet his eyes. It’s colder at night now, your bodies and the tiny throw blanket from your trunk providing ample heat even if his socked feet fight their way out from underneath.

“How old are they, nine?” He feels you nod against his chest before he continues, “I was nine when I left home.”

Your eyes get glassy at the thought of a smaller version of Luke, one who’s not all gangly legs and lean muscle—one much softer and innocent than the boy you lean your weight upon, running away from home to find a place he can belong.

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, the arm propped against the headrest wrapping around you and resting on your hip, tapping you to continue your previous thought.

“I don’t know how to do this, I guess. I’m ripping them from their home and I—” “You’re not some kind of monster y’know? You put yourself down too much sometimes,” he sighs, and he watches the windows slowly start to fog up, “What don’t you know how to do?”

Ignoring his question, you change the subject hoping to talk about something lighter, and far less revealing to the thoughts inside your head.

“Do you remember all of that? Going to school and chalking up the sidewalks on the way home, hopscotch and ice cream trucks… I don’t want to take them away from that.”

Luke ponders, digging through his brain for anything happy from his childhood, but through the years his memories started to collect dust in the back of his mind.

“I don’t remember much.”

“Gods, I’m sorry…”

Mason had told you of your habit of putting your foot in your mouth. You dealt in extremes, giving too much or too little, always saying the wrong thing—and it was the reason why things didn’t go further with the son of Apollo. As well as with the daughter of Aphrodite you saw briefly that told you you didn’t know how to love, not if you didn’t know how to share yourself with others (yeah that one hurt a lot).

Sharing.

That’s what you’re hesitant about.

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago now,” Luke mumbles, a beat of silence passing before he redirects the conversation like you did, “What don’t you know how to do, trouble?”

“How to share. Be a sibling. Someone likeable.”

Luke doesn’t mean to laugh at your expense, but he does, and you punch his stomach hard enough he gasps for air.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Everyone likes you.”

“Everyone’s usually scared of me because of D, or hates me because I take dessert privileges and write them up,” you say matter-of-factly, staring out the window above his head at the gentle shine of the moon on his features. It’s a crime for him to look so soft under the low light, and you realize you’re staring when he calls your name.

“No, you don’t get it—you’re the most selfless person I know. You give up sleep to sing to kids before bed, conjure juice boxes so they don’t pass out during training—I’ve seen you carry a kid almost as tall as you across camp because they broke their ankle. You’ve got a lot of love in that twisted heart of yours. I’d know… I mean—I have to share a lot… I’m basically an expert.”

You blink at him as if seeing him in a new light, and you realize then why you picked him to go on this weekend quest with you. Your heartbeat slows despite the show of vulnerability in front of him, and you understand now that Luke makes you feel safe. Biting your lip to hold back a sigh, you decide to just unload the rest of your thoughts, knowing that you’re in the hands of someone who wants to hold the weight. “I’m just used to being alone, I think. I mean who knows what we're like when we're alone but us, right? What a terrifying thought,” you deflect, and Luke closely watches the slope of your nose, down to the smoothness of your lips, unable to put the right words to how he’s feeling.

I know you, he thinks, and it's not as all bad as you make it seem.

“We’re never truly alone, y’know. Besides, even if you are, you still have me,” he says nonchalantly, and the warmth on your cheeks could generate enough heat to run the car for miles. Chuckling lightly as your eyes flutter closed, you know you need to rest before morning comes since you’re the only one between the two of you that can drive. You reckon you’ll teach Luke by the end of the year if he wants to.

“We’re getting pretty terrible at this enemies thing, Castellan,” you jest with nothing hard to back it, and a smile falls onto both of your lips.

“We were never really enemies, trouble. I just like getting on your nerves.”

Your laughs fall silent, settling into a comfortable silence, until his next words send you off into slumber as you listen.

“I remember my mom singing in the kitchen as she put peanut butter on my sandwiches. She'd act like she left the dishes out for me to wash, but let me lick the knife clean every time and I’d put too much soap and the sink would be filled with bubbles. I don't remember much else but that. Her kitchen. She smelled like…chamomile.”

A wandering hand pulls his free one into yours, holding it until sunrise.

—-

You push Pollux and Castor out the door before the sun rises after a short stay at their mother’s house, and as the engine heats up, you and Luke watch them say goodbye to her with the both of you thinking of last words with your own. The both of you ward off the hellhounds biting off at your heels for a few hours like how you deceived the police the day previous, a purple Zippo lighter in hand whose smoke grants temporary illusions wafting through the car, and it smells like grapes (thanks D!). The kids sleep most of the way, none the wiser and heavy with sleep and their emotions of leaving everything they’ve ever known. Your eyes flicker to their sleeping heads in the rearview mirror, ready to take them home.

Hours later, Luke decides to make you stop at a diner to get you a bit of rest, get actual food, and let the twins pee, and your head is bobbing slightly in front of your plate of food once he brings them back from the bathroom.

“You wash your hands?” you say tiredly, both Pollux and Castor shaking wet hands in your face in response, making you giggle before sipping at your coffee. Luke cut you off from Redbull yesterday, saying he was scared for your liver and saying you needed to drink something else for a bit. He bristles at the sight of you drinking more caffeine, and you smile as the mug touches your lips.

“You’re gonna kill yourself one day. At least your dad drinks Diet Coke.”

“Not by choice, though what a way to go!” you joke, and the twins giggle as the both of them gulp down root beer like it’s essential to their being. Luke sighs at the idea of you having two minions under your belt, who you’ll most definitely train to raise hell on Camp Half-Blood now that you’ve taken more of the administrative side of things.

“Is he your boyfriend, sissy?” Pollux, or maybe it’s Castor pipes up, swinging his legs under the table and you smile at the sound of the nickname, noticing the dimple in his cheek. Luke chokes on his burger, coughing until you elbow him.

“He’s more of my ESA,” you remark, and he still doesn’t know what that is, so he raises an eyebrow like your brothers do as they peer up at you from across the table.

“What’s an ESA?” Castor, you realize, who has no dimples, spits out behind munches of a pickle.

“Luke’s my emotional support animal.”

He eats the rest of your fries despite your confidence in that response, grumbling exactly how a resistant dog would.

As you’re paying the bill, a large shadow looms over the sunny disposition of everyone at your table—and then Luke shouts for everyone to cover their eyes. Glass shatters over you, revealing a hellhound the size of a minivan, and it pounces toward the twins, large teeth bared at their throats. Before Luke can pull his sword out, you whistle sharply and the sound whizzes through the air like a bullet as you toss the Zippo lighter at him as he’s pushing the kids to the car. Though he’s reluctant to lose sight of you, he wards them with an illusion, locking the doors despite their cries and he runs headfirst back into battle, you with your thyrsus and him with his sword, back to back.

“They okay?” you heave, jabbing at the red-eyed canine between the eyes as Luke pulls around to slash it across the neck, coming out of the tussle unscathed as you both watch it keel over at your feet into golden dust minutes later.

“Yeah. Are you?”

Though you originally found it funny, Luke does perform his job well, getting you to calm down as he holds you to his chest until you can breathe normally again.

“Mhm. Just scared me.”

The two of you run out of the destroyed diner and into the warded-off car before the police show up hand in hand as you escape without detection. As he falls asleep, Castor dreams that you two are Bonnie and Clyde like in an old Western movie he was definitely not old enough to watch.

—-

You’re finally back on the Island now, only an hour away from Montauk and Luke is getting restless in the passenger seat. He pulls apples out of his backpack, wiping them off with his shirt as you sing along to a Taylor Swift song playing on the radio.

And maybe someday when we’re older, this is something we’ll laugh about…. Foolish one… you hum, tapping the wheel to fight off your exhaustion.

Pollux and Castor are using their fingers to pretend to hop over obstacles in the smudged windows, babbling about something they did in class last week. The son of Hermes pulls out a pocketknife he nicked from a gas station this morning as he starts to cut the apples into pieces, putting some into a ziploc bag for the boys to share, and you smile at him, wistful at your trip nearing its finish line. If you weren’t enemies before this like he said, it’s crazy to consider him your closest friend. But he is, isn’t he?

His knuckles nudge yours over the console, pressing an apple slice into your palm.

“You know, Castellan, you’re sweet when you want to be. Shame you and that sister of Annie’s didn’t work out.”

Luke scoffs at the reminder of his ex, slicing another piece off for you to eat. She did say he had wandering eyes…always looking for you. He’s not going to admit that though.

“I just know you like your apples cut. Saw you battling it out with a butter knife last week. Couldn’t help but notice,” he says lowly like it’s normal for people to be that considerate about others, normal for him to care about you like that, a constant push and pull between you two.

“Hurts my teeth,” you mutter, and Luke chortles like you’ve told him something life-changing. Your hand bumps into his again, feeling nothing but his calloused fingers, and when you look up his cheek protrudes with the last slice.

“Tax,” he winks, and you’re delirious with this feeling that only he can bring you, almost comparable to being high.

The popstar’s voice continues to trill in the background, with my head in my hands, saying “How could I not see the signs?”

You both don’t realize you’ve stopped singing until Pollux pipes up asking for you to play Fireball by Mr. 305 himself.

—-

The car finally pulls into the driveway of the forest path and you’re all greeted by the campers holding blazing lanterns. Chiron, your father, and the nymphs are waving as the twins marvel at the fairy lights strung up along the way for a warm welcome.

“You’re alive,” your dad remarks, and this time he doesn’t say it in jest, sounding more relieved.

“I was in good hands,” you affirm, looking up at Luke amongst the noise of your cheering friends and the feeling that comes with calling this place home.

The boys are tucked in at your side, shyly looking at the crowd, Pollux holding your hand while Castor holds onto Luke’s, and Chiron calls your attention.

“I know you didn’t get your official announcement,” he starts, and you laugh at that, remembering the bubbles in the lake.

“Because I pulled a fast one on D.”

“Nonetheless, I would love for you to get recognized for your efforts. Dionysus. Storyteller, Herald of Chaos,” he continues by announcing your name, and then,” Pollux, and Castor– children of the grapevine, the God of Wine!”

The campers are kneeling and you look at Luke, who’s smiling from the ground beside you.

“Take a picture, trouble, it’ll last longer.”

“My children are home safe. And thank you, Castellan, for being a formidable companion. My deepest appreciation.” Mr. D sounds serious for once, pulling Luke up as he nods in respect.

It’s a crazy feeling to finally feel at home though you’ve been here for two years now. But you remind yourself quickly of why that is when you see Luke carrying Pollux on his shoulders as Castor latches onto his legs.

“You know, your family is a nightmare. You two hellions will fit right in,” he grins.

You can’t help but agree.

—

“I hadn’t told them about you, but they saw you bathing in my eyes. I hadn’t told them about you, but they saw you in my written words. The perfume of love cannot be concealed.” -Nizar Qabbani

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#luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x reader fanfic #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #luke castellan fluff #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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superhaught · 25 days

Text

I Mean It Different Than You Do

Pairing: Leighton x Reader

Warnings: surgery recovery, pure fluff

Word Count: 2500

Anonymous Asked: Hi! Could i please request a Leighton x fem reader that’s kind of based on the episode of slocg where Kimberly has her surgery and the Kansas guy takes care of her and she thinks hey only thinks of her like tiny Tim lol but instead it’s with Leighton x reader and leighton takes care of a sick reader and finds out that they have feelings for each other and it’s full of fluff! Sorry if this is confusing lol

Took inspiration from Reneé's song "I Do" as well.

Leighton and reader are best friends. Leighton helps reader through their wisdom tooth surgery.

You had found a friend in a very unlikely person.

The first time you noticed her, she was trying to get drunk off of tiny disposable cups of wine while volunteering at the Women’s Center open mic night.

The second time you noticed her, she was sitting down in the seat in front of you in your spring semester astronomy class.

After working on a class project together, you discovered that she was actually a very sweet person underneath her designer clothes, perfectly straightened blonde hair, and chilly attitude. You became fast friends over that second semester at Essex and ended up spending a lot of time together outside of class.

You watched as Leighton Murray grew more and more comfortable with her sexuality over time. As her friend, you supported her exploration of being out and were there for her throughout the ups and downs of her relationships with Alicia and Tatum.

You invited her over to your off-campus apartment when she needed some time to decompress from Essex life. You watched movies together almost every weekend. You forced her to experience some natural New England beauty with brief hiking trips and lake days.

She brought you to parties, took you along shopping and out for lunch and dinner, and earnestly tried to get you more involved in the dating scene. Leighton even set up a dating app profile for you once and you just giggled and said, “I don’t want to meet someone through an app!”

She rolled her eyes at you, “I give up! Don’t you want to start seeing people?”

“I dunno,” you shrugged, “I feel like I have everything I want right now.”

“How are we so different?” the blonde mused, turning her attention to her own phone, which was constantly blowing up with messages. “Well, whatever. I’m not going to force you to date just for the sake of it, but I feel like you’re missing out.”

You didn’t say anything in response. You were reading in your bed and Leighton was laying next to you comfortably. You were holding a highlighter in between your teeth and occasionally shifting so that you could annotate in your book. You had noticed that Leighton had been glancing over at you a few times but you didn’t say anything about it.

She flipped her phone to face you at some point, showing you an instagram post announcing an upcoming Theta party, “wanna go?”

You looked at the date of the party and frowned, shaking your head, “can’t. I’m sorry, Leight. I’m getting my wisdom teeth out that day.”

“Aw shit, really? That sucks…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m going to need the weekend to recover. Actually, I was going to ask you if I could get your help with a ride to and from the dentist but you should go to the party so don’t worry about it.”

“No, I'd love to help! You think I’d rather be hanging out in the rancid Theta house than eating popsicles and binging Housewives with my best friend?”

You laughed, “Well I don’t know, would you rather hang out with me after getting wisdom tooth surgery than go to a party and potentially meet a hottie to spend the night with?”

Leighton smirked at you and shifted a little bit closer to you in the bed, leaning her head on your shoulder, “nah… lately, you’re the only hottie I’ve been wanting to spend my time with.”

“Yeah, right,” you snorted.

“I’m being serious, dumbass.”

You both looked at each other for a moment. You were thrown off by her words, surely she didn’t mean…

“What are you reading, anyway?” Leighton asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Oh, nothing too exciting…” you go on to tell her about the assigned reading you were doing for your poetry class and she listened to you, letting the awkwardness of the earlier conversation fade away.

Leighton hung out at your apartment, enjoying the ability to do her homework in the easy quiet with you rather than amidst all the chaos of the dorms and her suite. You ordered take out and watched a show on your laptop and then she reluctantly got ready to leave to go home for the night. She was packing up her tote bag and then you just blurted it out, “stay.”

She looked up at you, “huh?”

“You could just stay. You don’t have to go back to campus, if you don’t want to, I mean. Like, I’m not kicking you out.”

“Are you saying that I don’t have to go, or are you asking me to stay?”

“Are those two different things?”

She nodded, “yes.”

You took a deep breath, “then… I’m asking you to stay, I guess. I don’t want you to go. Sleep over.”

Leighton smiled and let go of her bag before joining you on the bed again, “okay, let’s watch another episode then.”

You ended up watching another two episodes of tv, eating microwave popcorn in bed and laughing over stupid things.

Life was easier with Leighton.

Your neck was hurting you. You blinked a few times then realized that you and Leighton had fallen asleep cuddled up with each other and left the laptop playing the show. You were now staring at the screen that read “Are you still watching?”

You shifted your body slightly, trying not to wake Leighton up. She moved and you thought you had woken her but she just sniffled slightly and hugged you a little tighter. You carefully got rid of your laptop and adjusted yourself in the bed so that you could lie down fully and Leighton came with you, sleeping on her side with her head tucked into the crook of your neck.

You smiled and pulled the blankets over you both, then turned off your bedside lamp and fell back to sleep with Leighton in your arms.

Leighton had woken up that following morning with a cute smile and said, “that was the best sleep.” The blonde pressed a quick peck of a kiss to your cheek before she got out of the bed and went to the bathroom. She didn’t bother closing the bathroom door all the way. You glanced over at her while she looked in the mirror and fixed her hair.

You didn’t talk about any of it and you didn’t know what to think. Leighton was your best friend. She didn’t have feelings for you. She would’ve said something by now. This was just what it was like to have a close friend, you assumed.

The rest of your week was fairly standard. Classes and homework sucked up your time, but you and Leighton had developed a routine that you always stuck to. You met at Sips for coffee on Monday afternoons. You ate dining hall lunch together on Tuesdays and Fridays. You walked to astro and sat together every Wednesday, and hung out at your apartment Wednesday nights before going to the observatory for your nighttime astronomy assignments.

And in all that time, you never once discussed the cuddling, or the little kiss, so you convinced yourself that you were overthinking it and tried to let it go.

When Friday came around, Leighton had shown up outside of your apartment building that morning with one of the fancier Ubers generously paid for by her father ready to take you to and from your surgery.

You came outside wearing comfy clothes and she smiled and opened the car door for you.

She then got into the car on the other side and sat next to you, “I already went shopping and got everything I thought you might need this weekend to recover and I have a ton of low-energy-investment plans to make sure you don’t get bored. I’m going to stay with you for as long as you want me to, unless I drive you crazy, of course, but-”

“Leight, you didn’t have to do all of that…”

“It’s nothing! I want to take care of you.”

“You do? Why?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “cause I want to, why else?”

“I… I don’t deserve you, Leighton.”

“Oh, shut up. That’s not true,” she paused for a moment then said, “you’re my best friend and I love you.”

“I love you too…”

Leighton waited with you until you were taken back to be prepped and put to sleep for your wisdom teeth extraction. The last thing she said to you was, “I’ll have my camera ready for when you come out of the anesthesia!”

You stuck your tongue out at her angrily as you were whisked away and went unconscious while imagining seeing her face when you woke up again.

You woke up in a different room, lying down flat on a recovery bed. You felt weird but not particularly bad.

Your vision came into focus slowly and the blonde was sitting in a chair beside the bed scrolling through her phone. You made a noise and she turned and looked at you, “hey there,” she said softly, sliding herself and the chair a little closer to you, “how are you feeling?”

Your mouth was all swollen and your head was all wrapped up with ice packs on either cheek. You mumbled, “fine.”

She smiled, “the dentist said everything went well so you should expect a pretty easy recovery.”

You nodded slowly then looked at her quizzically and mumbled, “do I look pretty?”

Leighton laughed, “do you look pretty? Well, I’ll admit that you’ve had better days but you’re still your gorgeous self, why?”

“I dunno… I thought maybe I wouldn’t be pretty anymore… all swollen…”

“You have nothing to worry about, trust me.”

“You’re so nice, Leighton… some people think you’re mean but you’re not mean you’re so nice… and you’re gay and I love that about you…”

Leighton shook her head and laughed and just held your hand gently while you rested and came back to your senses over the next half hour or so.

Leighton helped you to the car and let you lean against her on the drive back, then she helped you get comfy in your bed and made a little station nearby with drinks and foods that were safe for you to have, and pain meds if you needed them.

She got into bed next to you and fired up Netflix before saying, “you can cuddle against me, whatever is comfy for you.”

You nodded and said, “thank you, baby…”

She raised an eyebrow at your word choice but didn’t say anything. You watched Netflix for a little while but you eventually dozed off against Leighton’s shoulder. You vaguely felt her playing with your hair and scratching your scalp lightly while you rested. You let out a pleased hum and cuddled against her even more closely.

She gently woke you up later and quietly said, “I can hear your stomach growling, wanna eat something?”

You took a second to process what she was saying but then you nodded and she grabbed a cup of applesauce for you.

You took it happily and started to eat carefully, wincing slightly at the experience but feeling happy to have some food.

“You’re the best friend ever,” you began, “taking care of me like this… seeing me in such a pathetic state.”

“I wouldn’t call you pathetic, not at all. You’re cute.”

You groaned slightly.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurting?”

You shook your head, “no, no… it’s nothing, nevermind.”

She lightly poked you in the side and made you giggle, “come on, now. You can tell me anything. Is something wrong?”

You were quiet for a minute, thinking. Overthinking. Playing your entire friendship with Leighton back in your head.

“I see those gears turning, what are you thinking about?”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to take care of me,” you finally stated.

Leighton looked concerned, “What? Why not? Am I bugging you?”

“No!” You exclaimed, “no… you’re perfect… that’s the problem.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You’re so perfect. So perfect. And incredible. And beautiful. And I think I’m an idiot.”

“An idiot? You’re not an idiot… I’m lost, babe, what is this about?”

“I’m so stupid,” you sighed, “you’re never not going to see me as more than a friend are you?”

Leighton stared at you.

“I don’t want to be cute,” you tried to explain, “I don’t want to be just cute to you… I want more… but I’ve gone and fucked it up…”

Leighton started to understand and nodded slowly, “okay, first of all, I just want to state for the record that you have some pretty serious painkillers in your system right now, but with that being said, you haven’t fucked anything up… why would you think that?”

You started to tear up, you couldn’t help it, “you’re never going to like me now… not after seeing me like this. I took too long trying to figure out my feelings…”

Leighton’s brows furrowed, “I like you plenty, this doesn’t change that… wait, what feelings?”

“My feelings… for you… you’re my best friend, Leight… and I thought that was just how it was always going to be… but I think it’s more than that for me and I just didn’t realize and it’s too late…”

Leighton took a deep breath in through her nose and spoke softly, “it’s not too late…”

You looked up at her face and saw tears welling up in her eyes.

“It’s not too late,” she repeated, “not for you and me… I’ll wait for you forever. I’ve been waiting for you to be ready…”

“Leighton… what?”

“I love you, you incredible, oblivious sweetheart.”

You were genuinely shocked, and your reaction was only amplified by how loopy you were feeling, “what?! You love me?! Like, love, love me?”

Leighton laughed, “yes. I thought I was being obvious!”

“You love me?!” You exclaimed again.

Leighton wrapped her arms around you in a hug, “I love you. Are you trying to say that you have feelings for me, too?”

“Yes! That’s what I’m trying to say… I love you, too, Leighton. I really love you. More than a friend. I want to kiss you and I want to be your girlfriend. I don’t want you to go on dates with anyone else. I want to cuddle with you every night. I want you.”

Leighton’s smile was the biggest you’d ever seen it, “that’s what I want, too.”

You looked at her and then your face fell into a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t kiss you!”

Leighton laughed lightly, “that’s okay. We’ll kiss when you’re all better, but for now…” she leaned in and gave you a kiss on your forehead, “there.”

You smiled and nuzzled against her, cuddling closely once again, and whispered, “I love you, Leighton.”

“I love you, too.”

#leighton murray #leighton x reader #tslocg #sex lives of college girls #renee rapp #leighton murray fanfiction #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #original writing #anonymous request #writing requests

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gingernut1314 · 2 months

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Face Your Fears

Luffy x GN!Reader

Summary: Deep in the jungle, you are faced with your biggest fear and your captain is more than happy to help you.

Warnings: fluff, fear of spiders, very mild spoilers for the anime (Alabasta arc to Post-Enies Lobby arc mentioned), use of Y/N

Word Count: 1.4K

A/N: This is my first "full-fledged" Luffy fic soooo I hope it turned out okay lol. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy!! 🩷🩷🩷

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You stood deathly still in the middle of the thick, dense jungle. Sweat ran down your skin in pools, the muggy heat doing nothing to help calm you down. Your muscles had grown so taut you feared they might snap under the pressure. Your limbs were frozen in place as you fought against the rising panic in your chest.

This was a nightmare. Your worst nightmare.

The one thing you feared above everything else.

And you were stuck--unable to move to free yourself from the situation.

You whimpered pitifully as your captain came hopping back down from the tree he had climbed, bouncing like some ball as he called your name, arm extended to show off the stick he had found for you to admire.

“This one is so much cooler then the one you found. Usopp is going to be so jealo--why are you all pale?” Luffy asked, titling his strawhat adorned head and blinking his long eyelashes slowly at you as he tried to figure out what was wrong.

Everything was wrong. So, so wrong.

“H-Help.” Your tightened throat croaked out. “Help me. Please.” Luffy’s easy going nature shifted instantly, steady seriousness filling his dark brown eyes as they scanned the small amount of cleared space you both stood in.

“What’s wrong? Someone here?”

“Luffy.” You stressed, that nightmare growing closer and closer. He snapped back to you and you found the strength within you to shakily lift your hand to point to your other, already outstretched arm. “Please--get it off.”

His eyes followed your guidance to find the big, furry spider crawling its way slowly up your arm. One that had some how, thanks your horrible luck, had found its way to land on you.

But, instead of instantly coming to your rescue, that signature grin of his stretched across his face, bringing attention to the thin scar just under his left eye.

“Cooool! Where did you find that tarantula?” Luffy asked, coming into your orbit. He took your wrist in his strong, warm hand only so he could observe the creature more closely.

“Get it off!” You panicked, your heart feeling as if it might burst out of your chest. “Please, please, please get it off!” Your panic turned into a near sob of fear, your eyes beginning to sting with it.

“‘Kay.” Luffy shurgged, happily scooping the too-many legged monster off your skin.

The frozen spell the vile beast had put you under fell away and you scrambled from Luffy, bumping into a nearby tree in your rush. You frantically swiped and scrubbed at your skin to try and get rid of the icky feel of all those furry legs.

“He’s not bad, Y/N. He’s friendly, see.” Luffy said, bounding back over to you, spider in hand, to show you just how ‘firendly’ it was.

“NO! Luffy!” You screamed, sprinting away from your captain who continued to happily chase you with it like this was a game, that cackling, mischievous laugh of his never ceasing.

“He’s so tiny and fluffy! He’s not gonna hurt you.”

“Tiny? Look at it’s fangs!” You screeched as Luffy hopped infront of you again. You were quick to freeze in your place before you could run head first into Luffy and the horrid demon he held. Luffy smiled brightly at you as he raised the spider up all too close to his eyes.

“You know it would be the coolest if we could have fangs too.” He mused, lightly petting the tarantula who seemed too at ease within Luffy’s hold. “Like….this!” Luffy snapped his head back towards you, both his canine teeth stretched, thanks to his Devil Fruit powers, to resemble that of long, sharp fangs. You huffed in annoyance at him.

“Can you please just--throw it away or something? It’s--I don’t like it.” Luffy gave a loud whine in protest, teeth snapping back to normal.

“But--Y/N, just come look at him. He’s super cute. And you like super cute animals. He’s like Chopper--well…expect he’s not a reindeer and can’t talk.” Luffy said, starting towards you once more. You took a step back with every step he took forward.

“It sure as hell is nowhere near as cute as Chopper. I don’t want to look at it.” You snapped.

“He’s more scared of you then you are of him, I swear.” You yelped when your back hit another tree, blocking you from moving any further. Your heart began to race as you spied the demon still resting in Luffy’s plam.

“Luffy--I’m serious.”

“And I’m serious too. Can you just look at him? Please? I’ll hold him the whole time.” Luffy begged, thankfully stopping in his journey towards you. You watched him and the monster for a very, very long moment. A moment you took to try and calm your heaving breath.

“Will it make you quit bugging me with that--thing, if I do?” Luffy nodded rapidly, his smiling growing ever the more wide. “Don’t you dare more or I swear I’ll kill you.”

“Still as a statue.” Luffy said, making a show of freezing up his body. You approached him as slow as a snail, your breath becoming heavy and short all over again.

“It’s okay. You know I won’t let anything happen to you.” Luffy smoothed as you came to a stop a few inches before him. His words helped steady your breathing, but made your heart pitter-patter in a different rhythm then that of fear or panic.

A rhythm your heart had been beating for your captain for a long, long time now. Ever since he had dragged you from your little back water home and took you on all the adventures you had ever dreamed of.

From wicked, hook-wielding Warlords, islands in the sky full of angels, strange games amongst enemy pirates, to islands flooded with water, and the start of new friendships--that rhythm had been there, sounding only for him. For the man who was making your dreams become a reality and whose kind and warm, yet strong nature pushed you to grow more then you could have ever thought possible.

And here he was again, pushing you to over come this seemingly silly fear of yours in such a--loving and caring way that just made that rhythm beat all the more fast.

“Its…” It was ugly. It was just as horrible to look at in Luffy hand as it was on your arm…but it was fluffy…and you did enjoy a good fluffy animal. “It looks like he’s wearing orange socks.” You observed, glancing up at Luffy whose smile was brighter then the sun beating down on you.

“He does! That’s what we should call him then. Socks!” Luffy broke his statued state to pet the spider again. “Hi, Socks. You’re gonna love it on the Sunny. We’ll even have Franky build you a tank--Oo! Right next to the aquarium!” You snapped away from the spider with a shake of your head.

“No. That thing--”

“Socks.” Luffy reminded you chipperly. You only huffed.

“Socks is not coming with us back to the Sunny.” Luffy whined again as you started for your dropped supply pack.

“But--he’ll be lonely here.” You felt your skin prick in more fear when Luffy’s voice was much closer to you then it had been before. You hesitantly looked to the side to find a thousand beady little eyes staring back at you. You gave a throaty scream that you tried to keep as muffled as you physically could, all but throwing yourself backward.

“He--he has family here, I’m sure.” You said as calmly as you could, pulling your pack onto your shoulder. Luffy groaned, but agreed with you.

“Yeah.” You watched him place Socks on a moss covered log, saying a quick goodbye to the furry beast. Luffy’s sad face made you feel just the tiniest bit sorry for him…for him and Socks.

“Luffy…” You said as he grabbed up his stick again and you both started back through the jungle. “I’m sorry we couldn’t keep Socks.” Luffy shrugged.

“Eh. You’re right. He has a family here. A life. I couldn’t take him from that.” Luffy said, that lovely smile of his pulling to his face. “Besides,” He continued, throwing an arm over your shoulders and pulling you into his side. You felt your skin heat and heart start up its pitter-pattering all over again at his closeness. “I wouldn’t want Socks to keep scaring you like that.” He said, nuzzling his face into your cheek. You leaned into his affectionate touch, savoring anything he would give you.

“Thank you…maybe we can find a less--leggy animal to keep as a pet.” Luffy lit up like one of Usopp’s fireworks.

“Really?” You nodded, spurring Luffy’s hold on you to fall away despite your want to keep him close. “Awesome! I’m gonna go look!” He stated before bouncing off deeper into the jungle, leaving you to try and calm your racing heart all over again.

Taglist: @fanaticsnail

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 6 months

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When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 5: Turn Off The Lights And Turn Off The Shyness]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, Otto being the worst (per usual), violence, serious injury, cryptic Helaena prophecies, alcoholism/addiction, references to sexual content including noncon (18+), dragons, demented flirting, a late-night surprise, Larys Strong returns. 😞

Series title is a lyric from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Of All The Gin Joints In All The World” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.3k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

The sun would burn him, but moonlight is kind. You’re on the balcony of Aegon’s bedchamber, two chairs, two cups of wine, another full pitcher on the table between you, a glass bottle of warm rose oil like amber, like gold, freckled with curled ruby petals. You’re dressed in your usual attire, simple designs and neutral colors, greys and creams and dusky pinks; tonight your gown is a flat, inky blue that matches the night sky. Aegon is wearing his unpretentious cotton trousers—stained with splotches of pomegranate juice, his recompense before you allowed him the wine—and a tiny braid in his shaggy, silver hair.

“I look like your house’s sigil,” Aegon says as he massages rose oil onto his forearms, his palms moving in large sloppy circles over a patchwork of scar tissue; you would do a better job, but he says he wants to learn how to care for his wounds on his own. His dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—gleams in the cool, ghostly moonshine. His words are teasing, but his tone is dark, troubled, weary. “Some red, some white. All ugly.”

You smile. You aren’t agreeing, just playing along. “Our motto is better than our flag.”

“I might have been inebriated during that lesson.”

“Perpetual Resurrection.”

Aegon looks at you, confounded. “Quite the mouthful.”

“Crabs molt throughout their lifetime. They crack their own skins open and climb out. If they get stuck, they die. If they get attacked before their new shell hardens, they die. But if they live…they’re a brand new version of themselves. Larger, wiser, more powerful.”

“Spiders,” Aegon says. “You’re trying to placate me with some rousing metaphor about what are essentially aquatic spiders.”

“They’re tasty too,” you say, grinning. “Especially when their shells are still soft. The cooks would serve them fried and us kids would sit around the table ripping the legs free and throwing them at each other.”

“What, you can eat the crab whole?!”

“Yes. Once the faces are cut off and the organs scooped out.”

He pretends to be repulsed by you. “Harrowing. Revolting. This is why Targaryens have always refused to breed with your kind.”

It’s funny, but it isn’t, because it’s a little too close to what you’re both thinking. Under the moonlight, you watch Aegon with the words caged behind your teeth: What do you want most? Who are you in your bones? Where would we be if the world wasn’t crashing down around us?

He slathers rose oil on his scarred right cheek—carelessly, distractedly—and accidentally pokes himself in the eye. “Ow.”

You ask: “Why do you want to do that yourself now?”

“To prove I can. To feel ever so slightly less like an invalid.” He takes a swig of his wine and gazes out over the nightscape ocean, stars in the sky, stars reflected on waves. “I am a study in irony. I spent my whole life waiting for it to be over. I poisoned myself, wasted years, resisted any semblance of usefulness. And now I finally have things I want to accomplish, I finally have reasons to live…and I’m trapped in the flesh of some pathetic, deformed, calamitously weak stranger.” He shakes his head, despondent, still not looking at you. “I can have a body that works. I can have a soul. But I can’t have both at the same time. It’s so fucking unfair.”

“I like you exactly as you are. Body and soul.”

“Everything I own, everything I’m given…” He stares down at his palms, open and empty. “It is destroyed, gets killed, goes mad. I ruin causes. I ruin people. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“I think I’m going to be ruined either way. I’d rather you be the one responsible.”

“Angel,” he says, low and serious. And now his gaze comes back to meet yours. “Who are you supposed to marry?”

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want it to be true. Your voice is a whisper, almost lost in the night wind. “Cregan Stark.”

His eyes shoot wide, not just startled but terrified. “Stark?!”

You nod miserably. “My father took me and my sisters to Winterfell as part of a trade mission. Cregan decided he wanted me. I never encouraged it, I never desired it, I swear I didn’t—”

“No, I believe you,” Aegon says. He swallows a gulp of wine noisily, his hand shaking. “You were right. I can’t touch him. I can’t stop it. Not unless I win.”

“You don’t want the Iron Throne,” you tell Aegon, already knowing it’s true.

He snorts, a harsh derisive sound. “Who would?”

“Lots of people, I think. But not you or Rhaenyra.”

This intrigues him. “She doesn’t want it either?”

“Not from what I’ve seen and heard. Or, at least, she didn’t until Luke was killed. It changed her. I’m still not convinced she wants to be the queen, but she wants vengeance. And absolute power is a sure path to it.” And so the suffering continues, it goes around and around like a wheel, it is a debt that is never satisfied but only spread like plague.

“I don’t understand why Aemond did that,” Aegon says. His words are hushed, like he’s never spoken them to anyone but you and never will. “When he returned from Storm’s End, I held a feast for him. I had to, someone had to, someone had to pretend it was a victory instead of a murder. But it didn’t make any sense. Arrax was an inconvenience, not a threat. Luke was far more valuable as a hostage than a corpse. Aemond has always been the disciplined brother, the strategic one. I won’t claim to be clever. But I can’t find any strategy in what happened there.”

“Aemond has a temper. He is haunted, I believe. He is not above reckless fury.”

“No, evidently not.” Aegon sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair; again, his dragon ring glints under the moonlight, silver reflected off gold. “I’ll try to win,” he says. “For my family. For you.” Then he smirks, a grim attempt at humor. “Though I pity Cregan Stark for the paradise I will deprive him of.”

You do not return Aegon’s smile. “Don’t have too much pity for him. I have no expertise and I’m scared to death of it. I’d probably end up hiding under his bed, gripping the legs for dear life. He’d have to drag me out and tie me down.”

Aegon is alarmed; his storm-blue eyes are now focused, seeking. He is aware that he has wandered into a quagmire. He treads carefully. “When you say no expertise, you mean…none at all?”

“None.”

“But what about all of those anatomically-correct cock illustrations in your medical books?”

Another joke you can’t bring yourself to laugh at. You drink your wine to stop your lips from quivering, smooth the silk of your gown with a trembling hand. You see it no matter where you look: the pool of red on Theodora’s bedsheets, the dawning and inescapable realization on her face. This is her life now. This will always be her life.

Aegon says gently: “You have no expectation of pleasure.”

“It seems…inherently violent. For the woman. Even if it isn’t meant to be. Being overpowered, being invaded. The man decides when and how it happens. The woman endures.”

Aegon stares at you—biting his full lower lip, deeply somber—but doesn’t speak. He gives you the impression of someone with so many thoughts swimming around in his skull he is struggling to choose just one.

You smile dimly. “I’m sorry. I’ve made you sad.”

“I’m, um…” Aegon pauses to collect himself; he drains his wine cup and sets it back on the table. He is uncharacteristically cautious, like he thinks one unwise word will break the spell of whatever exists between you, this temptation, this need. “I’m saddened by the fact that you think of it that way. Because it doesn’t have to be…distasteful. Frightening. Coerced. It shouldn’t be, in fact.”

“I suppose I’ll find out if the Blacks win this war and Cregan Stark comes to claim me.”

Again, Aegon is exceptionally circumspect. “You’ve never wanted any man?”

“No. Never. Not in that way. Until…” You look at him, willing him to understand. I want you, but I’m so goddamn afraid to. I’m afraid of this world, I’m afraid there’s no hope left in it.

Slowly, Aegon smiles, soft and warm. And without any grasping, animalistic greed, he reaches over to rest a palm on your thigh, night-dark silk draped over skin that doesn’t flinch away from him, doesn’t even have to fight the instinct to. You place a hand on his. Your fingertips trace the gold wings of the green-eyed dragon ring he never takes off. And it is sealed like a covenant under the stars, this allegiance that neither of you could begin to explain to anyone else.

Footsteps are coming through Aegon’s bedchamber, heavy and purposeful. Otto Hightower appears in the balcony doorway. He fills the space like storm clouds flood a clear sky, like blood saturates linen. “You’re getting fat,” he tells Aegon gruffly.

“You’re getting ever more wrinkly and close to the afterlife.”

Otto glances to where Aegon’s hand still rests on your thigh and snaps: “If you’re well enough for that, perhaps you would deign to join us in the council chamber. You could shock everyone by actually acting like a king.”

Then he’s gone, taking those last echoes of the moment with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“They know she’s here,” Larys Strong says. His audience is gathered around the table: Otto, Criston, Daeron, Grand Maester Orwyle, Tyland Lannister, Jasper Wylde, the knights of the Kingsguard, Aegon slumped way down in his seat and you beside him feeling his forehead worriedly for fever. Because Aegon and Daeron are in attendance, the council chamber is one chair short. Aemond has elected to be the person to stand; he lurks, severe and silent, in a corner of the room half-lit by torchlight. Daeron is dressed in a vibrant teal, Aegon in black; Aemond wears green, dark and brooding like envy.

Criston Cole asks: “How is that possible?”

Otto sighs irritably, rubbing his forehead. “We have spies. I’m sure Rhaenyra does as well.”

“Someone apparently glimpsed the prince regent…um…” Larys searches for the diplomatic word. “Escorting her through the streets of King’s Landing.”

“Dragging is what he did,” Aegon says, glaring at Aemond. “Abducting. Attacking. Imprisoning.” Aemond, arms crossed over his chest, studies his boots and pretends not to have heard him.

Larys continues: “The Blacks don’t believe that she is here of her own volition.”

Otto’s eyes narrow. “What, they think we’ve detained her as some sort of…healer? Hostage?”

“No, my lord,” Larys says, hesitantly, awkwardly. “They don’t imagine the king’s motivations to be that honorable.”

Otto is losing his patience. “Meaning?”

Larys toys with his restless, rodentlike hands. “They think she is being…violated.”

A stilted, scandalized hush falls over the table. “Good,” Aegon says, invoking gasps and gapes. “If Green supporters believe her to be my captive, they won’t harm her. And if the Blacks think she is being held here against her will, she would be safe with them as well. No matter who wins, she is not in danger.”

“That is hardly beneficial for your own reputation, Your Grace,” Tyland Lannister says.

Aegon grins beneath cold eyes; he shows his teeth like a wolf, like a dragon. “Was my reputation so pristine to begin with, Lord Lannister?”

“No, perhaps not,” Tyland mumbles. Still, he should not have said it aloud. Otto huffs another sigh and rolls his eyes.

“So you intend to keep a Celtigar daughter in your service?” Otto says to Aegon.

“I have no doubts concerning her loyalty.”

Larys adds: “My lord, I must say, I cannot see a tactical advantage in her saving the king’s life if she retains any loyalty to Rhaenyra’s cause.”

“Then why save him at all? Why bother? He was lying there half-dead, soon to be properly dead, and she brought him back practically singlehandedly. Why?”

“Mercy,” Aemond says quietly from the corner, and everyone turns to look at him. “Many people have none of it. She perhaps has too much. And now they have grown…” He gestures vaguely, perhaps bashfully. “Attached to each other.”

Jasper Wylde is dismayed. “But the king has a wife.”

Daeron snickers. “Yes, and that has always proved to be such a deterrent in the past.”

“Daeron,” Aegon cautions mildly.

The youngest Targaryen brother obediently sobers and shows the palms of his hands in contrition. “My apologies.” He hides his face with a slurp of his wine cup.

“And what about Cregan Stark?!” Otto exclaims. “You’d encourage his outrage, his Northerner savagery? Seven hells, he thinks you’re spending your days raping his betrothed, do you imagine that will not invoke fiercer wrath, put all of us at greater risk?!”

“Lord Stark was never a reachable ally to our cause, in my estimation,” Larys says calmly.

“That’s not the point, Larys! The point is—!”

“I can offer you something in return for the heightened danger you have assumed,” you interrupt, and these men stare at you as if suddenly remembering that you are here in the room with them, not a phantom or a myth or a cautionary tale but someone real. Aegon glances over, one eyebrow raised on his drawn, perspiring face. He doesn’t know what you’re going to say either.

Otto peers menacingly across the table. “What could you possibly have to barter with? The king is well enough now. He will live with or without you.”

“I have information. I know the workings of Rhaenyra’s council in the leadup to Rook’s Rest.”

“You attended her council meetings?”

“No, but I spent evenings with my father and brothers as they discussed them.”

Otto sits back in his chair, pondering you. After a moment, he nods. “Go on then.”

“I want one concession before I reveal what I know.”

“Besides being permitted indefinite room and board in the Red Keep, which you are in no way entitled to?”

“Not negotiable,” Aegon says.

Otto chuckles, humorless, incredulous, shaking his head. “Fucking insane. Alright. What is it you want, girl?”

“If any member of House Celtigar is taken captive, I want them to be given the opportunity to swear fealty to King Aegon and receive a full pardon for their sins. If they refuse, they are to go to the Night’s Watch, not the scaffold.”

“That’s your price? That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Otto is amused. “Nothing for you? No gold, no land?”

“No.” The prospect hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Not very self-serving. So unlike a Celtigar.” Otto grins, not kindly at all. “Your terms are accepted.”

You begin. “The Greens possess great wealth, now split for safekeeping between Oldtown, Casterly Rock, and the Iron Bank of Braavos. But Rhaenyra’s funds are far more finite. My father has enriched her coffers in part with taxes placed upon houses of the Crownlands. You are always seeking new allies, people you can turn from her side to yours, Corlys Velaryon, the Dragonseeds. Thus far, you have been unsuccessful.” Otto frowns, but he is listening. “I know there are families who have compelling grievances concerning my father’s taxes. Families who have become disenchanted with Rhaenyra’s leadership…or lack thereof, they might say. Rosby, Stokeworth, Cave, Langward, Bourney, Boggs, Hardy, Chyttering. Probably others as well now. They occupy a tactically significant position, being so near to Dragonstone and Driftmark. And I believe if you wrote to them, they would answer.”

“I’ll send ravens,” Otto says. He marvels at you, like a puzzlingly strange creature, a luminescent fang-toothed fish from the depths of the ocean, a direwolf from beyond the Wall. “You don’t want your side to win this war?”

“I want the killing to stop. For both sides.”

“Well, you won’t get that. The bitch will never surrender. That hope died with little Luke Strong.” Otto glowers bitterly at where Aemond stands in the shadowy corner, but he addresses you. “That is your impression as well? She was entertaining the possibility of a truce before he died at Storm’s End?”

You steal a glimpse of Aemond, and you are struck by an unexpected stab of sympathy for him, compassion that feels like a betrayal of your knowledge of the torture he had planned for you. But what is there to say but the truth? “Rhaenyra was considering it very seriously. She and Daemon quarreled over the subject.”

“Of course they did.” Otto looks at Criston, then back to Aemond. “When are you leaving?”

“Soon,” Criston answers for the prince regent. “Very soon.”

“Not soon enough,” Otto spits like venom, and everyone else averts their eyes.

“My lord,” Larys intercedes. “There is one more matter to discuss, and I believe it will be of great interest to His Grace the king.”

Aegon is struggling to concentrate. He blinks groggily at the Master of Whisperers, his brow creased with pain. You smooth his damp, white-blond hair back from his face, threading his braid through your fingertips; you refill his wine cup and give it to him. When Aegon lifts it to his lips, his hands shake so badly he spills scarlet beads like blood down his chin. He wipes them away with his sleeve. Grand Maester Orwyle offers him a small glass bottle of milk of the poppy, but Aegon refuses it.

“Is he alright?” Daeron mutters to you.

“He’s fine. He’s tired, that’s all.”

“Waste no time, Lord Larys,” Aegon says. “I fear Grandsire’s ire has exhausted me. He’s more ferocious than a dragon. We should find a saddle that fits, perhaps Criston could ride him to the Riverlands.”

“Keep guzzling wine, I’m sure that will improve your condition,” Otto bites back.

Larys continues: “It concerns Rook’s Rest.”

Now he has everyone’s attention. “What about Rook’s Rest?” Aegon says. Instinctively, he’s begun twisting the golden dragon ring on his left hand.

“I received word one hour ago that the Blacks have retaken it.”

“What?!” Otto shouts; the rest of the table is in uproar. Criston stands and goes to conspire with Aemond in the corner of the council chamber, urgent indecipherable whispers.

“Sunfyre,” Aegon says frantically. “I have to go to him, I have to get him out—”

“He is already gone, Your Grace,” Larys replies.

“Gone…?”

“Lord Walys Mooton went down to the beach to slay the dragon once his men had taken the castle. He was burned alive.”

“Perfect,” Daeron says, beaming radiantly.

“Lord Mooton’s men fled for their lives, and when they returned, Sunfyre had disappeared. He could not be found anywhere in the vicinity of Rook’s Rest. Moreover, his footprints in the sand stopped abruptly. Which means he must have departed—”

“Into the water…?” Tyland Lannister says, perplexed.

“No,” Larys corrects him. “Into the sky.”

“Sunfyre is flying again?” Aegon asks, his face childlike, astonished.

“That’s impossible,” Criston says. “His wing was broken, I saw it.”

Larys drums his fingers on the tabletop. “I cannot conceive of any other explanation.”

“Then he’ll find me.” Aegon smiles. Sweat snakes down his temples; his face is white, bloodless, barren like the moon. “When Sunfyre is ready, he’ll find me and we’ll be together again.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” Otto exhales. “The Old, the New, that ghastly Drowned one…” He waves a hand at you. “And do you have any to add, Lady Celtigar? Some crab deity your traitorous people worship?”

“I regret to disappoint you, my lord. To my knowledge we have none.”

“Three useable dragons,” Otto says, mostly to himself. “Three is good. With three, we have a chance. And if I can recruit Vermithor or Silverwing…”

“I should go with you when you and Criston march north,” Daeron tells Aemond.

“No,” Aemond returns immediately.

“If you’re going after Daemon, you could use me,” Daeron insists. “Tessarion and I can help.”

“You are needed in the Reach with Lord Ormund Hightower.”

“You just want him all to yourself,” Daeron realizes, exasperated. “You want to be able to say that you were the person to neutralize the Blacks’ greatest asset, that you won the war—!”

Criston says: “He’s not going on some suicide mission chasing Daemon and Caraxes all over the Riverlands. He’s staying with me and the army. He’s using Vhagar logically, responsibly. Right, Aemond?”

“Of course,” Aemond answers, entirely toneless.

Otto whirls to Aegon. “And when will you be able to fight again? Soon, I hope. Surely the culmination of your existence is not one single instance of utility before lapsing back into being some drunken, idiot degenerate.”

In reply, Aegon moans and crumples to the floor. Grand Maester Orwyle and the men of the Kingsguard rush to him, but Criston gets there first; when you cannot rouse the king, Criston throws him over one shoulder—increasingly difficult with each pound Aegon gains, softness and health that you consider a great victory—and ferries him back to bed. As you follow after them, you hesitate in the doorway of the council chamber. Now that Criston is gone, Otto has crossed the room and pinned Aemond to the wall. His large hands, heavy with rings, are pressed to Aemond’s chest; his face is snarling, wicked, callous.

“You have to fix this. You have to end it.”

“I know,” Aemond replies softly.

“Everything that’s happened is your fault.”

“I know,” Aemond says again, then rips free from Otto’s grasp and flees the room.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, Criston leads his army out of the city. They will meet reinforcements on the road between the capital and the Riverlands. There is infantry on foot and cavalry on horses; above them in a blue sky cluttered with vast, cottony clouds are Aemond and Vhagar. As they head north, Daeron and Tessarion fly south towards the Reach to rejoin Ormund Hightower and his men. In Winterfell, Cregan Stark is receiving word of where (and with whom) his betrothed currently resides. At Harrenhal, Daemon and Nettles are kindling rumors like dry wood in a fire. On Dragonstone, Rhaenyra is nursing her rage and paranoia like a hungry child, like a wounded man who has milk of the poppy poured down his throat. And you remain static here in King’s Landing, anchored, steadfast, something immoveable like the ocean or the shore it meets.

You can see Aegon’s bedchamber windows from the beach. You keep glancing up at them, though you know he won’t be there; the sunlight is too harsh today, the potential damage to his skin too great. In a month, he may be able to venture outside as he used to. In two or three, he might be able to fight again. He might be able to kill more than just one errant Norcross boy who dared to touch you.

“Helaena wouldn’t come down to join us?” you ask Autumn. You’re walking with her in the surf, the hems of your held aloft so the froth of the waves can wash over your ankles. Perhaps ten yards away and out of earshot, Alicent is kneeling in the sand and playing with Jaehaera and Maelor. They are her great comfort now; they are not the only purpose she has left, but they are the kindest. Their tiny hands are preoccupied with building a sandcastle and adorning it with seashells, pebbles, shards of driftwood, strings of seaweed like green ribbons. You’ve started to notice how much Jaehaera resembles Aegon, his murky blue eyes and his high cheekbones and his gentleness that no one else seems to recognize. You’ve started to see him everywhere you look.

Autumn shrugs, her face apologetic. Her hair is more than just copper in the afternoon daylight; it is fire, it is blood. “I really tried. You know how she is.”

“I’ll visit her afterwards.”

“She unnerves me,” Autumn says, stroking her round belly and shuddering. She earns her keep here by helping to look after Helaena, Jaehaera, and Maelor. Aegon treats Autumn the same way he treats his wife and children, which is to say he generally ignores her; on the rare occasion he is subjected to her presence for more than a fleeting moment, he becomes uneasy, irritable. Autumn does not appear to be offended. She says this is the best job she’s ever had. “She’s always muttering the strangest things. Caterpillars and crabs and dragons and only the gods know what else. Yesterday she told me not to dance with the half-year queen. What the fuck does that mean?”

“Helaena’s a bit different,” you admit.

“She’s inbred, that’s what she is. I can’t imagine what those kids are going to grow up to be like. A brother and sister for parents? It’s a wonder they don’t have feathers or tails.” Autumn taps the swell of her belly. “At least this one—if it’s a Targaryen after all—has had its bloodline thoroughly diluted.”

You watch her standing there in the fiery late-afternoon light, this body that has comforted, consoled, satisfied, suffered, known so many men. “What does it feel like?” you ask quietly.

“What? Being with child?”

“No, the…um…the act that led to it.”

“Oh, yes.” Autumn stretches with her hands on the small of her back and smiles vaguely, nostalgically. “That’s the strange thing. It can feel like heaven or hell or nothing at all. If the man knows what he’s doing, and cares enough to try, he can make it better for you.”

“Better how?”

She furrows her brow, shoots you a skeptical sideways glance. She is aware that you are inexperienced, but the extent of your blind spots continuously shock her. It occurs to you that perhaps naivety is a privilege; some cannot recall a time before they were acquainted with truths of the world that others consider forbidden. “You know. He’ll use his hands or his mouth to get you ready. Or better yet, both at once.”

“Ready,” you repeat, not understanding.

“Well, you see…” Autumn takes a moment to decide how best to explain. “Men change when they are aroused, yes? Women do the same. It takes longer, and it is not always so obvious. But it is vital. The more ready you are, the more comfortably he will fit inside you.”

“And what if he doesn’t get you ready? If he doesn’t have the skill, or he doesn’t believe it’s necessary, or he doesn’t even know that’s something women require?” Or he just wants to hurt you. He just wants to watch you bleed like something he goes into the woods to kill and gut and devour.

Autumn smirks cynically. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“The sizes involved. Some men are bigger than others, and women have different dimensions as well. Couples can be well-matched or not. Sometimes it isn’t too bad. Sometimes it feels like you’re being ripped apart. And that doesn’t necessarily stop after the first time either.”

“And you can’t say no.”

“You can say no all you want. But he doesn’t have to listen.”

You peer out over Blackwater Bay, sunbeams flashing on wave crests and gulls swooping in the reddening sky. But you don’t really see it. What you see are fingerprints of dirt or ash on your thighs, snow in your hair, books laden with dust, fur coats and evergreen trees, rust-stains of blood on bedsheets.

“I’ve heard that Lord Stark is a very large man,” Autumn nudges. She knows, everyone knows.

“He’s massive,” you say forlornly. “He’s taller than Aemond and twice as broad.”

“The king isn’t so big,” she says, pretending that the thought has just popped into her mind, as if she hasn’t noticed the way you and Aegon look at each other, speak to each other, find excuses to touch each other.

“No,” you agree in a whisper.

“And he’s not a brute. I can’t fairly speak to his skill, I never had him anywhere close to sober. But he has no appetite for women’s pain. That’s a valuable gem in a man, it’s like stumbling across a ruby or a pearl.”

You nod; but you don’t want to think about Autumn lying with Aegon. You don’t want to think about the child they might share. In a world so dark, it seems cruel to begrudge people creating life where none existed before. But when you picture Aegon touching someone else, that darkness seeps in through your skin like rain soaks the earth and can’t find its way out. “We’re going to the library together tomorrow, aren’t we?”

Autumn groans. “Did I agree to that? I don’t believe I did.”

She did not, this is true; you badgered, she deflected. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“I am illiterate.”

“I told you. I’ll teach you how to read.”

“Why would I want to stare at ink marks in a book all day when I could be outside in the sunshine listening to the ocean and herding inbred little freaks like sheep?”

“Because books can take you anywhere,” you say.

“I like where I am. I’ve never seen anyplace better.”

“Okay, Autumn,” you concede, smiling. “I’ll ask again tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll change your mind.”

“Say hello to Helaena for me,” she says, meandering back towards Alicent and the children. Her footprints in the sand are erased when the gurgling waves roll over them. “Maybe one of those fancy books can help you translate lunacy into the Common Tongue.”

Upstairs in her bedchamber, Helaena is standing in front of an open window. It doesn’t offer a view of the ocean; it is positioned over a courtyard of sandstone and chatting courtiers. Helaena does not seem to hear them. She gazes out into the sunset, celestial rage on her impassive face.

“He’s leaving soon,” she says, not turning to look at you.

“Who, Helaena? Aemond? He left days ago. He’s already gone, he’s on his way to the Riverlands. But he’ll be back soon.” You don’t know if that’s true—it probably isn’t, in fact—but you’re certain that Helaena misses him. Her children do too; he is more of a father to them than Aegon has ever been, not in body but in soul.

She only repeats: “He’s leaving soon.”

“Helaena, what—?”

“He’ll leave you. Then you’ll leave him. He’ll make you.”

At last, and very slowly, she revolves like the stripe of shadow across a sundial. In her cupped palms is a butterfly, shimmering gold wings and spiderlike black legs. It takes flight, flutters aimlessly through the vermillion air, escapes out the open window.

~~~~~~~~~~

A peculiar twist of fate: his palm on your forehead, his whispers through your hair. Now he is the one who has stolen into your bed when the moon and stars hang high in the darkness outside. There is a noise somewhere beyond him, disembodied and hazy, that reminds you of torrential rain: omnipresent, thunderous.

“Angel,” Aegon is saying. “Wake up. Please wake up. I have to go.”

Go? Go where? You murmur, still half-asleep: “You can’t leave.” He isn’t strong enough yet. He can’t fight, he can’t run.

“I have to. They’re here.”

“Who…?”

The answer comes from the sounds that you are only now awake enough to understand: screaming, pounding boots, slamming doors, the ravenous crackling of fire, the shrieking of dragons. You have learned all of their unearthly voices. That’s not Vhagar or Tessarion or Sunfyre or Dreamfyre… It flashes by your windows, a comet of gold and flames.

You bolt out of bed. “Rhaenyra—?!”

“Rhaenyra, Syrax, Daemon, Caraxes.”

Daemon shouldn’t be here. He should be losing battles to Aemond and Criston. “But he’s at Harrenhal!”

“Not anymore.” Aegon takes your hand and pulls you out into the hallway, the hem of your nightgown billowing around your legs, his short silver hair flying behind him. There are servants and guards rushing by you, weeping, shouting, searching for places to hide. Grand Maester Orwyle ambles towards the rookery to send out ravens. Several rooms away, you can hear Helaena wailing and Autumn trying to soothe her. Larys Strong intercepts Aegon and gives him a hooded cloak; Aegon yanks it over his bare, mutilated chest, whimpering as the rapid movement strains the red-and-ivory disarray of scar tissue that used to be his skin. “You have everything?” he asks Larys hoarsely. You notice now that the Master of Whisperers has a satchel slung over one shoulder.

“Yes, Your Grace. Milk of the poppy, rose oil, the crown.”

“Wine?”

Larys produces a bottle. Aegon gulps down half of it, then passes the rest to you. You hesitate before finishing the wine, red like the sigil of House Celtigar, like fire, like blood. “They are closing all roads out of the city,” Larys tells Aegon, speaking swiftly. “King’s Landing will be taken. We will surrender. We cannot fight a dragon, let alone two.”

“Aemond and Criston—?”

“Daemon must have outflanked them.”

Aegon grabs your hand again and does not let go as he trails Larys through corridors and down claustrophobically tight spiral staircases. “The roads are blocked,” Aegon explains to you breathlessly. “But there are secret passageways beneath the castle. I know them. Larys knows them. Daemon probably knows them too, but he has other places to be.”

And through a window of a staircase, you see him: Caraxes spiraled around the apex of the Tower of the Hand, screaming fire into the sky before descending the length of the tower towards the hoards of hysterical courtiers fleeing below, his claws jostling loose bricks that rain down on them.

The bottom of the stairwell opens up into a large, dusty, dirt-floored chamber with stone tunnels leading in every direction like spokes of a wheel. Alicent is there, sobbing wildly, and so is Otto. Otto is telling Jaehaera that she must be a brave little girl and go with Sir Willis Fell. Alicent is giving little Maelor over to Sir Rickard Thorne, your once-alleged-kinfolk. The child is panicked and crying, flushed face and white hair. Aegon glances at the scene and then keeps moving, towing you along with him.

“Princess Jaehaera will go to Storm’s End,” Larys says. “Prince Maelor will go to Oldtown. They face execution if they stay. We must risk smuggling them out of the city.”

“What about Aegon?” you ask as the three of you hasten into a corridor thick with cobwebs and illuminated by torchlight. The stone ceiling is arched and perhaps seven feet tall; faintly, you can still hear the muffled turmoil of King’s Landing falling to Rhaenyra and Daemon.

“I’m going Dragonstone.” And it does not elude you that he didn’t say we. “If Rhaenyra is here, that likely means Dragonstone is vacant. I will go to the Crownlands families that you believe to be willing to betray her and beg them for support. I will take Dragonstone and prepare a counterassault from there. Hopefully Sunfyre will find me. Hopefully I’m not killed on the way.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m going too.”

“You’re staying in King’s Landing.”

“No.” You stop dead, wrenching your hand out of Aegon’s. “No, what if you get hurt, or sick, or what if you get really bad again—?!”

“Listen!” he shouts with dire intensity, his eyes wide and pleading in the torchlight. “I can’t protect you. I can’t even protect myself. There could be bandits on the road, there could be Black soldiers, there could be animals, there could be fucking anything. I can’t take you with me. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to Dragonstone. But I know if I stay here Rhaenyra will murder me. I don’t have a choice. I have one option, and it’s not good. But you’ll be safe in King’s Landing.”

“Aegon, no—”

“The Blacks don’t think you’re here by choice. They think I’ve imprisoned you. Tell them that’s what happened and they will welcome you back. Your family will protect you.”

“Aegon, please don’t—”

His palm on your cheek, his braid coming unraveled in his hair. “You will wait out the war with them. And when it’s over I’ll find you.” Tears glistening in his eyes, his voice going soft and tender. “If I’m still alive, I’ll find you. I swear to all the gods I will.”

He’s leaving. He’s really leaving. “What can I do?” you ask, your words strangled; your throat is burning, your eyes wet. “What can I do to help you?”

And you expect him to say things you already know: Don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone. Don’t tell anyone what you’ve heard in the Greens’ council meetings. Instead, Aegon grins as he says: “Try to get one of your three superfluous sisters to seduce Cregan Stark.”

You laugh, the sound echoing off ancient, filthy stones.

“My mother and Otto are waiting for you. You will be with them when they are taken to Rhaenyra. They are high-ranking prisoners of war, they will be spared the brutality of the Black soldiers and so will you. They will corroborate that you were my captive.”

“I understand.”

“I have to go now,” Aegon says like an apology, swiping tears from your face with his thumbs. He breaks away from you and follows Larys Strong down the tunnel. They are shadows under the torchlight, cloaks and whispers.

“Aegon,” you call after him, and he stops. I never told you what I wanted. I never told you what I feel for you. “What if I never see you again?”

You don’t know what you want him to do or say. There’s nothing that could make this right. But he soars back to you, takes you roughly and desperately, buries his hands in your hair and kisses you deeply, tasting like wine and heat and the smoke filling the world outside. He means for it to be quick, but he can’t stop. His tongue darts between your lips, his hips press to yours, you arch into him wanting more, infinitely more.

What was I so afraid of? you think dizzily. How could I be afraid of anything with him?

“Your Grace,” Larys appeals regretfully. “Please. We don’t have much time.”

Aegon twists off his dragon ring—gold wings, jade eyes—and slips it onto your left hand. And you’re still staring down at it, mystified, as Aegon disentangles himself from you and vanishes into the darkness.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fic #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader

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chrollohearttags · 1 year

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𝕽𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖇 • 𝕰. 𝕵𝖆𝖊𝖌𝖊𝖗 : chapter one

synopsis: for as long as he could remember, his life was music and his money, no time for anything else. The only love he had ever known was the studio. That was until one night, he met his greatest muse thus far.

cw: insta model/musician black !fem reader, a very antisocial engineer/musician eren (he’s seen as kind of an asshole but he’s really sweet) no hardcore smut for this portion! just some kissing, fondling and mentions of sex, alcohol and drugs, profanity of course, inappropriate behavior

wc: 6.4K

notes from the author 📝 : So I'm going to be turning one of my first stories I posted on here, Studio, into a full series. I’ve written a million drabbles for this so I’m finally finishing the actual first chapter. Don’t know how many parts it will have but fuck it, we ball.

“Yeah, I don’t care much for any of this..the whole club scene like that. Truth is, I rather be anywhere else but I gotta get my money and something tells me you would too..so, let’s make the best of it and get this bag together.”

next chapter

They say that music is the one thing that makes the world go around..that without it, life would be a mistake.

a lot of people can’t even function if they don’t have their favorite song blaring through the speakers on the way to work..or in their headphones while trying to manage the school day. Others couldn’t imagine a gym session without that one playlist to get them pumped.

and for one man…

“You can’t be serious right now.”

it was his entire life!

“What do you mean, bro? This shit gas!”

the brunette released a heavy winded sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His glasses were hanging from his face as well. Anyone who knew him was quite familiar with that look and it wasn’t a good one.

another male with glistening chains, gold slugs and a black hoodie stood above him from the circulating chair. To say he had irritated his producer was an understatement but it wasn’t a rare occurrence in the slightest.

“Bro..we’ve been here for five hours..you show up late and then you bring me this? You’re just fucking with me, right?”

Eren Jaeger, or E.J..a name very respected and revered in the music industry. For as long as he could remember, music was his first and only love in his young life..if there was an instrument to be played, he not only sought out to learn it but master it as well.

if there was a song he liked, best believe he was going to end up inevitably out singing the artists themselves.

despite the fact that the career path wasn’t fully backed by his Ivy League, white coat wearing, scholar of a father, he was determined to turn that childhood passion into a very successful and lucrative dream.

working religiously to fine tune his playing skills, along with his voice. He practically resided in the chorus and band classroom; perfecting his craft in all areas..drums, guitar, horns, piano, whatever you could think of.

he became so obsessed in fact that it left little room in his life for extracurricular activities, including a lot of friends or dates.

writing lyrics during class, skipping lunch to go toy around in the library with his laptop create beats..he was a natural born prodigy. Fast forward to college, where he made the very easy choice to study music engineering and mastering…

it was one night while he was working at a shoe store to fund his education that his coworkers decided to record him singing and rapping (all free-styled by the way) while he was doing inventory as a joke. Little did they know, they had just propelled him right into stardom.

coupled with his good looks, sultry lyrics and popularity, everyone wanted their chance to work with him.

there was only one tiny problem..as much as Eren loved creating music, he despised the spotlight even more! How ironic, right? He had no desire whatsoever to be anyone’s next Bieber or Post Malone.

that fame shit was good and dead to him. He truly believed there was no point in making his art to keep up with trends and other artists if your heart wasn’t in it. Not only that, the attention was insufferable.

they were more concerned with if he had a girlfriend, what he looked like or who he was fucking. His talent was on the back burner and it frustrated the hell out of him.

it was the very reason he didn’t respect a lot of today’s musicians. A lot of them weren’t even true or authentic to themselves and fed into that bullshit. That’s why he chose to stay behind the scenes.

it was easier to focus on what he loved rather than the stupidity. Shame it couldn’t allude him entirely because he was left with instances such as today. Grabbing a nearby water bottle, the visibly frustrated brunette unscrewed the cap and chugged the clear liquid down halfway.

at this point, he had heard all that was necessary. It was back to the drawing board because no way he was about to co-sign or engineer this bullshit.

“You’re just not seeing the vision, bro. Trust me on this.”

“I’m seeing something and it’s my patience wearing thin. Twenty four hours…that’s all you have to come back with some heat like I know you got. You’re better than this, man. If you don’t tighten up, you can forget me working on this goddamn album. I’m not even playing with you.”

the rapper knew not to test his luck any further. Friend or not, he wasn’t going to waste anymore of his precious time. Releasing a heavy huff, he’d hop up from his seat and grab his phone.

it didn’t come from a place of malice or hatred but Eren did have the tendency to come off a bit harsh. He didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just how he was and everyone had learned to deal with it.

he was the type of person that accepted nothing less than greatness from his artists so if he deemed it lazy or lackluster, his stamp would not be on it.

besides, he still had three other artists to see today and he didn’t have anymore time to waste on listening to this man let the beat whoop his ass for four tracks straight.

“Same time tomorrow then, man?”

“That depends on you. You bring me a hot pack of ass like this and you’ll be standing outside the door. Now goodbye.”

with that, he’d take his leave, security tailing behind him and a scowl on his face. Left shaking his head, Eren just released a heavy sigh before looking down at his mixing board.

"..does anybody take this business seriously anymore?"

just then, he was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. It was his agent..or rather the one who ran the show. Hesitant and just not in the mood to deal with this, he’d release a deep sigh and say a silent prayer before answering.

“Jesus, you look like shit. When’s the last time you’ve slept?”

and it seemed his prayers weren’t effective enough because he was seconds from snapping. The first words from the snarky woman’s mouth like daggers to his soul.

“Well good afternoon to you too, Mikasa.”

the two of them had been friends for quite some time and even the center of some weird dating rumors but for anyone that knew the duo, it was the furthest thing from.

despite him not making many records in the past few years, Eren still DJ’ed and promoted, as well as performed at some clubs, in addition to engineering and producing..so naturally someone had to arrange these happenings as a middle man.

but, being him, he could never make anything easy and was labeled like that of a diva. Hard to work with and always turning down things that didn’t appease him. Which naturally made her job a whole lot harder..

she was just the only one who refused to tolerate his bullshit!

“Don’t good afternoon me. I’ve been trying to track your ass down for two days and to no avail, of course you’re holed up in that damned studio like a hermit.”

he could hear what she was saying but in all honestly, he didn’t care. More than likely, she wanted him to go and DJ at some stuffy lounge riddled with coked up college kids and aspiring models who eat Xanax for breakfast.

totally not his speed.

nonetheless, he’d lean back in his chair, nonchalantly chewing on the end of a toothpick as he listened to her ramble.

it was obvious that nothing was getting through to that thick numbskull of his.

“And? I’m working. You’d know that if you were a good agent.”

just then, the short haired woman broke into a chuckle, clutching the steering wheel of her S Class Mercedes. And something told him it wasn’t because he said something funny.

“Don’t piss me off more than you already have. Listen, I have a job for you tonight..the new club that just opened up downtown. They need another promoter to help host and I told them you’d be perfect.”

that seemed to have piqued his interest but not because he was excited or anything but because it was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Another?”

unfortunately, he didn’t have much of a choice!

“Yes, the IG model and dancer, (y/n) (l/n) she’s also going to be there tonight. Girl’s a pretty big deal and apparently, she brought out a lot of people.”

he was somewhat familiar with the name but he despised social media as much as he despised hosting. Besides, if he’s seen one, he’s seen them all: shallow, vain, Barbie types with nothing more than a BBL and vibes.

it wasn’t so much the looks that bothered him because they were absolutely beautiful but it seemed as if the whole industry was opportunistic and weird at this point. Everyone looking for a come up and a moment without true work..

“What the hell, Mika? You know I hate that shit. And I have two other recording sessions—

“Not anymore! My job is to get you paid and let’s be honest, the last two artists you produced for weren’t exactly cash cows. How long do you think this whole mysterious antisocial act is going to last? Sad to say, but your time is dwindling, my guy.”

just then, he’d roll his eyes emerald green eyes and just shrug it off but for once, he wasn’t about to pout and whine his way out of this..she was right.

EJ was one of the most popular artists in the world and although he had a pretty loyal fanbase, a lot of them were growing impatient and with new stars being made every three to five business days, people who were true to their craft no longer felt as if they had a place and people no longer reserved patience for artists taking years at a time to put out projects..

and she didn’t want him to be one of them! He belonged here just like everyone else but he had to show up sometimes!

releasing a sigh of her own, Mikasa just shook her head and hoped that he’d listen for once.

“We all have things we don’t want to do but I’m asking for once, stop being so goddamned selfish and only thinking of what Eren wants. There’s a world beyond your own little bubble and a lot of people are dependent on you. We’ll both get a good cut from this so I’m begging you not to screw this up.”

as much as this pained him, he did owe her this much for putting up with his erratic behavior. Besides, he’s put up with far worse in the past!

reaching into the pockets of his black Nike Techs, he’d retrieve two items: a pre-rolled blunt and a black lighter with his initials inscribed on it in gold. If they wanted him to interact with the outside world, he had to calm his nerves first!

“Alright, alright!..I’ll be there, damn..”

getting irritated with her voice and this entire conversation and honestly, the feeling was mutual.

“Let me find out you didn’t show up, I’ll kick down the door to that little hobbit hole of yours and break everything in my sight. Got it?”

and one thing he knew not to do was doubt that she would be capable of such a thing! He’d assure her that he’d be there..

“Loud and clear, drill sergeant.”

“Good boy. I don’t want to have to have this conversation again."

and with that, she’d disconnect the other line.

it was safe to say, he wasn’t thrilled about any of this but maybe stepping outside of his comfort zone would be good..maybe. But only time would tell!

•••••••••

meanwhile, on another side of the city, there was someone else dealing with the exact dilemma as the introverted engineer..

"So when we finish here, the car should be arriving shortly after..we’ll get you over to the club, let you do a walkthrough, get you changed and then you know what to do from there.”

the voice of a wiry and vivacious woman sprouted off the itinerary without so much as a second thought, scrolling through her iPad with the tap of a finger. Wired frame glasses dangling from the bridge of her button nose and her blonde locks styled into that of a high bun.

she was the hardworking assistant and right hand to upcoming model, influencer and dancer, (Y/N) (L/N) or (social media name) to her followers.

over the past couple of years, the esteemed exotic dancer amassed quite the following by posting videos of yourself dancing to several popular songs, even performing live with a ton of artists on stage.

you were the leader of a country wide collective of other dancers known as the Pole Assassins, who performed incredible routines. You gained quite the notoriety and in no time flat, you rose to instant stardom as social media’s newest vixen.

it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing but it was quite the culture shock for the twenty something instructor who was just sharing your art with the world, only to now be thrust into a life of crazy living and insane work.

to having tons of strangers hurl wild opinions and insults in your direction unprovoked. Not to mention the millions of prying eyes on your every move..it was insane!

if you weren’t modeling and being sponsored for the newest fast fashion brand or some newfound tea company hoping to hook buyers on their repackaged laxatives, you were attending parties at some nightclub; hosting and hyping the crowd for whatever performer was headlining.

tonight would be no different..except maybe one thing.

“Yeah, I got it. Thank you, honey. By the way, do you know who this other host is?”

the woman, sitting cross legged whilst various people patted at her face with makeup brushes and sponges. You looked flawless already but they had to ensure that every part you was nothing less than perfection.

normally, you worked solo to make these events as lively as possible but the person you were set to work with was apparently a pretty big deal. A huge name in the music world was making a rare appearance tonight at this new grand opening.

“You haven’t heard? It’s Eren Jaeger, EJ, the singer..well he’s more of a producer now. He’s actually gonna be DJ’ing and performing tonight!”

that’s when your eyes nearly popped from yourhead. Now that was a name you hadn’t heard in a long time but it wasn’t due to him being washed up or outdated, he was just such an enigma in the music world now.

akin to something like a Frank Ocean or SZA..keeping fans sitting on the edge of their seats, wondering when he’d drop his next project.

his voice was beautiful, nearly enchanting and you had even used a couple of his pieces in some of your videos, dancing along to the slow, seductive sounds of the melodies. On the same hand, he made some of the hardest rap tracks you’d ever heard. And yet, for someone who made such music and as attractive as he was, he preferred to stay out of the limelight.

it seemed almost counterproductive but you also understood.

in the not so distant past, you saw horror stories of grown women grabbing at his privates on stage when he was only eighteen, girls sending him inappropriate pictures and just being weird.

watch one interview and even a blind man could tell it made him uncomfortable. The whole sex symbol allure wasn’t his thing.

in some ways, you resonated with him. You knew all too well what it felt like having your true craft pushed to the wayside all so people could create their own narratives. Rather than being recognized for the years of hard work and dedication it took to master the art of pole..you were now seen as nothing more than a cookie cutter Insta model with a pretty face and no substance.

some days, you felt like tossing that damn phone in the ocean and never looking back!

regardless, even though you didn’t know him personally, it was an honor to be in the presence of a musical great.

“I’m shocked they could even afford to bring someone like him out. That’s a huge name.”

“Yeah, well you’d be surprised. I seriously doubt it was something he was thrilled to do but we’ll see.”

(Y/N) mirrored his sentiment honestly but work was work and they had to do whatever necessary to pay the bills. As for you, you’d down a couple shots of liquid courage, throw on a tight body con dress, highest heels and work the crowd as per usual.

you just hoped that your co-host wasn’t a jerk as the rumors claimed.

later that evening…

night had fallen cast over the city's skyline and the party was merely at its inception. Guests were lining up near the entrance, lined up and ready to get inside to rub elbows with their favorite celebrities. All dressed up and at their best.

however, they weren’t the only ones..

a blacked out Audi R8 had just circled around the side entrance and killed its engine. The matte lights went dim and suddenly the passenger side door opened. Bystanders whispered in speculation as to who was inside but their minds would not be left to wander much longer.

followed by sounds ‘oohs’ and ‘oh my gosh’s’, out stepped a man in clothing resembling that of his car; all black with the exception of some silver chains, rings and studs in his ears. Combat type boots and cargos with a cut off black shirt showing off his numerous tattoos, along with a vest type harness. (inspo)

but it was the signature brown hair styled into a half up-half down bun that gave away his identity and it took no time for the fans to react. Screaming women of every variety began trying to surpass the barricade to get to him but were held back by bouncers and he was shielded by his security, who were eager to handle anyone approaching him, as he gave a swift wave.

underneath his black mask, Eren would muster up a faint smile and try to be as social as possible..all while praying that he’d get through this night quickly. His emerald green eyes were already glazed over from the blunt he had finished before leaving home and trust that it was much needed.

he was more than ready for this to be over with so he’d make his way through the side door and into the lounge where he was greeted by his agent and the energetic owner.

“There he isss, the man of the hour. It’s really an honor, EJ. Thank you again for this! You have no idea how much it means..”

the high pitched voice and effervescent personality belonged to Zoe Hange, a very affluent and well known promoter who owned many successful clubs and lounges all over the country. To have such big stars on opening night was a testament to their work.

gratefulness aside, he wanted to go home but before he’d end up saying something stupid, Mikasa would interject and cover for him.

“Likewise. We’re very happy that you reached out. We’re looking forward to it, aren’t we?” Shooting the musician a stern glare to assure he answered correctly. “For sure.” responding flatly. However, what would follow later would shift his mood entirely.

the vibrant owner, sporting their red and black pantsuit would exclaim, clasping their hands together. “Ahh, wonderful! As you can see, our stage is just to your left and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what to do. Just make magic up there, my dear. As for your co-host, she should be arriving shortly and we can get this thing started!”

his patience and social battery was already wearing thin so he hoped for this host’s sake that she didn’t disappoint either. That's when the momentary silence was interrupted by the sound of clacking heels.

"Hi, everyone. Hope I'm not late.." the soft voice spoke out, causing everyone in the room to shift their heads towards the right side. In came a woman wearing a short white dress, cut off just above the knees, tall clear heels and thirty inches of jet black hair flowing to her thin waist. Beautiful dark skin and nearly flawless makeup…the type of girl that turned heads when she walked in.

to say she was stunning was an understatement...and Eren could hardly keep his eyes off of her; definitely a first for the less than friendly performer. It took a lot to get his attention. "Not at all, actually you're just on time. Please join us."

Zoe would declare, waving a hand to bring the woman over. "This is (y/n) (l/n) or as some of you may know her, (social media handle). She’ll be working with us tonight as well. I’m sure between the both of you, it’ll be one hell of a show. Just give my new baby a proper welcoming party.”

“She is also my newest client and I’m very excited to have her on board. Thank you again for doing this on such short notice..” Mikasa chimed in as she swooped in to wrap you up for a tight hug. “I wish all my talent were as cooperative and flexible as you..” shooting the ever so silent singer a glare, to which he’d scoff.

but when you looked in his direction, his eyes shifted a bit and his cheeks raised from underneath that face covering before he turned his head. Inside, you were fangirling and freaking out. But you knew how reserved he was, not to mention his already annoyed expression..so you didn’t want to come off as a clout chasing groupie.

one thing you had noticed was how much more toned and muscular he had gotten since his hiatus. This man was swole to say the least!

as much as it pained him, he was still a professional about the whole thing. He realized there was no point in taking out his frustrations on the girl just trying to do her job as well. That and the fact he was taken aback by how stunning you were. He may have been a recluse but he was still a man nonetheless.

“..I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan. So it’s really an honor. The Living Dead Boy mixtape is one of my all time favorites.” Truth be told, he didn’t know how to take your compliment because he wasn’t expecting that. Not for such a pretty girl such as yourself to even know his music. And considering that was one of his more underground projects..that was impressive! Now here he was blushing like a damn fool.

“I—uh..thank you. Well I guess I should go get set up. See you in a little bit. " bidding you all adieu before walking off towards the backstage area. You would've liked to think that you greeted him kindly but it seemed that he was no more impressed by you than he was anyone else.

"Don't worry too much about him. He just takes some getting used to, that's all. Deep down, he's really a sweetheart..when he wants to be that is.." Mikasa would reassure, flashing you a warming smile. Maybe so but you had no time to worry about personal feelings or ego, as the club doors were set to open any minute.

you’d make your way to the backstage as well, making any last minute touch ups to your makeup. You had about ten minutes before you’d be summoned so in that time, while you were getting your face patted, (y/n) thought silently to yourself about how things would go. What if this man really didn’t like you and things went south? The last thing you wanted was the gig to be unsuccessful. Suddenly, a stage tech would come and whisper for you, signaling that your cue was in about ten minutes or so. Sounds of music coming from the front, signaling that the club was officially opened for business.

things would undeniably be different as you’d have to command the crowd for the entire night and keep them entertained. Most of the time, you were more so of a side attraction to whoever was performing so it was time to break out of your own shell and really come into your own tonight.

now..it was time to go to work!

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two hours later..

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“Everybody having a good time tonight?!”

the voice echoing throughout the nightclub, courtesy of a microphone held by the one and only (y/n) (l/n) aka (social media name). Met back with loud cheering and applause. So far, everything was going exactly as planned. All the patrons having a good time, lots of energy, wonderful music and just an all around good vibe.

which was wonderful news for the owner, Ms. Hange, who was thrilled to see that another one of her clubs launched off with such success. She had obviously made the right call hiring the best talent agent in the country. As for you, you were thrilled that you were able to make this party as live as possible. But little did they know that it was only starting..

“Club Lapis, y’all been so good to me tonight. Showing me so much love and popping out. I see a couple of familiar faces from Instagram..hey girl!” which was true because once you posted the club flyer to your Instagram, a decent chuck of your almost one million followers tapped in that were in the area. There were a few gorgeous women that you followed as well who decided to show up off of your namesake alone. Obviously, holding more weight than you expected but influencers were the new idols, some would say. You had been snapping pictures, taking videos and singing along and dancing with a lot of people. They were amped and now, it was time to give them the real main event.

“So, because y’all been so good to me…I got a lil’ something I wanna do for y’all. A surprise for everybody..” some were already privy to what, or who rather was waiting but for those who didn’t, you’d give one hell of an introduction! “I was talking with this person backstage and they said they were a little nervous to be here tonight..and I’m thinking to myself, ‘the only one nervous is me. I’m in the presence of greatness..and a good looking ass man’.” Everybody cracking up at your little jokes because you were always naturally funny without trying, which was also part of your allure; something a lot of these insta models didn’t have. “Baby in the front here losing her mind, trust me, girl..I understand now.” One of which who was spotted earlier yelling for him as he walked in.

it was true..you had the honor of actually having a conversation with him prior to this and Ms. Ackerman was right..he was incredibly sweet once you got the chance to talk to him. That and the fact he was higher than giraffe pussy so he wasn’t as irritated and nervous as before! Regardless, he was so kind and even thanked you for hosting with him. Despite his personal feelings about these sort of things, he was a professional and knew he had to do a good job for not only his sake but yours as well. Besides, he really did thrive when performing. So you’d do the best job possible, hyping him to the crowd..

“Not that he needs an introduction..’cause he been popping his shit longer than I’ve been around. And for all my followers, y’all already know how I feel about this man and his music. We’ve been lucky enough to get him to come out for us tonight so y’all better make some fucking noise and show all the love for The Prince of Trap and B himself..the Underground’s Greatest…”

as you were in the middle of doting and giving your speech, the people would start going crazy. Girls in full blown tears, people screaming and jumping around..that’s when you’d look back to see the legend Eren Jaeger himself walking up behind you, brandishing a microphone and a smile on his face. He’s as charming and handsome as ever. “Well damn..don’t I feel special?” That ever so smooth voice ending shivers up your spine.

and it doesn’t help when he places his hand around your waist and look down at you. He really is every bit of the flirt his persona portrays..

“Miss (y/n), you keep talking about me like that and imma start blushing and shit..”

muttering into his mic as he cradled his palm around your waist. He better had stopped before he caused a problem he wasn’t ready for! The scent of his cologne wafting through your nostrils, his warmth against your body..you had met a million rappers, chopped it up with the industry’s biggest but something about this man felt so familiar and..comforting. Like the two of you could be friends. He didn’t treat you like a stranger or act all irritable like before. So you’d use it to play up the moment.

“I mean, I gotta let the people know..brag on you for a minute, boo.”

“Well, I ain’t mad about it, baby. But I guess I should give everybody what they came here for, right?”

his rhetorical question being met with a loud response from everywhere.

now, anyone who didn’t know any better would’ve sworn that you guys had not only known each other for years but had a little something on the low. That wasn’t the case, even in the slightest. Honestly, with you, it felt natural and you just worked well together.

Outside of the little exchange backstage of how things would go and the two of you properly introducing yourselves, there wasn’t much else to indicate that he was cool with you but such was life and industry politics. People played pretend all the time for a check..something you learned fairly on.

however, something he said to you did stick as he noticed you fidgeting with one of your brushes, a sure sign of your anxiety about being a lead host tonight.

you were appreciative of his kind words and assurance that you weren’t alone in this. It was going to be fine as long as the two of you had fun. He even offered you a hit of his blunt to calm your nerves.

but either way, now, it was his turn to take over!

“Then I’ll just step over here to the side and let you handle your business—“ but as you were walking off the stage, he’d flash you a smile and wink. “Y’all give it up for the ever so lovely…and beautiful (y/n). She really has done a great job tonight.” Sending your heart fluttering and butterflies all throughout your stomach. Why was this man playing so much?! Nonetheless, you were flattered all the same and you’d blow a kiss to him; watching your hips sway as you walked off the stage.

the energy and chemistry between you two was insane and the crowd absolutely loved it! Because y’all were enjoying yourselves, so was everyone else and that’s what mattered!

considering you were just as big of a fan as everyone else, you were excited to watch him perform. Taking a glance back at his DJ, they’d have a little exchange and he’d really start to blossom; like the stage was where he came to life and nothing else mattered except the music. “Play that shit.” As soon as he gave the signal and that track dropped, the whole place went crazy! It was one of his most popular songs, 1st Degree, and most energetic. It was a trap song and you had heard it played everywhere when it first came out. In a matter of minutes, he’s hopping around in stage and going off. The crowd singing it louder than he was at some point.

pointing the mic out to them, they’d scream his lyrics back at him in intervals and he’d just laugh because seeing a bunch of bad bitches yell about gun violence and drugs was so funny. Including (y/n)..he couldn’t believe everyone still fucked with him this heavily. By the time, he finished, Eren would be met with loud screams and chants. Laughing, he’d cup his microphone and move across the stage, engaging with everyone.

“DJ, did you hear that? They were going harder than me!..what the fuck?”

to say he was impressed, was an understatement. He had never imagined that after all these years, he still had this kind of impact. Some people would try and downplay or talk shit about the fact that he was in a venue like this but for someone who was over the pressures of performing, this felt much more intimate.

he’d rather have a hundred loyal fans than thousands of people pretending to know his lyrics and stand there with their phones out. Right now, he was really feeling himself and although you had just met, as a long time fan, you were happy for him. Happy that he was so well received by the audience and not being made uncomfortable. This really was his element.

the show would go on and he’d do a few more songs, this time some of the ones where he was singing, which you personally preferred. This man’s voice was something serious…many of times had you constructed pole routine to his sensual lyrics. However, that’s when he done something a tad bit unexpected.. “Alright, so for this last song..we’re about to get a little sexy. On that demon time, as they say..”

everyone immediately laughing and knowing exactly what track he was referring to…the one that had women going crazy for months and men using it to spit game. It was the first time he had ever made a love song and needless to say, the internet went stupid. It was so freaky that the blog sites were talking shit. That’s when he knew he had a hit on his hands..

suddenly, the lights would dim and the entire vibe would change.

“Club Lapis, I’m in such a good mood tonight. I ain’t gone lie to y’all, I was a little nervous to come here, but I feel the love…so I’m gonna do a little something special. I feel like serenading somebody’s daughter.”

the entire place erupted in screams and women pointing to be chosen. “A couple of you are here with your man, I don’t want no problems tonight.” But Eren had already clearly had his mind on one person in particular..and it was no question. Flashing a big toothy smile, he’d direct his attention over towards the right before singling his sights on the far corner.

“Miss (y/n)..if you’d do me the honor of bringing your fine ass back up to the stage, please..”

‘oohs’ and ‘aah’s’ sparking immediately after. Your cheeks began to burn something fierce…Eren fucking Jaeger was up on stage, flirting with you! This did not feel real whatsoever. Regardless, you made your way back up there. You’d look over to see people breaking their thumbs, sending out a plethora of tweets.

climbing the steps, he’d assist you with an extended hand. Right there underneath the beaming spotlights, the two of you would lightly clutch fingers as he stood there, smiling. Seeing him up close was like a dream. The fantasy of many fangirls who’d fawned over him since his debut and here you were getting the first hand experience. Those piercing green eyes glaring right into your own and sending your heart racing.

finally, the instrumental would begin to play and Eren began to belt out the tune. As per, he sounded amazing; those lyrics making things just that much better..talking about fucking until the bed broke, making movies and making her wet. Whoever the inspiration was behind that song was one lucky ass bitch! Pining over to the crowd, he’d let the lovely bunch of ladies huddled at the front of the stage mimic the song back to him before taking over the next verse and just for the occasion, he had slightly altered the words.

“Know I said that I can’t stay with you, no I can’t make you my wife but (y/n), if you let me in it, I swear I’ll change your life.”

crooning before running his finger underneath your chin.

sending the crowd into a frenzy. Mainly because everyone could see how fast you were folding on that stage, after having been so poised and professional all night! One thing stood true; he may not have been that way in real life, but EJ the stage persona was a whole slut and a half! No wonder the podcaster bitch boys talked so much about him. He had their dream girls about to faint.

once the song reached its conclusion, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. But he knew he better had booked it to the back before somebody’s hormonal girlfriend rushed the stage.

“Thank you Club Lapis, goodnight!”

leaving to a loud chant of his name, thunderous claps and cheers. Ending on a high note if he had to say so himself. Right now, he was on a cloud that he didn’t want to come down from and he had the perfect way to remain there.

meanwhile, (y/n) would address the audience once more, thanking them for such a wonderful evening, being so nice to both of them, to be safe and enjoy the rest of their night here. Once that was done and the DJ proceeded to resume his regular track list, you were since again stopped by fans and patrons alike, asking for pictures and saying how jealous they were that you were being sang to like that.

trust, it wasn’t something that you were expecting either but you played your role well. Now it was time to relax with a few drinks.

Ms. Hange had took the liberty of reserving VIP for the two of you once the show ended to unwind with complimentary and unlimited bottle service. You weren’t a heavy drinker by any means but why not take advantage?

honestly, once the adrenaline of the moment wore off, you grew fatigued. All of the stimulation of the loud noises and screaming people was a bit much. However, you had to fulfill your obligations.

ten minutes or so passed and it seemed that you’d be unwinding on your own..that was until you heard a familiar voice. “So this is where my beautiful co-host ran off to..”

it was the star himself and he seemed to be sporting a new outfit.. still all black with those silver chains dangling around his neck. He looked good, which was no surprise. As he kneeled to sit down, he’d scoop you in a tight hug in one fell swoop. At this point, there was no question of what his feelings were towards you. He could’ve easily dipped and had his security get him up out of here but he stayed.

“God, you sounded amazing up there! I never thought I’d get to hear the great EJ The Don in person.” Blushing at the mention of just one of his many stage names, that one being more so his producer tag. Truthfully, he just went up there and done what he enjoyed the most..sharing his music with the world.

as he took a seat next to you, he’d pour up a glass of vodka, matching your own. Casually shrugging his shoulders, he’d swirl it around a bit before knocking back a sip. “Just doing my job, that’s all. I gotta say, you did your thing too. Told you, you’d be fine.” Being reaffirmed by someone so iconic was the highest of compliments.

“I’d say you did more than that. I ain’t mad though.” Smirking in his direction before drinking from your own glass and giving him a side eye. It seemed that he was comfortable enough for you two make jokes and honestly, he had never felt that way about anyone, less known someone he had only met. Maybe it was the courage of being crossfaded but Eren truly felt at ease around you for some reason.

and you mirrored that sentiment. It wasn’t uncommon for these gigs to go left when some artist decided to get too handsy or be disrespectful of your boundaries but that wasn’t the case here. He was so sweet and down to earth.

“Aye, you said let’s entertain them so that’s what I did. Besides, you standing up there, looking all cute and shit..I couldn’t help it.” Before long, the pair was laughing and giggling, chopping it up as if no one else was around. The flirtatious tension was getting out of hand!

“You mind if I scoot a little closer, miss (y/n)? I don’t want to get in your personal space.”

“Go right ahead.” eventually letting him drape his arm around the back of the couch and move a couple inches towards you. Being all cozied up to a superstar like him was surreal and people would most certainly have their fair share of opinions and commentary, you were certain.

nonetheless, the evening continued on as normal. The two of you talking as if you’ve known each other for a long time. Rather than bore you with stories of how he got his start that could be found with a simple YouTube search of his interviews, he wanted to hear your background. He only knew of you through social media circulation but he figured there had to be more to the illustrious (social media name).

“So I gotta ask..how in the hell did you manage to get tangled up with mad woman Mikasa and let her talk to you into this?”

when you began to gain a little more notoriety, it was only natural to get an agent to help capitalize on this newfound fame and get the real money coming in. She didn’t have her reputation for nothing..Ms. Ackerman worked harder than the devil himself and she didn’t hesitate to take care of you so when she decided to team you two you up, little did they know just how much of a genius she was.

so that’s when you told him about your journey through learning pole, going on tour with a bunch of different artists and serving as a backup dancer. It was a lot of fun but outside of work, you never made it your business to be chummy with your cohorts. You done the job you are paid for and then went on about your business. It was lonely but for the best, considering how weird some folks moved.

and Eren felt the same. He didn’t have many friends in this industry. Hell, it was almost ironic because the fans adored him but a lot of fellow artists didn’t really have much to say about him as a person. Sure, they respected his craft but he didn’t make it his mission to get close to anyone..until now.

you definitely had his interest piqued, to say the least! Having a conversation with (y/n) was somewhat refreshing. You weren’t another groupie trying to play in his face or look for a come up. You didn’t treat him like you were trying to kiss his ass or anyone else’s..it was just a normal vibe and one he hadn’t shared with someone in a long time..so much so, that you had this man laughing and smiling like a fool. Maybe this whole gig wasn’t a bad idea!

“Wait a minute, you’re friends with Jean Kirschtein? I danced at one of his shows in Chicago last year.”

“Friends is a strong word, I prefer pain in the ass. No offense, but dude gets on my fucking nerves.”

the bold statement sending you doubling over in laughter. Not because you didn’t like the rock singer, he was actually very nice but the fact that he was just spilling all types of tea to you as if you guys were best friends! That’s when he explained that they were signed to the same label for a while and that he was actually engaged to his best friend and manager, Mikasa. Literally the only reason he tolerated him.

“Well damn. Can’t say I blame you..some people in this business will turn you against it real fast. Of course, I’m sure you’re the last person I have to tell that, but then there’s others who are…really sweet.”

swirling your fingertip around the perimeter of your glass as you shot him a glare, as well as a warm smile. One that made his cheeks immediately glow red, even under the fluorescent lighting. It was adorable..

scooting a bit closer, he’d glare down at your smaller frame and curl his tongue across his top row of teeth. This man was dangerously handsome that it made no sense whatsoever! “I agree..it’s not so bad all the time.” For a moment, you two were locked in an intense gaze; one that wasn’t typical of complete strangers but here you were!

suddenly, the eye contact was broken when he’d turn his head to the side and whisper something to you. “I think they’re staring at us..” referring to the group of girls pointing with their cellphones out, jumping up and down as if they were a couple of TMZ reporters getting the latest scoop.

this was the sole reason he despised being out in public, because this is what it always resulted in. Cue the hundreds of messages from nosy ass bloggers and messy people trying to get in his business but tonight? He was in a bit of a mood to match their energy and hopefully shoot his shot! Luckily, you were on the same type time he was..

“I think they are..wonder what they’re up to?..” questioning rhetorically with the coyest smirk on your face. It was insane how equally yoked you both were in just this short amount of time. But he had an idea that would really have them going crazy.

“You thinking what I’m thinking, miss (y/n)?” and it went without saying that you most certainly were. This liquor and weed had the two of you playing a very dangerous game but what was the worst that could happen? Hell, blow up the internet for all of twenty four hours before they fixated on something else? He needed a little excitement in his life..had been a while since he caused some controversy!

giving him a nod, you’d shift in your seat to stare right at one another. The chemistry was undeniable and as someone who was in a position that half the bitches here would murder for..you didn’t turn down the opportunity! Leaning over, Eren nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck; his breath causing the minuscule hairs to rise on your skin.

his right hand resting gently on your thigh but not moving too far up to where you’d be uncomfortable and proceeded to pretend he was kissing you. “Just play along..let’s give their asses something to talk about.”

breaking into a toothy smile, (y/n) shook your head and bit your lip at the feeling of this man’s hands on you for the second time tonight. “Mr. Jaeger, you are something else, you know that?” But like clockwork, flashes would begin to flicker from every iPhone in the vicinity. Even hearing a few people muttering..you most certainly had never experienced anything like this before!

“I’ve heard worse said about me..”

the last thing you needed was for everyone to spin the rumor mill that you were fucking rappers now but honestly, you wouldn’t know how to act if he really did kiss you, less known done anything else. But somehow, you didn’t care..you were really enjoying yourself. And honestly, didn’t want this night to come to an end. So your ever so charming cohort would make another suggestion..

“Y’know, I’m a little over all this and if I’m not mistaken, we’ve fulfilled our obligation for the night. So if you don’t have any plans, how ‘bout we go chill somewhere else? That’s if..I’m not being too forward or nothing..”

offering as he stood to his feet, stretching out his muscles before extending his hand yet again.

normally, you’d decline with the quickness and say you were tired but something told you, you’d be missing out on a good time if you did. And that he’d be super disappointed as well. So, you done exactly what you felt was right…

“Not at all..”

accepting his grasp, he’d help you to stand and keep your footing; continuing the theme of being an absolute gentleman. Time to keep the party going in a much more private manner.

“You just lead the way..”

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if you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! please check out some of my other stuff in the masterlist. Likes are appreciated but reblogs would mean the world and help me out a TON! Also, considering leaving a little something in the tip jar if you’re feeling extra generous! 🫶🏾

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tag list: @vixxennxx @bisexualfenty @whorrorifics @potofstewie @daisynik7 @hoohoohope @chickenwingsandfries3425

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aclowntiny · 9 months

Text

A Date Like No Other- Basketball Player!Mingyu x Female!Reader (College AU)

Inspired by the famous tumblr post 😄 also I’m quite tempted to do a part 2 for this one if anyone is into that hehe

Word Count: 3600 | College AU, Basketball Player!Mingyu, Humor, Fluff | Warnings: drinking mentioned, one suggestive comment, one minor swear

He was the guy on campus everyone would have sold organs to go on a date with. The sports guy. The really tall guy. Handsome, plays on the school team, movie love interest guy.

You were the weird girl hardly anyone talked to, and you just liked him because he drew on your notes with you.

History was boring you- you’d already answered the questions and they read the pages out loud at a snail’s pace, sending your eyes diving into the pages lest you want to rip your hair out and coat your long thin institutional table in it. Saving that, you reached into your backpack and pulled out a green ultra fine marker, popping the cap. You reached over and doodled a frog sitting in his funny little amphibian hunch on one of the multitudinous papers strewn about the table before the guy sitting next to you glanced over, a huge smile spreading across his face before he suppressed laughter.

"I've been frogged!" That, of course, had him almost snorting in aborted amusement.

Wait...did that mean? "Oh, sorry, those were your notes, huh?" You asked in response, hand hitting your head lightly. "I got them mixed up, sorry for defacing your property. I can get you a new sheet if you were going to turn that in-"

"Nah," your neighbor, whose name was Mingyu if you remembered from roll call, held up a hand of both restraint and reassurance, "it's fine! I'm going to keep it. I love him. I think he needs a hat, though."

"Oh, I got it." This time, it was a brown marker you grabbed, quickly outlining and filling in a tiny cowboy hat for your creation. "There we go, how's that?"

This time, a full snort. "He looks handsome to me. What's his name?" Mingyu whispered as your professor drew a tad bit closer.

"Uh, Clint Eastwood?" You shrugged, having not exactly thought that far- in fact, not at all, the whole shindig starting at full zero thoughts, head empty.

"Well, I'll take him with me to every class I have," Mingyu replied, glancing fondly at the doodled frog before taking his pencil and drawing a fly between two pieces of bread, "and feed him, too."

At that, you exhaled a quietened laugh, smiling back as wide as he'd done.

"What? Wouldn't that be what a frog eats?"

You had to admit that it would be.

From that day on, you two added one or two things onto Clint Eastwood's page every class session. He had a top hat at the ready for dressing up, a little garden of flowers, a very badly drawn horse to ride, a soccer ball to play with, and a plate of the takeout Mingyu had just really wanted that day. You didn't even know what his major was. Maybe it was just sports. Could one go to school for simply basketball? Who knew? You guys didn't really talk, just drew and whispered and laughed about your froggy little world. Either way, to your simultaneous amusement and annoyance you found yourself really able to see the hype behind the legendary Kim Mingyu. For all the popularity, he was a good guy. And you know what, he was cute. But, like, heart cute. The face cute was just a bonus.

"Hey (y/n), do you ever go to any games? I've never seen you at one," Mingyu mused as you strode out of class, backpacks loose over your shoulders.

"Well," you paused, letting your expression be cut by a half-joking, half-serious wince, "no offense, but I'm not a huge sports person? So I haven't gone because I don't have anyone to go with and it hasn't seemed worth the money. Not because of the game, just because of how much they charge for the ticke-”

"Hey, don’t worry, I get it," he laughed, "well, my little sister could use someone to go with, and the ticket would be on me. I save on buying them for myself because, well, you know."

"You're too busy slamming dunks or whatever it is basketball players do," you supplied.

"Depends on your position," Mingyu just chucklef in response, pushing the big silvery-painted fire exit-esque handle of the history building's double doors open.

"Basketball has positions?" You burst out incredulously, squinting both in confusion and at the onslaught of sunlight assaulting your eyes as you emerged past the threshold.

Another laugh. "Come and find out."

The game was made more fun by knowing a player- it gave you something to care about as your eyes followed Mingyu's run along the smooth floors, the way he leapt to toss the ball to some guy just as tall or even taller than him. He really played with passion, passion and a clear sense of fun if his remarks on the court were any indication. His sister was pretty cool, too. She looked like a fashion model straight out of Seoul, but she was fun and sassy, not afraid to tease her big brother about the shot he missed when he ran up and greeted you at the sidelines or shoot a questioning look between you two as you told him to do it for Clint Eastwood, whom Mingyu replied was his good luck charm before shuffling back off on sneakers that squeaked against the floor.

Even though you didn't actually hang out with him the whole time, just at celebratory victory ice cream after, you came to history lecture the next session feeling closer to Mingyu, and he must have felt the same as he started talking to you instantly. You rarely initiated conversation, but always welcomed it.

He thanked you for coming to the game as if he hadn’t paid for it, then asked what your major was. You told him and bounced the question back. Turns out it was business, not sports. That history lecture was just GE you both had to get out of the way. The most interesting history lessons to you weren't generic national history or war maps, but all the odd sideline stuff like how some people believed huffing toilets might have helped them during the Black Plague.

"They what?" Mingyu asked, eyes widening and mouth agape as class commenced.

Maybe that was why people didn't really talk to you.

Such reflection was inaccurate, however, as you mindlessly doodled a ridiculous-looking bug-eyed dog on the now-shared note paper and Mingyu chuckled and gave it a collar, smiling when your glance upward met his eyes.

The moment you rose from your seat after lecture, notebook shoved back into your backpack and pencil case into one of the side water bottle holsters or whatever they were called, Mingyu started talking to you again, this time about how glad he was that he didn't join a fraternity like his teammate Johnny.

"Yeah, because see, this one guy just got so drunk he didn’t know where his car was and his girlfriend lost her nose ring, then another guy was sick and they threw him outside and he woke up in the cold locked out of the house, and the houses stink, too, like they smell so bad…”

"Yeah," you muttered, taking each of your bag straps in your hands this walk, palms sliding over the rough fabric, "dude, you couldn't pay me to live in one of those."

“…they’re practically taking after those Black Plague people!” He joked, bringing a smile to both your faces as he mimed taking a sniff, waving his hands in front of his nose and bursting into laughter.

“Except they should know better,” you added, shaking your head in amusement, “they need to get smart like you and I.”

He didn’t laugh, just nodded in approval. "Right? And everyone there has already hooked up with each other. I'm so tired of all that, too. That's not the kind of date I've been looking for, you know?”

In a sense, you did not know, being that none of your classmates had even hardly made conversation let alone a risqué pass, but you got it. Being as popular as Mingyu was, you’d seen how fellow students threw themselves at him sometimes. Had to get uncomfortable, especially if his facial expression at a few of them said anything. They weren’t usually very original, either, poor guy. He was just a clear end goal, and someone who loved his sister and his little drawings and celebrated with ice cream as often as cocktails and laughed at toilets didn’t deserve that. Mingyu wasn’t an ideal, he was a real person. Someone who just needed to have some damn fun for once.

“Sure. You need some- no, you deserve some- creativity. If it was up to me, I’d take you on a date like no other,” you joked, chuckling as your gaze rose back up to his eyes.

“You would?” At the sight of Mingyu’s eyes widening, you wondered if your phrasing had inadvertently crossed a line. Sure, you were totally willing, but- “Alright, just name a time.”

“Wait, really?” This time it was your turn to gape, one hand dropping off your backpack strap to fall to your side. Your heart picked up its pace. Never in a googolplex of years would you have thought Mr. It Boy K. Basketball would want a date with you. Being his friend was surprising enough.

“Yeah, of course. I think it’d be fun,” Mingyu beamed at you, “and I trust you. My sister likes you, too. If…if you really meant it, that is.” He added that last bit as his own gaze dropped and one hand reached up to rub the back of his neck.

Giggling shyly at his sudden sheepishness as well as the situation’s sheer absurdity, you tilted your head his way, smile melting back out of the shock. “Well, thanks, that actually…really means a lot. Get ready for an epic time, then!”

He cocked a brow, turning down between a row of potted trees toward the food court. “Have something in mind already?”

Actually, you did have something you always wanted to do if you could get someone else- it would look too weird to be the only one. Why not do it with Mingyu?

“Be afraid,” you nodded, smirking in satisfaction.

“Well then, how should I dress?”

“Just casual is fine,” you shrugged and teased, “we can’t all afford black tie, Mr. Business Major.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, still giving that wide smile you’d come to anticipate seeing, “Friday night?”

“Friday night,” you repeated.

“Get ready for Friday Night Showdown!”

“Um, (y/n), this is the grocery store.”

Your lips turned upward proudly as you rotated from a fist pump into a Vanna White pose before the mart. “I know.”

“Are we…” Mingyu paused, clearly searching for words. “Fighting in here or something?”

“We are not,” you replied cryptically, looking all the more satisfied as you passed between the automatic doors, Mingyu at your side.

“Am I doing your shopping?” He looked at you with still-raised eyebrows, though amusement colored his expression.

“That would be messed up!” You denied, shaking your head. “Though admittedly funny.”

“Don’t get any ideas for date two!”

Your heart flipped at Mingyu’s easy smile, how casually he said that…the way he flushed and looked away the moment the words left his mouth. He was already thinking of your next date? Hope he likes seafood, you internally joked.

“Yeah, no shopping tonight unless you wanted some snacks. Because tonight,” you skipped over all the central aisles of kitchen supplies, soap, and dry goods, making a beeline for the meat section… well, more specifically the fish counter, “is all about the face-off.”

In a split second you caught Mingyu’s eyes dart down once more past rows of cans, bottles, jars of just about every color you could ask for, dancing over their numerical markers as if to say farewell to actual shopping. Then, his gaze was back on you, your gestures, over your shoulder to the tank at the end of the fish counter. The tank full of lobsters with big claws and small patience. His eyes met yours again. He knew. You could see it.

You nodded. “Oh yeah. Pick your champion.”

He twisted his cap around backwards, revealing his face, those big, innocent brown eyes, once more. “Uh, quick question: how do you suggest I keep mine straight from the others?”

He was asking in earnest. That was another thing you liked about Mingyu: not only did he possess childlike wonder beyond what somebody in his age and station in life probably should, he was also a bad liar in the purest, kindest of senses. He really, truly, had never had a grocery store lobster beatdown date, and he couldn’t fake interest if he tried. So now he wanted tips, advice you could give him as if you had already had loads of grocery store lobster beatdown dates. All you could do was smile back at the tall basketball player and every small kindness he’d shown you thus far. The way he’d simply seen you.

“Good question. Don’t they have different colored wristbands?”

He arched a brow, clearly fighting a snicker. “Different what?”

Pantomiming a band with one hand grabbing the other, you stuttered. “You know, the… the claw restraints! The wristbands!”

“I don’t think they have wrists, (y/n),” Mingyu teased, reaching over and ruffling your hair.

Well, of course you realize this means war. “Alright, you are on,” was all you said, eyes narrowing.

He perked up at that. “What’s the bet?”

“Winner gets to pick the next activity,” you reply, sauntering a few steps closer to the lobster tank and pointing to one with a purple band over its claws that was clearly ready to throw- well, for lack of better terminology- hands, “and I choose this one.”

“Well, in that case,” Mingyu returned to your side, arm pressed against yours as he peered into the tank, “the logical choice would be to pick the one in red in front of yours. May the best crustacean win.”

And at that, his competitive stare melted back into that boyish look as he turned to you. “…did that sound cool?”

It almost came out as a snort, you burst out laughing so violently. “That was legendary,” was all you could wheeze out.

“Ha ha! I can’t believe it!” Mingyu grinned and bobbed up from his bent tank stare like an excited puppy, pumping the fist that wasn’t holding the mart beer can he’d bought as his lobster shoved yours away in victory.

The pair of crustaceans had been locked in claw-to-claw combat, tussling very slowly over nothing in particular but their proximal frustrations, and Mingyu’s had apparently vented harder, shoving yours back after some aggressive minutes. Mingyu had gotten into the fight, nudging you when something extra exciting happened and even providing commentary on sideline fights between sips.

First drawing a fly sandwich, then that. Truly, who'd've thunk?

“Neither can I," you mock-pouted, crossing your arms, "purple always wins."

"Says who?" Asked Mingyu, who leaned down closer to you, face mere inches from yours.

"Says me," you shrugged, feeling warmth spread across your face.

"Well, you know what?"

You could feel warmth of his breath ghosting faintly over your cheeks, your lips. "Wh- what?"

"As much as I enjoy a good bar," he leaned back a bit, clapping, "I did need something else. Something new. This was fun! Wanna go play basketball in the park? I bet we'll have the court to ourselves!"

There it was again. The reason everyone liked him. Movie love interest vibes, even beneath the oddly-tinted fluorescent lights of commerce. A smile like a boy on the body of a man. Probably not something they usually imagined to see over a lobster tank. Over hoops in the park, though? That tracked, even if it was a bit of a one-eighty from his breath fanning your face.

Beside any of that, he had won the right to choose.

"Sure," you smile, "let's keep your winning streak up."

And with a hand clasped around yours, that athletic strength was tugging you out the grocery store door to a rush of evening wind and the sound of mutual laughter.

Basketball really was that man’s passion. Just about the only thing about it you knew about the sport was what a slam dunk was, but what different shots scored different points? You wanted to throw a three-pointer, but what was a three-pointer?

You learned what it was, what an assist was, that elbowing was illegal or something like that because every game had a reason to send the players to sports jail like grown-up cops and robbers.

You got the ball in the basket twice with no help, and that was achievement enough. Mingyu had ran across the court to high-five you both times as if you’d just won him a game. When you messed up the angle of another throw, he got behind you and, trying your best to focus with his chest flush against your back, you tried again and sent the ball sailing without the betrayal of the previous throw’s dramatic arc.

“So can we give Clint Eastwood a basketball now too?” Mingyu asked out of the blue, dropping to the concrete at your side, legs crossing and knees brushing.

“What,” you chuckled, “do you have him with you or something?”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled a small white square out and unfolded it to reveal the piece of lined notebook paper with margins full of marker and pencil scratch, most notably your hatted frog friend. He kept those notes in his pocket?

With the one not holding Clint, he ran a hand through his short black hair. “I do like to have him with me,” he answered with a tentative smile.

You twisted slightly, feeling your spine pop from its prior exertion, and remembered his words from the basketball game as he’d visited your seat, making you laugh with a failed attempt at spinning the ball on his finger. “As a good luck charm?”

He shook his head. “I think we’ve added something almost every time we’ve been together. He’s like a log of all the memories we share.” With that, he scooched closer to your side, his jacket falling over the folds of your own clothes slightly. “And I like our memories, Frog Girl.”

What could you say to that? “Frog Girl?” You just giggled, eyes on his.

“That’s right,” Mingyu nodded, “I can’t believe I would never have talked to you if you hadn’t drawn a frog.”

“Ah, college,” you sighed, tilting your head, “the golden years, and yet it’s so easy to ignore everyone else.”

“Well, no longer,” Mingyu shot back, gaze honing in on…well, you weren’t sure, but you liked it, “I figured out what I want to do with my victory wish.”

You smiled at the phrase ‘victory wish’, a term that was just so him. “I thought that was this.” For emphasis, you waved a hand along the court, feeling the night breeze that much more on the skin of your palm.

“Nope,” he shook his head, smirking as his eyes fell back on yours, “I didn’t say I was using it then, I just asked if you wanted to come out here and you said yes."

Well, coat you in flour and call you a biscuit. "You evil genius, you." At that, you gave a grin and a shake of your own head, unable to resist feeling a bit impressed. Man plays games, he picks up some strategy. You'd have to remember that.

"I prefer to think of myself as a nice genius," Mingyu said, and then, switching tones completely, doing another one-eighty to one sweet enough to make your heart swell, he continued, "and about my wish: can I kiss you? I can't think of a better way to end Friday Night Showdown."

Deathly afraid of saying something stupid, you answered by shifting from your crossed legs, folding them to the side as you sat up, knee resting slightly on the edge of his leg as you pressed your lips to his. The slick of his sports jacket between your fingers felt cool as you gripped it to hold both yourself and Mingyu in place as he surged forward into you. For his speed, his eagerness, his kiss was surprisingly soft, not digging too deep but just firmly holding you, treasuring you as if the feeling of your lips was about to fade. Oh, buddy, I'm not going anywhere, you murmured in your head against the feeling of his ever-so-slightly chapped lips.

And as he pulled away, separation painfully slow, deliberate, Mingyu looked you dead in the eyes, blinked at the sudden return of hazy park streetlight, and said “Wow.”

You nodded. “Wow.” Can’t believe how well those lobsters worked, you wanted to say. "You're full of surprises, Mr. Basketball."

“Mr. Basketball,” he mused, gaze briefly drifting from yours, then back. “I wasn’t sure you were going to be that into me, being so funny and smart and artistic and stuff, but I just couldn’t help myself. And boy am I glad for that,” he grinned.

For that, all you could do was kiss him again.

No more hoops were shot that night, only words tossed out with new glee as you, now wrapped in Mingyu’s jacket, pointed out lesser-known constellations, like the Dutch giraffe one or the Poop Deck. After all, you had a reputation to keep up on that date, and everyone had already seen the Big Dipper.

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu x female reader #female reader #college au #humor #fluff #let me know if y'all are into part 2 I have Ideas™ lmao

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Text

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader

contents/warnings: single mom reader, bau!reader, brief mentions of typical cm violence, mutual pining, coworkers to lovers (no arc completion)

based off this post

You’ve been held at gunpoint. You’ve been beaten, battered, and bruised within an inch of your life. You’ve been threatened, harassed, and abused. Yet there’s no fear as debilitating as what you’re feeling now, when you look around the crowded room and can’t find your toddler anywhere.

She knows not to run off. As much as you withhold from her about your career, her tiny ears unprepared for the horrors you face, you’ve told her a thousand different ways not to leave your side. And she’d been doing so good, her little pudgy fist clasped in the fabric of your dress until midway through your conversation with Emily. You’d reached down to feel her pigtails after she’d dropped your dress, content that she was still there even if she wasn’t holding onto you anymore. And yet, here you are, childless and panicking.

You start ducking into open rooms, figuring that she wouldn’t have shut the door after her if she was wandering into them. She’s nowhere to be seen, though, you don’t catch a glimpse of her black-ribboned hair or her blue-dotted dress.

Your shoes hit the scratchy carpet with urgency, and you feel many-a-head turning to face you. You don’t feel like explaining, though, not when your little girl is loose in a government building.

Government buildings are no place for children. Too many people have guns, and, though they won’t be turned upon her, she’s more than likely to be morbidly curious about one left lying around and end up worse than seriously injured. Or she could get into an elevator and lose herself among the maze of floors and desks. Or she could walk straight out the front door into traffic. Or she could lock herself in a bathroom stall. Or she could stumble upon photos she shouldn’t be seeing, crime scenes and corpses strewn about less child-friendly areas of the place.

Or, you find out, as you head for Hotch’s door, intent on pleading with the man’s parental instinct to aid you in your search, she could be dancing with your boss.

She could be on her tip-toes, ruffled socks bunched up around her ankles and mary-janes toeing Aaron’s sleek black work shoes. She could be stretched all the way to his waist, her arms hung above her head as she grips one of his thick fingers in all of her tiny ones. She could be grinning up at him, baby teeth on full display as her hair bounces to the beat of the song he’s making up. You’ve never heard him hum before, nor have you seen that fond of a glint in his eyes, but he’s beaming down at her, a happy little tune flitting through the air from his throat. He’s jutting one foot out after the other, tie swaying against his chest as he gives your daughter the dance of her, admittedly short, lifetime.

Neither of them have noticed you hovering just outside the crack in the door, and she looks down just in time for one of her shoes to slip from his own. Her weight goes with it, but he holds steady to her hands, pulling her upright until she can latch her foot onto his again.

“Woah!” She gushes, giggling with exhilaration.

“Woah,” He parrots, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” She nods, a slight lisp invading her words from her pacifier habits, “You’re strong, Uncle Aaron.”

“Well I have to be,” He muses, and though he’s no longer humming, the song lives on as he continues moving their feet in sync, “Just in case someone needs protecting.”

“I think mommy needs protecting sometimes,” Your daughter decides, and your cheeks grow hot at the mere mention of yourself, “She runned into my backpack yesterday and tripped!”

He doesn’t correct her poor grammar, nor does he point out that she was probably the one to put her backpack in a less-than-ideal place. All he does is raise his eyebrows amusedly, nodding at her statement.

“Well, maybe you could start protecting her.”

“How?” She stares up at him skeptically, unsure why the man is insinuating that a three year old can be so heroic.

“I think you should put your backpack somewhere where she won’t trip over it,” There it is, the parental voice of reason, “Maybe on a chair? Or the couch?”

“I think you should do it.” She blazes past his suggestion, typical for a child who doesn’t understand responsibility for their actions. He seems to notice the cliche as well, chuckling mirthfully, “Alright. If I see any backpacks on the floor, I’ll save her from them. Deal?”

“Deal.” She grins toothily, squealing as he lifts her straight into his arms from only his grip on her hands.

Her legs curl effortlessly around his waist and you worry about her shoes staining his shirt, but you’d seen a grape juice stain on his tie only days before, and you remember that your kid isn’t the only one crawling all over Aaron. You rush down the stairs when they begin heading for the door, posing as if you’d just began your ascent by the time they swing the hinges open.

“There you are,” You try acting relieved, though the panic you’d felt only moments prior is long gone, replaced by sticky-sweet adoration, “What, did Hotch lure you away with candy?”

“Just my natural charm,” He defends, squeezing her where she’s curled around his hip, “And a dance move or two.”

“A dance move,” Morgan repeats teasingly from the other end of the room, a few downcast smirks shot from the rest of your teammates, “I don’t recall you ever teaching me any of those, boss man.”

“You’re too big to stand on my toes.” Aaron laments with a goofy smile towards your daughter, who giggles at the thought of her big, strong Uncle Derek balancing on Hotch’s feet.

“Well if we don’t visit Auntie Penelope soon,” You accept the arm that your daughter throws out to you at the mention of her bubbly godmother, taking her from Hotch’s strong arms, “I’m going to be given a very long lecture, and you’ll be given one less cookie than usual.”

“Only five?” She gasps in real, palpable terror, fingers clenching in the fabric of your dress once more, “Let’s go!”

The bullpen shares a chuckle at her dramatics, and Reid steps aside from where he’s aiming to ask Hotch a question at the base of the stairs. You’re crossing your own desk, intent on ducking into Penelope’s lair for a chat, when Hotch’s voice rings out across the room, urgent and strong.

“Y/N!” He doesn’t often use your first name, and that’s what gets your attention the most. You turn towards him, bewildered and hesitant to take another step.

“Backpack,” He points down at the floor where you’re about to step blindly, a tinkerbell-themed bag discarded in the middle of the walkway. You eye your daughter rather unimpressed, but her attention is focused solely on Hotch, who’s already engaged with Reid.

“Pick it up,” You groan, holding your daughter’s waist and angling her towards the floor. She giggles jovially at the headrush she receives from being held nearly upside-down, and her little arms reach eagerly for her belongings.

Once she secures the backpack and deposits it on your desk rather than in your path, you tuck her back against your hip. She’s got her chin hooked over your shoulder, out of your eyesight, which means that you don’t catch the thumbs-up that she throws towards Hotch. You don’t happen to notice the wink that he throws her back while Reid’s head is ducked towards a paper he’d brought along, another one of his rare smiles aimed at her as he holds up his end of the bargain.

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month

Text

Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 3 by @treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake and @johnwickb1tsch GIF credits to @scarlettspectra ❤

Original Post Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

“Atonement? What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means,” Tex says with that wolfish smile, “That you hurt our feelings, and you gotta say you’re sorry.” He reaches up to coil a bit of your hair around his finger, tugging gently. Having the two of them crowding you against the wall like this is terrifying—and insanely…titillating, if you’re being honest. Your eyes follow the line of Tex’s arm up by your head, from muscular forearm to the curve of his bicep. A thing of beauty.

You should not be this attracted to either of them.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Nope. So now I think you have to sleep with both of us.”

John pays his partner a sliding side-eye look that conveys maybe he’s not so happy with this arrangement.

“And I gotta say, I’m feeling a little left out that you kissed John but not me.”

You’re pretty sure John kissed you—then lightly assaulted you?—but who’s counting.

“I think she liked kissing me,” says John, claiming your attention again. “Didn’t you, honey?”

Suddenly, your mouth is dry as a desert, as you try to form a response and utterly fail. You wish you could just disappear into the wall behind you.

Now Tex’s hand is on your cheek, turning you back to him. You are getting dizzy, with all the back and forth. How the fuck do they expect you to keep up with them? You watch with fascinated horror as Tex lowers his head to you, his full mouth pressing yours. The sweep of his tongue in your mouth sends a spear of desire straight to your center; you hate it, that they make you feel this way. Pent up and helpless, needy and yet somehow so alone.

It builds in you like the fuse on a firecracker—you nip Tex’s beautiful lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

He jerks back, touching his mouth. You expect anger when he sees the blood, but he laughs. “You fucking little rattlesnake,” he growls, ducking to your neck, his big hand on your waist pinning you hard against the wall. Before you know what’s happening you feel his teeth there, at the bend where your neck meets your shoulder. He bites you hard enough to bruise, sucking for good measure so that you know there will be a mark.

The pain is sharp and you whine, squirming against them. But there’s no getting away. That’s starting to sink in a little more, and it makes your knees weak. You start to slide down the wall in your last attempt to get away from them, but strong hands hold you up. There’s a hand under your shirt, holding your bare waist. You’re not sure whose, until you realize, it’s both of them.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

”Tact, Tex,” John scolds, “this is a delicate little creature.”

Tex releases from your skin in a wet pluck, glaring at his companion. “Delicate girls bite where you’re from?”

“You’re a brute,” John tells him. He leans down to kiss your head, runs soothing fingers over the fresh bloody bruise that Tex left in your skin. “There are better ways to tame a nippy dog.”

“Muzzle works just fine.” Tex bites the air beside your jugular, so hard you can feel the sharp gnash vibrate your skin.

You wince back from him, only to push the other side of your neck into John’s waiting mouth. You don’t understand how someone who looks so terrifying can be so soft. His lips are like feathers, silk. Barely touching you. Running across your jaw and making you groan, down the column of your throat, over your collar, finally landing a tiny, wet, warm kiss on Tex’s aching mark. Your hips twitch up into his thigh of their own accord, and he makes a noise resembling a chuckle.

“See, she does like me better,” John muses.

You’ve never felt so helpless, and you’ve - regrettably - never been so turned on. Tex grabs your jaw and turns your head up to his. “Well now, we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

He picks you up and carries you to the bed. You don’t fight in his arms, but you’re sure as hell scrambling away from him futilely once he follows you into the mattress. He drags you back from the edge, plants you right in the middle, and descends on your skin while you sob and squeal and - because you’re pathetic - moan.

He’s hard on you, unforgiving and purposeful, overwhelming with nips and kisses and suckles and long, slimy licks. You go from trying to get him off to gripping him closer, which seems to egg him on.

He’s big, corded with muscle, intense, facial hair chafing your pliable skin. It’s too much and not enough. Your hips grind, desperate for friction, on nothing. John is leaning against the wall, beautiful arms crossed over his chest, watching, steaming, longing. The tempo of your arousal gets so much worse when you catch that man-starving-in-the-desert look.

Tex gives your collarbone a break to call his counterpart. “Rethinking sharing the bed, John?”

Johnwickb1tsch

John doesn't answer, just watches from the wall with his arms crossed. You can feel the weight of his stare from across the room, like a hand on your skin.

"See?" eggs Tex, his deep voice in your ear making your toes curl. "He ain't gonna save you. Still like Johnny better than me?"

He nips at your earlobe, winning a sound out of you that makes him smile like a baring of teeth.

"He's nicer than you," you pout.

Tex laughs at that.

"Honey, if you think that's the truth, then you ain't been payin attention." He kisses you on the mouth, a little gentler than before, but no less posessive, his tongue stroking yours. You cannot help the moan that escapes from deep in your throat, and you feel him smile triumphantly against you. He pulls you closer, insinuating a sinewy thigh between yours. You aren't proud about it, but you are desperate, as you grind yourself against him. Your throbbing, wet cunt thanks you for it, even as your self-respect flinches for the blow.

Tex keeps talking, and you can tell he's utterly smug.

"Know what the Italians call him?" he asks, kissing a line down your jaw.

"El guapo?"

Tex snorts. "Naw, that's what the Medellín boys call me."

You can't help but giggle a little.

Now, the whisky is definitely helping.

"Ok, what do they call him?"

"Lo spectro."

You crane your neck to look at John, but find he's gone from his spot at the wall. You didn't notice him move, didn't hear a thing. For some reason your heart jumps in your chest. Where the fuck did he go? Finally you realize he's settled in a chair in the dark corner, swathed in shadows as he watches the two of you. His eyes glitter like obsidian, unblinking.

"That means the Ghost."

Fitting.

"And the Russians think he's the bogeyman or some shit. What do they call you? The Baba Yaga?"

John huffs in acknowledgement, but you can't help but pause. "Isn't that the witch that lives in a shoe?" You laugh to yourself, knowing you're a little drunk, and crazy for thinking out loud, but unable to stop yourself. "No, it's a house on chicken feet. She's a scary old woman."

Tex grins, looking over to John in his corner. "That so?"

"I didn't give myself the nickname."

He sounds almost grumpy about it, and Tex chuckes. "Guess they didn't do their research while they were shitting their pants."

You wrinkle your nose, and he laughs at you. It's the laugh from before, in the diner. Joyful, a little wild. The laugh that made you want to follow him into his car, before it all went to hell. It promises fun, and adventure ahead. It inspires an involuntary warmth in your chest.

You must have a screw loose.

"You kinda sound like a fan boy for him, Tex," you tease.

"Nothin wrong with acknowledging greatness in your professional field." This is partially muffled by his mouth against your shirt-- traveling downwards.

"And--" You grab fistfuls of his soft dark hair, hoping to distract him from his intended target. His solid weight pressing you down into the mattress is far too delicious for comfort. "What do they call you?

It works, and he looks up at you with his chin on your breastbone, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. "Crazy Man."

Of course.

"It doesnt suit you."

He snorts, aware that you're ribbing him.

"You know what would suit me?"

He continues his trail downward, pulling up your shirt to kiss your bare belly.

You're really afraid to ask, and he doesnt wait for you to.

"My tongue in your sweet little snatch."

Hearing him say it aloud like that makes the body part in question clench with longing.

The Stupid Lady Parts have cast their vote, but you like to think you still wield the Executive Veto.

"Maybe that would win you over?"

His teeth are in the waistband of your boxers, pulling down over your hip, when you try to squirm away from him. "Wait...don't."

"No? I'm tryin to be generous here, honey."

"I just..." The thought of that fast-talking tongue working on your aching clit fills you with equal parts excitement and dread. You cover your face with your hands, overwhelmed. "Oh God."

You know there's really not anything you can actually do to stop him. You're not even sure you do want to stop him-- only that you should want to stop him. This has been the most stressful fucking day of your life, so help you gods, and you just dont fucking know what you want. So you're surprised when long seconds go by, and he moves no further, as though he's actually waiting for your answer. You look down with tears glittering in your eyes, to find him smiling wickedly up at you.

"That's alright, darlin'. I can wait until you beg me for it."

Your heart plummets, even while your Stupid Vagina rejoices like a chorus of angels.

Somehow, you sense that you have managed to fuck yourself over so royally.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

”Let’s play pretend,” Tex says, kissing your tummy, letting his sharp stubble drag and give you wicked rug burn.

“I’m not a fan of - ah nnh - cops and robbers.” Your voice all high and squealing while he tugs John’s boxers down just a tiny bit more and nips your hip.

“Oh, maybe we should do that one instead,” Tex replies as though you’ve just given him a marvelous idea. “John, you mind tying her up again?”

“No, no no no,” You stupidly attempt getting away, and it fails miserably just like every other time. You really need to work out or join a self defense class or something. Tex holds you down like you’re a stuffed rabbit.

“You can handle it,” John tells him, voice hushed. You spare a glance at him, and, by God, it’s a mistake, because he’s palming something massive in his pants and looking right back at you.

You can’t look away from the sight of whatever sea monster is lurking below his trousers. Of course, he’s huge. Maybe you were hoping you could get a small dick joke in somewhere just to gain some leverage, but that is definitely not going to happen now.

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a staring problem, little fox?” Tex asks, squeezing your cheeks and making you look back at him.

You bite your lip to keep the retort at bay. That’s exactly what he wants you to do, after all, talk all weird and muffled because of your cheeks being dented in. He means to laugh at you, and you’re not giving him the satisfaction.

“Anyway,” he starts, “the game I wanna play is house.”

John grunts as if to laugh.

Tex releases your cheeks and they spring back puffy and handprinted. “Try to imagine that I’m not an evil psychopath.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and you open your mouth to do so, but he pinches the skin on your side rough enough to make you screech instead.

He keeps you pinched while he licks a line over your hip. It’s a daunting mixture of pain and pleasure and you’re bucking up into his dastardly mouth.

“Anyway, we go for a long ride in my car like we were planning. You ‘member?” He sucks your skin and releases the hold of his fingers, lighting you up with the pain of recirculation.

He trails sloppy wet kisses down until he’s just over the mound of your cunt, tongue licking over the elastic underwear band. You go to stick your fingers back into his hair, but he tsks at you.

“Keep those hands to yourself, tiger, or else I’m gonna have to use more of that itchy rope you love so much.”

You shoot him a hateful look, but put your hands at your sides and fist the sheets.

“Oh, you do listen. Good job, honey, makin’ me proud.” He takes a minute or two or three to use his mouth and turn you into a throbbing mess. Your tummy and hips are all raw and sore and sensitive and spit covered, and he’s got his hands holding your thighs down on the bed so you can’t even grind on air.

He continues. “I get you back to my place, put on some music, turn the lights real low. Give you a long, naked massage. Oil you up. Get you nice and slippery and wet. Nuh uh, honey bunch, open your eyes and look at me.”

You do, peppery tears caught in your lower lashes. And your vagina, which was once enthusiastic and committing blatant mutiny, is now wishing it would have listened to your rational brain. Because his deep, sinful voice, combined with the narration and the eye contact - oh, and don’t forget his expert fucking lips and tongue and teeth - have one unforgiving, aching tightness building brick by brick inside of you - and it fucking hurts.

“And once I get you all worked up, I use both these big hands you’re always starin’ at to rub your cunt. Nice and slow and heavy - just a plain, good, old fashioned clit tease - “

Suddenly, he stops, and you’re extremely confused. The enchantment is broken. Him and John are staring at one another instead of at you.

“Was that the fuckin’ doorbell?” Tex sighs.

John digs a phone from his pocket and checks it. “Yeah. It’s Bradford.”

Your heart lurches. Agent Bradford. Here to rescue you. Here to get you out of this fucking mess.

Tex kisses your tummy one more time and slaps the waist of the underwear against your overworked flesh. “Your knight in shining armor is two hours early.” He says it as if it’s your fault.

What? What the fuck? They knew he was coming? Why did he ring the doorbell? You can’t contain these questions. You have to know, or you’re literally going to end up in a straight jacket with padded walls caging you in at the end of all this.

“What the fuck is going on?” You ask.

Johnwickb1tsch

"Well, looks like we might get to play cops and robbers sooner than later, sweetheart." Tex pats your thigh, hard, making it jiggle. For a moment he seems distracted by the motion of your flesh under his big hand, but he blinks out of it.

You however, are vibrating inside with the scant hope that maybe, just maybe, you might get out of this. Because maybe these men are handsome as the devil, and maybe they want to torment you with pleasures that lets be honest, you've only dreamed of, but they are dangerous. Maybe they promised to set you up with a new life, but its a promise you trust only so far as you could throw one of them.

Not really thinking, you try to stand, but Tex pushes you right back down like batting at a fly.

"Guess we've got to tie her up again."

John is already on his feet, pulling things out of the weapons chest. He holsters a small gun at his back, and sheathes a knife at his ankle.

"I'll do it. You make the knots too tight. Go make sure everything's ready."

"Fine, fine."

Tex winks at you before strutting out.

When John approaches with the rope you consider trying to scramble away, until he pins you with that certain look. You hold out your wrists with tears in your eyes.

"Sorry, honey," he apologizes, which genuinely surprises you. "This won't take long."

"What are you going to do?" you ask, fearing for Bradford.

He ignores your question, frowning at the coarse rope on your tender wrists. "Where the fuck did he get this?" he grumbles under his breath. "A hay bale?"

Despite the apparently less than quality cordage, you can't help but notice this man ties beautiful knots. If you were on a boat, you would have been impressed. Since they're on you...you're less than enthusiastic about it.

"Should be silk or nothing on this beautiful, soft skin."

Hearing this makes an uneasy thrill run down your spine.

"Alright, princess. Are you going to behave for us?"

You blink up at him, doing your damndest impression of an innocent little bunny.

"Yes."

He weighs you with that piercing stare, before snorting to himself. "No you're not."

He replaces the socks you flung at Tex and ties your ankles too. This results in him having to bridal carry you out of the room. John sets you down on the couch in a sitting room.

"Ready?" Tex is by the door, John standing across the room. There is an energy between them that gives you chills. Something is about to go down.

Tex opens the door, and Bradford limps in, looking between the two assassins with hard eyes.

"Ever heard of being fashionably late?"

Bradford scoffs. "Why, were you busy with something?" His eyes sweep to you, with what is undoubtedly sex hair, and the angry purple hickey visible above your collar.

"Something," Tex confirms with a smirk, winking at you.

You are so confused. Why are they talking like they're friends?

"You boys made a big fucking mess of this thing."

"No, you did, when you double sold your information," says John in an unforgiving tone, glaring between Tex and Bradford.

You look to Bradford with wide eyes, hardly able to believe what you're hearing.

"You? You're the fucking rat?"

Bradford sighs. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? I fucking trusted you!"

Bradford steps to stand in front of you. "Look, I really am sorry. But I've got three teen kids, and good college is expensive."

You can hardly believe what you're hearing.

This man who swore to uphold the law sold your location to not one, but two assassins--for tuition money?

Maybe your ankles are tied, but it doesn't prevent you from winding up and kicking him with two heels in the dick.

Bradford goes down, curling up on the carpet with a groan.

Tex whoops with laughter.

Even John winces at the damage to Federal Property.

"You sonofabitch!" you spit. "I have been poor my whole life. Borderline poverty poor, but I never would have done what you did for money. You traded my life!"

You are just a pawn in a bigger game to all these men. Even the supposed good guys.

"Easy to say that, when you don't have anyone depending on you," grits Bradford through his teeth.

It's true. You have no children, no close family.

You are just...alone.

After a minute Bradford manages to stagger back to his feet.

"Need an ice pack, Agent?" needles Tex.

"No. I'll have my money, and be on my way."

John nudges a briefcase over with his oxford-clad foot.

"It's all there."

"Good."

Bradford limps over to pick it up, before heading for the door.

"What are you going to do with her?" he asks. Oh, so now he has a conscience?

"We're going to give her a new life," says John. "That's all you need to know."

The agent nods, then looks to you one last time. "I really am sorry."

"Eat a bag of dicks, you fucking asshole," you spit.

Tex chortles. "Tell 'im honey."

Then you watch what you thought was your last hope walk out the door with a suitcase full of money, payment, you assume, for pushing any further investigations away from your two captors--and you.

The two men in question come to stand before you, looming menacingly. They are tall, and forbidding--and why do they have to look so fucking handsome while doing it?

"Shame we gotta move," says Tex. "I like her like this."

"Don't stand too close, she'll re-arrange the way you pee," says John with a smirk. Then you notice he has a needle in his hand, again.

"Please, don't," you whine. Whatever it is they give you to knock you out makes you feel so out of it.

"Sorry, sweetheart. One more time, if we're lucky."

"We should just stick her in a burlap sack like the rattlesnake she is," jokes Tex.

John snorts, but doesn't encourage him further.

"Hold her down," he says, flicking the needle.

Tex is all too happy to wrap you back up in his strong arms again. This time, you don't really fight it though. What's the point? Having that needle jabbed carelessly into your flesh doesn't appeal to you, so you sit very still, and close your eyes.

Maybe soon, it will all be over?

Sweetwolfcupcake

The sun is shining, giggles echo in the air as you run around, dodging the person chasing you.

"Hey! Wait--(Y/N)!"

You turn around with a grin, ready to let his body crash into yours like the waves crashing against your feet. But you see no one. The ocean roars and echoes, but you are alone. The sun shines brighter and brighter until it blinds you with the bright---

The painful jerk has you opening your eyes with a startled whimper. Your vision is hazy, but you hear something akin to 'Careful'.

You try blinking your eyes, but your movements are too slow. It takes great labour's to even try to shift. You try anyway, only to discover that there are arms holding you.

"Hey, it's okay. Go back to sleep." The familiar voice cooes into your ear, tucking you closer.

"The road is shit!" Tex's voice reach your ears bit it's like slowly floating in.

Everything is slow, even the movements of---

Oh, you are in a car again, but your vision is too hazy and thought process too slow to grasp exactly what place it is. Everything looks familiar but somewhat incomprehensible.

And the dream, you have not dreamt of the day for a while but...

"Hey, it's okay, you're safe. You can go back to sleep."

You realise a tear has slipped down the corner of your eyes when John's thumb wipes it away.

The road ahead seems to be anything but free or even good. Rather, it seems bleak if you manage to rise above your...attraction to them.

You gulp, feeling a dull throb begging to grow in your head as it falls back into John's shoulder. The tightening grip registers a moment later, but it does not even occur to you to fight back in anyway.

You close eyes and let darkness fall over you again.

----

John watches your sleeping form, sitting on a chair that has been dragged nearer to the bed. You make him feel conflicted, and he can tell, Tex too.

They, the sorry creepers from hell, have felt warmth, sunlight, something they are deprived of. Something they do not deserve.

But you...

You have walked up to them. Outstretched hands cupping their cheeks, teasing their horns, looking into their hungry, miserable but malevolent eyes.

John knows that, he's human after all.

And even the devil craves solace.

He does not want to let go of this or you. He knows Tex enough - that man might try to hide it behind rough exterior, but he craves... this, you just as much. He would not be preparing a light meal for you otherwise.

With the kind of desperation and tinkles of madness that concerns John slightly but fuels Tex.

They will come up with an arrangement, as discussed at he bar. But hell may freeze and heaven be scorched - they are not letting you slip away.

They deserve something good, something soothing after what the world has put them through...

But every action has a consequence. In their world, this stretches to the extreme. All they need now is to prepare for the consequences. This time, though, they won't be the one facing them.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

You wake up screaming. Which in itself isn’t unusual. Nightmares have always been a constant companion for your sleeping brain, and they only got worse when you accidentally stumbled upon the bloody execution that got you into this mess.

This is different. Different because you’re not in your bed or your apartment and, at first, you don’t know what’s going on or how you got here. As you scream, you try to fling upright, and it’s a terrible mistake.

A few things happen at once. Your hand, still very diluted with knock out drugs (to the point it may as well be unattached from your body) hits a solid wooden slab - hard enough to make you think you may have broken your pinky. The second event - the one that lays you flat - is the light from the doorway hitting your eyes and popping your pupils like a juicy blackhead.

Screaming turns into to groans of agony as the headache bleeds from your orbital sockets into the rest of your head, then your neck, then your shoulders. You try to move and bury your face into something, but you feel like a bag of potatoes trying to roll itself along a sandy beach. You can barely grasp anything let alone move your torso or hips or your 800 pound, throbbing skull.

Strong hands grab and steady your zombified body, and John’s voice is at your ear before you can scream again. “Hey, hey, it’s alright.” He pulls you gently, propping your curled body on top of his own.

Rough finger pads nudge your lips apart and slip something liquid and bitter past them to coat your mouth. The slime absorbs into welcoming buccal surface and makes your face numb and tingly. That feeling travels to your head in a matter of seconds, and you are floating, blessedly pain free, high as a goddamn kite on a windy spring day.

Comfy numb spreads through your blood and makes it even harder to move. You try a finger and it won’t budge, but strangely you’re not really worried about it. John’s got you, and he’s warm and strong and whispering words of reassurance into your hairline. God, he smells nice, too, like some kind of woodsy, salty altar to ancient deities. You inhale as much of him as you possibly can and itch to grab onto his shoulders and never let go.

He wipes something off your chin - it feels sticky and wet - and you attempt opening your eyes to see what it is. Oh good, your eyeballs didn’t explode like you thought. Thick drool snaps from your face onto the back of his hand, and then he reaches to grab something, but your eyes don’t follow that movement because they’re too busy marveling at his sculpted face. How did he get more attractive? How does he keep getting more attractive. You want to touch him, rub your thumb along the tensing muscle of his throat and then let your tongue follow. For a second, it seems like you actually are doing those things, but then you’re teleported back to your previous location, unmoving; reality is slipping from you piece by piece.

“John?” Your voice sounds like some distant chant in a massive cathedral.

“Mmm?”

“Did I just lick you?”

He might be smiling or he might be frowning - you can’t really tell. “No.”

“That’s because I can’t,” you explain, wondering why he doesn’t realize he has to be the one to lick you because you really really can’t move but, God, you want to kiss him again. Feel the slick of his tongue and the feather of his fingers on your flesh.

He just looks at you, quirking his eyebrow.

Ugh. Men.

“Kiss me,” you demand, although it sounds more like a desperate plea.

He does, wonderful, overwhelming mouth hooking into your own and shattering bulbs of light and glass through your blood. He’s too soft and too much at the same time and you swear to God your heart is actually in your ears instead of your chest.

You were so dumb before, for not taking this opportunity. For not bagging this sinfully hot man and dropping to your knees and saying thank you Mr. Boogeyman. Wow, you’re stupid. But it seems like he forgives you while his big, polite tongue is teasing your own, so that’s a plus.

“Really?” Tex asks. “How many drugs did you give her?”

John’s lips release yours, and you whine - loudly - from the loss of wet, warm, crack infused contact.

“I gave her the recommended dose, but I think she had a bad reaction to the sedative.”

“If this is what you call a bad reaction, then I just gotta see what you consider a good one.”

Your eyes, animated on their own, flit to Tex. Oh, for a second you kind of forgot there was two of them. Or are you just seeing shit? No, you’re pretty sure there is two. God, you hope there’s two.

Johnwickb1tsch

Later, you'll wonder if this was a dream. If when you held out your hand to Tex, you didn't imagine the fleeting moment of vulnerability on his handsome features, before it disappeared into his usual confident smirk.

He joins you on the bed, sliding in on your other side, his solid warmth pressed against you. If the drugs weren't enough to make you loopy, being sandwiched between your gorgeous boys surely steals any last hint of reservation you had left to your name.

Your boys.

Is this even real?

His big hand slides under your shirt, gripping your waist possessively as he dips to kiss you. He's not as gentle as John, not as cloyingly sweet--yet there is almost a tenderness in the heated way he claims your mouth with his soft lips and devilish tongue.

Needless to say, you are a quivering mess between them by the time he pulls away.

"Hard to believe this is the same girl," he teases you. "No biting, no mouthing off. Just soft and sweet..."

John's lips have drifted down to your neck, feathering light kisses behind your ear. You are barely capable of movement, but your fingers dig into his shoulders, and you writhe languidly as you feel Tex's hand sliding down your belly.

John stops him as his fingertips slide just past your waistband, and surprisingly its you who gives a sound of protest. At least, you think you do. Everything is golden edged and fuzzy. It's hard to discern what all is happening in your mind, and what is real.

"Let her come out of it a little more," says John, almost like he feels guilty for drugging you.

Tex grumbles, "Yeah, ok. I like her better when she's feisty anyway." His kiss on the corner of your mouth curls your toes, and you whine for your thrwarted satisfaction. "Sorry, little rattlesnake. Blame Johnny for giving you too many drugs."

You can hardly believe the words that come out of your mouth. "What does it matter?" After everything they've done so far...what does any of it matter? You've been forsaken, sold down the road by the justice system that was supposed to protect you. The men who have saved you are career criminals and contract killers. In this strange state, you can almost sense the outline of your doom. Maybe you might as well enjoy what you can, when you can.

John, however, doesn’t seem to like hearing you talk like this. "You matter," he affirms, kissing your temple. "Why don't you get some more sleep?"

Wrapped up in the warmth of both of their imposing bodies, this doesn’t sound like a terrible idea. You rest your head on John's broad shoulder with Tex spooning you from behind, his muscled arm draped over your waist.

He's snoring behind you before you even drift off. Strangely, it doesn't bother you, and soon you're following to the land of dreams.

*******

You're not sure what time it is, when hazily you wake. There are no windows, just shadowed darkness. You try to sit up, but John's arm tightens on you. He's the one spooning you now.

This is the puppy pile from Hell.

"I have to pee," you tell him. Your bladder feels like it might burst at any moment.

"Through there," he says quietly, pointing across the room. You see a door with the gentle glow of a blue night light beyond. "Don't take too long."

Finding the last bit entirely unnecessary, you roll your eyes, knowing you're safe in the dark.

"Fine."

Able to move a little better now, you extricate yourself from your assassin bedfellows, picking your way across the floor to the toilet.

After relieving yourself you wash your hands, and look at yourself in the blue glow of the mirror. Your head hurts, and you take a drink of water from the faucet.

Your thoughts are not quite so fuzzy now, and you take a moment to assess what's available to you here.

Unless you think you can facilitate your escape with the deadly weapon of a soap dispenser...no dice.

You turn to go and gasp at the tall shadow of a figure in the doorway.

"Jesus Christ!"

Tex steps farther into the light, filling the entire doorway with his impressive form. He's removed his shirt for sleeping, and unbuttoned the top button of his jeans. When he reaches up to hold the top of the door casing, displaying those toned arms and powerful chest, the pose does not fail to catch your breath in your throat.

"Excuse me," you say, hoping he'll move, staying out of arm's reach, for all the good it will do you.

"Gotta pay the toll," he says with that devilish smirk.

Your heart skips a beat.

"What does that mean?"

He puckers his lips, and you have to fight not to roll your eyes again. This man...is a handful, and you're not sure if you want to kick him in the shin or indeed kiss him full on the mouth.

Moving carefully, you steady yourself with fingertips on his chest, standing on tiptoe to peck his lips.

Your feet leave the ground completely when he grabs you up, slanting his mouth over yours. Your brain shuts down, when he kisses you like this. Like you are something delicious he'd like to devour, bones and all. When he presses you into the door jamb with a hard thigh between yours all you can think to do is whine, your treacherous lady parts rejoicing again.

"Tex." says a warning voice from the bed.

He lets you go, smacking your behind as he nudges you on your way. "Get back in bed."

Your limbs tremble as you scramble to obey him.

Sweetwolfcupcake

This time, though, sleep does not come easy. You can feel their bodies pressed against yours, and while John's arms resting around you feel a bit of a cage, Tex's knees nudging between your thighs feels absolutely unnecessary but, much to your annoyance, not uncomfortable. You try to keep your legs crossed, only to hear a quiet growl from behind. It is not entirely guttural but has a warning edge to it.

"Don't play with me right now."

You shiver, letting his knee nestle in. His hand rests on your shoulder for a while before going for your scalp, running his fingers through your tresses, untangling them with an unexpected gentleness.

It reminds you of... someone, and your breathing shifts a bit, quivering slightly as you try to push the image out of your mind while you keep your eyes stubbornly closed.

John's hold tightens around you instinctively.

"Go back to sleep. You've not recovered yet." His voice is careful, soft, and everything you realise you have craved all your life.

Perhaps the universe has played another callous game with you - granting your wish in its own, twisted way - in the form of two deadly men who make you feel more conflicted than you have ever been-- you feel simultaneously safe with and hunted by them, they arise your resentment, anger but also a volcanic desire that threatens to consume you, that tempts you to just give in.

But you won't. You refuse to give in. You know it's a decided battle, but you choose to fight.

You have fought all your life, this is another one of them.

You decide.

You would not be their plaything - that is what they see you as. Their doll to play with until they decide that they had enough. You have no other reasoning or explanation for their actions.

But at some point, you manage to fall asleep, curled against them, letting your breathing mix with theirs until they find a pattern.

-----

You feel his beard rubbing against your chin as a pair of lips engulf yours, swallowing your words-- or were they just babbles? You can not find it in yourself to care. Everything is hazy, floating-- good. The soothing, low, deep voices coax you into spreading your legs further, welcoming the sensation of a surface rubbing against you. Your core pulses with desire as you arch your back, pressing against the toned, hard chest-- the contrast makes you shudder as you whimper. The surface presses harder and continues to rub against you while the lips descend to tour chin and neck.

What place is this?

You welcome the overwhelming sensations, pleasure rising in your being, in slow, steady motion. But that does not feel enough.

Suddenly, the motion is sharp and calculated but faster and--and your eyes fly open.

It is no dream!

You blink, wide, surprised eyes meeting John's burning, hungry ones with your mouth parted.

"Wai--th!"

Your words are swallowed by John's lips again. This time, it is his tongue sliding in, and every other thought fades.

"Now, now, don't move yet--"

You hear Tex's voice from behind, slightly muffled by his lips pressed against your hair as his knee rubs roughly almost aggressively against your pulsating core. Your last attempts to move away are thwarted by John's unyielding hold on you as you grapple for the last bits of your rational mind.

"Just let go, honey, you're almost there."

Tex's voice has never been so gentle before-- it has its charm, but also an edge of mockery and malice.

You moan further into the kiss, realising that John's lips are still on yours, but the thoughts are cut short when you feel yourself erupt. Your pleasure bursts and sparks rain on your veins. You vaguely realise yourself grinding against the moving knee, but that is a fleeting observation.

"Oh--Oh my--"

You gasp and shudder, whispering like a prayer as John's lips free yours, letting you gulp as much air as you can until your lungs throb dully and your eyes roll back. You are drowning, but also floating. You feel John's lips on your neck but make no attempt at pushing him, them away.

"There you go,"

Was it Tex?

Or John speaking?

You do not care at the moment - it's all too much, too good, too hazy. You can feel yourself seeping through the boxers, and you barely can bring yourself to be bothered, at least not now.

The warmth engulfs you as you continue to shudder, feeling the now slowed but precise movements of the knee as it prolongs your ecstasy.

Treedaddymcpuffpuff

”Looks like I win, Johnny boy,” Tex murmurs, licking the shell of your ear with that silvertongue of destruction. Win? They did make some kind of bet behind your back, then. Still assholes at the end of the day. Would it really be wise to bring it up when you’re snuggled between them, all sensitive and jellied, though?

“We’re still on that?” John asks, not seeming invested at all - more preoccupied with pulling your shirt up to rub your bruised tummy and ribs, wiping that scowl right off your face.

Tex presses something daunting against your bottom - oh, you are really fucked here - and helps John tug the fabric up higher until the seam teases your perked nipples. “Deal’s a deal.”

John caresses the tender underside of your breasts, wets your skin with tiny, teasing kisses. “Sure.” He could have at least shaved to limit the wicked rug burn, you think bitterly.

Tex tugs the boxers down over your ass, snaps the band against the bottom mounds and makes them jiggle for his viewing entertainment. “Oh,” he grunts. “I do love a good peach.”

“What’re you doing?” Your voice is slurred from sleep, whiny and throaty from the torment.

“I was gonna fuck you,” he explains, “but now I just have to have a lil’ samplin’ first.”

You look to John, eyes big and scared. He hums at you, coos and murmurs, gently fists the nape of your hair, pulls your head back and laves the column of your throat. Right over your pulse, he latches and sucks, and then hurts you for the first time. He bites you, soft and delicious, the tangy pain shooting straight to your cunt.

Tex is on the move down your back, suckling bruises into your spine and nestling his facial hair into the dimples above your plump globes. “Fuck, I think I found my new favorite thing.” He sinks his teeth viciously into your right cheek, and your hips immediately try and buck away from the sharp pain. John’s firm hands move to hold you in place while Tex takes time practically fucking gnawing on your delicate fatty tissue like you’re some kind of juicy steak.

“Hurts,” you whimper, nails digging into John’s chest, feet curling against his legs.

“I know,” John sympathizes. “Poor baby. I got you.”

Tex is clearly not in the mood for mercy, because, after a while, he unhooks from one cheek and goes straight to the other, delivering the same harsh treatment. When he’s finished, there a fat tears rolling down your face, accompanying a pathetic blubber.

“Oh, so you can dish it out, but can’t take it, huh little rattler?” Tex’s words are mean, but his big hands nicely smooth over the hills of your bottom, warming and calming the blossoming marks from his teeth.

John has not been idle - he’s working you raw, giving the same treatment to your neck that Tex did with your belly and hips. “Tex, how do you want her?”

Tex cradles the bottoms of your ass in each hand, spreading them apart, examining your puffy wet slit. “Back,” he says, surprising you by not making some sort of quip or snide remark - he sounds distracted.

They manhandle you onto your back with a pillow under your hips. John has your head in his lap and your arms tucked up under his thighs. You squirm experimentally, concluding that you are absolutely not going anywhere. He pulls your hair off your neck and face, fans it over his lap, kisses your forehead. Tex tugs your underwear down and gets a front row seat to the way you pulse and weep when John rubs his fingers outside of your shirt, circling your aching nipples but not touching them. It’s infuriating and you can’t help but whine his name, press yourself into his fingers.

John chuckles down at you.

Tex kisses your pubic mound, gathers saliva in his throat, opens wide and lets it drip down and mingle with your cum. “You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He teases, looking up at you, face positioned right above your center. He gives your clit a chilly little blow. Your legs try to close, but it’s a useless attempt with his broad frame settled between them.

You’re not sure when John got the shirt above your breasts, but they’re on full display. Your attention goes from Tex to him as he licks his thumbs and rolls them around your puckering peaks. Oh that’s so much worse.

The sensation bucks your hips up so that Tex can flick his precise tongue over the tip of your slippery clit, and between the two of them all you can really do is moan and take it no matter how overwhelming it gets. You just hope they have a little bit of mercy left in their hearts for you, but that optimism is dashed once Tex cuddles his face into your cunt and makes you scream.

#john wick #tex johnson #john wick x reader #john wick x y/n #john wick x you #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick #yandere tex johnson #wicked johnson fic

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ladywaffles · 4 months

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icemav + reckless

a discord prompt written for @sluttyhenley A sappy little Top Gun New Year's Eve prompt I forgot to post last night! Happy New Year, my friends!

In just a few hours, it will be 1996.

It will officially have been ten years since he met Maverick.

They’re all holed up in some shitty dive bar with a jukebox that predates Reagan, and the alcohol is free-flowing.

It’s probably the last time that they’ll all be together for the foreseeable future; it’s a miracle that none of them have taken promotions that have put them on desk duty.

Slider throws an arm around his shoulders, Wolfman’s got a mischievous glint in his eye.

They’re well away from base in their civvies; no one wanted to get clocked today. It’s a boys’ night out, one last hurrah for the men of ’86 before orders come down the pipeline and split them up after a scant eight weeks working together, before their careers take them out of the cockpit and ground them for good, never to fly with each other again.

“You know, Slider,” Ice muses, just loud enough that Slider can hear him. “This reminds me a lot of that first night at Top Gun.”

“You know what, Ice?” Slider plays along. “I think you’re right!”

Wolfman flashes a sharp grin, tapping Hollywood to let him know he’s heading out.

Merlin and Maverick sit at the bar, none the wiser, enjoying their beers as the NBC live coverage of Times Square plays on the TV behind them.

Slider slips over to the jukebox as Wolf darts up to the tiny stage. He passes Ice a microphone, “with the longest cord we could find!” Wolf tells him. Slider shoots him a thumbs-up above the heads of the crowd, and Ice makes his way to his target.

“Excuse me,” Hollywood says dramatically, tapping on Maverick’s shoulder. Maverick furrows his brow.

“Wood, don’t tell me you’re already wasted this early in the—”

“Is this guy bothering you?” Ice interrupts, cool as can be. Maverick stops short in the middle of his sentence, then catches on.

“Ice, don’t you dare—”

The Righteous Brothers kick up on the jukebox. “Oh, my looove,” Ice croons to Maverick, “my darling, I’ve hun-gered for your touch!”

Hollywood joins in, serenading Maverick as his face turns bright red, even under the dingy light of the bar. Somewhere in the crowd, Wolfman and Slider join in, and then the entire bar is coming along, slightly off-key, a little too loud, singing “Unchained Melody” at the top of their lungs as Maverick, larger than life and slick as can be, tries to shrink into his barstool. Merlin won’t have it, though, and he forces Maverick to stand up at the end and accept the ovations from his adoring crowd.

The boys crack a smile, and Merlin vacates his seat so Ice can slide in next to Maverick, whose cheeks are still flaming red.

“You know,” Ice says with a grin, “I’ve never seen you quite this red, even when you’ve got sunburn.” He jabs an elbow into Mav’s side, but Mav pushes him off.

“That was very reckless of you,” Maverick says lowly, intending to scold but coming off somewhat impressed. “Singing to me in the middle of a civilian bar like that.”

Ice shrugs, bolstered by his success and the alcohol already in his system. “What can I say, I’m a natural at it.”

“I bet you do this for all the girls. Does that play often work for you?” Maverick asks. Ice winks at him.

“I’ve never done it before. You’ll have to tell me how I’m doing.”

“You think it’s going well?” Maverick says. His voice is still low, but for an altogether different reason.

Ice leans in, knowing smile on his lips. “Why don’t you tell me in the morning?”

Maverick groans. “I cannot believe you just did that.”

Ice calls for another round for him and Maverick, then closes out both their tabs. “Ten years it took me to get the full story out of you, Mitchell.” He downs his vodka in one go, fully aware of Maverick’s eyes on his throat as he swallows. “You can’t have thought I was going to let you live it down that easily.”

Maverick knocks back his shot. “So then, sailor,” he looks up at Ice. There’s two hours to midnight yet. “You in town for long?”

“Not for much longer,” Ice answers truthfully. “But if you’ll have me, I’ll come back to you whenever I can.”

Maverick smiles, a big toothy grin that makes him look like that fresh-faced punk of a lieutenant he first met ten years ago. “I’d like nothing better, Ice.”

#top gun #icemav #lamby.prompt

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ladamedusoif · 5 months

Text

Hot Chocolate (Marcus Pike x gn!reader)

A Merry Fic-Mas - December 3

Part of A Merry Fic-Mas: A Holiday Fic Calendar - click for masterlist. FYI: I'm having so much trouble with taglists at the moment that I'm not going to use them for now - if you want to keep updated, turn on notifications for my posts.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x gn!reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 1280 words

Warnings: Implied smut, some heavy making out, Marcus being an adorable foodie romantic art nerd, fluff city. No use of Y/N and no physical descriptions of Reader whatsoever.

Summary: Snowed in and forced to stay over at your colleague’s Georgetown apartment, Marcus whips up a sweet treat to keep you warm.

“I don’t have much by way of dessert,” Marcus muses from the kitchen, where he’s peering into his fridge.

You finish gathering the last of the takeout boxes from his dining table and begin cleaning them out at the sink. “You’ve given me a room for the night, Marcus, I don’t need dessert. Hey, where’s your recycling bin?”

He gestures to a cupboard near the sink and leans back on the counter, thinking. “Actually, would you like some hot chocolate? I think I’ve got everything I need.”

Everything he needs?, you think, wondering what more you could possibly need for hot chocolate beyond some powdered mix and milk. Marshmallows, if you were feeling fancy.

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

He grins in delight and starts rummaging in a cupboard, emerging with bars of dark chocolate and a jar of ground cinnamon, before delving into the fridge and retrieving milk and heavy cream. A heavy-bottomed saucepan is produced and positioned on the hob as Marcus mutters something about finding his grater.

This isn’t going to be cheap-ass powdered mix, is it.

Alright, full disclosure: if someone hooked you up to a polygraph machine and asked you if you had a teeny tiny harmless little workplace crush on Marcus Pike, you’d have to answer in the affirmative.

And who wouldn’t? He was kind and funny, and smart as hell, quietly undertaking a PhD in art history and cultural policy at Georgetown while continuing to work full-time. He was one of the few people in the team who actually kept up with the art world, regularly seeking you out after a new show opened at the National Gallery to exchange your thoughts on it over coffee in the canteen.

The fact that he was also really cute didn’t hurt, either.

When snow and ice blocked the routes out of DC back to your place in Alexandria, leaving you stranded, Marcus immediately suggested that you stay over at his place. See? Kind.

“I’ll be fine, Marcus, really,” you’d protested, searching for hotel rooms in the city and recoiling when you saw the prices - and the lack of options. “Anyway, isn’t your place a one-bed?”

Marcus shrugged. “I’ve got a big couch, spare blankets and pillows, and I won’t stand by and see you hunkering down here for the night. C’mon. We’ll get takeout - I know a great little Korean place.”

He carefully grates the dark chocolate into a bowl while you whisk most of the cream.

“Y’know, I really thought you were going to pull out a couple of sachets of Swiss Miss? I should have known better.”

Marcus chuckles to himself and checks the saucepan of milk. “Usually I’m a Swiss Miss kinda guy, I have to admit. But when you have guests, you do the Viennese hot chocolate. I like to make a fuss.”

You hold out the bowl of cream for him to inspect and he nods, eyes crinkling as he smiles at you. You put it down and fold your arms as you watch him work.

“Is it really Viennese, or is that just a name they use to make it sound all fancy?”

He laughs and looks at you in mock horror. “Of course it’s really Viennese! I even had it for the first time in Vienna.” Marcus takes the saucepan off the heat and adds the chocolate along with some sugar, a little cinnamon, and a dash of heavy cream. He begins to whisk the mixture carefully.

“It was one summer when I was a student - I had almost no money, but I did have one of those European Interrail tickets and I tried to see as much great art as I could. Took an overnight train to Vienna to see the Klimts at the Belvedere.” He pauses his whisking to assess the texture, then resumes.

“Like I said, I was down to my last few dollars - or Euros, or whatever the currency was at the time - but the one thing I was gonna do besides see the Klimts was go to a real Viennese café.”

The hot chocolate is frothy now, thick and glossy. Marcus nods in the direction of a cupboard and you open it, finding some mugs.

“So I’m guessing you got to a café.”

He turns off the stove and smiles at the memory. “Sure did. Café Central. It was like something out of a Stefan Zweig novel.” He takes a ladle out of a drawer and proceeds to fill the mugs with the steaming chocolate. “And I had a mug of something a bit like this - but much, much better - and a slice of apple strudel, and it was heaven.”

Marcus finishes off the chocolate by placing a large dollop of whipped cream in each mug, and hands one to you.

“This is…incredible. I don’t think I can ever go back to Swiss Miss.”

Marcus chuckles and sips his chocolate, sitting beside you on the couch. “I’m glad you like it. Perfect drink for a snowed-in night.”

You take another deep draught of the delicious, smooth drink and hum happily to yourself. “And I’m checking out flights to Vienna first chance I get.”

He looks at you intently. “Uh, you’ve… uh…”

You can see a giggle rising in his chest. He can’t suppress it, and he laughs out loud.

“Why is the thought of me going to Vienna so funny to you?”

Marcus’s expression shifts to one of concern and he quickly shakes his head. “No, that sounds wonderful - you’ll love it - it’s just…” He reaches over and gently rubs the tip of your nose with his thumb, removing a large blob of whipped cream. “You had a little, uh, something.”

“Oh. Oh. I’m sorry.” You look down into your mug, a little embarrassed, but try to lighten the mood. “Feels like we’re in a scene from a cheesy holiday movie, y’know?”

He quirks his head. “How so?”

“Oh, you know. The whole ‘one character has whipped cream or something on their face and the other has to swipe it away and then…’”

You stop short, realising what you were about to say - and becoming very aware of just how close you are to him now.

Marcus’s voice is warm and low. “And then?”

Is he moving closer?

“And then… um. And then they usually, uh…”

He finishes your sentence by leaning in and kissing you, softly, gently at first. Your breath hitches as you feel the softness of his lips on yours.

He breaks away for a second, staying close. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s…it’s great.”

He takes your mug and puts it on the coffee table before cradling your face in his big hands and leaning in to kiss you again: a little harder, now, his tongue seeking entry to your mouth as your hands reach for his body and you lean back on the couch.

You moan and whine with pleasure as you feel Marcus’s hands caressing your body, taste the bittersweetness of the chocolate on his lips and tongue. As he moves his mouth to your neck, sucking and nibbling and licking his way along the sensitive skin, you begin to unbutton his shirt and reach for his belt buckle.

“Marcus?”

He looks up for an instant, hair tousled and eyes as deep and dark and shiny as perfect hot chocolate.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch tonight. You’re keeping me warm in bed.”

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

#a merry fic-mas #holiday fic calendar #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x gn!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fluff #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

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peach-and-bugs · 10 months

Text

💚Bean Sprout - Lottie Matthews x fem!Reader💚

ch 1 - chapter 2 - ch 3

Fanfiction master list

disclaimer: don't repost my work. I only post on Tumblr and on Ao3. anything else is stolen and should be removed immediately

Summary: You've been happily married to Charlotte Matthews for some odd years now, but it feels like it's time to take a step in a new direction together... aka mama!Lottie

Warnings: suggestive conversation & implication, insecurity

Word Count: 1,346

A/N: Hello Loves, we're back with more Mama!Lottie! I kept this one on the shorter side compared to most chapters I write, but this one kinda ended pretty naturally and I didn't feel like forcing more into it. As always, feel free to leave questions or comments in my comments or ask box, and happy reading! 💚

Lottie Matthews Tag List: (open) @elliesjoints

Yellowjackets Tag List: @frasersgf @minimickzy

"Bean Sprout" Tag List: @mistysswampmud @emilynissangtr

General Tag List: @summergeezburr

-💚-

Of course, a much longer conversation was had, and after a few weeks of intense organization, you both moved on to talking with doctors about your options. You agreed together that you’d carry, seeing as you were younger. You’d argued that 34 wasn’t all that much younger compared to 38, but Lottie had only laughed, shaking her head. It had been some time now, and you'd had begun taking a wide variety of supplements as you started tracking your cycle to get the IVF going.

On this evening, you were lying flat on your back on the couch, flipping through a binder of potential male donors that the clinic had given you to look through held over your head. Lottie moved into the living room from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of tea with her. She set one down on the coffee table in front of you before she tapped at your feet, silently asking you to scoot. You lifted your feet but didn’t look up from the binder.

“This is so weird,” You grumbled. Lottie sat at the other end of the couch with her feet up on the coffee table as she moved your feet across her lap.

“What’s weird, love,” she hummed, taking a sip of her still-steaming tea. She’d been brewing raspberry tea all week partly because of its boost for fertility but also just because she loved the flavor with honey. You sighed, turning through to another page of the binder, your eyes scanning over strange men’s faces and credentials for why you should pick them.

“Flipping through this book just to choose who we’ll use to make our baby,” you scrunched your nose at the wording with a scowl that made Lottie chuckle into her cup. “I wish you could just get me pregnant,” You mused under your breath as you flicked through the binder again, only to look away once more when you heard Lottie hum.

“I’d be lying if I didn’t think about that,” you perked up at the admission, dropping the binder to your stomach as you looked up at her with an arched brow.

“Oh, have you now?” you mused with a wicked grin. Lottie realized her mistake and refused to look up from her cup, now taking another long sip in an attempt to shield her eyes. The binder was forgotten and slipped onto the coffee table as you moved from you’re lying position. You readjusted, sitting up on your knees beside your wife, the proximity being enough for her to feel your breath fanning over the skin of her neck. Still, she didn't look up, her eyes trained on the cup in her hands as she stirred it with the tiny metal spoon she’d brought with her.

“Charlotte,” you murmured her full first name in that sing-song tone you so often use. She both loved and hated when you'd do that because, on the one hand, she adored the sound of her voice leaving your lips, but on the other, she knew what game you were playing. You grinned and took the cup out of her hands, moving to the coffee table beside your own because it had become quite offensive the amount of attention it was getting as opposed to you. You could hear Lottie swallow as you moved to straddle your thighs over her lap, arms looping ever naturally around her neck as you tilted your head with an innocent look.

“Tell me about it,” you mused, batting your eyelashes as she looked up at you as though she’d been caught in your headlights. You ran your fingertips over her forehead, brushing away loose hair that obstructed your view of her, your ever-beautiful wife who’d grown shy at her admission. You knew Lottie had a lot of thoughts when it came to this pregnancy, not all of them being the most innocent.

She rarely ever talked about it, but it had come up long before. Before you were married, even when she had been very drunk one night, her loose lips had let it slip that the thought of her partner carrying a baby, well, specifically your baby, together, was quite exciting, but not only because of the anticipation. She’d felt horrible the next morning, having realized what she’d said, which led you both down a long rabbit hole of conversation to normalize and help her feel better, that thinking that way about your partner was completely normal, and you found the idea quite flattering.

You knew that given the current conversation buzzing around the house, some of those thoughts and feelings could potentially be found fronting in her mind, though she hadn’t said anything about it till now. And though you now questioned her in a way that made it clear you also found her thought arousing, she held her tongue, keeping her fantasy to herself, much to your disappointment, but you weren't going to push.

“Well, if you aren't going to tell me, at least help me pick a baby daddy, won’t you?” that phrasing caught her attention now, and you felt her arms snake around your hips, tugging you into her ever so slightly as her eyes found yours with a scrunch in her brow.

“We aren’t calling him that,” there was a hushed harshness to her insistence that you relished in, biting your lip as you laughed. Without another word, you leaned in and kissed her lips but retreated before any heat could be added. “What was that,” Lottie asked, finally smiling with a curious crook in her brow.

“I like it when you get jealous,” you murmured, pecking at her cheek as you leaned away to reach for the binder again.

“I wasn’t jealous-” she began to argue as you readjusted yourself over her lap, now letting your legs stretch over the couch as you’re back rested against the arm of the couch. Lottie’s right arm curled around your side while her other hand found its place comfortably over your thigh as you presented her with the binder.

“Anyways, how do we even choose a doner when we haven't picked an egg yet,” Lottie asked, changing the subject. You pressed your lips in a frown. Neither of you had considered that portion yet.

“I mean, it doesn’t matter to me. The doctor said we could use either of our eggs,” you recalled. You looked up at your wife to notice a fleeting unsureness in her gaze. “Does that worry you?” you blinked up at her. She faltered as she began to speak, her hand aimlessly starting to rub at your back as she considered her words.

“I do worry about using my eggs, yes,” she eventually managed. You wanted to urge her to elaborate till it dawned on you.

“Lot, are you worried about passing your mental illness to the baby?” She didn’t have to answer to verify your suspicion. “Well, we can always use my eggs and find someone similar to you as our donor. That way, it feels more like an even mix, you know?” you brushed your thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Plus, that’ll shrink our pool of candidates and make picking a donor easier,” She seemed relieved by how seamlessly you could solve her worries, though she still had concerns.

“But I worry it’ll feel more like you’re having a baby,” she murmured, her eyes fleeting from yours once more. You turned her chin with your hand, giving her a scowled look.

“Lottie. Regardless of who’s carrying or who’s dna is being used, this is our baby. Yours and mine because we’re the ones going through this pregnancy together, and we’ll be the ones raising this child when it’s done, ok?” She sighed, and you could feel her relax under your touch, taking your hand in hers to kiss your fingertips, silently giving you her thanks for understanding. You smiled, letting go of a satisfied breath through your nose before turning back to the binder.

“Now help me pick a sperm donor so we can get this show on the road,”

#◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ kay's at it again♡#yellowjackets #yellowjackets fanfic #yellowjackets x reader #lottie yellowjackets #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #mama!lottie yj

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vargaslovinghours · 7 months

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The unusual but no less hard-hitting 10½! (1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9)

So as it turns out, I did so many Blank Slate/Have you lost your mind? doodles that I ComPletely broke the last sketchdump lol, so it gets it’s own! Who could’ve figured that making basically a full comic of Chapters 2 and 3 would’ve made just a few too many sketches lol

Because of that, I’d strongly recommend reading what I've posted of Have you lost your mind? so far before this! Spoilers and author’s notes/behind the scenes warnings and all that haha

Concept sketch for Scriabin - I always love having visual signifiers to denote timeline/AU/etc. differences so you can tell at a glance where you are :) His silhouette gets to be correct! The details, well, sorry we forgot those ♪

And concepts for Edgar! I've drawn him in different glasses before so it was a bit of an excuse, using these new/old glasses to do so again haha

But in the end I went for a reference! Remember when I drew Edgar's glasses tiny?

And I mean, if he hadn't worn them in a while, maybe they're just a bit small on him! Lol

Poor memory-less Edgar's musings, it's not just sad to be forgotten, it's sad to forget :(

Early concept of Scriabin freaking out by himself in the bedroom. I'm glad I got to keep it :D

Always gotta draw 'em reacting to something just out of frame

Poor Scriabin, he wants to be close despite knowing Edgar doesn't remember him. He has to face this whole Being Human thing completely alone! Edgar just doesn't understand!

He doesn't know how good he's got it haha, if I was really mean I'd have let him keep his glasses instead. There's a bunch of fun themes either way, but stealing from Edgar while hiding in his own hair is as good as any hehe <3

Blank-faced Edgar, I ended up with a lot of these, unsurprisingly. Doesn't help that he's cute haha

As usual, starting from the middle - it's just easier to get ideas flowing around a core! Also that note pointing at Edgar of "Put Todd to bed" was all the everything of the prep work I did for writing that little section, but the rest Absolutely Needed storyboarding lol

He might come to resent you if you manhandle so much right after meeting for the "first" time

Scriabin actually touches him in the original draft, but after I thought about it, it'd probably take a bit to cross the touch barrier comfortably again! Scriabin's still weird about Edgar but Edgar is wary, it's an interesting dynamic

I won't show off every panel, but panels like these where I think they turned out especially cute Have to be included haha <3 I dunno what it is but Scriabin pouting always turns out adorable ♥

Floof harder! Edgar's innocent expressions ahh <3

Starting to lay the groundwork, but still a bit nervously! It is quite fun how they skirt each other, not quite sure what the other knows - how many lies can Scriabin get away with before he gets caught!

Scriabin using some informed guesswork in conjunction with what he definitely knows, he is rather intelligent :) You can also see Edgar's unfocused eyes well in this one, I tried to draw them fuzzy behind those glasses hehe

These are all lined up like this on the page :D Really happy with his hand expressions here, and his face haha

This was one of my favourite lines - he keeps making excuses for Nny! Edgar no! - I fully admit that it's also partially influenced by how cute Edgar turned out haha, the poor thing - but he's so wonderfully fluffy!

I love this line as well, Scriabin utterly convinced that all his hard work must have gotten through to Edgar somewhere in there, he said it often enough, he must have listened to him at least once-!

And then Edgar completely cuts him off and redirects him haha, they’re both hopeless <3

So mad at himself and Edgar, comedy = pain + time, but this is still fresh! Give yourself some time!

That last line in particular is so insidious because he did that, Scriabin was the one who put him in that situation, and now he’s trying to turn it back around on him! He's the worst ♪

Guilty Edgar <3 Still pressing on (changing the subject so he doesn't have to linger on the feeling hehe), he does have his own questions

These kinds of exchanges were especially fun to look back on from their individual perspectives since I only drew it once, starting with Edgar. How honest can Scriabin really be? He can't explain everything and not be kicked out for being a potential danger to Todd or Edgar! He's gotta play his cards Just So

Edgar is also quite intelligent! Catching Scriabin out in a lie, even when he's trying so hard to skirt the truth!

Scriabin so mad about being called out, gotta rub it in just a little bit that he's Totally Right lol, what a brat <3

Scriabin is legally and morally and emotionally and spiritually obligated to mess with Edgar sexually in literally every iteration of his existence, it is a core tenant of his being and also he really really wants to (lol) ♪ Drawing Edgar all blushed up is just a bonus, who does this stranger think he is! What has he forgotten! He's not some easy man! Haha, if you only (still) knew, Edgar

Whatever he was going to say would just hurt Scriabin's feelings, better to just cut him off before another reminder gets laid out

Probably my least favourite dialogue that I had to change was making "?" into something that flowed better in just-text, it's not the same! Lots of little notes about word choice actually haha. Love them reaching for each other even like this <3

Edgar has all these feelings to contend with! My favourite shot is easily the last one, Scriabin's relaxed mouth while Edgar's heart is beating out of his veins right into his ear ♥

Pls o////ò;

Existence is exhausting

Even without knowing him, he's just a cautious guy :) And he wants to be gentle with him! He doesn't realize what he's doing, what his actions would mean to Scriabin if he could see them, and he does them all the same 💕

Pretty lad <3

Technically backtracking, to Ch. 3! POV shifts are fun lol

Zarla mentioned Scriabin curling up into a ball in the blankets and I thought it was a cute visual haha ♪ Haven't had a use for it yet but never say never hehe

I wanted to go for some high perspective shots to drive home the uncanny feeling of being really truly alone for the first time ever. That, and he's dramatic anyhow haha

His posing was very important to me! Since Edgar knocks on the door while he's still leaned against it, the contact points would Feel a specific way

Scriabin got a lot of「bracket notes」for his section, usually as digs lol, where does Scriabin get off saying that Edgar has no tact haha

More blank-faced Edgar! These were actually drawn separately - could be chalked up to how each of them remember the event! Edgar sees himself as more put-together and Scriabin as more foolish haha ♪

That horrible sinking feeling

I pick on him a lot but this really would be incredibly scary and sad! He's alone, expelled, and the only person who Knows him now doesn't even recognize him! This was probably the one scene I wanted to be just a bit longer, really feel the weight, hmm

But he's also quite resilient haha, he has to be <3 He has enough tenacity, thank goodness haha

One of those examples of panels basically repeating lol, I can only fit so much text per pose! Plus it's fun to see the little body language differences :)

Another bracket note lol, Scriabin has to be the best at everything!

And another, have I mentioned that Kaggie is my favourite of the two? ✨ I'd still like to give both K and D a more sizeable reference sometime! Scriabin continues to be the cutest when he pouts, agh <3

Touchy touchy touch ♥

I do love the phrase "feeling himself" right after the last panel lol - it can be both literal and metaphorical! And that's what you get for not cleaning up after yourself! I swear that lightswitch panel confused me so many times on reviewing notes lol

He's not even careful pfft. Then again if he was, he wouldn't have a mess to grumble about in the first place!

A familiar face while Scriabin's already feeling small on his lonesome, ~it's symbolic~

Ough, it hurts to think that Edgar might actually be able to watch Zeitgeist, not knowing the deeper implications. The thought of him inviting Scriabin to see it! 💔

The most important question, and he hasn't come to a conclusion yet :) I wonder what his answer will be once he stops hiding from it!

Hhhh this has been a really fun AU to write for, I'm glad that I finally put it to words since it had been rolling around in my head since early 2021 - there are so many fun and insidious things to explore! Especially on Scriabin's side, though I still think it's the most fun to be stuck behind Edgar's eyes, an aware audience knowing what Scriabin is up to while Edgar doesn't hehe ♪ Hopefully I'll have some time to return to it after a bit! :D

#💟#Doodles #Art #Sketchdump #Blank Slate AU #Scriabin #Edgar #Hhhhhhhwhy did I make so many of these lol ♪#I finally utilized the method I'd heard about for fic writing of doodling out scenes for visualization #And then it comes back on me like this! Lol #And this still isn't even all of them!#Cough Patreon plug cough cough cough lol #But most of them are featured here :) I was happy with a lot of them! :D #In general as a fic it's been quite easy-going haha #It feels a little ironic to me but it's my in-between fic - since I'm not rereading it's detail-light/non-specific #I guess I'm just thinking of it as a first draft until I reread haha ♪ I'm just sharing it while I'm here! :)#I think it'd be a fun read-along to find which panels go to which scenes hehe #Although I'm also a big advocate for ''seeing'' fics on your own first!#Sometimes the imagery is different and inspires! I've had several times where I'll read and then draw #And /then/ go look at the accompanying art and it's quite different! Translation through medium! :D #So I always recommend getting your thoughts out first haha you can always return later :)#I know I said so already but having at-a-glance differences to show where we're at ah <3 #And that it's to do with both of their glasses! How they see each other but literally! Hehe!#It really is such a fun concept to play in ♪ Similar in some ways to And Also With You #But one-sided! I also really love the trope of ''The one who should know Doesn't''#Oh and did you catch the Loved and Wanted reference? It's subtle haha #Always pulling little things from everywhere >:3c Blink and you miss it fun!#Pls do stick with me if you like it so far :D I have more ideas just you wait ♫

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van1llam1lkk · 7 months

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Bloodstained lips

[ sfw | TW ; Coercion, CNC but can be seen as dubcon, Prey and Predator Dynamic, Implied Sexual Content, Violence, Degradation, Erisa isn't human, hunting, Size Difference, Some groping, biting, Some aftercare, Inhuman Anatomy, Blood, General Yandere Content]

Female Yandere x Gender Neutral Reader

No post Thursday.... Doing kinktober,,, 2k words and 'm not done

Erisa never got why you were so interesting to be around, sure you were cute, sweet, naive, always talking as if she actually cared about what you're saying.

But she thinks what drawn her to you the most was how human you were. Even though you tried your best, there are still times she can see that anxiety building up in the back of your mind any time she stands to her full height, fighting back prey instincts to run away from her because even then— You both knew she'd catch you.

She always did, and this time wasn't different.

Your breath was fast and hot against her unusually cold skin. Wide eyes peered up at hers as your body squirmed under her grip. Her long pointed nails dug into your arms where she had forced them down. The aroma of fear mixed with sweat wafted through the air as she moved closer.

Rather than causing harm, Erisa let out a gentle chuckle as she pressed her lips against your earlobe and murmured "Calm down little one - I would never hurt you...unless I wanted to."

You can feel the warmth spreading across your face intensified as you attempted to wriggle away — But compared to her towering form you couldn't escape her grasp. She tightened her hold as she continued to tease you, warm breath tickling down your neck.

You turned away from her and clamped your eyes shut in hopes of avoiding eye contact.

"So tiny..." She crooned softly, Her third arm reaching up to cup your face. "So vulnerable," She whispered, cheeks squeezing together so that your mouth was shaped into an 'O'. "So easy to kill."

"I could probably snap your neck right now if I wanted to..." she mused, imagining the scene in her mind. The look of fear, betrayal, shock permanently etched onto your face— what a sight to behold.

Her hand moved down from your face to your chest, skimming over the fabric of your shirt.

Erisa trailed her fingers across your chest partially admiring the size of her palm compared to your abdomen. You swore you could feel shivers running through as her coolness touched your warmth. You knew you felt something other than fear too—something animalistic and carnal.

She too seemed to sensed the shift in your emotions and grinned, sharp teeth shining ever so slightly. "You like this, don't you?" she whispered huskily. "You like when I use you for my own wants 'n needs." Teasingly, she tugged at your shirt until it came off with a sharp rip.

A combination of a laugh and a sigh escaped Erisa's lips before leaning close and tasting you for the first time. She dragged her freakishly long tongue down your neck, leaving traces of saliva behind. You stifled a whimper and squeezed your thighs together as her tongue continued its journey.

She eventually pulls back with an amused smirk, taking in the sight of your flushed, tear stained face and glistened skin.

"Beautiful," she breathes softly, her head close to your collarbone as she inhales deeply.

"Mmm, you smell amazing— I'm sorry love, but I don't want to drag this out today." These were the only words that issued warning before her teeth sunk themselves into your flesh.

A sharp cry escapes you, pain radiating from where her canines pierced through your skin. The heat of it spreads down your neck like a wildfire. You squirm in her grip, trying and failing to push her away.

After an agonizing minute that felt like hours, she pulled away, leaving behind red stains against her teeth.

Adoringly, she places little kisses along each tooth mark, licking at it and sucking the pooled blood off her tongue with a content hum. The cool sensation of her lips against your burning marks creates a strange duality — washes away the pain moment by moment, replacing it with an ever-present throbbing that intensifies whenever Erisa becomes more adventurous and prods gently the bite wound to make it bleed anew.

"You treat me so well—" she murmurs in between kisses, swallowing thickly.

"Oh I'll praise your name until the heavens are forced to look down upon us and watch." Her voice rambles on in an almost poetic fashion as her fingers tighten around you; the arms holding yours down digging into your forearms slightly while the other two grasps at your waist firmly pressing you against her own body.

"A lamb condemned to slaughter—and by my hands no less—" She continues blathering, taking long licks along the bite marks.

It was bizarre — For someone that was usually so calm and composed unraveling the second seemed to unravel as soon as a drop of your blood touched her lips. You felt her grip relax, and she pulled away, looking sated.

Gently, she lifted you onto her lap. It was hard to believe this was the same creature who'd convince you to let her hunt you, pin you to the ground, and had almost taken a chunk of flesh out of you. She ran her hand through your hair with surprising tenderness, humming softly, tucking a lock of hair behind your ears.

She smiled at how woozy you were from the blood loss. "Little sheep?" she then asked in a quiet voice, lightly tapping your cheek to get your attention.

"We should do this again."

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 5 months

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Winter's Firstborne Snow

Dance Like We're Making Love Epilogue

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Reader

Description: It's been a year since you met Bradley Bradshaw. A year full of the most intense experiences you've ever felt. Who would have thought that one dance class could have led to all of this?

Disclaimers: Female! Reader, Dancing, Sexual Themes, Kissing, UST, Phone Sex

Warnings: This story does not start explicit but does get there. Minors do not interact. This story is 18+.

Word Count: 2874

A/N: Well, here we are. Another mini-series completed! I had so much fun writing the story of Roo and Tiny and I hope you all love it! It feels bittersweet, because I never expected my muse to take a meet-cute at a dance class of all things and turn it into this! For all of you who have joined me on this ride, thank you! And of course, I feel like I always have to thank @desert-fern, @horseshoegirl and @dakotakazansky for listening to me natter on about my stories!

AO3: Cross Posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross Posted Here!

My Masterlist

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

You wake up to the heat up high and Christmas Carols playing grainily over the radio. The hissing rattle roar of the snow under the car's tires nearly drowns them out, the soft susurrations hypnotic. You're dozing, trapped in that sweet spot between asleep and awake for a while longer. But you perk up just a little more when you see a sign proclaiming that you're only 25 miles to Winter Park, Colorado. It feels like there is something you're forgetting. But then, all of a sudden there are snowflakes lazily floating down, each fat crystal prismatic in the weak winter sunlight. Soon after you notice the trees, the thick, lush conifers on either side, the green of their fronds extra vibrant against the cold white surrounding them. You snuggle in further, tugging the soft tartan print blanket over your shoulders, and yawn. That movement is followed soon after by a hand curling over your knee.

“You sleep well, Tiny?” His voice makes you feel even warmer than the heat in his gorgeous, wholly unforgettable canary blue Bronco.

“Yeah, Bradley. I did.” You sit up a little bit straighter. That's when you remember what you'd forgotten, mesmerized as you were by the winter vista. “Weren’t we supposed to switch every four hours? How long have I been asleep?”

“It’s only been like seven hours, sweetheart.” You turn to glare at him, but all he does is smile at you. “You just looked so cute sleeping like that, gorgeous. I didn’t have the heart to wake you up.”

“We’re almost to Winter Park anyways, Tiny.” You intertwine your fingers with his, kissing the signet ring on his right index finger as you turn partially in the broad bucket seat.

“And?” You raise an eyebrow, looking out over the neverending trees and snow in front of your eyes. “We agreed to trade off on driving, mister! That was the deal for driving to Colorado instead of just flying here!”

You’re sure you have more to say, but the road clears on one side and the vista takes your breath away.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” You can only nod in response. “It’s almost as beautiful as you are.”

You’re even more thankful for the fact that you’ve had over a year of practice handling Bradley Bradshaw’s flirting. Where earlier his words would have had you melting into a puddle of goo, now all you do is kiss his cheek.

“I can’t believe we’re here!” There’s excitement coursing through your veins. When you moved to California, you thought you’d never miss the snow. But there are certain things, like making a fire, curling up under a pile of blankets and kissing under the snowfall that you’ve missed. The fact that Bradley listened to your ramblings that first winter and internalized them enough to surprise you with a snowy winter vacation is more proof that despite the struggles between the two of you, this relationship might just work out.

Of course, it hasn’t been easy. Your relationship had started explosively and then it seems, ended just as. Getting back to that place of instant connection and trust had been torturous, for both of you. Why the hell did you maintain a take it easy policy the second time? It was three months before you let Bradley into your bed again. The first thing you did the next morning was throw away your toys. He is better than any toy you could purchase. Of course, a month afterwards, you’d opened a package and found that he’d bought a custom toy in the shape of him, so you have someone to keep you company on the long nights he’s away.

That led right to the ever-present Navy adjacent problem of deployments and the pain involved in them. That first deployment had ripped your heart out of your chest, and dragged it to pieces. You’re not sure you slept a wink during those excruciating months. If it helped anything, Sophie wasn’t sleeping either, but that was more due to the morning sickness, which as you know now, is more like all-day, if not all the time, sickness, than worry. But you’d weathered that. It’s just that this relationship isn’t what you’d ever expected. Never in a million years would you have expected the force that is Bradley Bradshaw.

Of course, as the first three months of knowing Bradley showed you, you can’t go anywhere with Bradley without accepting every part of his history. Abby showed up again, like a bad penny intent on extorting money out of your boyfriend. You’d shut the door in her face the first day. You’d relished in the shock on her face when she saw you there rather than Bradley. She’d then proceeded to throw a hissy fit standing in your front yard every day for the next week. You weren’t aware it was possible for stewardesses for a major airline to take so much vacation and scream about not having enough money on their ex-husband’s lawn. A couple of phone calls to the police and one to Bradley’s lawyer later and you both had not only restraining orders, but a standard cease and desist in place. It had felt like divine retribution seeing Abby get shoved into a police car wearing handcuffs.

The resort is, in a word, breathtaking. You’re surrounded by the snow, thick green conifers and the mountain rising up surrounding it. It feels like a winter wonderland, lights strung between the trees and the buildings festooned with greenery and garlands. There’s Christmas music piping tinnily through the speakers and the air is crisp and clear. Your small cottage is even more breathtaking, from the colossal wood burning fireplace to the outdoors hot tub. You could have some fun there, both of you could. But Bradley’s being awfully cagey about his plans for the rest of the day, intent on getting you out of your little cottage and down the mountain for a reason you can’t get out of him. You would worry, but he looks so happy, so relaxed that you don’t have the heart to confront him. After that initial fight over Abby, he doesn’t keep important secrets from you, not anymore.

As you walk down the mountain, relishing in the crisp clear mountain air of the resort you’re going to be spending the next two weeks at, you can't help but be glad. Glad you found Bradley, glad that the fallout between him, Abby and you wasn’t worse. But above all you’re glad you trust him, wholeheartedly and completely. Would you be going on vacation or living with him if you didn’t? But that's a rhetorical question. Right now, you're just content to tramp through the perfectly fluffy powder.

It's still snowing and the sight is so beautiful that you stop walking after a few moments, staring up at the heavy gray clouds, enthralled by the flakes landing on your upturned face. You're not wearing gloves, which you're sure is a mistake, but you can't resist watching the crystals land on your skin until they finally stop melting away. It’s the tramp of boots through the snow that tears your gaze from the cascading snow.

"Tiny, baby, c'mere." You curl right into Bradley’s arms, slipping your icy fingers under the hem of his jacket and against his hot back. It doesn’t even bother you that there is something hard and plastic under his jacket that pokes into your skin. "Shit, your fingers are ice. Where're your gloves?"

You just shrug. "I guess I forgot them in my bags, Roo."

His grumble of discomfort at your icy digits is more playful than genuine, though he does tug you closer. His lips meet yours in a sweet kiss, the heat of which is enough to warm you in ways that few other things can. Your arms curl around his neck as you melt into the kiss. It makes you pout when he pulls away way too soon afterwards.

His chuckle is light as he reaches into his pocket. "Wait, honey. I’m going to kiss you again. I have to show you something first. You looked so beautiful like that, I had to take a picture." When he pulls the picture out, you're not expecting a polaroid. It's beautiful, and you say so to him, smiling at the sheepish grin on his face. You can see the wonder and pure joy in your profile. You're not sure how he did it but you think you can see a snowflake balanced on the tip of your outstretched index finger.

"I know, you were probably expecting a picture on my phone.” He tugs his jacket aside and that’s when you see it. The object that was poking into you earlier is a camera, clunky and square. “This was my dad's polaroid camera. It just felt right to bring it with us on this trip." You trace your hand over the aged, yellowing plastic, smiling at the sticker on it.

"Did he take pictures of you and your mom with it?"

"All the time, sweetheart." He hands you the camera when you ask, smiling with his hands in his pockets as you lift it up. As you peer through the lens, you're taken aback.

Bradley's got his head thrown back, a few curls escaping out of the edges of his hat. The lens is a little scratched up and clouded, but with the snow falling around his face, he looks vintage and like always, wholly out of your league. The Ray Ban Caravans sitting stylishly on the bridge of his nose add to the mystique of his gaze, as does the half-smile quirking his mouth. Your tongue ties itself into knots as you carefully, breathlessly depress the shutter. It's silent for several moments as you hear the whir of the film spit the photo out. But you can’t bring yourself to look at it. It feels like your entire heart is visible as you snap picture after picture of your boyfriend and the surroundings.

“Hey, baby?” Your head jolts up so fast that you nearly give yourself whiplash. “Can I see the pictures you’ve been taking?”

You chuckle sheepishly as you hand him the pictures. “They’re probably not any good, at least not as good as the picture you took of me!”

His brow furrows, concentration parting his lips as he wets them with his tongue in a quick swipe. After a year, you’re fairly sure you could read any and all of Bradley’s facial expressions, but this one is new. He doesn’t say a word about the pictures, choosing to tuck them and the camera away into the tote bag he’s insisted you bring with you before taking your hand securely in his.

“C’mon, beautiful. Let’s keep going.” You’re confused, but you know that when he wants to talk about it, he will. It’s quiet as you follow him, but soon enough you start to hear laughter and music. The trees clear and at the base of the slope you can see figures gliding across the ice. Excitement takes over as you speed up unconsciously at the sight of the beautiful village at the base of the mountain. You can’t hope to do everything that the village has to offer, but you’re sure you can at least try. After all, what sounds better than being out in the snow all day followed by skinny-dipping in the lovely outdoor hot-tub afterwards?

There are so many sweet little shops and restaurants, all surrounding a gorgeous central square boasting the biggest Christmas tree you’ve ever seen. You have no idea what you want to do first, but unsurprisingly Bradley leads you through the town like he knows exactly where he’s going. A part of you can’t believe what you’re seeing, at least that is, until you’re watching Bradley walk up to the counter and lope back with two pairs of ice skates in his hands. He pulls his on at lightning-speed before he sets your pair, the smaller ones on the bench next to you. But just as you grab one to pull it on, he stops you. His hands are deliberate and so gentle as he tugs your boot off and slides your feet into each skate. He doesn’t even let you tie the skates on yourself. You cup his cheek in your hand, smiling as he kisses your palm.

“You know I can tie on skates myself right?”

“Mmm, I know, beautiful. But when you look so pretty, what’s a man gotta do to make sure his girl knows how amazing she is?” He tugs you up gently, balancing you with ease as you teeter in spot. He leads you carefully to the side of the rink and steps onto the ice without a care in the world. You follow him and nearly faceplant. As his laugh rings out, you know you look a sight, your legs akimbo as you clutch white-knuckled to the edge.

“How long has it been since you’ve been ice-skating, huh, Tiny?” You shrug as much as you can with your every muscle braced until they’re stiff.

“A while,” you murmur, squealing as he unwraps your hands from the edge and holds them securely in his own.

“It’s easy, gorgeous. Just slide one foot in front of the other. Slow and steady, like when we were learning how to tango.” You chuckle softly, trying your best to comply.

You feel a lot like a fawn learning how to walk at your first mincing strides around the rink. But as time passes, it gets easier and easier. You know there’s a flush to your cheeks and you feel good - honestly, genuinely good. There's a burn in your muscles and your lips and nose are chapped from the cold air. You’re not sure when, but you’re skating without Bradley’s hand keeping you upright. There isn’t much of a crowd at the rink, and it’s getting colder. You nearly fall when music starts playing around the rink. You’re so confused that you’re frozen when Bradley begins to skate up to you.

“Dance with me, Tiny?” You place your hand in his, gasping at the heat of his palms as he drags you close. It’s stumbling and slow, each step nearly overbalancing the two of you as you rock from side to side. It’s more your fault than his. Of the two of you, he’s far more dextrous on the thin blades than you’ll ever be. But you manage. Your path transitions from stumbling rocks from side to side to slow spirals the two of you sketch out along the ice.

Just like every time you've danced with Bradley since you started falling for him, it feels like the world has stopped and that time stood still. But it never seems to restart. Not when he lets you go, and not when he drops to one knee. A part of you can’t believe what you're seeing. He can't be doing this, not now.

“When we met a little over a year ago, I would have done anything to get your attention on me. Anything. Of course, as luck would have it, my showboating didn't attract you at all. I was so nervous, Tiny, that first partner dance class. All I wanted was to get the chance to dance with you. My heart was in my throat and I was sweating bullets when I invited you over to my place. It surprised me when you said yes, and offered to pick up dinner too.”

“Getting to talk to you, show you who I was, who I am those first few months? That had me falling in love with you. I know we've had some rough patches in our relationship and I know I swore I'd never get married again, but I think you're worth breaking that vow.”

You can’t breathe. Is he doing this? Is he really doing this when your eyes are sleep encrusted and you're wearing rumpled clothing after hours in the car? Could he be doing this in the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen?

“So,” You know he's serious because he says your name, your full name. “My Tiny Dancer, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”

You nearly fall as you slip your way towards him. In the end, you lose your balance and crash to your knees in front of him, anyways.

“A-are you serious?” He just smirks at you, nodding once and shows you the ring. If you start crying holding that ring, you're sure nobody can judge you overly much. Because the beautiful band with its oval cut garnet is Carole Bradshaw's. Even Abby didn't wear this ring.

It's not even a conscious thought as you nod rapidly. “Yes, yes, yes! Yes I'll marry you!”

There's applause in the rink when you both stand up. You're smiling from ear-to-ear for the rest of the day. You can't believe your luck. You can't believe that this is your life. You were just supposed to dance like you were making love, not fall in love. But you can't say you would have had it any other way. After all, sometimes you have to take a risk to get a reward.

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#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #dance like we're making love #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader

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