#tag update from almost a month later: | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fleur-bbyy · 1 year

Text

I WANNA FEEL YOU FROM THE INSIDE

playlist

⭒pairing: katsuki bakugo x fem! reader.

⭒wc: 4.8k

⭒warnings: SEX (MINORS DNI), continuation of the porn!au, characters are aged up to 21+, reader is not of a certain skin color, use of names like ‘bunny,’ daddy kink, spanking with belt, live camming, mentions of; onlyfans, pegging, plugs, fingering (f! receiving), cunnilingus, slight breath play, small part of m! receiving oral, degrading, if I forgot anything I will update this later on!

⭒author’s note: y’all the amount of times I had to change the fake usernames to not accidentally tag someone is crazy. will scream, cry, and throw up if I still somehow managed to.

part one.

“you still wanna go through with it?”

“fuck yeah. show that fucker what he’s missing with us.”

it’d been a few months since you and katsuki had professionally filmed together for the first time. watching the opportunity for a decent cash flow get even bigger after more and more sick bastards wanted to see the two of you together. becoming a little more than professional acquaintances as you filmed together more and more.

it felt like the two of you could only keep growing until that douchebag that calls himself a director publicly shit on both of your names. calling the two of you ‘unprofessional’ and a slew of other names, even going as far to say he could’ve ‘done it without the both of you’ whilst he basked in the glory of his first successful porno. your ranks and ratings didn’t drop that much, but it was enough to piss the two of you off.

so now here the pair of you are, about to prove to that dickhead director that you didn’t need him, he needed you.

“it’s just been a while since i’ve cammed live. I feel like i’m back at the beginning again.”

“i bet. we’ve all come a long way though.” he stood up from where he was sat at the laptop perched upon your desk, angled towards the chaise lounge in your room. everything was set and ready with a timer counting down from five minutes. for some reason you were nervous about camming again.

maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t done so in so long.

or maybe it was that you didn’t know what the hulking blond standing over you had in store.

“we still have four and a half minutes left,” he rough hand stroked your soft cheek, “wanna let me get a little taste before you start, bunny?” his free hand cupped your cunt covered with white lace.

“nuh-uh. don’t spoil yourself now or you’ll have nothing left in you in a few.” you pushed him off and walked over to where the laptop was set up to check the countdown once more. making sure to shimmy your hips as you walked to show off your cute ass to him.

he already felt quite feral just looking at you. body clad in skimpy, white lingerie with cute little bunny ears on your head and a cotton tail attached the the back of your thong. the thigh-high socks squeezed the fat of your thighs so perfectly his cock was already straining against his jeans.

“have it your way, princess, but remember who’s in charge today. no shitty scripts to follow, I can do whatever the fuck I want.” you didn’t know whether you should feel more aroused or terrified at the thought. you’ve seen his videos from when he was amateur. unscripted, he was ruthless. fucking whoever was with him in the most insane, body-contorting positions, having them drool all over themselves. you weren’t ashamed to admit that you had touched yourself many times before to the sound of the filth that he spoke into the mic.

“it’s almost time, bunny. c’mere and sit with me.” he beckoned you over to the lounge with a wiggle of his index finger. he was shirtless with his chest lightly oiled. you eyed the way his pecs and stomach glistened under the light every time he shifted. he switched out his jeans and boxers to just a pair of grey sweats with nothing underneath. you loved the way his trail of wispy, blond hairs started just below his naval and disappeared below the waistband.

he had you sitting with your back to his chest. he held you tightly, already copping a feel on your chest. kneading and pinching the fat of your breasts. he had your legs placed over his spread ones, making you completely open for the camera. your little thong barely covered a thing and was getting eaten by your lips. he used his other hand to slide down your body and gently rub your clit over the cloth.

you almost forgot what you were about to be doing until you heard the familiar pinging sound from money being sent in. this little cam show was pretty well advertised on both of your socials and even by some of your friends in the industry, so it was really not surprise that people were already sending tips in. you soon heard bakugo pipe up. his voice moderately loud so the microphone could pick it up.

“awh, bunny, hear all those horny bastards that already are spendin’ shit on you? we’ve barely done anything yet” you quickly nodded your head, wiggling your hips to try and get his hand to move faster.

“where are your fuckin’ manners?” he took the hand that was kneading your tits and brought it up to your neck, fastening his thick fingers around and lightly squeezing. you let out a small ‘thank you’ which you thought wouldn’t be enough. thankfully, bakugo had mercy right now.

he kept toying with your cunt, continuously growing wetter and wetter. your arousal now seeping through your thong and spreading onto your plush thighs. also dripping down onto bakugo, leaving a wet patch on his pants.

“already makin’ such a mess. you want it bad, don’t you?” he lightly slapped your already sensitive clit, sending jolts of electricity down your spine and do your core.

“yes. so bad.” you felt like a virgin that couldn’t make a complete sentence and your cheeks started to burn. it was kind of hard to feel embarrassed when you’re in your industry, but the way he toyed with you flipped a switch inside.

“yes what?” he stopped touching you and roughly pinched your nipples, eliciting and piercing whine from you.

“yes daddy.” his cock twitched beneath you at the sound of your voice.

“good fuckin’ girl. why don’t you turn around and show them the pretty little ass of yours?” he unhooked your legs from his and brought them together so you could stand. you slowly got up, making sure to not lose your footing since your legs already felt like jelly. you heard the pinging start up again when you turned around and bent over slightly, wiggling your hips back and forth causing your ass to shake.

“come sit back down on me. daddy’s gonna play with you too, yeah?” you straddled his still-spread legs and his hands instantly found place on the fat of your ass. kneading, pulling, and squeezing every inch. you could feel his hard-on pressing right against your clit and you dared to start grinding down on him. because of that action, you were met with a harsh slap to your ass.

“who the fuck said you could grind on me? needy fuckin’ slut.” he roughly slapped your ass again and tips started to roll in at the sight of the bright red hand prints now adorning your backside.

“oh fuck, think these bastards are gettin’ off to the sight of you gettin’ punished, huh? who wants to see some more?” he was wearing the charming smirk on his face as he soothed the burning, red spots with his hands. rubbing circles on you and tilting his head to kiss and nip at your neck. the pinging sound that rolled in again signified that people did want to see more.

“alright, little bunny, all fours f’me.” you rolled off of him as he stood up, the obvious tent in his pants making your mouth water. he sauntered his way behind the lounge as you got in position. you could see out of the corner of your eye that he had picked up the belt he was wearing half an hour ago, striking the sides of the belt together to make a loud slapping sound as he approached you once more.

you felt his hands run over the spot where your lower back curved as the fabric of the lounge dipped down behind you. he caressed your smooth skin for a few moments more before he spoke up again.

“you’re gonna take ten of these yeah?” he leaned down and gripped the sides of your chin, turning your head to look towards him and the camera. “and you’re gonna count, lose your place and we start over. don’t fuck up and you get a reward. got that?” you furiously nodded your head and he cocked a warning brow at you. he let go of the death grip he had on your chin and lightly patted your cheek two or three times. you heard the leather of his belt slap against itself one more time before it was striking you.

your legs and cunt were both quivering as he delivered each blow to your sensitive skin. every strike was met with more pinging sounds as money was sent you way. your ass was covered in red spots and sore to the touch. he wasn’t entirely a monster, though, rubbing each area he hit with the palm of his hand after you struck you. despite the challenge, you didn’t lose your place and even thanked him afterwards. after the tenth was delivered, he pressed his soft lips to the spots most red and placed feather like kisses on you.

“so good f’me. so fuckin’ good f’me. daddy’ll give you what you want.” and with that he pushed your panties to the side and plunged two of his thick fingers in your wet heat. rapid fire fingering your aching pussy as he used his free hand to continue soothing the hot spots left on your ass from his belt.

the sight of your cute tears leaving mascara tracks down your pretty face in the screen of the laptop was enough to make him want to bust in his pants. the moans and whimpers that left your parted lips sounded so sweet, delicious even. and the feeling of your slick running down his middle and index finger was enough to make him lean down to lick your juices from the source as he replaced his fingers with his long tongue. his fingers found purchase again on your swollen clit, aching to be touched and he tongue-fucked you.

his movements were skillful. rubbing circles on your clit in a way the stimulated your nerves in just the right way. he worked his tongue oh so perfectly inside you, causing you to writhe under he touch. his free hand fisting at the fat of your ass.

he could tell that you were getting close by your moans increasing in volume and the way your pussy fluttered and clenched around his tongue. the pinging sound had slowed, pissing him off a bit.

“you wanna see this slut cum? pay the fuck up. we’re not doin’ this shit for free.” you whined when he pulled away from you, getting whatever the female equivalent of blue balls was. you dropped your top half down to the lounge, just leaving your ass in the air. you wiggled it a bit for the camera and for the blond staring at you through the laptop screen.

“shit, 15,000¥? these motherfuckers really are desperate. 20,000¥ and i’ll make this slutty bunny squirt.” he lightly ghosted his fingers over your pussy before deciding he wanted your panties that were still pushed to the side off. the strength of the explosive blond before you made you gush another bout of wetness as he tore them at the hips and pulled them off. even though you were desperate, you quietly whines at the loss. you really liked this lingerie set.

“oi, heard that shit. quit your bratty bitchin’ or you won’t cum until I do.” at that, he looked to the laptop and saw that someone had sent in the amount he requested and smirked.

“make sure to say ‘thank you.’” he dived back in your pussy, one hand on your clit, two fingers back in your cunt, and using his tongue to drink up any of your dripping slick. it wasn’t long before you felt that familiar pressure in your stomach and your hole started to twitch. shit, you were right there.

“oh fuck, oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck thank you.. fuck.” your speech was slurred and words were jumbled together as he finger-fucked you through your orgasm. he growled at the way your cunt gushed for him and all over him, drinking up as much as he could.

“shit, that’s my good fuckin’ girl. stand up f’me and show them your drenched pussy.” you did as he said, already feeling so fucked out to disobey. he held you by your hips as you stood, steadying your balance. using one of his big hands to spread your cheeks apart to show off your fucked hole, groaning at your reflection in the camera.

“d’you bastards miss when she was a cam slut? because i sure fuckin’ do.” he rubbed the side of your hip and ass as he pressed little kisses to your skin. it wasn’t long before the chat was beginning him to take his dick out and for you to take your bra off.

“awww. they want you to get naked too.” you teased, ruffling his blond hair.

“‘m sure they just want my cock out because that means i’m closer to destroying your insides.” he teased right back at you, softly smacking your backside.

you felt gracious about him giving you a little breather. you loved your work, loved making people feel good, but you hated how everything was go, go, go once the camera started rolling. sometimes having to just stay in bed the next day so the poor spot between your legs could take a break. when you felt ready, you tapped his shoulder and gave him a quick nod when he looked up.

you straddled his lap once more and pawed at his cock through the fabric of his sweatpants. you just wanted him to stuff you full and you were willing to act out to get it.

“needy little whore arentcha? not fuckin’ you yet. on your knees.” he patted your face once more and got up with you to get you closer to the camera. only his lower half was in view, but your face and still-covered chest was on full display. you were visibly excited when he tugged his sweatpants down enough to free his rock hard dick. taking it into his hand and pumping it a few times before slapping your cheek with it.

“be a good bunny and open wide f’me.” as soon as you did so, he was shoving his cock in your mouth. fucking your face for true audience you’d garnered. you thought all you’d be getting was a rough face-fucking until he pushed his length all the way in. the tip of your nose was touching his groomed, blond hairs that grew from his pelvis. tears once again started to stream down your cheeks as you struggled to breathe through your nose.

“you want this bitch to breathe? 5,000¥. simple enough? ‘m lowballin’ because the slut seems desperate already.” he punctuated his last few syllables by lightly thrusting back and forth in your mouth. it still wasn’t enough for you to get a deep breath, but enough for you to not pass out.

as he looked at the screen, a specific ping of a donation caught his attention.

105,000¥ - fuck her now.

he pulled out and leaned down to where his face was in view. he gave you a moment to sputter and catch your breath before he was gripping you by the jaw to look at the camera.

“see how much they wanna pay for that sloppy cunt? whad’dya think?”

“mmmm, 20,000¥ more. my pussy’s worth it.”

“you fuckin’ heard her, pay up, bastards. or i’ll just fuck her off camera.” he finished his last word with another slap to your ass. his rough hand still had you by the jaw as he showed off your messy face. makeup smeared and mascara stains running down your hot cheeks. you smiled into the camera when you saw the notification come up that someone had sent the remaining amount of money.

“thank you, baby. bet you wish it was you here and not him. you’d treat me nice, right?” bakugo’s gaze bore into the side of your head as he listened to you flirt with whoever threw money your way. anything word you spoke that sounded remotely suggestive was like a buzzword for more tips to roll in. “mmm you want him to take my bra off? you’d better ask him nicely.”

he fixated his gaze off of you and onto the comments rolling in in the monitor. another 10,000¥ rolling in with the nice request that he strip you some more.

“you bastards are so fuckin’ desperate. bet you’re all touchin’ yourselves right now. waiting for her tits to be out before you bust.” he was standing behind you, unhooking the clasps on your bra and letting it drop to the floor. you were fully exposed for the camera now. the only thing remaining from your costume lingerie were your sheer thigh-highs and the bunny ears atop your head.

he reached around you tweak your hard nipples and play with the fat of your breasts, eliciting little moans from you.

“so fuckin’ pretty. she’s a pretty, pretty girl isn’t she?” his hand traveled down to your pussy and he ran a finger through the slit to assess if he needed to prep you or not. you were practically still dripping from earlier, slick running out of your needy cunt and spreading onto the insides of your thighs.

“time to make their money’s worth, bunny. ride my fuckin’ cock.” he sat back down onto the chaise lounge and beckoned you over with the curl of his index finger. the sight of him comfortably sprawled out with his sweatpants just lazily pulled down enough for his cock to be out made the ache between your legs throb even more.

“d’ya bitches wanna see her ass or tits bounce?” he kept you from sitting, rubbing up and down the side of your hips as his eyes focused in on the chat. responses were mixed with people who wanted to see either. a few comments sprinkled in about yours or his looks.

“looks like they can’t decide, we’ll do both.” he pulled you towards him and you straddled his lap in regular cowgirl. he rubbed the tip of his angry, red cock up and down your soaked slit. the look in his eyes was enough to make you gush another wave of arousal as he slowly eased in you. the stretch of him was welcomed by your warm walls and he bottomed out rather quickly from how horny you were. his tip lightly brushed your cervix, marking you squirm above him. he grabbed your hips and you kept an agonizingly slow pace.

“if you want him to split me open, i’m gonna need a little more from you, babies.” you looked over your shoulder and winked. your reflection in the screen was pretty, beautiful even. one of his hands was lazily placed on your hip and the other placed behind his head. the sight of him slowly disappearing and appearing again was a spectacular sight to see. the way his heavy balls lightly slapped your ass was heavenly and the taut muscles flexed on his spread thighs was probably enough to make someone cream in their pants.

the pinging had begun once again and you increased your pace each time a donation came through. he eventually was gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he began to thrust into you, hard and fast. your moans were already pornographically loud when you were at a slow pace, but now they filled the room with the sound of skin slapping skin.

“shit bunny, this cunt is so fuckin’ good. i can’t wait for you to make a mess on this dick.” you clenched down on him every time he spoke the filth that had gotten you off so many times before. your legs were beginning to tremble and your pussy was twitching in a way that told him you were close, right there even.

“fuck yes. cum on my cock.. ride that shit. show them how much of a dirty fuckin’ slut you are f’me.” his words coupled with his rough thrusts to punctuate the syllables sent you over the edge. your stomach felt white-hot as you creamed on him. he removed the hand from behind his head to spread your pussy lips and watch the glistening arousal flood his dick. the ring of your cum gathered on the base. that and your tits knocking together in his face made him slow himself to keep him from cumming too.

“hope y’got another one in ya. turn the fuck around and sit again.” you quickly got up and whined at the loss. katsuki growled at the sight of your hole already gaping for him.

you let out another whine of pleasure as you sat back on his cock again. your knees and shins were placed on both sides of his thighs and his arms were wrapped around the front of you to play with your tits as he started thrusting again.

he was rougher this time, removing one of his hands from your chest to move back down to your hip to keep you close to him. his feet were firmly planted in the carpet below you to keep up his pace without fault.

“play with your tits, sweets. show them how horny you are for daddy.”

“shit.. i love when daddy fills me up… fuck fuck fuck.” you brought your hands up to your chest to play with yourself and he brought his now-free hand to toy with your swollen clit. you loudly whimpered at the sensitivity when he was touching and fucking you at the same time.

“i feel you clenchin’ my shit. already gonna cum again? you really are a desperate slut for the camera.” he started slamming his hips into yours harder and you began to bounce at a pace that met his thrusts. he felt impossibly deep inside of you as your pussy squelched and gushed around him. he was now focused on your reflection in the screen. his eyes moved back and forth from the monitor to the real you. he loved being able to see your expressions whilst also being able to watch the way your peachy ass rippled and bounce as you met his rough thrusts.

“tell me.. fuck.. tell me how bad you want it.”

“daddy please I want it to badly. I need to cum and I need to be filled with yours.”

“oh, slutty bunny wants me to breed ‘er, that’s it, yeah?” you whimpered and nodded your head as he began to thrust even harder and deeper. hitting that special spot inside you that made your whole body feel like it was on fire. the crescendo of your moans and your pussy once again tightening on him told him you were almost over the edge, he was glad because he didn’t think he’d last much longer with the sight to behold in front of him.

after a few more rough thrusts and his cock dragging against your g-spot, you were once again coating the man in your release. squirting once again as he continued to ride you through your orgasm. your juices slid down his muscular thighs and onto the fabric below the both of you. you heard his growls get louder as he used your body to chase his own high. practically losing himself at the sight the clear liquid spewing from you.

“fuck bunny, y’gonna let me cum in you? fuck i’m gonna fill you up.”

a little ‘please’ was all you could get from your lips as your spent brain wasn’t thinking too clearly. he gripped your sore hips one last good time before he was spilling the contents from his balls into your overused hole.

“‘m cummin’.. fuck baby, god you feel so fuckin’ good when i’m flooding this pussy.” your body shivered as his words and the shallow thrusts he continued to pump into you. you felt impossibly empty when he slowed and lifted you off of him. that feeling soon being subdued by his thick, calloused finger tips collecting the cum that had leaked out and pushing it back into your cunt.

“know you’re fucked out, but bend over ‘n show them how pretty that pussy looks filled with my cum.” although tired, you gladly obeyed his request. standing up on wobbly legs to turn around and bend over like you’d done earlier, holding onto the edge of the lounge for stabilization.

“mmm, bet you guys wish this was yours stuffed in there, yeah?” you giggled and waved your ass back and forth as the pinging increased for a final time. katsuki grabbing your face and showing the audience how debauched and fucked out he had made you. you finished off the stream with a flirty ‘goodbye babies’ and a seductive wink before covering the camera with your hand and ending the stream.

you both watched the screen go black and light up again as the total revenue flashed across the screen. both of your eyes widened as you saw the number. you both expected into six fugures, you didn’t expect to be that well into six figures. it was more money made in a single stream than the two of you would made from a few pornos. the two of you decided the split the money equally as it made the most sense and was only fair.

the screen blackened again, this time the transcript of the comments lit up the screen. you decided to sit and read whilst the blond got up to redress.

“hey kats, they want me to peg you!” you say in front of the laptop, still naked as the day you were born minus the thigh-highs, and read through the comments. a lot of them complimenting the pair of you or offering you guys money for sex. sometimes you came across comments that made you audibly laugh, this being one of those moments.

“fat chance. most that’s been in my ass is a plug.”

“I could change that.” you wiggled a brow at him and he dramatically rolled his eyes. he stood in the corner of your room and you watched him tug a white compression shirt on.

“adventurous thing, arentcha?”

“adventurous is my middle name.”

“yeah, okay dumbass.” it was your turn to rolls your eyes as you went to your twitter to tweet about the success of the stream, definitely showing up the director that dared trash yours and bakugo’s names. after tweeting, you decided to scroll your feed a bit to see if anyone had said anything yet. if the money you guys make didn’t show the success of the stream, the slew of people tweeting about it sure did.

@better-luxe-next-time: made more in one stream with @.officialdynamight than that slimeball has made in his whole career <3

@.officialdynamight: wanna see my POV with @better-luxe-next-time? unlock the videos on my onlyfans @.dynamight.

@.alien.queen.pinky: wettest i’ve ever been from watching a stream. 3some? @better-luxe-next-time @.officialdynamight

@bigredriot: I couldn’t tell who I wanted more 😫

@chargeboltt: she could step on me and i’d say thank you!

@chakoraka i’d kill an elderly woman to be sandwiched between them.

@sticky-sero: not even gay but i’d suck his ween ngl

you smiled at the tweets your fellow stars had posted. it some sick, weird way it warmed your heart that they all had your backs and watched the stream to help you prove a point. you even noticed some of them donating their own money. the smile that grew on your face slowly drooped again once you saw another tweet posted 7 minutes ago from dynamight himself.

@.officialdynamight: 50 retweets and we’ll stream weekly. @better-luxe-next-time

“seriously, katsuki? 50 retweets?”

“i’ll take any excuse to get inside you. got the sweetest cunt i’ve ever fucked.” you took the bunny ears off and slid your stockings off your legs as he handed you his t-shirt. it fell right at your mid-thigh and swallowed your torso whole. “and trust me, i’ve fucked a lot.”

“me too, we’re in the same business, y’know,” you let out a light giggle at his exaggerated eye roll, “but yeah, best dick i’ve ever had.”

“so we can agree, one retweet?”

“sure, kats, one retweet.” his vermillion eyes darkened and his lips contorted into a cheshire cat-like smile as he opened his twitter app and turned the screen to face you. the tweet already have over 100 retweets and it’d only been up for 10 minutes.

“looks like you might wanna start getting comfy with me, bunny.”

part one.

3K notes · View notes

libraryofgage · 5 months

Text

Harlequin Prince

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One Harley Quinn One (you're here!) 10th Doctor and Rose (on the way! might take a little, I have plans for this one) Scooby Gang (there are also plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz)

I'm a simple woman who believes Steve deserves to be a little unhinged sometimes, and having Harley Quinn as a mother is the perfect excuse to make that happen lol

Anyway, I know I haven't updated some of my other series in a hot minute; I've just been busy with work and a little sick ngl

If you'd like to be tagged for any new parts in this series, let me know!

And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

-------

Steve's earliest memory is of being tucked into bed with a Batman night light plugged into the wall and his mother squeezed in next to him. She's wearing her softest pajamas, and Steve idly rubs the fabric under his thumb. In her lap is a huge book that she flips through, humming "Pop Goes the Weasel" under her breath before finally stopping on a page. "Okay, Dumplin', let's read about Narcissistic Personality Disorder," she finally says, wiggling some to get comfortable before clearing her throat.

Her voice is soft and a little nasally, and Steve obediently closes his eyes when she starts reading. After a few minutes, she gently cards her fingers through his hair, her palm warm as it slides over his scalp. Eventually, he drifts off, his dream so vivid that he still remembers the oversized hammers with their white doctor coats and floating clipboards.

The first time Steve's mother is sent (back) to Arkham, he doesn't realize anything is wrong until Uncle Bruce picks him up from school. Steve had been waiting long after the other kids were picked up by their parents, a misshapen pink-and-blue coaster for his mother that he made in art class in his hands, when one of Uncle Bruce's fancy cars pulled up to the school.

The passenger window rolled down, and Bruce looked almost pained as he met Steve's eyes. "Hop in," he said, leaning over to open the door from the inside.

Steve walked up to the door but didn't get in. "Mom said I should only go home with her," he said, "unless you know our secret code."

"Cognitive Behavioral Therapy."

Steve stood for a moment longer before nodding and climbing into the passenger seat. He closed the door, pulled on his seat belt, and carefully held the coaster in his lap. "Where's Mom?" he asked, watching as Bruce turned down the radio and slowly pulled away from the school.

"Your mother is....going to be away for a while," Bruce said, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "She did something bad, and now she's going to stay in time out because of it."

"Mom says you shouldn't dumb things down just because I'm young. She says it's not good for my development."

Bruce got a slight smile at that, his lips twitching up as he glanced at Steve. "Is that so," he said, his grip on the wheel loosening some. He seemed to think for a moment before saying, "Your mother blew up a warehouse. She was apprehended by Batman and has been sent to Arkham for a few months. Since I'm listed as your godfather, you'll stay with me until she's released."

Steve didn't reply. He just looked down at his coaster and wondered if he'd be able to convince his Uncle Bruce to visit Arkham so he could give it to her.

He did not, in fact, get to visit her at Arkham during that stint. But Steve did get to visit on her next one, which was almost three years later to the day. Steve's first visit to Arkham was on his 8th birthday, and he was chaperoned by Uncle Bruce and Nightwing (he wasn't allowed to call Dick by his real name when he was in costume, so Steve just didn't call him anything at all).

That was also the first time Steve truly experienced Arkham's lax security. Through no fault of his own (and he would continue to argue this point; how did two superheroes let an 8 year old wander off?), Steve had somehow ended up in another part of Arkham altogether.

This hallway had large cells with reinforced glass walls that allowed Steve to look inside. He could name most of the people he passed, recognizing Killer Croc and Riddler and the Penguin by his mother's descriptions of their defining features. Most of them tried talking to Steve, but he pushed ahead, eager to see if his mother was at the end of the hall.

She wasn't. Instead, Steve found another woman. She had green skin and bright red hair and Steve hadn't been able to contain himself. He'd practically squished his face against the glass and asked, "Are you Poison Ivy?"

"Oh, her he talks to," the Penguin said, his tone mean and his voice carrying.

Poison Ivy ignored him, choosing to instead open one eye from where she lay on the bed. She stared at Steve before sitting up. "Do I know you?" she asked.

"Nope! But my mom knows you. She talks about you all the time. She said you're the baddest badass to ever badass," Steve said.

"Oh. You're Harley's kid," Poison Ivy replied, walking over to the glass and crouching down to meet his gaze. "What are you doing all the way over here?"

"It's my birthday, so Uncle Bruce said I could see Mom."

"Well, happy birthday. Now, what are you doing here?"

Steve blinked, looked around the hall again, and realized for the first time that he was, in fact, a bit lost. "Uh, I'm not sure. I was with Uncle Bruce before."

A moment passed between the two of them in which Poison Ivy said nothing while Steve tried to remember how, exactly, he'd ended up here. When he came up blank, he simply shrugged and looked back at her. "Hey, you like plants, right?" he asked.

"Yeah, kid, I like plants," she said, her tone taking on the same inflection his mother's did when he asked something she thinks is obvious.

Steve didn't linger on the tone. Instead, he dug around in his coat pocket for a few seconds, pushing past candy wrappers and erasers until his hand closed around an acorn he'd picked up off the ground a few days ago. He pulled it out and presented it to Poison Ivy on his palm. "Is it still a plant if it fell off the tree?" he asked.

"Yeah," Poison Ivy said, her voice soft like she was staring at something unbelievable. Steve watched as a huge grin spread across her face, her eyes lit up, and she pressed her hands to the glass. "Can you do me a favor, Steve?" she asked.

"Sure! Mom said you're a person I should listen to," he said, starting to close his fingers around the acorn. Now that he was thinking about it, he didn't actually know how to give the acorn to her with the glass between them.

"Your mom is right. You should always listen to me. And her. But mostly me right now," Poison Ivy said, her gaze a bit softer as she looked at Steve. "So, go ahead and put the acorn on the ground and stand as far away as possible."

Steve didn't question her. Whatever Poison Ivy wanted to do would probably be fine. After all, Uncle Bruce didn't warn him about talking to her like he had about the Joker. So, Steve put the acorn down and hurried to the other end of the hall. "Now what?" he shouted.

The only response he got was the acorn shuddering, spinning across the floor, and then bursting open. In the blink of an eye, a tree grew, its roots breaking through the ground and its branches shattering the glass of Poison Ivy's cell. Steve was just thinking that was probably why Poison Ivy told him to stand back when she walked out, rolling her shoulders and breathing like the air is fresh.

She looked at Steve and walked over, standing in front of him for a moment before sweeping him into her arms. "Thanks, kid," she said, opening her hand and letting a tiny purple flower grow from her palm. She tucked it behind Steve's ear. "Now, let's go find your mom."

Of course, Poison Ivy's escape had set off numerous alarms, and Uncle Bruce just about fainted when he saw her carrying Steve while Nightwing looked two seconds from laughing. But Steve's mom had smiled so wide that her cheeks must have hurt after only two seconds when she saw them.

It was, by far, the best birthday Steve had ever had.

‐-----------------------------

Hawkins, Indiana, is...boring. Steve has only been in the town for a few weeks, and he's bored out of his mind. He could have been sent to Metropolis or Central City. Hell, he would have preferred Bludhaven to the absolute snoozefest that is Hawkins. But, no, Uncle Bruce insisted on somewhere safe, which means somewhere boring, which means...Steve will just have to make his own fun.

That's why he's found himself in a dive bar on the edge of town, sitting at the bar as the owner (a woman named Bev who definitely killed her husband; Steve would know, he's met plenty of women who definitely killed their husbands) refuses to give him anything alcoholic. "Listen, kid," she says, her tone hard and unyielding, "I can give you water, a Shirley Temple, or a permanent ban. Which do you prefer."

After a few seconds, Steve sighs, slaps way more money than is necessary on the bar, and says, "Gimme a Shirley Temple."

Bev nods, swipes up the cash, and starts making his drink. He watches her with a slight frown before looking away, noticing another boy his age wiping down a table. He looks, and Steve cannot say this affectionately enough, like a wannabe goon for a motorcycle gang. Between the bandana stuffed into his back pocket, his slightly frizzy hair falling to his shoulders, and the leather jacket/vest combo, the guy is the first reminder of home Steve has seen since arriving in this sleepy town.

When he notices the guy's shoulders tense, Steve looks away to keep from being caught staring. A Shirley Temple is placed in front of him, and Steve represses a sigh, missing the sounds of fights happening behind him as he drinks with Jason.

"Aren't you a little young to be hanging around here?"

Steve slowly takes a sip of his drink, the saccharine cherry flavor washing over his tastebuds, and glances at an older man a few seats down from him. He looks the man over, lingering on the half-tucked shirt, muddy loafers, and circles under his eyes. Without permission, his mother's DSM-V rushes through his mind, a blur of his mother's voice accompanying the page flips. They finally settle on "Adjustment Disorder," accompanied by his mom saying, "Sometimes, that's just a fancy term for a mid-life crisis, Dumplin'."

Without thinking, Steve asks in return, "Aren't you a little old to still be going through a mid-life crisis?"

In Gotham, that might get him a laugh, an eye roll, and possibly an elbow to the ribs from whichever friend accompanied him. Here, it gets him a tense silence that he only thought happened in bad movies gearing up for a fight sequence. Seriously, what is wrong with Hawkins?

"I'll give you one chance to apologize," the guy says, clearly thinking he's being sufficiently threatening.

It takes every ounce of Steve's self-control to keep from laughing at the guy. Does that usually work? Do people usually find this guy threatening? He's got nothing on Alfred, so Steve just can't bring himself to even fake intimidation.

"Yeah, don't hold your breath, man," Steve says, rolling his eyes as he takes another sip. The Shirley Temple isn't bad, but it's not what he was expecting, and it feels like just another disappointment atop a pile of them.

They're building in his chest, now that he thinks about it. Steve is slowly suffocating under the weight of them. They buzz in his lungs, surging through him until the energy is so overwhelming that he has to bounce his leg and tap his finger against his glass to expel some of it. He shouldn't have agreed to leave Gotham, or at the very least, he shouldn't have left the location entirely up to Bruce. Holy shit, that was a dumb decision. He ought to know better.

A sudden, annoyingly harsh drag of chair legs against the floor rings in Steve's ears, making his shoulders tense and his fingers twitch. He looks over to see the guy standing over him, glaring down at Steve like that's supposed to scare him when nothing else has.

Steve sighs, drinking the last of his Shirley Temple before standing. Over the guy's shoulder, he can see the boy his age watching them, and...well, Steve kind of wants to make a good impression on the first person to remind him of home. Plus, a fight sounds great. He'd love a chance to expel some of this disappointment-fueled energy.

The guy suddenly snorts, pulling Steve's attention back. "You're young, kid, so I'll let you off the hook this time around, but learn some respect."

What? Seriously? All of that, and the guy doesn't even start a fight? Does he know how rude that is? He'd get killed in Gotham. "Oh," Steve says, his voice flat, "you're scared of getting your ass kicked."

Somehow, that's what the guy considers the final straw. It wasn't even that good. Like, that's just fucking small talk in Gotham, and Steve can't bring himself to understand what about it was so infuriating that the guy swings his fist.

Either way, Steve happily embraces the fight. His eyes light up, and adrenaline rushes through his veins as he ducks and kicks the guy's left knee. The familiar sound of a bone snapping rings out. Steve's ready for more, hands curled into fists and held up to protect his face, when the guy drops.

After one kick, he drops. Steve blinks, staring down at the guy cursing and holding his knee. He slowly lowers his hands when he realizes this isn't some kind of fake-out diversion and looks at Bev behind the counter. She's frowning at him, hands on her hips, and Steve comes to the conclusion that bar fights are not, in fact, a thing in Hawkins. "Do they usually go down so easy around here?" he asks.

"They usually don't fight at all."

Oh. Holy shit, this place is boring.

Steve sighs and pushes some hair out of his face, frowning slightly. "Well, uh, sorry about the disturbance, then. I'll just...get going," he says, awkwardly pushing his chair in and doing the same for the guy whose kneecap he kicked. Nobody says anything as he leaves, and Steve shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, frustration and disappointment and homesickness building in him.

He's halfway to his car when somebody shouts, "Hey! Wait!"

With a huff, Steve stops and turns, his mood only lightening when he sees the boy that was wiping down tables. He waits patiently, watching as the boy runs up to him and holds out a wad of cash. "Bev said to give this to you," he says.

"What, is my money not good enough?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow at the cash before looking up and meeting brown eyes.

"No, no," the boy says, "Bev only gives change to people she likes. She said you're welcome to come by and kick Phillip's ass whenever you want."

Steve blinks, studying the boy for any signs of lies. When he doesn't find one, he takes the cash and nods. "Good to know," he says.

"Yeah. Right. Um, I'm going back inside now."

"Hold on," Steve says, grinning when the boy listens and stands still. He takes a step closer, holds out his hand, and says, "My name's Steve. I'm new around here, if you couldn't tell."

The boy stares at his hand for a few seconds before taking it, the rings on his fingers pressing against Steve's skin. "Eddie. I could tell," he says, his shoulders relaxing some. "Where you from?"

"Gotham."

"Holy shit, no wonder you looked so ready for a fight," Eddie says, staring at Steve like he's incomprehensible. Steve tries not to preen under his gaze. "Hawkins must be dead compared to Gotham."

"Yeah," Steve agrees, glancing down at his and Eddie's hands still clasped together despite the handshake being over. "But I think I'll have some fun anyway."

#steddie #steddie fic #harlequin prince #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve deserves good parents actually #bruce wayne #dc comics crossover #harley quinn #poison ivy #this bitch has been sitting in my drafts for so long guys hfjkds #so excited to finally release it into the wild

396 notes · View notes

bellaxgiornata · 1 month

Text

All These Years [Part 21: "The Sound of Your Voice"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.7k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains emotional hurt with no comfort until the final installments, angst, pining, friends to lovers, slowburn, and eventually smut [Comfort now exists in this series!!]

a/n: It has be SO LONG since this series got a much needed update!! But here we are with yet another little bittersweet installment. Though I'm working on a happier next part already tentatively titled "Declarations and Desire." And hopefully the tags at the bottom of the post worked, tumblr was giving me issues with the tag list for a few days. Feedback is always appreciated!

Lowering yourself down onto your couch, your eyes focused on the show you'd thrown on to watch while you ate, you felt your tired body relax into the cushions. Adjusting the plate of food in your lap, you made yourself comfortable for the evening.

You'd had a meeting at work which had run late with your boss tonight and that was the reason behind you sitting down to eat takeout for dinner at almost seven tonight. You were tired and ready to just relax for the evening, looking forward to the phone call later that you’d come to expect from Matt just before you went to bed. It was usually when he’d return from his night out as Daredevil, giving the three hour time difference between you both at least one positive advantage because it meant that you could go to bed at a reasonable hour and still know he’d gotten back home safe.

You’d be lying if you said it hadn’t been difficult trying to navigate your new relationship with Matt ever since you’d come back from your brief visit to Hell’s Kitchen a month ago, though. The pair of you still talked everyday, whether it was via phone calls or texts periodically throughout the day. Matt had even begun leaving you sweet voicemails some mornings when he first got to work, knowing that shortly afterwards you’d be waking up on the other side of the country getting to hear his voice first thing. It always managed to make you smile starting off your day with one of those messages from him, and you’d quickly come to realize just how incredibly sweet and thoughtful he really was every time he left one. Which unfortunately also made you only miss him just that much more, desperate to be able to wake up beside him and hear him say all those things straight to you instead of over a voice message.

You’d also quickly come to realize that Karen had been right. You’d found yourself regretting not taking the opportunity to be more physically intimate with Matt while you’d been in New York and had the chance. You found yourself frequently thinking about Matt in sexual scenarios more often than not since you’d returned to L.A., which often resulted in you being quite sexually frustrated most of the time. His outright flirting with you over the phone hadn’t helped, either. Sometimes once you’d finished a phone call with him before bed, you’d found yourself needing a few minutes with your vibrator just to ease the ache he’d–sometimes intentionally–created between your legs. And often as you’d gotten off, you’d wondered if he was back in his own apartment in New York taking care of himself, too. And that thought only equally further frustrated you and turned you on more every time.

Without a doubt in your mind, when Matt came to visit you in Los Angeles in a matter of weeks, you were certainly not taking sex off of the table. Especially now that you both were officially a couple and with how many years you’d both been waiting for and wanting the other. Because who knew how soon you’d have another opportunity to see him again afterwards for that chance? You’d certainly spent enough years trying to imagine what it would be like to sleep with him, and you were without a doubt tired of only imagining it.

You also knew you wanted to tell him how you felt when you finally got the chance to see him in a few weeks. Of course the word ‘love’ had been mentioned between you both quite a few months ago when you'd first discovered your feelings had been reciprocated for each other, but neither of you had ever actually said it to the other since. Many times you'd found yourself biting your tongue when you were on the phone with Matt, struggling to not blurt it out to him. Often you found yourself overcome with the urge to tell him those three words at the end of a phone call, or to call him up after hearing one of his morning voicemails just so he knew exactly how you truly felt without a question of a doubt after the years of misunderstandings. But it was something you wanted to say to him in person when the moment felt right, not something you wanted to blurt out when he was too far for you to hold in your arms. Though you were dying to finally say it to his face after all these years, and you were even more anxious to hear him hopefully say it back to you in return.

As you were halfway through eating your sandwich wrap, your attention focused on the mindless show you’d thrown on, you heard your phone begin to loudly ring from across your apartment. Chewing the bite of food you'd just taken, you glanced over your shoulder towards your kitchen where you’d left your phone on the countertop once you’d gotten home. Curiously you eyed the device and its lit screen from a distance, wondering who would be calling you right now. Normally Matt didn’t call for another couple of hours; it should have been far too early for it to have been him. But then the fear that something might be wrong hit you and you quickly swallowed down the bite of food, feeling a little sick to your stomach at the thought. Especially with you being too far away to do anything to help.

Leaning forward, you set your plate down onto your coffee table and rose to your feet. You quickly made your way towards your kitchen, your phone still ringing loudly from its place on the countertop as nerves swirled in your stomach, mixing with your dinner. When you were near enough to your phone to see the name displayed on the screen, you were surprised to see it was in fact Matt calling you. Brows furrowing at the sight of his name, you felt worry and concern further fill you as your hand darted out, picking the phone up in a rush before frantically sliding the button over to answer the call.

“Matt?” you asked, feeling slightly panicked. “Is everything alright? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“What?” he asked, sounding confused. “Yeah, of course everything is okay, sweetheart. Why would you think something was wrong?”

You sighed in relief, the tension easing from your shoulders as you leaned back against the counter behind you. You didn’t even know what you’d do if he’d called because he was bleeding out in his apartment right now.

“Because it's a bit early for your usual phone call,” you pointed out. “Normally you’re out later than this so you call me later. I just figured something was wrong.”

“Ahh, I see,” he answered. “I’m sorry to have scared you, sweetheart. I didn’t think calling you early would have you thinking something was wrong. But I actually wasn’t planning to go out tonight, which was why I figured I’d call sooner.”

“Not going out as Daredevil?” you questioned curiously. “Because you have too much work to deal with?”

Matt laughed, the sound sweet and soothing as it came through the line. You couldn’t help but relax even more at the sound of it, a smile sliding onto your own face as your racing heart began to slow. You longed to hear him laugh in person again, to be able to actually see the way his eyes lit up when he did.

“If that was the case,” he began, “calling you would be a far bigger distraction than just running out as Daredevil for a bit tonight.”

That usual warmth you felt whenever you spoke to Matt soon flooded you, your body sinking down into one of the nearby breakfast bar stools behind you at your counter. Your dinner and the show you’d been watching were quickly forgotten in the other room as you focused on your conversation and the sound of his voice instead.

“How am I the bigger distraction?” you asked him.

“Well for starters, if there isn’t any crime, there’s no need for Daredevil,” Matt explained. “So if the city is quiet, which it thankfully is tonight, there isn’t much need for me and therefore there’s nothing for me to do. But you on the other hand are always there for me to call. And most importantly, sweetheart,” he continued, his voice dropping to that sultry register he often used to flirt with you over the phone–the one he somehow knew had an effect on you, “I could sit and listen to you on the other line doing literally anything, even just snoring, until the sun came up. Whereas eventually I have to come back home and be Matt Murdock again when I go out in the suit. Therefore you’re the bigger distraction to me.” He paused briefly before adding, “But no, that’s not the reason I'm staying in tonight, either.”

You crossed your legs in your chair, curiously noting the sudden shift in his tone. He almost sounded…sad? Like something was bothering him. You’d certainly known Matt long enough to know when he sounded off, even over a phone.

“Sounds like something is wrong, though,” you gently pointed out. “What’s on your mind, Matty? Did something happen?”

Matt expelled a long, drawn out sigh over the line. The noise had your lips curving into a frown, especially with how exhausted he had already sounded when you’d first answered. You wished you were there with him in his apartment now, wished you could pull him into a hug because it sounded like he needed one. You'd happily sit there and hold him, comforting him as long as he needed it.

In that moment you found yourself missing the way you’d always had such easy access to each other in college; all you’d had to do back then was walk over to his residence hall and take the elevator up to his dorm. If you wanted to stay up all night talking and drinking, you really could have just skipped a class in the morning. Things had certainly been much simpler back then in some ways more than they were now, though you definitely didn’t miss the heartache you had always carried around not knowing Matt had been within your reach in more than one way that entire time.

“Nothing really,” he told you, his voice sounding a little dejected and worn. “It was just a really difficult week this week and I was having a…bad day, I suppose. I just missed the sound of your voice, if I’m being honest.”

You felt the ghost of a smile cross your lips at his words. You knew that feeling all too well. Truthfully you felt it every single day when you thought about him, but even more on the days that were long and draining. Days like today.

“I’m always just a phone call away, Matty,” you assured him. “But I miss you, too. I’ve been missing you more than usual lately myself.”

“Little less than three weeks and I’ll be right there with you, sweetheart,” he reminded you softly.

There was a smile in his voice, you could hear it in the way it had coated each and every word of his. Matt was not alone in counting down the days until you could pick him up from the airport and have him all to yourself in L.A. for a little while. You’d already been trying to plan things out, wondering what he might enjoy doing with you the most while he was here.

“I’m excited to show you around out here,” you told him, a small smile making its way back onto your lips. “Take you away from that cold New York winter for a bit. Maybe I can bring you to a beach out here, one not filled with tourists. My coworker showed me a good place shortly after I moved here.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, a brightness returning to his voice already. “I’ve never been to the ocean before. Or a beach.”

“I know,” you told him. “Figured it might be a fun experience. Or at least…I’m hoping it is for you, considering your, you know, heightened senses.”

“Anything I get to do with you while I’m out there will be amazing, sweetheart,” he assured you. “I'm just going to be happy to be with you again. It's already been far too long.”

You ducked your head, your nails nervously toying with the hem of your cotton shorts you’d thrown on after work. He always knew the right thing to say to you, but you could also hear the truth to his words. Honestly you felt the same. You’d easily be content to never leave your apartment for a single minute over the few days he’d be staying with you. If you could curl up with him on your couch for the entire duration of his visit, you’d be blissfully happy.

“Plus,” he continued, his coy tone breaking through your thoughts, “a beach date most likely means you’d be in a swimsuit, right?”

Heat began to creep up your neck and into your cheeks. You’d certainly thought about the implication of a beach date meaning Matt would most likely be shirtless and splayed out on a towel with you, cuddling under the warm California sun. Giving you ample opportunity to appreciate his body and the muscles that his clothing always hinted at, something you’d never once been able to do before as his friend.

“I mean, yes,” you answered softly. “But what does that matter, exactly?”

“Ohh trust me, sweetheart,” Matt began with a deep, amused chuckle, “there’s plenty of ways for me to appreciate you partially dressed on a beach. Where my eyes might fail me, my hands certainly won’t.”

Your cheeks began to flame at the thought of what he might mean by that, your eyes slowly closing. Once more you found yourself mentally kicking yourself for not sleeping with Matt when you’d had the chance last month. Because once again you were beginning to feel that all too familiar dull ache between your legs that was begging to be relieved by him and him alone.

Clearing your throat, you tried to change the topic before you found yourself too worked up. Something you weren’t entirely sure wasn't intentional even now.

“So what exactly was on the agenda for you tonight then?” you asked him. “If you weren't going out?”

“Ahh, well,” he began, sounding a little sheepish, “truthfully I was just going over some documents and counting down the minutes until I could realistically call you after work. But I eventually caved because I couldn’t make myself wait any longer.”

You sighed, spinning around in the breakfast bar stool towards your counter. Leaning forward, you rested your chin in your hand. “Why couldn't you have gotten the ability to fly with those heightened senses of yours, too?” you joked. “Or like, the ability to teleport? Then you could just show up here whenever you want.”

Matt laughed lightly over the line and you closed your eyes, trying to pretend he was here sitting beside you. You would’ve given anything for that.

“I'm sorry, I didn't exactly get a choice in what those chemicals did to me as a kid,” he joked back. “Nor could I have foreseen the usefulness of that for a long distance relationship in the future.”

“I know, I know,” you murmured. “I just wish you weren't so far. I miss you.”

“Me too, sweetheart,” he whispered back, the mirth disappearing from his voice.

A silence fell over the line, the only sound being Matt’s quiet and even breaths. Those three words once more rose to the surface in your mind, dancing on the tip of your tongue. You wanted so badly to just say them already as you sat there, but you knew now wasn't the right time. Thumbnail slipping between your teeth, you began to half-heartedly chew it as you fought to shove the urge to tell Matt how you felt about him back down. That ache in your chest returned as you did, reminding you that even though you finally had Matt, you didn’t have him how you’d always wanted him. Not exactly. Not yet.

“So how’s work been for you this week?” he asked, voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Eh,” you said, shrugging a shoulder. “Busy, even though nothing much exciting is happening at the office. Still certainly a lot less stressful than your week sounded with that big trial you were dealing with.”

A sigh slipped out of your lips as you continued to distractedly chew your thumbnail. If only you had a way to leave L.A. and realistically move back to Hell’s Kitchen. If only things could be different between you two now that you were finally together. If only you could just decide that you wanted to stop by his apartment and then just go there. Like how things used to be back in college.

“Something on your mind?” Matt asked.

“Not really,” you answered. “Was sort of just…missing how it was easier for us to get together back when we were at Columbia. All those Saturday nights I could just show up with a pack of beer at your guys’ dorm and lose track of time. Go grab breakfast together at the dining hall the next morning with you two while we were all still hungover.”

Matt laughed lightly on the other end of the line. “If only I wouldn’t have been an idiot and just told you how I felt, maybe we wouldn’t have wasted so much time. And maybe you wouldn’t be…”

His voice trailed off, his thought left hanging unfinished over the line. Though you knew what he’d been about to say without him having to say it. Maybe if he’d told you how he felt, you might not have been so far away in L.A. right now. If you’d known how he felt, you might never have left in the first place.

But there was no way to change the past now.

“Hey, do you remember that one night at the bar?” you asked Matt, sitting up straighter in the stool as a memory came back to you. “Back at Columbia, when you called me a female version of Foggy?”

Matt groaned loudly over the line, a grin growing wide over your lips at the sound of it. You could just picture him throwing his head back as he sat on his couch, remembering that moment from all those years ago.

“Yes, I remember,” he told you. “Though I don’t think I’d thought about that night in a long time. That was the real reason why you left crying that night though, wasn’t it? Because I’d called you a female Foggy?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “Definitely not the thing you want to hear your crush tell you. That you’re basically the equivalent of their best friend.”

“Shit,” Matt cursed, laughing a little. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t truly know just how hurtful that comment was. I hadn’t meant it to be. But what has you bringing that up?”

You shrugged, aware he couldn’t see the gesture. Slipping your nail out from between your teeth, you began to trace the patterns in the quartz of your countertop.

“I’ve always wondered why you’d said that,” you confessed.

“Because I’m an idiot, clearly,” Matt replied, causing you to giggle. “But honestly I’d meant it as a compliment. And I think when I’d picked up on how awful you’d felt thinking you weren’t good enough for Fog at the time–because that’s who I’d suspected you might be talking about–I was hoping it would help your situation. As much as I didn’t want to see you two together, in that moment it pained me to feel how bad you were hurting sitting there next to me. I was hoping that if you’d possibly meant Fog, that the comment would get him to see just how much you both had in common.” Matt exhaled a deep breath, pausing for a moment. “Though it was…clearly a stupid comment to make at the time. And it killed me to know how much it upset you that night after the fact. I’d never meant to make you feel like that.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, finger still tracing the stone of your counter, “I know.”

“Suppose I wasn’t always as smooth as I thought I was back then,” he muttered.

“As long as you don’t feel that way about me now,” you teased back. “I’m certainly hoping you view me a little differently than a female Foggy.”

“Oh trust me,” Matt said, his voice dropping back down to that sultry tone, the one now raising the hair along your forearms as it rumbled right into your ear, “there’s only one of you that I’d like to crawl into bed with and do all sorts of things to, and it’s certainly not Foggy.”

You felt the heat not just creeping back into your cheeks at his words, but now flooding your entire body and sending your blood rushing south. Raising your hand from the cold stone, you pressed the back of it against your burning cheek. Tongue slipping out, you nervously wet your lips.

“Well maybe in a few more weeks you can finally do a few of those things,” you shyly whispered back.

Matt made a pleased noise in his throat, the sound only causing your thighs to press together on the stool. Swallowing hard, your eyelids dropped closed. You could feel your pulse beginning to race, your heart pounding hard in your chest.

“I was certainly planning on it, sweetheart,” he whispered back. “Now you’re only making me look forward to my visit even more.”

“You’re not the only one,” you replied. “I uh, don’t exactly want to waste anymore time when it comes to that.”

“I think we’ve already wasted enough time,” Matt agreed.

And just like that, you knew tonight would inevitably be another night spent with your vibrator when this call finally ended. But you knew you’d be lying in your bed wishing you had Matt between your legs instead, and that only made you more desperate to somehow find your way back to Hell’s Kitchen and back to him.

Tag list: @acharliecoxedfan @theetherealbloom @rotscinema @magnumstyles @roseallisonparker @ofmusesandsecrets @readerhead @paracosmic-murdock @v4leoftears @why-always-me-gosh-please @redbircl @keepingitlokiii @yarrystyleeza @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @margoo0 @1988-fiend @lockleywife @strangeobsessed @justalittlebitbored @am-3-thyst @buckybarnes-1917 @thora-jane @lionalsowrites @cloudroomblog @prince-tassel @danzer8705 @yourlocalbentspine @harperdoodle @hollandorks @mattmurdocksstarlight @yeonalie @will-delete-this-later-probably @darkened-writer @kmc1989 @yomamasitsaroundthehouse @sumo-b98 @mrs-bellingham @shouldbestudying41 @midnightreids @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @pazii @littlenosoul @haydensith @anehkael @kezibear @dorothleah

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock series

197 notes · View notes

booksandabeer · 11 months

Text

Stucky, Fandom Longevity, and "Primacy Bias"

There’s this post that's been floating around the past few days about how the Stucky fandom in its heyday produced fic and art masterpieces like they were all collectively possessed by an unprecedented spirit of creative insanity. It’s a good, fun post and I agree with the person who wrote it. (not rb'ing because I didn't want to hijack their post with something that's only tangentially related).

It was indeed a magical time and the creative output in both quantity and quality in the two-year period following the release of CA:TWS is—with perhaps a few exceptions—unmatched by anything that I’ve seen before and since. However, going through the notes on that post, I noticed something that left me a little irritated and quite frankly sad since it is in congruence with, and to a certain extent the confirmation of something that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately.

For one thing, there are so many people in the notes expressing sentiments along the lines of “it was such a wonderful time; I wish I could go back; I miss these fics; I want to read these fics again,” etc., etc., you get it. And it feels a little silly pointing this out, but…you can just do that? Almost all of these fics are still right there, waiting for you to be (re)read. Yes, a lot of people left the fandom after The Great Devastation of 2019, but their stories didn’t just disappear. It's not like there is now a big, black hole where the Steve/Bucky tag used to be on AO3. So, if you miss these fics and you want to revisit them—just do it. Chances are the authors will be delighted that people are still finding and enjoying their stories all these years later. And—since apparently this needs saying, too, judging from the notes on that post: A lot of people seem to be very concerned with losing ‘coolness points’ for openly admitting that they still miss the ship and often feel tempted to dip their toes back into the Stucky pool. I don’t know how to tell you this, but if someone tries to shame you for simply enjoying or missing something, they are an asshole. Not to mention that all this is happening on tumble.com—'coolness' doesn't exactly live here. And that is a good thing, to be clear. Fandom is not about being cool. It’s about being as enthusiastic, as silly, as absolutely fucking unhinged about the things you love as you want to be. So, stop caring what other people think and enjoy yourself.

The other thing is that there seems to be a pretty widespread misconception that the Stucky fandom hasn’t produced any good fanworks after 2016.

First, that is patently and demonstrably untrue. There is so much incredibly good fanfiction and fanart still out there. Not as much as back in the day, sure, but it still exists. And more is being posted every day! Even some of the OG Big Names are still around. One of the most beloved Stucky series that started all the way back in 2014 was updated as recently as December of last year. The artist, who I believe the op is referring to as creating ‘baroque’ paintings, posted their latest Stucky art not even two months ago.

Second, I find this “primacy bias” more than just a little insulting to the many hardworking and incredibly talented people who are still putting their blood, sweat, and tears into creating for this community. And it’s one thing if people who have long left the fandom believe or say something like this, but it’s frankly irritating when I see people who are still very much active—and therefore definitely should know better—feed into that same false myth. Yes, it sucks that the Stucky ship isn’t as big as it used to be, but that doesn't mean there isn't any 'fresh talent' to be found anymore. I’m also not saying we shouldn’t still celebrate and recommend older works—I do it all the time! And it sure as hell doesn't mean everyone has to reblog absolutely everything all the time, either. Your blog, your rules.

But maybe we should put a little more focus on the good things, on the creators and the community we have now, especially if we want that community to still exist in another ten years. I mean, imagine you’re a person who’s just gotten into the fandom (because yes, there are indeed still new people discovering Stucky all the time) and one of the first things you’re being told is “eh, nice that you're here, but you’re about 7 years late; the big party is already over.” Does that seem like a fun space to hang out in to you?

So. Let’s all—and I do not exclude myself from this because God knows, I love to complain—spend a little less time mourning the ‘good old days’ that are never coming back anyway, and instead focus our attention on enjoying and appreciating both the incredible treasure chest of an archive we have AND the wealth of high-quality art and fic that is still being created by this wonderful community every single day. With this in mind:

🥳🎊Happy Stucky Week 2023!!! 🎊🥳

*I want to make it very clear that this is a general thing that’s been on my mind lately and that I’m trying to work through here—probably not very coherently. I'm not trying to tell anybody 'how to do fandom' and I’m most definitely not vagueposting about any particular incident, person, or group in this fandom. This isn’t a callout post. It’s an I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about this and I don’t know what else do with them post.

#stucky #stucky fanfic #fandom culture #i once again have no idea what to tag this #fanfiction forever #fanart forever

490 notes · View notes

scoonsalicious · 29 days

Text

Unwanted: Chapter 30, Epilogue - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

Word Count: 634

Previously On...: You and Bucky are probably going to be okay.

A/N: IT'S OUT EARLY!

This is it! The last chapter! OMG!

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

Tumblr will not let me directly tag the following: @marcswife21 @erelierraceala @jupiter-107 @doublejeon @hiqhkey @unaxv @brookeleclerc

10 Months Later

“I refuse to accept this.”

“Well, unfortunately, Boss, it’s my decision to make, not yours,” you told Tony as you finished stacking up the last of your moving boxes. Sixteen years– almost half of your life, now condensed into neat stacks of cardboard, waiting to be loaded into the van that was waiting downstairs.

“What the hell am I supposed to do without you?” Tony asked, dramatically flinging himself on your now bare mattress. “How am I supposed to survive?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s not like you won’t see me every fucking day, dude,” you admonished him. “I still work here, for fucks’ sake. Besides, you refused to let your realtor show me any place you couldn’t see from your terrace.”

“I thought it would be nice if we could wave to each other during breakfast,” he said, his face drawn into a pout now, “that’s all.”

You sat down next to him and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It’s time to cut the umbilical cord, Tony,” you said.

“But you’re still such a kiddo, Kiddo,” he sighed.

“I meant your umbilical cord, Boss,” you laughed. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll try it for a year or two, figure out I absolutely hate it, and come crawling back, begging for my old room.”

“Don’t press your luck,” Tony said, sitting back up. “I’ll probably turn it into a sauna, or an indoor golf simulator as soon as you walk out that door.”

“Ah, there’s the Tony I know and tolerate,” you said with a smile.

“I’m just going to miss having you around,” he said, his voice now laced with sadness. “Sixteen years together– probably the longest stable relationship I’ve ever had. It’s not going to be the same around here without you.”

“I know,” you sighed. “I’m going to miss you, too. But you know I need this. After everything that happened last year with Carthage, and Barnes… me spiraling, losing a baby I didn’t even know about, getting shot, and the… complications; all that shit with Steve. I just think I need a fresh start, some place where I’m not reminded of her every time I walk around a corner. It’s the only way I’m going to truly heal.”

“I told you I’d move you to another floor. Hell, I’ll tear down the entire Tower and start from scratch. We can build a whole new compound Upstate or something. You’d never have to set foot in this hallway again,” he said. And you knew he was telling the truth– there was little Tony wouldn’t do to ensure you were comfortable in your old home, but you couldn’t rely on him forever.

“You’ve saved me so many times already, Boss,” you said, looking back at him fondly, “and you know I’m always going to be thankful for that. But it’s time I started working on saving myself.”

“Well, when you make it sound all empowering and shit,” he began, “I start to feel like a dick for protesting.”

You laughed as your phone beeped. Looking at the message, you told him: “Movers are on the way up. I guess this is really it.” You both stood and embraced, Tony leaning down to speak softly in your ear.

“You know you always have a home here, Kiddo,” he said. “Whenever you need it. Even if it’s just for a night, or if you decide you want to come back for good. Door’s always open.”

“And even if it’s not,” you said as the two of you broke away from one another, “I can always hack the system to break myself in.”

“I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

“You think Mr. Mitchell’s still practicing law?” you asked with a grin. “I can definitely afford to have him represent me, now.”

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

105 notes · View notes

jjuwuni · 3 months

Text

caught in his web ; choi yeonjun ch. 2 | THREE'S A CROWD!

pairings — yeonjun x afab reader

genre — smut (lots of it so minors dni please), fluff, angst, college!au, friends to lovers, drama

word count (for this chapter) — ~2.8k

summary — You thought you’d be immune to Choi Yeonjun's charms, turns out you were completely, utterly, shamefully wrong.

And what’s worse? He’s your new best friend's boyfriend.

Wanna hear something even worse than that? His dad and your mom are dating.

MOA University: An educational institution created for the 1%. The elite of the elites. Those who are to inherit large multinational companies, take oath in office, and represent Korea's future in business and politics. This is where it begins.

warnings — almost-stepbro!yeonjun but not really since your parents are in the early stages of dating, kinda slow burn yes, black haired!yeonjun, bad boy yeonjun, all of you are trust fund babies, all the tubatu's make a cameo and are in the same friend group, might reference some other 4th gen idols, alcohol, drinking, drunken mishaps, lots of sex, profanity - lots of it, yeonjun is a menace but he's so cute wtf i'm screaming, jealousy, making out etc. minors dni istg! i'm watching y'all..

A/N: well, i'm back. i gave a little update here if anyone wants to read it ! as always, reblogs / comments are WELCOME! pls also watch this space for an enha socmed au soon !

taglist (hope you guys don't mind me tagging you all months later hehe, ALSO let me know if you wanna be included in the taglist!) : @soobadooba , @flowerbe0m , @lix-stray , @beomtese , @yxnjvnnie , @healingpage , @hihello-pinky , @kazscara , @bibibun , @txtistheloml , @jungwonismybias, @boba-beom

[ preview ] | [ 1 ]

"HE DID WHAT?!"

Your voice echoes through the car, as you cast a glare over to your best friend who was seated beside you.

"Yeonjun invited himself, I told him you and I were going to watch a movie and he said he wanted to come," Chaewon replies, unfazed by the fact that you just shouted at her at the back of the limousine you two were riding.

"But you know Friday night movie night is our thing.. Why did he have to come?" Okay, so maybe there were a lot of reasons why you were so against this whole arrangement.

One, it's the only time you and Chaewon actually bond apart from the time you spend in school. Two, Yeonjun's been shady ever since that dinner with his dad and your mom and THREE, and the most important one, was that you haven't had the heart to face him after the night he took care of you when you got drunk out of your mind.

If you were going to be honest, you're still not even all too sure if that was all a dream or not. Yeonjun never said a word to you after, it was as if nothing happened, really. So one can't blame you for second-guessing if the events were real or not.

"I couldn't say no to that face, y/n.. So I just let him tag along. And come on, he's practically your brother already."

You scowl, "I have no such thing. As far as I know, I'm an only child."

Chaewon rolls her eyes at your response, "Tsk, come on, we're here. I think Jjunie already bought our tickets."

Taking heavy strides toward the concession booth of the cinema where the male waited for you both, you and him exchange glances and you feel your breath hitch in your throat when he gives you his signature grin.

"Babe!" Chaewon happily greets him, running towards him and enveloping him in a tight hug- to which he returns. His eyes shifted over to you once again though as you stood behind, and your gazes lock even as he was hugging her.

It looked like he wanted to say something to you, but before he was even able to say anything, you break contact first.

"I'm gonna go get some popcorn.." You say, turning away as fast as you could.

————-　★　-———— . ————-　★　-———

With reasons unknown to you, Yeonjun insisted he sat between the both of you during the movie. You didn't agree at first, because why?

But Chaewon was all for it.

"You two need to start becoming close if you're going to be a one big happy family in the future!" She persisted, and there was nothing else you could do.

You were sitting there quietly with your eyes focused on the big screen ahead. Lowkey, you were hoping that your best friend and her beau would end up just making out beside you so you could watch the movie in peace.

But lo and behold, the boy had other plans.

As you were watching, you felt a few pieces of popcorn flicked onto your right cheek. At first, you tried ignoring it, knowing all too well that Yeonjun never really wanted to watch the chick flick in the first place, and has now shifted his attention over to you for his own entertainment.

“Stop..” You say, turning your attention to him with a piercing glare.

Yeonjun shook his head, this time taking three pieces altogether with that damned smug look, and threatened to throw it at you.

But you do the same and flick it his way first.

“y/n! No fair!” He said in a childish tone that you've never heard before, he was always acting all high and mighty and cool back at school, so that was quite refreshing to hear.

Soon, you find yourselves in a small popcorn fight, that was, until Chaewon gets hit by one of the stray popcorns, “Hey, you two, stop acting like five-year-olds... I don’t want to get thrown out of here.” She scolded you suddenly, causing you both to halt.

You end up giggling each time you look at each other all throughout the movie.

It was quite odd, to say the very least.

Chaewon was right, you were acting like a couple of grade schoolers.

But on the other hand, you’ve never shared a moment quite like that with Yeonjun, and it was actually really cool to see another side to him - the childish, innocent side.

He was still young after al l- but sometimes one tends to forget that, especially knowing that he’s the inheritor of one of the biggest businesses in Asia and probably the most sought-after guy in school, even though he was just but a Freshman.

With all the attention he has around him, it’s easy to forget that he’s also human.

————-　★　-———— . ————-　★　-————

The movie ended rather pleasantly, and if going with your Friday night plans, you and Chaewon would usually have dinner in our favorite sushi place.

But as per tonight’s events, Yeonjun will be joining.

After that small moment you had in the theaters, now you can say that you're a lot more at ease with him, and so you weren't all too against it.

Not that he’d ever hear you say that, though.

When the three of you finally managed to situate yourselves in the private VIP room of the restaurant, you were greeted by another well-known face.

“What are you doing here?” You hear Yeonjun say as you enter, making you look up from whatever it was that caught your attention on your phone.

“Chae invited me, hope you guys don’t mind.”

“Ah! Soobin!” You exclaimed as you walked over to give him a hug, “Really? You’ll be joining us? Yay!”

“Mhm,” Your best friend affirmed, “I thought you’d be the odd one out y/n, so I just invited Soobin, you know, to make it a double date of sorts.” She said as you all took your seats with the boys sitting right across the both of you.

All throughout the meal, Yeonjun was a lot quieter than usual. Which came across as something out of the ordinary to you.

You didn’t know if there was something he didn’t like about the food, or that he had expected to be the only guy around, all you know is that he would only be on his phone or giving Chaewon nonchalant responses whenever she attempted to talk to him.

You on the other hand, tried to enjoy it as much as I could, as it was always enjoyable to have someone like Soobin around.

It was yet another surprise. You weren't expecting that kind of a mood swing. Because for one reason or another, you’ve always seen Yeonjun as someone who was made off of the vine of perfection, always seemingly social and, well - charming.

Not that you acknowledge his charms yourself (or more so, you refuse to), but judging from how people viewed him in school, it was safe to assume that he was someone that could be equated to Adonis or some Greek god- in all aspects.

————-　★　-———— . ————-　★　-————

Finally, the meal ended and you all went your separate ways. Soobin insisted he’d drive you home though, and you couldn’t resist.

“Here, let me strap you in.” Soobin said gently as you sat in the passenger seat of his Audi. He then reached over you and pulled at the belt, making sure it was secure around your torso area, flashing his signature, cheeky grin over to you after.

You couldn’t deny that a gesture such as that would cause your heart to flutter- you don’t think anyone could resist feeling that way anyway. All you could do was mutter out a shy thank you, and soon you were off on our way home.

“Soobin? Can I ask you something?”

“Hm, sure y/n.. Anything.”

You paused, sucking your lower lip in as you hesitated a few times if it was right to ask him or not.

Nevertheless, you went through with it anyway. “Seeing as Yeonjun and I are technically, I don’t know, family?.. Now..” You still couldn’t bring yourself to say those words, but you just pulled through it. “I want to know more things about him.. Like, some things he won’t normally show. I feel like he’s always putting up that bad-boy front. But, I see right through it though.”

Soobin let out a throaty laugh, his gaze plastered onto the road ahead as he nodded. “You’re a very smart girl, y/n.” He said, “Right, it is a front. I’ve known the guy since we were kids and so.. I can tell you, he’s been through a lot in his life.”

A small gasp was what came out of your mouth, “Really? Him? I’d think he’s been going through his life with no problems whatsoever.”

“Of course not,” He interjected, “Well, you see. His mom died giving birth to him. And from then on.. His dad’s always been hard on him. I mean, if that happened to you, you can’t help but blame yourself right?”

You could only nod along with him then, “So yeah, his dad always gives him crap about how he’s never going to be good enough to inherit the Choi business. That’s why, if you ask me, he tries to put up a strong front... But at the end of the day, he’s a guy that’s been scrutinized ever since he was born. I don’t think he ever had a conventional childhood, you know? I think it’s why he acts up now.”

There were so many things he was bringing to light at the moment, and you swore you could hear the wheels turning in your head- as if putting pieces together. “I see… He has it rough, when you put it that way I guess.”

“Mhm, and if you ask me? Chae… She’s good for him. I think Chae has a grasp of the pressure that kind of life brings, those two are alike in so many ways. Not like we’re not- but what they have on their plates, are much bigger than what you and I have.”

That’s true. A match made in heaven. You clenched your jaw, “Mm.. I agree.”

There was a short pause, but soon after, the car smoothly turned right and headed straight to the big gates that were guarding the your family's mansion.

“Nice place.. I don’t think I’ve ever been here before. Yours is almost as big as Chae’s house huh?”

You smiled a little, “Yeah I guess.. My grandparents bought a lot of properties before in the 70’s and they gave my mom this whole stretch of land.. The whole house was made from the ground up. Pretty cool, yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” He said, cutting off the engine once you were parked. “It’s a pretty huuuge place for just two ladies to live in.”

You offer another calm grin, “Thanks for driving me home. I’ll see you in school on Monday, yes?”

“Definitely, beautiful.” He said, and right on cue, you lean in to place a kiss on his cheek before exiting the vehicle, leaving him with a huge smile on his face.

————-　★　-———— . ————-　★　-————

The blinding rays of the sun greeted you that morning. You stretched your limbs out over your head and yawned, and went by your usual routine of brushing your teeth as well as washing your bare face.

As soon as you stepped out of your room, you heard a lot of random noises coming from outside. You were just in a satin slip nightwear, not really expecting much from that weekend morning - except probably breakfast with your mother out by the gazebo area and some Saturday morning cartoons.

Walking down the hall, you suddenly noticed from the other end of the hallway, that one of the primary bedrooms was open.

Your home had three floors, and the last time you checked, you were the only one occupying the upper floor.

Your curiosity was piqued of course, and you found yourself skipping down the hallway and peeking in at the other bedroom.

Imagine your surprise when you see Yeonjun standing on one side of the room, putting up some random posters. He was the last person you wanted to see at that point, but seeing him in a muscle tee with his broad shoulders in full display and his whole presence, in general, made your stomach churn in ways you could not pinpoint.

Someone pinch me I must be dreaming.

You let out a loud gasp of course at the initial shock, and clumsily fell back on your butt onto the carpeted floor as soon as he turned around and saw you.

“CHOI YEONJUN!!” You exclaimed and propped up on your elbows just to verify if you were seeing correctly, your voice loud enough that probably the whole house to hear you, “WHAT IN THE WORLD ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” You asked in an accusing tone, forgetting the fact that you were still on the floor.

He let out a melodic laugh, walking over to help you up. He didn’t say anything just yet as you stood to your feet.

Instead, his eyes did the talking, scanning you over from head to toe with a subtle grin playing on his lips.

Suddenly, you felt exposed- as you remembered you were only in your nighties.

“Y-yah..” You said, placing your arms over your chest and crossing them there. Your back hunched as well while your eyes threw him a glare. “Talk.”

Yeonjun reached back and rubbed his nape with his hand, “Ah, well, I guess your mom wanted to surprise you but uh - dad and I.. We - she asked us to move in here.” That dumb sheepish smile evident throughout his explanation.

“SHE WHAT?!”

“You heard me..” He said, taking a step forward and closing in the gap between you two. That signature Choi Yeonjun lopsided grin still present, “I live here with you now.”

————-　★　-———— . ————-　★　-————

It took quite a while to get you to settle down after hearing Yeonjun’s words.

You sat there at the edge of his newly-installed king sized bed, arms still crossed over your chest as you were still trying to make sense of what is happening.

You pursed your lips in a tight line, throwing him another accusing glance as he stood in front of you, waiting for you to talk with a satisfied smile on his face. "So.." You start the ball rolling, "Explain to me, Choi Yeonjun..." You let out an exasperated huff, "Explain to me how someone like you, someone whose father owns most of the properties here in South Korea and everywhere all over the globe, decided to live here. Here. In my house?!" You practically squeak.

Yeonjun licked his lips, tracing his tongue over his pink bud while his gaze never left you, eyes still unabashedly roaming up and down, like he was about to devour you whole. "y/n, you don't know what you're fully capable of, do you?"

"I'm sorry, what?" You asked in a half-surprised, half-offended tone. At the time, you didn’t know what he was hinting at, and the fact that he was trying to divert the conversation irked you to no end.

"Aha nevermind.." He retorted, clearing his throat, "Anyway, it's simple really." Yeonjun said matter-of-factly, sitting beside you on the mattress. "Dad wanted to renovate our house and make it bigger... And since he and your mom are dating, she offered to let us stay here until the construction is over."

Okay great, this is temporary. You tell yourself, letting out a sigh of relief.

“And then afterwards, I heard your mom say she’ll think about a trial period wherein you two will live with us.”

You choke on pure air, “What?! What is this, an experiment? And isn’t this living situation already some type of trial period? Where’s mom.. I need a word with her. This is really taking it too far! She’s known your dad for what- two fucking months?!” You started rambling, standing up and pacing back and forth in front of the bed.

Suddenly, Yeonjun’s warm hands wrap around your exposed shoulders as he spins you around to face him. His palms radiated a kind of warmth that your skin welcomed, as you felt it tingle under his own flesh. You merely stare at him with a doe-eyed look, and he returned it with his calm gaze. “Your mom left for Italy, remember?”

He flicked your forehead, laughing. “Now just relax, y/n,” He cooed, “I’ll be out the whole weekend, I’m going on a trip with the guys to allow people to move my things in.. So, I’ll see you Monday then hm?”

And as quick as he left a peck on your forehead, he was gone in a flash- leaving you standing lifeless in the middle of the room.

112 notes · View notes

alexawynters · 5 months

Text

Scarlet Whispers pt 5

Gif not mine

A/N: I.... as always, don't know how I feel about this chapter. Anything involving the 'horror' theme is... not my forte.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Trigger warnings (let me know if I forgot to tag anything): Mentions of past child abuse, ongoing adult child abuse, stalking, horror, dubcon, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, gaslighting, angst, smut. There will be bits of fluff tho.

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Masterlist with parts 1-4 here

You weren’t quite sure what woke you up later that evening, only that you found yourself staring at the opposite wall, and unable to go back to sleep. It didn’t happen often since coming to live with Wanda, but in the past, a nice warm cup of tea would help put you back to sleep, so you decided that would be your best bet.

As you quietly got out of bed, being careful not to disturb the witch, a light caught the corner of your eye: Wanda's phone. It was connected to the charger and blinking with a new notification. You couldn't help but feel curious. Shortly after arriving here, Wanda had informed you that due to her magic, there was almost no network connectivity available, whether cellular or wifi. None of your gaming devices or cellphone had any network connectivity, so you had to rely on Wanda to update anything for you whenever she left your home. Because of this, you tried not to bother her too much. After all, you didn't really need the most up-to-date patches since you couldn't play online with anyone anyway.

You were confused about why her cellphone had a new notification if none of your devices had network connectivity. You assumed she would have checked her notifications since the last time she went out, which was at least a week ago. Personally, you couldn't stand having any of those little banner notifications and always cleared them as soon as they appeared, even if it was just by swiping them away from the notifications bar without actually reading them. So, the sudden appearance of a new notification on her phone puzzled you. There shouldn’t be any service for it to have come in recently. At least, not if you trusted what Wanda had been telling you...

A heavy, gnawing sensation settled in the pit of your stomach, creating a sense of unease. Undoubtedly, it was a breach of trust. Surely Wanda, of all people, didn't deserve for you to go snooping through her phone. She had always been kind, helpful, and loving towards you. Yet, despite her unwavering support, at the first sign of something that didn't quite add up, you found yourself doubting her. Why didn't you simply ask her instead?

But.. was it the first time? You were having flashbacks to all those moments of deja vu.

Haltingly, you took slow, hesitating steps towards Wanda’s nightstand where her phone lay. You didn’t understand this feeling of dread within you. You wanted to attribute it to your general mistrust of the human race as a whole, but your gut was telling you this was something more. You were in danger, you just didn’t know how or exactly where, but it had to do with the witch who's been sleeping next to you.

Shaky hands picked up her phone, and with your thumb, you pressed the power button to turn on the screen. Unsure of exactly what you would find, and the notification was innocuous enough - a news article regarding some superhero. What caught your attention was the date - it was listed almost ten months since you and Wanda had left your parents’ house. To your knowledge, it’s only been a month or so.

This couldn’t be right. Ten months? No. That wasn’t possible. Did time flow differently here maybe? You wanted so badly to give Wanda the benefit of the doubt, but now that you had opened Pandora’s box, you had to keep going. Hoping you wouldn’t accidentally awaken the witch, you held the phone in front of her face, and it unlocked recognizing her biometrics.

You should probably go to the bathroom to view this without risking waking Wanda up, but your feet refuse to move. Instead, you remained standing there, opening article after article, all of which displayed the same date. Curiosity led you to check the calendar app for today's date, and you had to stifle a gasp as it confirmed what the articles had stated. While you thought it had only been a month or so, Wanda had kept you here for ten months, employing fantasies and electronics to prevent you from questioning her.

Your grip on the phone waivered as you began recalling those moments of déjà vu. As you concentrated and tried to break through the fog of those memories, clarity emerged. You had asked for freedom. Wanda had yelled at you. You had yelled back. Then, Wanda had used her magic to make you fall asleep and erase your memories, essentially starting over and preventing you from realizing how much time was actually passing. How many times had that happened?

Wanda was not keeping you here to help you; she was your captor. The need to escape fought violently against your desire to stay with the woman you had come to adore, even if she had kidnapped and lied to you.

You place the phone back quietly, trying to make your way out of the room as silently as possible. It dawns on you that you should probably pack a bag or something. You have no idea where you are exactly, but if you don't leave now, there's a chance you may never escape.

Quietly, you escape the confines of the house, and head out of the grounds. You aren’t sure exactly where you are going, but you know you have to keep putting one foot in front of the other until you reach civilization. Previously during your numerous strolls across the grounds, you had noticed a vague perimeter, but never had the witch allowed you to go too far. Now you were intent on heading beyond the boundaries she had set, and you were in the dark on what you would find.

Speaking of the dark, even though the moon and stars were visible on this clear night, you had forgotten to grab a flashlight. Or rather, you had elected not to bother looking for one in your hurry to flee. Consequently, the darkness felt more overwhelming than you were accustomed to. You stumbled multiple times, each instance you were praying that you wouldn't accidentally sprain or break something. You weren't sure what was worse - the possibility of facing Wanda's wrath if she should catch you, or dying from the elements if you were to injure yourself and be unable to continue.

As you approached the tree line that marked the boundary Wanda had set, you paused. This was the farthest you had ever been. In truth, you had never even been this close before. Whenever you got within about ten paces, the witch would always give you a gentle warning. Curiosity tickled your thoughts as to what would happen next. Not all of Wanda's magic was mere illusion; she had the power to alter reality itself. What would occur when you crossed the tree line? Would you plunge off the side of Mount Wundagore to a grisly demise, or would you simply step into the woods as they appeared to be?

Either option had to be better to take the risk than to remain a prisoner in what you once believed to be the safety of your own home. Summoning your courage, you stepped into the forest and were surprised to find solid ground. As you continued, each step affirmed that this transformation by Wanda was real - the mountain had truly become a beautiful countryside. Perhaps there was a chance to escape after all. Without hesitation, you ventured further into the forest, hoping to reach civilization on the other side or find a safe hiding spot within before Wanda woke up.

Unknown to you, Wanda had set up protective barriers to alert her if you ever ventured too far. True to form, the moment you stepped beyond the tree line into the woods, her eyes snapped open, blazing with anger. You were leaving. Despite everything she had done for you. Despite the bond you two shared. The witch swiftly leapt out of bed, conjuring a portal not far behind you, determined to catch up with you. Did you really think you could escape her? You would dare? She would teach you. You belonged to her, and she was growing weary of this back-and-forth game you were playing.

As you fled through the forest, it grew denser, blocking out the moonlight. Initially, it seemed easy enough to navigate, but as you continued, the underbrush became thick, causing you to trip every few feet. The seemingly safe forest now loomed around you ominously, your paranoia starting to take over as you heard the skittering of various creatures around you. Logically, you knew they were probably just as startled as you, given how loudly you were thundering through their home. Still, that didn't stop you from feeling eyes on you the further you went, and you began to question if this had been a good idea after all. Unfortunately, it was too late to turn back, and you came to the uncomfortable realization that you didn't even know which direction home was.

A branch snapped somewhere to your left, causing you to turn your head so fast that you wouldn't be surprised if you woke up tomorrow with a crick in your neck. That is, if you managed to survive tonight. You froze in place, your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing loud in your ears as you strained to hear the source of the noise.

It was extremely unsettling for you to realize that the entire forest had suddenly fallen into complete and utter silence. No birds, no animals, nothing at all...

A leaf crunched. This time closer.

Fear seized your heart and you willed yourself to do something. Anything. Run. Hide. Just, something.

Suddenly, you became aware of a low growling sound approaching, and it became clear you were in serious trouble. Why hadn't you stayed inside the house? There must have been a logical explanation for the date change, and Wanda had always been kind to you. Maybe you were just remembering those arguments incorrectly. Now for your misplaced distrust, you were facing imminent death at the hands of something that likely had sharp teeth. Gods, how you despised sharp teeth.

A snarl to your left startled you, freezing you in place as your eyes frantically scanned the forest for whatever had made the noise. You could vaguely make out the silhouette of a creature on all fours not far from you, and your blood felt like it had frozen in your veins. Why hadn't you just gone back to bed next to Wanda?

As you witnessed the shape hurtling towards you from the darkness, a red streak intercepted it, accompanied by the yelp of an injured animal. You blinked and observed a fatally wounded wolf on the ground nearby. Your gaze followed the trajectory from which the red streak had come, revealing Wanda in her pajamas, her hands outstretched with red magic flowing through them, rushing towards you.

"Y/N, are you okay?!" Her voice was tinged with alarm. One hand extinguished her magic to gently hold your arm, while the other remained prepared for any possible threats. With a caring eye, she inspected you for any serious injuries, but found none. Satisfied that you were relatively unscathed, she finally registered your shocked face as you remained silent.

“Y/N what’s wrong? Why are you out here? Talk to me, please?” Wanda extinguished the remaining magic and took your hand, her ire at you dissipating at the fear of you having just been in danger that wasn’t from her.

“I- I had a nightmare. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. I just had to run.” You figured that would be believable enough - your night terrors sometimes had you fleeing for your life, you just usually accidentally woke up Wanda in the process before you could get too far. This would be the first time you would have made it out of the bed without waking her up.

Your gaze drifted back to the deceased wolf on the forest floor, and you couldn’t seem to shake the state of shock you were in. Wanda didn’t think anything more of your explanation, your night terrors happened often enough, and you didn't seem to be fleeing from her. It was the only thing that made sense to her. After all, everything had been okay earlier, there was nothing to indicate you were unhappy or would try to leave her.

Relieved that you were unharmed, and not attempting to escape, the witch focused on trying to calm you, as she could see telltale signs of you beginning to disassociate. Gently, she placed a hand to your cheek, tilting your face until you were making eye contact with her. “Don’t look at it, dorogoya, it’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Let’s go home, okay?”

In that moment, all you wanted was for Wanda to handle all your thinking. Anything else required too much effort, and honestly, you were too exhausted for anything else. You nodded and leaned into her touch, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as you embraced the sense of security she provided. Your hand reached up to cover hers on your cheek, interlocking your fingers with hers.

You heard more than saw the portal she summoned to take you both home, and blindly followed her through it back into your room. Hands still interlinked; she led you into the adjoining bathroom. At this point you had mentally checked out, completely overwhelmed by the night’s events. Under normal circumstances you would be mortified that Wanda was about to see you naked in this state - filthy, covered in scratches from your stumble through the woods, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. It didn’t help that you had entered a non-verbal state.

Wanda made it easier for you. Although this wasn't how she had imagined the first time she would see you naked, her main concern was to clean your wounds and ensure your comfort so you could fall back asleep. Tenderly, she assisted you in undressing, her eyes never lingering or straying where they shouldn't. She only took quick glances to assess any damage. You were grateful for her magic, which meant you didn't have to wait for the water to heat up to the perfect temperature.

She didn't bother undressing herself, but simply helped you into the shower under the falling water and followed in after. First, she helped wet your hair and then lathered it with shampoo before rinsing. The sensation of her blunt nails against your scalp was so soothing that you almost fell asleep. Then, Wanda took the washcloth, lathered it with soap, and started gently washing your body, beginning with your face. As gently as possible, the red head cleansed your wounds and removed the blood and dirt from your skin.

After deeming you sufficiently cleaned, Wanda turned off the water and began toweling you off, wrapping you up in a towel. She then discarded her own waterlogged clothing and began drying herself. While you stood there, feeling useless, Wanda grabbed pajamas for both of you and helped you put them on. After, she then put on her own pajamas before leading you back to bed.

“Do you want to talk about it, Y/N/N?”

You shook your head and climbed into bed after Wanda. Instead of the usual routine where she held you from behind as the big spoon, you surprised her by snuggling into her arms, facing her, and resting your head in the crook of her neck. Although you still had questions about the cell service on her phone and the months you were supposedly missing, Wanda has been kind to you, and she just saved your life. Those questions can be addressed another day. Finally feeling safe again, you allowed your exhaustion to consume you.

#Wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #dark!wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #dark wanda x reader

112 notes · View notes

its-actually-minicika · 1 year

Text

The Harshest Winters (18+!)

Part 4;;

Pairing(s): Jacaerys x Reader x bookcanon Aemond;

Warnings: all of them lmao - dubious consent, canon typical violence, lack of Jacaerys, death, blood and gore, Aemond - who forces the reader into holy matrimony in this one (oh yes it's happening), and of course engages in petty masturbation (it's not THW without him going ham on his own hand ♡)

Word Count: 15k+ (wowza i know)

Author's Note: Low and behold, part 4 is here!! Originally, this was supposed to be a 4 parts series, but that obviously isn't the case anymore. THIS TOOK SO LONG AND I'M SO SORRY - I had major issues with the tag list, and at some point, tumblr wouldn’t let me post this; I unfortunately couldn't solve those problems, no matter how hard I tried, so most of you haven't been properly tagged :") This update is a hot mess, and I haven't actually had the time to read through all the paragraphs that I wrote. I SHALL BE BACK TO EDIT

A huge thank you to everyone who's still following the story, though, and I hope you enjoy!

A war is in its midst.

When everyone else is readying themselves for the following decisive battles, you and Aemond are busy playing house.

Things get heated in Harrenhal, and one must decide when and where to pick their side.

The contact of the hot water upon Aemond’s ivory skin made the man shudder in naught but blinding pain. Achingly slow movements, followed by slow grunts echoed throughout the room – and Lady Tully stilled upon the silken sheets, moving her eyes over the book’s page for the thousandth time since he returned; thus driving all her peace away.

The baths Aemond determinedly took in the raptures of the late-night hours never failed to make her uncomfortable, and keep her on edge. Even so, being forced to hear the pained man move with such little stability and lack of confidence almost teetered the girl to the brink of madness.

Harrenhal had been in shambles since its proud conqueror beckoned his return on dragon back that very eve. Two young maids shouted for maesters, and Alys Rivers nearly caused a scene. As he got off his leather saddle, the Prince all but collapsed from tiredness and blood loss.

'He commanded his features to turn brave and taciturn,' his paramour had told her, 'as to not let a single hint of his condition spread throughout the Keep. My poor Aemond.'

The fool had been reached by an arrow.

An impressive feat, one had to agree – and wonder further on the identity of the courageous shot.

‘Struck right between his shoulder blade and chest,’ she had heard some lost girl utter, ‘It is a miracle he’s still alive.’

… Or the Gods’ cruelest punishment, the Lady compelled within her thoughts.

“Mmhh…” Aemond’s rugged breath deterred the girl to raise her glassy orbs from the confinement of the wilting pages. She schooled her eyes to stay above any level of indiscretion, and gingerly followed the trail of blood mixed with dirt, that seeped into and dirtied the once clear water.

Now that her curiosity was quenched, she could freely look away again.

Half a heartbeat later, she relented and surrendered in the face of his quarrelsome state. The Prince bit the inside of his cheek again, and raised his hand up to allow droplets of liquid to trail past his wounded shoulder… but to no avail.

“You could call in a maid, you know.” Her raspy voice descended upon his struggling body. Sooner than she may have liked, the Bliss of Riverrun closed her eyes, and concentrated on the languid noises that the Prince was making.

Seconds felt like pending minutes, until Aemond One-Eye graced her with a reply.

“I don’t need a maid to help me.”

Then that was that, the young woman soon concluded, returning her attention to the opened book.

'The Philosophies of the Riverlands', however, provided little to no aid to the situation at hand – and her overall station.

For she knew, perhaps far too well, that she had to play a different game than the one they'd engaged in, months prior to her imprisonment in that cursed place.

Insufferable man… she vexed him cruelly inside her head, I hoped by now you would be dead.

She raised one leg from the mattress that embedded her, and shifted it, so as to allow her limbs to hang lowly by the edge of the bed. Her thoughts formed and went as they pleased, but the girl settled on one final reach.

He hadn't even allowed Alys to help him undress. Suggesting her now was a deliberate waste of her time.

Not only that, but she still had to win his trust. Somehow, she promised herself, no matter what it takes, she'd do it.

Forcibly she rose from the bed, and made her way slowly towards his wide basin, fixating her eyes on the stone floor ahead. Her throat closed in on itself, and the girl pursed her lips into a tight line, whilst exhaling through her nose. It took a while for her to calm herself.

"... What about me?" She asked in a leveled tone.

Her gaze met his piercing orb, and the Lady nearly took a small step back. His face long washed the wave of shock from his sharp, Targaryen features – Aemond awaited her next words with a quirked up brow and a slight bite o'r his inner cheek. He seemed more than interested in her meek suggestion.

His wordless approval had left her speechless and, for a while, only her heartbeat emerged in her ears.

The Prince Regent trailed his eye hungrily over her extended arm. He took in a sharp breath as she grasped the rough sponge from his hand, and drained it of the putrid smell. She confidently brought it up to him – and teasingly trailed it over his hard chest, down to his lower abdomen, up again to his slouching shoulder.

"This… will hurt you a little bit." She whispered to him, skillfully averting her face from the man in question.

He gritted his teeth harshly, and almost let out a groan from his parted lips – with his dexterous and long fingers, he gripped the edge of the wooden basin, but dared not to look away from the kneeling Lady – choosing, instead, to focus on singling out her every soft and hard feature.

On her end, (Y/N) dabbed the piece of cloth over his wound gently, chanting inside her head to remain small and taciturn.

He shan't get more of a reaction from me, she promised herself through the span of an agonized huff, as she focused in on the task at hand.

Aemond's white skin revealed itself from the washed patches of dirt, and the Prince sighed a deep breath of contentment, as he felt his body be unintentionally caressed by her. His eye fluttered close, and a slight furrow of his tantalizing brow indicated the uncommon pleasure he took from their sporadic intimacy.

The two remain in awkward silence - the only noise that reached the girl's ears being the rattle of water and the occasional hiss from Aemond.

"... I'm sorry." She strained herself to whisper, whilst her hair fell seemingly out of place. "This looks as if it's painful."

The Prince Protector mirrored her stance, and glanced at her through the thick curtain of long, silver hair – the lilac in his eye complimenting the heatwaves of fire that danced across his marred skin.

"It's not painful." His gruff voice echoed in reply.

"... You –" The Lady began, but stopped on her tracks to level her voice again, by the aid of coughing in the back of her hand.

"You don't have to pretend in my company, you know."

She graced him with a forced smile, one she hoped seemed light enough to fool him. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't make fun of you."

Her eyes trailed over to the harsh stone floor, wrinkling at their sharpened ends – "When I was three and ten," she began, "My youngest brother betted against one of the stable boys: that he could ride faster than anyone on his horse, Middle." Her eyes spasmed close at the memory, and the girl wistfully smiled to herself, "The fool scraped his knees in that dreadful race. Middle threw him right out of his expensive saddle."

As she spoke, she brought the rough cloth over Aemond's shoulder blade, right above his wound, and began scrubbing the dirt that adorned over his skin.

"He didn’t want anyone to know what had happened, so he made me clean it, in the stead of a maester." The Lady let out an airy laugh, as her nose scrunched up with a pang of fondness. "I have never seen a boy get so worked up over a simple scratch before."

Aemond hummed in admission – half relieved by the distraction she was offering, and half worried by the impending pain he would soon feel. He shifted from inside the basin, as if to reach for the sponge in her hand himself, but the girl simply laid her hand away.

Her musings came to an abrupt end. She retreated on her steps lightly, and offered the Crown Prince a quirked-up brow.

"You need to stay put, Prince Aemond. Otherwise, I risk causing you more harm than good." She swallowed thickly, and only shook her head, "Your wound needs thorough cleaning, Your Grace. And it is too far in the back for you to clean it by yourself."

She glanced at his face anew, and let out a tumbling sigh as he nodded his head again, trying his hardest to relax into her touch once more.

Part of him remained put up – the bulk of his chest and shoulders still gloriously hunched over, ready to bolt up at any given moment.

"... I hate to admit it. I thought he was exaggerating then – with the discomfort which he feigned was feeling."

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as she glanced quickly at the laying man, "But how can one make fun of another's state of pain?"

A sympathetic look was shared between them.

Her eyes softened in admission to his furrowed brows and descended features. In that exact light, she couldn’t help but notice how much he resembled her Jace.

"Pain makes us human. And it's a reminder for us: to really cherish our times of incandescent joy."

The break of a cold sweat kissed over Aemond's forehead; droplets of which gathered at the base of his left eye, where his leather eyepatch stayed secured.

The girl pushed down a disdainful puff, as her eyes trailed him over, from the rosy blotch of skin, back to his hawk-like eye.

"Leather retains heat." She murmured before she could catch herself.

The Targaryen Prince expelled a deep breath, and, as her hand came to rest over the buckle that secured his patch into place, he primed his lips into a downturned arch.

"It can't be good for you to always keep it on."

"The sight of it frightens others. I don't want it to frighten you."

"I've seen you without your eyepatch before."

"That was different. This time… is different."

The latter of his words sent a shiver down her bent spine. Nothing is different, she was aching to say. Her lips pressed anxiously together, and the girl offered Aemond a curt nod. Just as she was about to pull her hand away from the nape of his neck, the Prince's wet palm came up to stop her.

His fingers shakily entwined with hers. The deep callouses of his hand scratched the softness of her open palm.

For a while, Time herself froze before them.

(Y/N) came to avert her gaze, but Aemond's eye feverishly searched for the relieving clash of hers. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and the Lady of Riverrun nearly choked onto the clogged-up air.

His silver locks curled slightly at their ends – the dampness of the room striking its claim over his perfectly straight strands of hair. In his own right, Aemond could be called beautiful. His striking Targaryen features might have ensured the favor of many young maidens, were it not for his rash and impetuous attitude, the bite that rested in his character – which no doubt spread like a disease over his life at Court.

"Look at me." Against his better judgment, and his innermost turmoil, Aemond allowed her small fingers to trail over the buckle of his blinder again. He drew out a comforting sigh, and, with her hand still in his, gently slid the leather off.

He sucked in a quiet breath, as the coldness of the air enveloped his throbbing eyelids.

The poise in his composure was cracking at the seams, with the passing of each second, during which she settled to remain silent.

Eventually, her hand came to rest over his face again. Her dexterous fingers began to leisurely wipe the sweat from his brow, his eye, by submerging them into the lukewarm water, and bringing them over and over to his clenched face.

"I'm sorry." She settled on to say instead, once the breaching of kind words failed to meet her. "No one deserves to be left without an eye. No one deserves such appalling cruelty."

"You appear to be sorry an awful lot this evening, My Lady." Aemond choked under his breath, taken aback by her gentle movements and sainty utter.

"I spend the better part of my days in the company of my own thoughts." She huskily reminded him, "... It's been increasingly easier for me to reflect on my past mistakes."

Wordless from her hoax admission, and desperate to feel her hands explore him further, the Targaryen Prince rose heavily from the dirtied water – his chest coming directly to her field of vision.

The girl let out a cutting gasp, as she turned swiftly on her heel, refusing to glance at his modesty, not any longer than she'd already had.

Her eyelids fluttered close, and she shifted from one foot to the other, but to no avail. For in spite of her desire to run away, the Lady found herself hammered in place.

The proximity between them laid out to be a problem – Aemond let out a frustrated sigh, and turned her head around with the clasping of his untouched arm. Two of his fingers came to rest at the base of her cheek and chin; the Prince let out a satisfied hum, as her body trembled in slight shock at their change of position.

"Gevie…" He muttered to no one but himself.

His cock stood proudly at attention, kissing over his prominent abdomen, trailing long past his belly button. Every now and then, white pearls pooled to the base of his length, weeping from his angry tip, trailing past his stones in the reach of the water below him.

"Look at me." He breathed again, and his sweet Lady obeyed.

She threw him a dejected look: half harsh and cold, half hardened and scorned. The tips of her ears matched the redness of her pale cheeks. Her eyes cast their curious glow throughout every corner of the room, yet stayed away from the scorn of indiscretion that called out to her, only centimeters below her swollen lips.

Aemond's thumb flicked once over her crimson labium, but the man sighed, seemingly discouraged, and settled upon gripping her dainty wrist instead.

"Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon, issa dōna jorrāelagon. Nyke kivio ao naejot sagon gīda."

The gentleness that oozed from his voice could have had anyone fooled. But not her. The translations of the words he muttered against the skin of her wrist were lost on her, but the Lady of Riverrun still singled out a most protruding word.

He had never failed to call her 'his tormenting love'.

The girl's breath rose and fell with each agonizing word that befell over her face.

"Mēre tubis ao jāhor jaelagon issa." Aemond sighed against her wrist.

'I would sooner die than spread my legs for the Usurper's kin. I would sooner die than spread my legs for the Usurper's kin. I would sooner die than spread my legs for the Usurper's kin.'

Her words rang harsh and true inside her head – and, much like it was back then, her heart harbored no honorable intent towards the Trident's Terror.

He burnt your entire homeland, she chastised herself harshly, He killed thousands. Every day, even more find their end by the breath of his dragon. By the way of his wrath.

The ache in her heartbeat rang loudly inside her ears – her every pore aligned with her wish to run away, and her mind was screaming at her to retreat to a corner.

Comparing him to Jacaerys was a laughable feat.

"Let's… just finish getting you cleaned up, Your Grace" She struggled to finally suggest out loud, through the timid inflection of her outwardly calm voice.

She slithered her face away from his grasp, and began draining the sponge of the dark mud again.

Aemond sighed, and lowered himself back into the cold water – his lone eye never leaving the mould of her smaller frame.

"I heard that conversation… sometimes distracts the ill from the discomfort of the cleaning process, Your Grace."

Now turned to his exposed back, the girl's hand wavered over his punctured shoulder. She waited three, perhaps four seconds, before her arm finally breached contact with the wounded flesh.

Aemond took in a sharp breath, but remained otherwise silent, until she prompted him to speak again.

"How… how did such a thing even come to happen?"

Aemond's chest rose and fell with each labored pant. His eye remained tightly closed, his jaw awfully set. Her question registered into his mind, and a reply formed at the former base of his thoughts.

For a while, however, the One-Eyed Prince remained quiet – weighing the option of telling her the truth rather carefully.

"A Frey company was marching South." He hissed as her light hand came over his flesh, applying soft pressure in its wake. "The fog of the morning masked them from me – but Vhagar's shadow still went right above their heads."

The woman brought her free hand to rest over his lower back, and her fingers rubbed soothing circles into the dampness of his skin. "It was… very lucky that you didn't get more hurt."

She scorned herself inwardly, but kept her curiosity at bay. She wouldn’t ask him whether the company had risen victorious, or if he burnt all those men to the ground.

The latter option, in any case, seemed more than likely.

The Crown Prince tensed visibly, but didn’t scoot away from her soothing touch. A deep sigh parted from his cracked lips, and the man revelled at their sudden closeness.

He ached to talk to her, to plead with her to welcome him inside her heart – and into her bed. He could feel his own beat loudly, and his body trembled in unquenched lust and rage.

Still, he knew it was too soon for that.

Not once during their rash acquaintance, did the girl before he talk with so much interest about his day with him.

His thoughts trailed to Alys, and Aemond wondered if half her new admission was owed to her – if indeed the two women secured a friendship within the last two weeks, if his whore became her confidant, if she breathed in her trust in him.

He would have to talk to her later. Thank her, if he was feeling apt and generous.

(Y/N)'s breath caught in the shell of his ear, and the Targaryen Prince nibbled at his lower lip. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down; the coldness of the water gave him the strength to concentrate, by the sliding of small ripples down his exposed chest and abdomen. The ache of his wound was a small price to pay, if only to feel her knuckles working against his back.

"There we are. All done, Your Grace."

She rose up from her kneeling stance, wincing at the sudden change of perspective, and at the throb of her tired knees. She gingerly presented the clean set of clothes and bathing robes to him. Her head remained turned to the side, and her hand instantly let go of the heavy clothes, the moment his palm came into contact with them.

In the stead of returning to sit idly by their resting place, the woman graced him with a final look, and let out a faint mutter. "I'll leave you to it."

She wavered but a moment, and turned her stare to the ruined clothes; the ones that Aemond had so carelessly discarded on the floor, as he prepared for his undeserved nightly soak.

The shadow of a long-laid plan gleamed beneath her silent gaze.

"I can wash them for you tomorrow – after my bath. It might be wiser to keep the nature of your wounds hidden. The maids needn't worry over how much blood you lost."

Aemond's brows furrowed in slight shock, and the Prince remained wordless in the face of her sensible suggestion.

And yet her eyes spoke with so much sincerity, that he gleefully allowed the pang of hope to warm his unforgiving features.

"As you wish." He rumbled out, while forcing himself to move his stare to the folded clothes before him.

His eye trailed back to his hands' agile ministrations, and Aemond soon began to roll over his linen breeches, covering his half-hard cock with the help of the rough material.

A throaty groan etched from deep within his throat, however, as he reached for the pristine shirt.

The girl stopped in her tracks, and a deep scowl settled over her fair features.

The struggle he was undergoing would have been music to her ears – were it not for the solidarity of her position. For the millionth time that night, she reminded herself of her plan and her desperation to escape.

Thus, unbeknownst to her own better judgment, the Lady compelled herself to seek him further.

Although her words failed to assist her, the way she gingerly reached, with her hand wide and outstretched, made Aemond aware of her pending intent.

Their bodies were inches apart. The girl sucked in a hurried breath, and neglected to exhale it as the oxygen hit her lungs.

Aemond was burning up – and whether that was from the lack of fresh air within the confining room, or the first telltale sign of fever, or her – he was lost on saying anymore. His weakened arm slithered into the sleeve of his shirt, though the pain was long forgotten.

And instead of focusing on his poised movements, his glassy eye ran hungrily over her face and hypnotic features.

(Y/N)'s fingertips grazed over the light material. Her tired eyes softened at the familiar feeling. The threat of tears beckoned at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them all away in a hasty movement. Melancholy ate away at her, far more often than she knew was wise to allow.

Still she remembered, if only for a moment, the raptures of Jacaerys' warm embrace. And how, in the heat of summer, that very same cloth felt against her heated cheek.

They must have had the same seamstress, the same tailor. Of course, she thought to herself in a bitter manner, after all, they are both Princes.

… Were.

But if she closed her eyes, she could pretend – No, she chastised herself fully, such a thing just cannot be. And you'd be a fool to attempt to it.

The magnetic pull between them trebly pried the two souls together. And it would be yet another minute, until (Y/N) finally took a step back, opening her mouth to announce the end of her intimate task.

Her eyes fell on the stone hard floor, and she carefully turned her back around him.

The long waves of her hair shifted over her modest nightgown, covering her mounds of flesh with a slight shift to the left.

"I'm going to sleep." She pathetically uttered, as the warmth that emanated from Aemond's form not moments prior, still fell heavily over her slight frame.

Mechanically she gripped the satin sheets and engulfed herself with them – a slight comfort came over her, as the coldness of the unused bedding fanned gently over her scorched limbs.

Aemond remained stuck in place, and a heaved breath rumbled from within his chest. The red in his cheeks would have put both their Houses' seals to shame – For once, he was glad she wasn't looking his way.

***

The rest of the night was spent in washed quietness.

And his Lady might have made it up: the dip at the edge of the bed, the smell of fresh pine and wildfire that caressed her in her sleepy state, and the slight "Thank you" that dabbled from her captor's lips.

“You plan to ride on dragon-back again? So soon?” The echo of Alys' voice carried her worry throughout the silent clearing.

The first rays of sunlight caught flame into her raven hair, lighting her features in such a way, that it accentuated her every perpetual scar and wrinkle. The fire inside her eyes could rival the one of a trueborn Targaryen, were it not for her strong outer appearance.

Aemond moved his body at a leisurely pace, not even bothering to throw the woman one of his usual vexing looks.

"Do you think dear nuncle will put a stop to the siege of the Twins, should the word spread about my condition?"

His cutting words rendered the woman speechless, and the Rivers witch simply clicked her tongue, whilst glancing at the green grass below her.

"War awaits no one, my dear." He asserted definitively, as he gripped onto Vhagar's long bridles.

The mighty beast let out a shaken roar, as Aemond winced once his wounded shoulder made light contact with her dark-green scales.

"Gīda ilagon, Vhagar. Sagon nykeēdrosa... Sȳz hāedar." He instinctively reached for her, and caressed her lower belly with one of his gloved hands.

At their calm exchange, Alys bit over her lower lip, harshly enough to draw her own blood. "You should stay." She managed to draw out, "At least a while – going in search of your uncle today, instead of tomorrow, won't make a difference to your brother's cause."

But her voice of reason reached deafened ears. For Aemond Targaryen was set on paying the debt he owed. The debt he agreed to take on, the moment his dragon clasped onto Lucaerys, swallowing the bastard whole.

"Everything matters at war, Alys." He hummed impatiently, while snapping his head in her general direction. "What do you think will happen to you, should Daemon reach Harrenhal? Your pretty head will rest near mine, impaled on a sharpened spike."

But if she told you to stay put, you would do just that, wouldn’t you? Her bitter thoughts chewed her conscious away.

Alys spat out a lowly curse, as she shifted uncomfortably in place. "Daemon Targaryen was here once, not long before you. He didn’t kill me then."

"Because you didn't matter back then." The Prince Protector of the Realm hissed through painfully gritted teeth, "You were no one to him. You were a wet nurse who merely spread her legs for him."

The man turned his back to her, as he wordlessly bound Vhagar's bridle over his wrist again and again.

"And last I checked, your cunt failed to inspire him."

Her mouth parted in a silent protest, and her green eyes widened in partial distress. "Still I should remain in luck," She choked out through a breathless laugh, "for it has never failed to inspire you."

"You are perfectly right," Aemond's laughter was humorless and brash, "And it is because of this loose cunt that Aegon nearly lost the support of Storm's End."

The Prince spun around on his heel's end, and trapped the woman in between his hard chest and restless dragon. "Sometimes I think you cost me more than you're worth." He whispered calmly into her ear, while trailing his index finger over the sharp edge of her jaw. "For speaking back to me, I could have you executed."

The finality of his words drew her body closer to the ancient beast, and Vhagar let out a displeased grunt. Amusement pulled at the corners of his downturned mouth.

"Still you should remain in luck," He mocked her with an airy laugh, "I find myself in an exceedingly good mood today."

The back of his hand came to play with a loose lock of her messy braid, and the Prince smiled at her stance and her bewildered look. "But you've been a most useful asset, haven't you, my dear?" He obliged her with a teasing smirk, "Lady Tully responded well to you, hasn't she? Tell me," He paused momentarily, as he trailed his hands to the narrow middle of her waist, and back up again. "Have you kept up your training with her?"

Alys' face fell into a frown, as she staggered a frustrated look. Aemond was toying with her.

"That dull book she pretends to read at night has the maps of three secret passages hidden amongst the latter pages. Two of them lead to that cell into the West Wing – but of course, she doesn't know that. The third one leads to the stables of Harrenhal."

Aemond hummed pleasedly, and the man soon took a wide step back, allowing his paramour enough space for proper breathing. "You did well." He smiled wistfully, "I should reward you well tonight. You may think of something you desire. I will see to it once I return."

"I would very much like you to stay and heal today." She urged him not a heartbeat later, surprising even herself with the intensity of her tone.

Aemond's composure broke with the licks of roaring laughter – one that was empty, and fell devoid of any feelings of fondness or grief.

"Think of something else." He urged her coolly, and dismissively pushed past her, to reach for his dragon's saddle.

"'Tis a good thing you shall never be a wife, Alys. The role of the worried wench doesn't suit you one bit."

"Keep feeding her half-truths and lies." He encouraged the woman with a final reach over her hand. He squeezed once over her balled-up fist – acting as both a promise, and a taciturn warning on what should happen, should she let him down again. "Regarding whatever else she may have to say… you'll report it back immediately."

With that, the Kinslayer of the Trident took off, leaving the promise of bone and ash behind his dragon's menacing ascend.

The Eyrie was, on all accounts, smaller even than Maegor's Holdfast. Inside the stronghold nestled the Arryns, hidden deep beneath the illusion of the smallest stronghold of the main seven Kingdoms. Despite its intermediate size, the Keep of the Giant's Lance deemed itself one of the safest places to be – Hardly a lie, especially now, Cain Waters ineptly hummed, once his wobbly feet carried him over the stoney threshold.

Despite its less-than-imposing size, and lack of sheer volume, (Y/N)'s sworn shield felt himself smaller than ever before.

How would he dare account for his whereabouts? Reason his shortcomings?

How could he hope to explain to his Lord that not only did he return empty-handed, without his beloved granddaughter on horseback – he returned without the notion of a hand at all?

Between the two strange figures with whom he traveled, it was Mira Florent who rested loyally by his side – her strength and stability allowing the Waters bastard to lean into her, if only for a fleeting moment, during the ascend of the narrow stairs.

"Take heart," She whispered, "Your Lord is a kind and understanding one. You won't be facing trial for this."

His mere reply was a solitary grunt, and a quick smile, dejectedly thrown her way.

Between the two strange figures with whom he traveled, Albar had remained behind. The mute man shrugged his head decidedly when Cain gestured towards the waiting castle, and Mira explained to him that the Vale scarcely left him feeling safe and wanted.

And he understood, perhaps far too well – the feeling of dejection a bastard boy felt, as he stepped foot into the land of his birth.

***

He'd been granted the comfort of a Maester and a hot soak, almost immediately after his appearance at the Arryns' Great Door.

The Lady of the Vale proved to be a kindred spirit, capable of great nurture, despite her lack of heirs to her family's ancestral throne. She gasped loudly at the sight of him. Her eyebrows furrowed in grave distraught, and her lower lip trembled as the healers informed her of the state of his right hand.

Her searching eyes reminded him of the ones of his own mother – neither particularly warm nor cold towards him, but fair and just in their own accord.

She almost decided against calling upon him to the Trouts' Black Council, but the young Oscar Tully had entirely different plans.

His eyes, as they were, were socketed by a deep, but elusive brown. They spoke and reminded him of a whole different tale than the one of his fair, poor Lady.

And it was Oscar's eyes, so similar in shape to hers, who bore ghastly holes into the back of Ser Cain's skull. His arm rose up, as if to cut off the man's retelling – his nostrils flared up in disgust, and his face twisted into a painful scowl.

"So what you're telling me… is that you failed to bring her back."

Cain's eyes hardened at her brother's words, and the knight nibbled on his lower lip, in an attempt to calm himself.

Although a brave and honest man, he dared not look in the eyes of Lord Grover Tully – he dared not see what lay beneath his wilted face. Thus, all his attention focused in on the chirping lass.

"Aye, my Lord." He mustered up to tell him, "I lost her to the One-Eyed Prince. We escaped Harrenhal, and managed to get as far as the Saltpans, but –"

The boy scoffed at his attempt to pardon and explain himself. He nodded affirmatively, and scrutinized Cain with his piercing gaze.

"You returned with an empty hand, Ser Cain. You failed: miserably."

His back straightened in an attempt to appear bigger, and the hot-headed lass rose from his chair in a hurling daze.

"Because of you, my sister is in the hands of that cycloptic freak. Because of you, we don't know anything about her whereabouts. She could be tortured, enslaved, sullied – worse!"

Lady Jane Arryn clicked her tongue in disbelief, and beckoned her guard to guide the boy back into a sitting stance.

"That is quite enough, Oscar." She asserted calmly, "We have no evidence of such a feat."

"Of course we don't!" The young Lordling huffed annoyedly, jolting on the brink of madness, "The deranged cripple wouldn't reply to any of our ravens!"

His face contorted animalistically, the freckles on his face being taken by the deep shade of crimson that coloured in his plumper cheeks. "And with you here, Waters, we don't even have the certainty that (Y/N) is still alive!"

"Oscar." Grover's deep voice echoed a warning through the quietness of the tiny Keep.

As if struck in the face, the youngest of the Tully brothers shifted in his seat again. "My sister's fate is breached unknown," He cried out in a collapsing tune, "She's our family, grandfather, my only sister! Pray tell, why does it look as if I'm the only one who gives a damn?"

The graying Lord and the narrow Lady both leaned towards a perplexing look. But before any of them could reply to his laid-out challenge, (Y/N)'s brother urged them further, as he hissed through his gritted teeth. "It would have been better for you not to return at all, Ser Cain. It would have been better for all parties involved to have sent me in his stead, Grandfather!"

His shoulders slouched forward, and the brazen boy fought with Grover's intense stare. "Had I failed, I wouldn’t have even returned at all." Oscar roared over the silent council, proclaiming his intent with a defying raise. "I would sooner have died, than see her be taken by that monster again."

"What would you have had me do, boy?!" Grover Tully raised his voice in turn, "You fool. Would you have had me send you away for her? Do you think your death would have made you a martyr?!"

Cain's lips pursed into a tight line, as the Riverlords before him bickered further. Even Lady Jane Arryn seemed to be left speechless, unsure of when or how to stop their arguing.

Family feuds were neither one's strongest suit.

"Do you think," His Grandfather uttered, "that if you were to die, anyone would remember you fondly?!" The red in his cheeks matched the one on his grandson's face, and the elder Lord broke out into a coughing fit. "Your sacrifice would mean nothing. And when the dust settled over Westeros, and the war was done, you would just be another casualty. Another body to burn in a communal."

Almost immediately, his eyes softened, and their deep creases faltered on his face.

The Lord of Riverrun grunted in fatigue, but still rose himself securely on his two able feet. He marched towards the huffing boy, and placed a wrinkled hand over his sweaty forehead, urging him to quiet down.

"It's not about glory, Grandfather." He spat out lowly, as his ears began to match his fiery locks of curly hair. "It's about family. Our family. It's about ensuring its survival."

The older man gave the lass a curt nod. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, and turned to the knight with a downturned smile.

"There wasn't a knight more fit for the task than Ser Cain." He confirmed his judgment with a tired gesture in his direction. "He was knighted at five and ten. You are over your seven and tenth birthday, boy, and haven’t been even mirthed a squire."

Oscar sucked in a protesting breath, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room fall before him. His brows furrowed in a dangerous quarrel, and his blood ran hot. "Yet even with all the skill in the world, he still failed."

Lord Grover was losing his patience, "Yes, grandson, that he did! He failed, despite all the signs that pointedly told us otherwise – do you think you'd do an equitable job? When you haven't even once crossed swords in a Joust or Tourney?"

Nearby the aching knight, Lady Arryn renowed her position.

She whispered to her waiting guard, and the man took a step ahead, hitting over the chantry with the hilt of his sword.

The noise that erupted grabbed the attention of both grandson and grandfather.

"The turn of events marked by Ser Cain's departure means we need to readjust our plans." She commanded their heed calmly, "It is… unfortunate; that Lady Tully's sworn shield failed to protect her. Yet here we all stand, warming our bottoms on a mine of gold."

Cain should have been grateful for the distraction she was offering. All the displeasure surged upon him evaporated within the click of her tongue, and less conventional language – still, even he had to remain weary on the subject he opened.

"On a mine of gold?" Oscar spat out sharply, feeling his self-control disperse by failing him again. "My Lady, do you think my sister's condition is a situation of great rejoice?"

The Lady's blue eyes cut through the boy deeply, and the young man closed his mouth in embarrassment, before sitting down again.

She reached for the goblet of wine, and wet her lips with it, "Our strategical situation couldn't be better. Not once have we had a spy of Harrenhal successfully return. In truth, we didn’t even think it possible." Her lithe hand pointed towards the bloodied knight, and her eyes glimmered in mischief, "Yet here stands our living proof."

She elegantly rose from her ivory throne, and signaled the man to take a seat at the bent table. As he gingerly followed her lead, the woman spared him with a kind glance, and met his glance with her deep azul gaze.

"From what I gather, you spent the better part of a month undetected in the Strongs' Keep. Is that true?"

Cain nodded stiffly, and rested his bulky hands over his tired knees. "Yes, my lady. That I have."

"And you were knighted at fifteen?" She alluded to what was early spoken.

"Yes, my lady."

"By Lord Hunter Redwyne." She urged him to clarify, through the edge of a quirked-up brow, and the callings of a small smile pulling at her dusted lips.

"Yes, my lady. The very one."

Lady Jane hummed, seemingly satisfied by his short answers. She turned her attention to Lord Grover and his tiresome grandson, and merely asked Ser Cain again.

"And you faced the Kinslayer in combat, cut by a Valyrian blade, and lived to tell the tale?"

"... Aye, my lady."

Oscar's eyes remained unyielding. But Grover Tully glanced at the man before him, and offered him a wordless bow.

"Tell me, Ser, how would you like to command your own battalion?"

"You have to be patient." Alys chastised her deeply, as her luring features turned from flaccid to sharp. "Hardly enough time has passed since your last attempted escape – Aemond is still very much on edge."

The Lady's eyes turned to her. With the bridge of her nose scrunched up, and her fair features molded into a desperate plea, the girl looked more like a lost child, than an able and resourceful Lady.

Alys regarded her as such, and sighed deeply as she grasped onto her shoulders carefully.

"If I wait any longer, it'll be too late. I've already wasted three moon turns in this cursed Keep. I have to return to my family." The Tully spoke decidedly, leaving behind no room for arguing. She took a seat before the tiny mirror, that breached her modest vanity – a recent gift from Aemond, deduced by him to make her feel more like a proper lady.

The image that reflected within it looked at her like a dire stranger. The green silks she was dressed into, the pristine, braided hair that framed her pale cheeks perfectly; She was the vision of a flawless royal, a soft and polite maiden, untouched yet by the spoils of death and war.

'Would this be enough?' She asked herself desperately, whilst gripping the edge of her chair painfully.

Was this what Aemond had always wanted? The proof of her lack of autonomy, finally presented to him on a silver platter, as he returned from war every night?

Was he, perhaps, congratulating himself, every time he glanced at her, thinking himself master of the universe for making her arch and kneel?

Alys shook her head once more, and rested a hand over her bouncing knee.

"Patience is a virtue, Lady Tully. You needn't put yourself through any more unnecessary risks."

The Lady of Riverrun shook her head vigorously, finally snapping herself back to reality; Her actions were defying, and devoid of any capacity. Alys felt herself more confounded by the second. "I'll help you plan this thoroughly." The wood witch adverted. Her head quirked to the side in an encouraging gesture, and the girl nodded feverishly in reply.

Her green eyes widened in fair delight, and Aemond's lover lowered her gaze over the girl's book. "You memorized the passages well enough. Very soon, you shall put your knowledge to practice."

(Y/N) let out a tired sigh, and graced the older woman with a pleasant smile. "I'm lucky to have you, Alys" She played with her rings as she spoke, "Thank you. For everything."

As the elder woman finally left her Quarters in favor of bringing out the order for dinner, (Y/N) let out an aggravated groan.

Her long pretense would surely make her nauseous. But she would be a simpleton indeed, to place all her trust in Alys.

The walls preleened with the doom of silence. A cold breeze dug its way deeply into her spine, and the silent taste of passing and demise left a sour taste in her parted mouth.

***

Aemond began dinner as he wontedly did every day – praying to the Warrior to grant him strength in battle, to the Smith, to mend all that was left broken, to the Father, "to shine his light", and lead their souls out of the brink of darkness.

Each and every time, without fail, the girl would bring the pristine napkin to her mouth, masking the obvious way her lips would quirk into a most unyielding smile. His pious speech, and the way his hands painfully clasped together, begging for the blessing of resolve, made her scoff in blinding wonder.

Was he even aware of the words he mostly muttered? Did he ever stop to assess himself throughout the day, and realize the sin in which he debaucherously bathed in?

As his speech came to an end, the Lady preleened forward, grabbing a hold of the boiled-up stork.

How lovely it was to sit between comfort and chaos.

"You've never been one to speak much during our time spent together." Aemond remarked through the rumble of a solitary hum. "Yet I had hoped this last week softened your resolve, My Lady."

Her eyebrows rose in slight discomfort, as her eyes focused on the leisure movements of his bigger hands.

So he was softening up.

She opened her mouth almost immediately, but her hesitant eyes danced around his blinding stare. Her plump lips pressed into a hard line, and she exhaled loudly through her nose, in an attempt to ground herself.

"Not at all, Your Grace, I assure you." The cluttering of her fork came to a hoisted end, as Lady Tully aligned her head to focus directly on the One-Eyed Prince. "I should love nothing more than to talk to you… Please, do advise me on what you would like most to hear."

She fidgeted nervously with her silver rings – a quirk she developed whilst imprisoned in the Strong's Keep – and gingerly awaited his reply.

Your Grace. Your Grace. Your Grace.

The stillness in her speech and eyes drove the man effectively wild.

"Aemond." He stilled her faction through the reign of a distorted sigh.

She regarded him with a petrified stance. Her hands fell heavy over her legs in the wake of anticipation.

"... I-I beg your pardon?"

"Aemond." He repeated his name again, "We already break bread and sleep in the same bed." His lilac eye rose from his plate, and singled out her reddened cheeks. The man paused a while, as if to weigh his words carefully, and his cold, glassy orb, hungrily ran over her form. "It seems inevitable that we'd call each other by our given names. Yet you never once said mine throughout."

The girl could feel her throat dry up. While still maintaining his awkward stare, she reached for the glass of wine that rested by her left side. She wrapped her hand around its stem, and brought it to her paling lips.

The liquid courage slid down her throat in a quick, though burning manner, and (Y/N) had to swallow down an erratic cough. Her brows furrowed amidst, as she picked her words out slowly.

"I have called your name before, Prince Aemond. Many times throughout the moons, in fact."

He smiled at her perturbed reply, and shook his head in coy distraught.

"Not without the honorifics." The man clarified in a pleading tone, his voice growing hotter now. "... Just say my name." He sighed defeatedly. His hand gripped the edge of the table, silently, as the Targaryen Prince could feel his mind running with a thousand thoughts per passing minute.

The silence ate at him alive. She drowned the wine in a swift swing, and slouched forward to pour herself another glass.

She was too sober for this.

Lucaerys, Jacaerys, Cain.

Part of her wanted to pluck his eye out. Part of her wished nothing more than to make fun of him. Laugh, perhaps, at his desperate indiscretion. Do something – anything – to gauge a reaction out of him.

Any sort of reaction, that would make her pestering feelings for him leave her heavy soul.

Surprising even herself, adamantly going against her own wishes, the woman caught herself breathing out.

"... Aemond."

Unexpectedly he moved, by jumping to his ready feet, fully disregarding the oak chair as it hit the floor in a most perused manner.

The pang of noise alerted her, and seemingly, the guards outside. A while they remained in silence, listening in to the clash of metal that announced their unsure shifting.

But they wouldn’t come inside. The girl was lest aware of that.

As time pressed on, Aemond remained hammered in place, heaving out his weighty breaths and clasping his hands in aching fists.

Her eyes momentarily left his shadow – to turn again towards the poach of wine, and empty another glass in rapid gulps.

The heavy atmosphere inside the room hung lowly over their tired heads. (Y/N) resumed her mellow eating, wincing at the shakiness within her hands. She grabbed another piece of the boiled meat, though Aemond's stare soon made her drop it, and the girl clicked her tongue in disbelief; grabbing it instead with a piece of cloth, and securing it into a tight knot.

This time, it was her actions that had failed her. And perhaps it'd be her ready words that would prevail.

"Aemond." She spoke again, this time more confidently than before. The bitter liquor was burning her throat, her chest, her heart. She felt her limbs heavy – with both anticipation and frustration - borne out of lack of relief. She wanted to slap him, to hit him, to crush him beneath her feet.

She wanted to run away, to stay confined, forever inside this room, forever astute to what was going on in the outside world.

She wanted to feel something.

She wanted…

"Yes." Aemond encouraged her softly, and her attention came back to the raptures of the present tense. "There we go." He worded out, keeping his tone barely above a whisper.

Neither could tell when or how it happened – but Aemond's body was inches away from touching hers. The heat emanating from his beating heart washed over the meek form of the tipsy Lady. His Lady.

She gulped painfully, and the Prince could feel how his hands started spasming with the need to feel her. His nails bit the inside of his calloused palm, leaving deep and angry marks inside them.

His prominent veins shifted with his every faction. His face morphed into hopeful disarray.

"There we go." He repeated gently, "I want to hear your laughter. You never once laughed with me."

Her stare was hard to decipher. And yet confliction danced across her face. Aemond turned serious, and the stammering of his hands came to an untimely end. His eye bared holes into her reddened face; and the Lady humorously thought, if only for a moment, that it was a lucky thing he didn’t still have both his eyes. For such a stare would be embedded in her subconscious, bringing forth her swift undoing.

The corners of her mouth felt painful to bend and break. Shakily she smiled at him, and opened her mouth in shocked reclusion.

A shy laughter erupted from her unquenched throat, and the woman shuddered, surrendering the reins of reason to the drunken thoughts that sieged her.

Her laughter wasn't her own. The languid movements of her hands, that trailed over Aemond's chest, were not her own.

His finger came to caress her cheek. Her nose. Her brow. Her lips. Her mouth. The Crown Prince sucked in a dangerous breath, and secured his left arm loosely around her waist.

"Good girl," He spoke tenderly, his voice going from gruff to rough, "Such a good girl for me." His fingers combed through her messy braids, marking their swift undoing – taking a step back, he could feel the heat leave his head, in the favor of traveling lower, to meet the almost flaccid cock confined in the tightness of his pants. "Say my name again. Laugh again." He commanded in a pleading meowl. His lips twitched in anticipation, and his eyes trailed lower, lower still, from up her face, down to her soaring bosom.

"Aemond."

"(Y/N)."

A solitary look of shame was shared between them. Perhaps pushed forward by the only remaining faction of rationale, the two placed a step in between each other, but even that proved to be too fickle of a barrier to keep them whole apart.

Aemond reached to cup her face with his own trembling hand – on her end, the girl's digits trailed over from his high cheekbones, down to his prominent cupid's bow, in an all but gentle caress.

"Avy jorrāelan." He hissed through painfully gritted teeth, allowing his head to rest in the crook made of her shoulder blade and neck. "Avy jorrāelan." He repeated, the vulnerability in his voice making him lose the hold he had over himself.

"Se Jaes emagon qrimbrōstan issa naejot jorrāelagon ao." His feathered breath came into contact with her dainty neck. (Y/N) gasped lightly, as she felt the first of his many kisses being tenderly placed over her jaw and neck.

Her head was pounding, and her eyes were screwed shut, as the coldness of the wall hit her in perused waves. The impropriety of the soft moans and sighs that filled her ears to the brim left her confused and wanting.

The worst of it was that she didn’t know whether they came from her or him.

She felt as though her head was being harshly held below the water, and the girl clawed at her dress to loosen her tight bodice, which seemed to constrict even her erratic breathing.

Aemond's attention moved from her earlobe back to her lips. He felt how her hands contorted sporadically, and he placed his own palm over hers, to put an end to her hasty movements, and give her a sense of calmness. His fingers suddenly entwined with hers, as his form hovered above her. His throat etched with a lousy moan, and his mouth finally crashed with hers.

(Y/N)'s eyes opened at the shocking scene, and her lips suddenly parted, either to beg or to protest against him, but Aemond's hot tongue found entrance into her warm cave – deciding instead to deepen the kiss, and press himself further against her smaller form.

The outline of his throbbing cock molded against the shape of the woman's thigh, and the Prince Protector of the Realm let out a pleasured hiss, once her insistent writhing ended up brushing up his weeping tip. "Jaes, ao istan vēttan syt issa." He mumbled against her swollen lips, "Sepār jurnegon skorkydoso īlon kostagon fāelor hēnkirī."

She let out a fatigued whimper, and swiftly turned her head around, putting an abrupt end to their meek and vicious pecks.

"What's wrong, hmm? Dōna hāedar… ȳdra daor hakogon qrīdrughagon hen issa sir."

Aemond's lips were soft and tender, leaving behind an almost vivacious bite over her exposed parts. His pace had been filled with an animalistic hunger; the longing inside his eye caught her unprepared, and her lips parted with the desire to feel something – anything – that his palpable mouth would keenly offer.

(Y/N) shuddered with her eyes closed, and grabbed a hold of his long, white hair, leading the man closer yet to her swelling heat.

The way in which he held her should have felt so very wrong. But at that moment, the only thing she could do was extend her arm back up to him, and guide him with an insistent pull over his silky locks: encouraging him to bring forth his descent upon her lips.

She disregarded the way a figment of her psyche screamed at her. To stop her ministrations, to slap his calloused hands away from her. For if she kept her eyes closed, and focused solely on the shape of him, then she could almost pretend that the man before her had nothing to do with her beloved Jace.

She could almost pretend that he was Jace.

Aemond's pupil was left blown wide – so much so, that the lilac of his iris could almost be left neglected. He wrapped his hands around the lady's thighs, and hoisted her up to meet him by his narrow hips. Both moaned into the other's mouth, and the Prince soon found his way into the raptures of the silken bed.

His heated cock kissed the outlines of her soaked cunny. Aemond sighed deeply over the arch of her neck, and pawed away at her untouched bodice.

(Y/N)'s hands rested still upon his eyepatch, and, with a swift and hasty movement, she yanked it off his sculpted face.

"We need to stop…" She moaned, defeated, and felt how Aemond's body stiffened up below her, as the harsh realization finally hit them both.

She had uttered the words aloud.

Half expecting him to blow out fuming, the woman tried to pry herself off his fevered body, but his hands reigned like iron shackles over the inside of her spreading thighs.

"Do we?" He whispered lowly, whilst leaning in to steal another kiss from her again.

"We shouldn’t." She strained herself to say once more, and Aemond nodded, still chasing her lips with his.

She melted into his reluctant touch, and hummed against his beating heart. His hands dug deeply into her resting sides; his fingertips scattered over her translucent spine, leaving their possessive mark. "This isn’t right."

"I know, I know," He gasped, "Seven Hells, I know…"

"Yn nyke istan zarvīzis," He pressed a finger over her swollen lips, "Nyke emagon issare sīr sȳz se… sīr, sīr zarvīzis."

With the last ounce of her strength, she bit over his lower lip, dragging a wanton moan from out of his rosy lips.

"Ao aehron raqagon ao ȳdra daor jaelagon bisa..." He chanted, while latched onto her burning sear, "Yn ao jaelagon issa sepār hae olvie. Ao mazilībagon syt issa – sepār hae qosaevaerī."

His High Valyrian had made her dizzy. And at first, she tried to pay his words her mind, she tried to grapple and understand what he was saying.

A starved meowl left her panting lips.

"You can tell me to stop," The words that poured out of his mouth washed upon her like a rippled tide, "You can tell me to stop… and I will..."

Her body quickly arched against him; her shaky hands came to rest over his hips. She laced her mouth again with his, expecting rough, dominant kisses – but Aemond's hands propped themselves loosely against her cheeks, his thumbs pliantly stroking her with untoward devotion. His single eye drank her in with reverence.

"Please…" He whimpered into her mouth, "Avy jorrāelan." He confessed to her, again and again, trying his hardest not to take her against the cold floor – and not fuck her straight into the messy mattress.

Her limbs felt heavy. Lacking their autonomy. The body she was nestled in still wasn't her own.

"... Why?" She asked him disdainfully, sporadically, as his index finger came to pry open her haughty entrance.

His eye widened in perplexed ruin, but the Prince soon stumbled over his words again.

That bastard Jace must have taught her the gist of that.

"... I wish I knew." Came his sole and sincere reply.

Just like that, her eyes welled with the threat of tears.

His hands, his hold, his voice, his mouth. It was all wrong. In truth none could ever hope to feel right.

Flashes of her old lover, of his baby brother – who was so small the last she'd seen him –, of her sworn shield came into view. All of them, gone as if they never were. All of them, with their memories trampled deep beneath her sprawled-out form.

She wasn't a woman of the Faith. Not after what had happened. Not after the spoils of war that she, herself, felt like angry whips upon her skin. But her eyes fluttered close, and she begged the Mother for forgiveness, whilst a tear rolled off her ticking cheek.

She brought a hand to her wobbly lips, and began to violently rub away any remaining trace of Aemond's presence.

She was disgusted. With him, with herself, with the world, with the image of her Jace – that surged in her mind the second she blinked, the moment that she jolted awake in her misery.

On his end, (Y/N)'s display of pure abhorrence failed to falter Aemond's lustful grief. Why, if she did not desire him, did she fall into his arms again and again?

Love was the death of duty. And longing was the doom of all.

"Fucking cock tease…" The Prince growled, grief-stricken, "How much longer are you going to give into me, just to push me away?"

His patience had been running thin. The ache in his breeches was long forgotten. In its stead, the urgent sting in his heart dragged the man into the pits of madness. "What is it this time?" He groveled over her closed legs again.

Her recuperation had been jovial and quick. Adrenaline replaced the pain and shame, and the woman tried to get off the bed, put as much distance as she knew how in between her and the ravished Prince.

For the first time since he came to be, Aemond would not let her escape his clutches. As she moved backwards, he persisted forward – following her wobbly feet throughout the room with the spare of his predatory eye.

"Y-You said –" She tried ceaselessly to accuse him. "You said you wouldn't –"

"And you're right. I meant every. Single. Thing. I told you." He growled into her frightened ear, as his hands came to cage her, trap her under the seclusion of the hard, stone wall.

"You're mine." He hissed desperately, as he clasped her jaw to face him. "You've always been mine, you fucking harlot. From the moment you stepped foot into Harrenhal, your life belonged to me."

Perhaps Aemond was right, and she was nothing but a harlot. A treacherous swine that hung onto whatever he could give her - so starved and devoid of love and warmth, that she'd dare to stoop so lowly with him.

Aemond descended his unquenched rage over her exposed neck, and began leaving tender love bites all over, in spite of her lackluster pleas.

(Y/N)'s head felt like it was about to explode. She felt sick to her stomach – the wine and the distraught both built up inside of her. All she wanted now was to be left alone. For Aemond's touch felt oddly comforting, and her tired eyes began to close. "You drive me insane." She heard him choke.

She wanted to open her mouth. To urge the Prince to stop; but her word hole was sewn shut, taken over by the grip of feared confusion. While his hand hoisted her up by the waist again, her hand went around him, to grab onto whatever she could find. Finally, she stopped at the dragon-glass dagger, that securely latched onto Aemond's waist. Effectively, she wrapped her fingers around its silver hilt, and sheathed it out of its confinements.

"I swear on whatever God you want me to, I'll slit your throat if you don't stop touching me –" She wailed into Aemond's form, as she felt him stiffen up in tumultation.

His nostrils flared up at her attempt to intimidate him, and yet… his face looked most serene, as the cutting edge of the dagger reached close to his ivory skin. She raised her brows at him in utter surprise; for she expected him to surrender. His arms snaked away from her, and Aemond watched her intensely with his piercing gaze.

She could kill him, consequences be damned. And if she faced trial for this, then at least she'd have taken out a Green and Vhagar.

Her hand was shaking. Her breathing became erratic. She'd held a blade on multiple occasions; she'd fantasized about cutting Aemond's throat more times than she could bring herself to count. And yet…

His lack of movement – of worry – rattled her endlessly. She wanted to scream at him, to push him, to cut him. But for some reason couldn't bring herself to do it.

The realization that she just couldn’t do it made her almost drop the knife from the tight hold she'd kept it under.

"Why aren't you the least bit worried?" She spat out lowly, with her body trembling and her jaw set tight.

Aemond remained quiet and taciturn. His eye fixed her face carefully, and his hand gently wrapped around her quivering wrist. "Come on now…" He whispered to her, and watched how her eyes filled with the endless tears of frustration, how the hot droplets rolled down her reddened cheeks.

It would take another moment for her to drop the blade.

A moment she would forever grow to resent.

"I fucking hate you." She hissed through a breathless sob.

Oh, how she wished to hate him. Hate him as she did when they first clashed swords. Hate him as she did when she heard Jace talk about Lucaerys' death.

"Liar." Aemond rasped in acknowledgment.

And, just like that, the damage had been done. The blade rested back into his hand within an instant, and Aemond hit the wall behind her with murderous intent. "Fucking liar." He whispered again, breathing less and less sporadically, trying to wash his nerves away.

"I have been so good to you. But no matter what I do, it'll never be enough for you. Hmm?" He shook his head adamantly, and dug his fingers into the cold tiles of the cursed stronghold. "I am a patient man. But I will not wait a minute longer."

Her face twisted into a painful scowl, and the girl pushed over his chest roughly, but Aemond was quick to deny her exit. "This is not ideal," He muttered lowly to himself, "Yet you need to be taught a lesson."

"What are you d–"

Her words died upon her lips. Aemond hummed in dissatisfaction, and immediately brought the blade into her view.

She let out a scream of pure horror, but his pliant mouth silenced her with a scorching kiss. Her whole body was shaking, and the Prince Regent let out a frustrated sigh.

"Cease your crying, you hateful woman." He chastised her cruelly, "The fucking Gods sent you to ruin me."

At that moment, she wasn't above pleading. Her knees wobbled in place, and her orbs frantically searched for a way out. For something to grip and swing at the man before her.

Aemond's eye softened at the sight of her. Despite the pang of guilt he felt, a teasing and self-assuring smirk formed at the corners of his upturned lips.

So Jacaerys hadn't told her. He never mentioned their Valyrian way to her.

His triumphant feat soon washed away, as her trembling hands came into contact with his. "Ÿdra daor dīnagon, issa gevie Dāria. Nyke jāhor dōrī jaelagon naejot ōdrikagon." He told her adherently, truthfully, despite the obvious language barrier.

He took a moment to regain his composure. Grab a hold of her balled-up fists and remember the ancient words he'd only ever read about in his history books.

"Hen lantoti ānogar. Va sỹndroti vāedroma."

He ripped the sleeve from his linen shirt, and placed it over their entwined fingers.

"Mēro perzot gīhoti. Elēdroma iārza sĩr. Izuli ampā perzī."

The blade finally pressed down, over the softness of his left palm. Aemond winced at the sudden pain, and made a mental note to only nick the frightened girl with it, when the time came for that.

"Prūmĩ lanti sēteksi. Hen jenỹ māzīlarion. Qēlossa ozündesi."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened to a comical amount. Somewhere along the way, it seemed, she grew aware of Aemond's intent. She refused to show her hand to him, placing them both behind her back, and holding on for her dear life.

He let out a disapproving grunt, and reached his bloodied hands to her, yanking her right hand from underneath her strong grasp.

"No! No –!" She kept on screaming, and the guards outside shifted in place, before they fell under their oath of silence once again.

The cold and slick edge of the dragon glass pressed lightly against her writhing palm. Aemond made a smaller cut, and carried on with his rapid mumbling.

"Sỹndroro öñö jēdo. Rỹ kīvia mazvestraksi."

His very fist came to cut over his lower lip. His gory hand then reached for her jaw, hammering her in her place, and a sharp sting reflected on her weary stance. Aemond profited off the moment, to ease the dagger into her waiting mouth.

The metallic taste flooded her senses – the girl saw red before her eyes, and failed to register how his fingers came upon his and her forehead, painting them over with a ghastly symbol.

The Targaryen Prince reached for her hand again, and pressed her wounded palm cohesively with his.

"Following the tradition of my House from before the Doom of Old Valyria, I, Aemond of House Targaryen, bind myself to (Y/N) of House Tully, by blood, by soul, by life –"

"NO!"

" – And I pledge to her: that we are now one flesh, one heart, one body. Now and forever."

As he finally pried his limbs away from her trapped body, Aemond allowed his lips to feathery trace over her twisted mouth. She glanced at him, with wide-set and teary eyes.

"Fuck your fucking pledge."

Some grand venue she received.

A single question hung loosely into the air.

"Are you going to rape me now?"

She scarcely registered her own words as they left her mouth.

Aemond's eye widened at her query, and the Targaryen bit over his lower lip, as a deep grimace morphed the fairness of his features. He looked almost dumbfounded by her made assumption.

As soon as it came, the look of utter betrayal left his face.

"You would slit my throat with the knife." Was his mere reply.

***

Sometime along the night, he left.

The mighty roars of Vhagar registered themselves in the far-away distance.

That night, and only that night, she allowed herself the sacrilege of prayer. And she did so, again and again, pleading to the Seven for a blind arrow to reach his neck.

On the back of Vhagar, Aemond shuddered away from the impossible waves of heat, that licked deliciously at his stiffened cock; whenever her breathing would reach his ears, he felt tortured, trapped beneath the swell of lust and wanton desire.

Despite his abhorrent decision, he knew what their marriage meant. He knew all too well what his cruel bind had done, and yet… he felt no plausible remorse for the situation at hand.

The support of Storm's End, Floris Baratheon, Alys – mere casualties compared to the brink of having her, to knowing that she was finally his, as he was wholly hers.

Eventually, she'd have to love him. Eventually, she'd learn to do so.

A marriage wasn't a marriage until it was consummated. But he would give her, as he had promised, the illusion of choice, if nothing else.

As the cold night's air whipped his face again and again, and as Vhagar's thundering resounded over the burnt trees of the Riverlands, Aemond sighed, and brought a shaky hand to the strings of his breeches.

Scared as she was, his Lady made for a beautiful bride. It was such a shame that he didn’t get to see her wear the traditional Targaryen gown.

The pad of his thumb trailed over the cut he'd made – the same cut that now rested over her extended palm.

The flesh would scar, he thought, well pleased; whenever he looked at her, he'd get to see how she was undeniably his.

A possessive growl etched from his parted lips. Images of her paling skin, of her laugh. Her smile. The way her eyes bore into him, as if she always knew something he didn’t.

Leisurely, he began to pump his cock. Below him, Vhagar let out an anguished roar.

"Nyke gīmigon, Vhagar. Gīmigon."

Droplets of precum rolled over his clenching digits, coating his knuckles and the base of his shaft in a translucent, but thick ropes.

He groaned desperately, aching to relieve his frustration deep within her, but alas…

His gruff moans filled the air around him; and Aemond could feel his climax building up, as visions of her flooded his thoughts.

How she would feel underneath him. How she would writhe on the edge of bliss, begging, pleading for him to finally take her.

He could feel her legs wrapping around him, and feel himself sliding inside her with ease, praising her for being so good to him.

He wrapped Vhagar's bridle tight over his arm, and secured himself better in his leather saddle. His grip tightened around his dripping cock, but it was just not good enough.

The pace with which he fucked his hand picked up in a wilding speed. Aemond sighed in pleasure, and felt his hips move to their own accord. His breathing became rugged. His very mind was not his own.

He wondered what other scars her body bore. What the story behind them was, and how many of them came by his swift undoing.

Would she lie down and let him take care of everything? Or would she want to stay on top, jumping up and down on him, each time with a harsher thrust?

His hips rose and fell with his less than gentle pace, and the man pushed his length deeper into his steadfast grip.

He knew that if she let him touch her, he wouldn't be leaving her bed for weeks. He would pull countless orgasms from her, time and time again, until she begged for him to stop. He would have her so full of his seed, so the Gods' help him, that she would swell with his child – his trueborn child – before the rise of the first rays of sun.

Feeling his release beckon, the Prince set on a final rhythm, one that left his loins more in need than ever. With a loud hiss, he pushed himself inside his fist one final time, spilling his seed onto the saddle beneath him.

He panted wildly into the night, and suddenly opened his lustful eye, allowing a tear of ecstasy to roll off his scarred cheek.

"Se Jaes daoriot rȳbagon naejot nykeā vala raqagon issa. Yn nyke jāhor jikagon va issa knees se kostilus zirȳla naejot ivestragī issa emagon ao. Ao issi issa rōva botagon se se olvie rivaestra lambraes aohvra."

He couldn't keep up the charade with her. He would tell her all about it, once things finally settled down.

Word in Harrenhal traveled fast.

First it was her brash arrival. Then her impromptu marriage.

No one dared to talk to her. Yet she was never without the indiscreet eyes that followed her about.

Her situation wasn't without its ups and falls: Aemond felt no need to guard her as stiffly anymore – For where would the former Tully go, now that she bared his Targaryen name?

She was allowed to breach into some castle corners, always in the company of hefty guards, of course, and basked herself in some new acquired perks of freedom.

On the same account, whilst Alys remained loyal to her role as her lady-in-waiting, the tension between them couldn't have been more pain-strikingly high.

"I never asked for this. You must believe me."

She gave the younger woman a domineering stare, and only shook her head, obliged.

"And yet here you stand, inside his bed."

Word in Harrenhal spread fast – like a fire left unattended, like the so-called "Targaryen madness".

But a new, particular rumor gobbled the attention of everyone present.

Daemon Targaryen was to return to the Riverlands. And with him and Caraxes, he'd bring forth the formerly wild dragon, Sheepstealer, mounted by none other than Nettles.

The Lady had been acquainted with the bastard girl before – when the Sowing of the Dragon Seeds reveled in their first borne crops.

Another troubling report came forth. King's Landing had been secured by Rhaenyra.

When (Y/N) heard the news be whispered, she almost collapsed on her knees in glee. This must have marked the end of it. Surely, the usurpers would be put through the sword, leaving all to be well, and right again.

The Greens would die. They would face trial.

The Greens.

Indeed, word in Harrenhal spread fast. And she'd just been made the wife of the cruelest of them all.

Dread filled her insides. Her eyes cast their darkened shadow over the walls of the cursed Keep. A single, fundamental truth raised strongly from her anxious wallowing.

If Daemon Targaryen should find out about her marriage to his nephew, and get to her first… naught of the loyalty of the Riverlords would have a single say in her decided fate. And she would meet her end by the way of his blade, Dark Sister.

Now, more so than ever, it was pivotal for her to escape.

The clock was ticking.

And she was running out of time.

***

Her last day in Harrenhal was spent making plans. She'd rubbed her temples a myriad times, and paced about the room in a dizzying trot.

It wasn’t enough for her to disappear – she had to ensure everyone else thought she was gone.

When Aemond returned, she beckoned his call by jumping to her ready feet. The girl took him in, in his devillished state, and merely raised her brows at him. Whenever she saw him, the nick on her palm and lip itched at her relentlessly.

Neither was willing to recognize aloud what had transpired two moons ago, but both knew the inevitable punishment that would come with Aemond's actions.

He took a seat by the edge of their bed, and took his dagger out to play with it.

In vain he had asked Alys to share with him what she could see. She laid in broken, cradling her forming bump – the one she so desperately tried to hide away from him. The one thing that once meant her protection and raise in rank, now could very well heed out her doom.

Her green eyes raised from the floor below them, and Alys merely shook her head.

"There is fire, my Prince. Fire, and blood, and death."

"Going out to face two dragons is a death sentence." His deep voice rumbled through the silent chamber, "I can't afford that risk anymore with you involved."

And there it was. The silent admission of what he had done.

"We'll have to move from Harrenhal. You'll get to meet Daeron in Oldtown."

Was he sorry for what he did?

"It was about time you got acquainted with the rest of the family."

Aegon's cause was lucky that Storm's End was already too involved. They couldn't turn in their banners to the other front. Not now.

"It's a wonderful idea." She uttered in a glacial tone, barely above a whisper. "When will we depart?"

Sharpened orbs came in contact with the loneness of a purple eye.

The man took in a sparring breath, and hummed at her obedient retreat. The Prince's fist clenched over his cutting wound, and he nodded his head firmly.

"Should we be graced with the Gods' favor, issa jorrāelagon, then on the morrow," He explained, "but no sooner than that."

The girl's brows furrowed in discontent, as Aemond faltered in pressing the matter further. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with the aid of two long fingers, and heavily rose from his seat.

"Don't wait for me tonight. I shall return to you in the morning. I have unfinished business to attend to."

Lack of air. And crippling fear.

Her tiny world had been thrown into the arms of chaos. But everything fell so perfectly into place.

As soon as Aemond had mounted Vhagar, as soon as her father of wings died upon the night's first watch, the woman sprung to her feet, and began her soul's ascent into the pits of the Seven Hells.

She started off by breaking in her tiny mirror, placing a goose feather pillow below and over it, to somehow mask the clefty noise.

Her long hair was the first to go. She began cutting it swiftly, using big and brisk movements to chop off as many of her luscious locks as she possibly could.

She ripped the mattress of the bed open with one of the bigger shards, and revealed Aemond's dried-up shirt, that she had tucked well under after washing it, long preparing it for that occasion.

Her stomach churned as her hand went to her chamber pot. Risking her own deniability, she submerged her digits deep within it, letting out a victorious huff as she brushed across a piece of cold felt.

The insides of the sack revealed fermented meat – putrid, more like. She scattered the final remains of it over the stone floor like a mad-woman, and ripped the latter pages of the book Alys had gifted her.

She would take the passage to the stables, and simply hope for the best.

Her eyes searched feverishly about the cluttered room, but the hammering in her heart stilled only as she gaped upon the lower left corner of the wall full of banners.

There it was. Exactly where Alys told her it was going to be.

She tore into the mattress further, spreading the wool around, and grabbed a hold of a piece of wood from the crackling fire.

May she be forgiven for what she was about to do.

Her shaky hands grasped the lumber strongly, and she let it roll in the middle of the room, allowing it to fall with a loud bang.

***

The sound of wailing screams echoed inside her head, scratching at her ears, to the point of making them almost bleed. The heat of the fire she caused fell over her skimpily clothed back, and the disgust she felt with herself was palpable against her tongue.

With every turn she took, she made herself another promise. She would not rest until the war would see its end. She'd never sleep warmly again, and forever remind herself of the sacrifice she had to make – of all the lives that she undoubtedly ended, if only to meet her selfish ends.

For once, this was not just Aemond's doing. This was her fault all alone.

Blinded by rage, and seething with fury, her feet carried her down the crooked set of stairs. The woman brought a hand up to her face, and coughed wildly in the back of it. She'd have to make a bold turn soon. Then the outside world would heed, and she would be free again.

With just a twinge of luck, the guards should think that whatever was left of her room collapsed upon herself inside. Her burnt hair and clothes would create the wanted look – the meat would add the unmistakable smell of rot and death, and the lack of an actual body would take days to figure out.

And she prayed. She prayed, she prayed, she prayed: that no one else knew of the passages that she was threading through below.

Her eyes could barely see in front of her. Smoke rose to unforgiving levels, and the Lady swore it could be cut even by the dullest knife. As she reached the crossroads of the secret tunnel, her hands came to grapple at the breeches' pockets, turning them inside out – trying to find the torn pages of the book she'd just previously carried.

A sigh of relief rumbled from within her throat, as the pads of her shaking digits stroked across the withered, olden pages.

Her relief would be short lived.

Boney hands snaked around her, and the girl nearly screamed – until the familiar scent of mint and wild berries floored her senses.

"Alys?!" Her voice let out in an exasperated high. "Alys, we need to hurry!"

But her able hands still hesitantly clung to the soft material of her shirt, digging so deeply into it, that she could rip it in a downward pull.

"You –" She began to say, but cut herself short as she momentarily closed her eyes.

No matter what, she couldn’t tell the Lady before her that she'd have sent her upon her death.

"You took a wrong turn. This isn't the right way towards the South Gates."

The adrenaline flooded her veins. Her heart was pumping wildly against her ears. Lady Tully only nodded, failing to process that Alys had, in fact, never given her access to such an option on the crudely drawn map.

"This way, (Y/N) – came quickly!"

Two sets of legs descended further into the murky passages of Harrenhal. At one point, the smoke had gotten so very thick, that both women had to feel their way out, by touching the corners of every tunnel that they surpassed.

When all seemed lost, Alys finally spoke, "Over here!" She yelled out to her, and latched onto Aemond's dampened shirt.

They stumble into each other, as the small opening of the stifling cellar reaches the South Gates. The witch stops hastily on her heel, and the young Lady nearly busts their cover.

A raid of soldiers came flocking out, with what then looked like tens of thousands of squealing maids. So frightened by their own demise, they bumped into the oak doors and onto each other – choosing to, instead of unlocking the main Gates, reach and pull at the other's hairs, cursing loud and wildly.

Alys let out a bemused huff at their perused antics, but her reglament was short lived; as one of the smarter lassies reached for the illustrious piece of wood, and opened the doors with the loudest of creak.

"Now's our chance," The Lady of Riverrun whispered to her fellow escapee, grabbing onto her wrist harshly, and dragging her out and into the light. "Mingle in the crowd, Alys –"

"My Lady, do not stray far –"

The older woman let out a staggering breath, as she raised her skirts to follow suit on the trail left by the hot-headed girl.

She is Elmo's daughter alright, she disarmingly told herself, Just as hopeless and reckless as he once was.

Alys almost tackled her to the ground, as Lady Tully succumbed herself deeper into the burnt out forest. She gripped onto her hands with hers, so harshly, that she'd definitely leave her mark. "I thought I had told you not to stray far."

The breathless form of the lost child before her appeared to be enough to soften a tad of her resolve. "When I tell you something, I expect you to do it."

Whilst chastising her deeply for her foolhardy behavior, the woman searched her pockets, and pushed out two quarter silvers into her trembling hands.

"You'll go towards the Rushing Halls and buy yourself a mule from the Half Calf's Inn."

As the younger Lady nodded feverishly at her late advice, Alys clasped her cheeks with her hands, and brought her head further towards her. "You'll keep a straight line to the Green Fork. You won't stop to eat or drink – you won't stop until you reach Hag's Mire. Make sure to cover the cut on your hand with this." As she spoke, Alys pushed a black glove into her resting hands.

The Bliss of Riverrun threw the witch a bewildered look. Her eyes searched adamantly for hers, and the woman panted out in pure wonder. "How did you know I intended on migrating North?

"I've already seen you do it." She shook her shoulders promptly, "I've already seen you succeed."

Her green eyes softened, if only for a blazing moment; but the crackling of the trees behind them snapped her out of her inward trance. "Don't waste anymore time. Your diversion was smart, but he will try to find you."

The girl reached down, to squeeze her hands, perhaps, in a wordless display of gratitude and affection. Her soft fingers interlaced over her boney knuckles, and Alys muttered a faint blessing over the twisted arch of her furrowed brow.

The Lady turned around, but not before pausing and shooting the witch one last fiery look. "Come with me." She offered determinedly, and shook her head strongly as Alys took a step back. "He'll try to punish someone for it. You're his next available girl." She begged her to see to reason.

"My place remains here. By his side."

(Y/N)'s eyes hardened at her thorough admission, but she strained herself to shoot the wet nurse back with a curt nod.

"I shan't forget what you did for me." She promised her elder with a minute smile.

"A heads-up when you next decide to set the whole stronghold on fire would be most appreciated…!" She lightheartedly told her, despite the obvious wabbling of her lower lip.

(Y/N) nodded, but remained hammered in place for another while. Alys' hand reached to cup over her face, but a brisk moment of clarity was quick to change her mind.

"Go, you foolish girl…!" She snapped, "Make good use of that promise you made."

Her feet began moving on their own accord. Her mind was blazing with all of the unfinished tasks at hand.

She would run towards the Rushing Halls. Buy a mule. Retreat towards Green Fork. Reach the Twins.

Her road shall lead to Winterfell. If Forrest Fray remained the same kind fool that he once was, she should have no trouble sending Cregan Stark a raven.

And if she could reason with Jacaerys' friend, take in his testimony of protection, perhaps her life wasn't lost just yet.

The gusts of wind ran through her shortened and unkempt hair. Aemond's clothes hung loosely over her, and the stench of fire and ash filled her nostrils with something else other than hopeless dread.

Never before in her life, did the girl run so fast.

Taglist:

Translations:

Gevie… = Beautiful;

Gaomagon daor sagon zūgagon, issa dōna jorrāelagon. Nyke kivio ao naejot sagon gīda. = Do not worry, my sweet love. I promised you I would be patient;

Mēre tubis ao jāhor jaelagon issa. = One day you will desire me;

Se Jaes emagon qrimbrōstan issa naejot jorrāelagon ao. = The Gods have cursed me to love you;

Gīda ilagon, Vhagar. Sagon nykeēdrosa... Sȳz hāedar. = Calm down, Vagar. Be still. Good girl;

Jaes, ao istan vēttan syt issa. = Gods, you were made for me;

Sepār jurnegon skorkydoso īlon kostagon fāelor hēnkirī. = Just look how perfectly we fit together;

Dōna hāedar… ȳdra daor hakogon qrīdrughagon hen issa sir = Sweet girl… don't pull away from me now;

Yn nyke istan zarvīzis. Nyke emagon issare sīr sȳz se… sīr, sīr zarvīzis. = But I've been patient. I've been so good and… so, so patient;

Ao aehron raqagon ao ȳdra daor jaelagon bisa... = You act like you don't want this…;

Yn ao jaelagon issa sepār hae olvie. Ao mazilībagon syt issa – sepār hae qosaevaerī. = But you want me just as much. You ache for me – just as badly.

Ÿdra daor dīnagon, issa gevie Dāria. Nyke jāhor dōrī jaelagon naejot ōdrikagon. = Don't cry, my beautiful Princess. I would sooner die than hurt you;

Valyrian Wedding Vows: Blood of two, joined as one, ghostly flame, and song of shadows, two hearts as embers, forged in fourteen fires, a future promised in glass – the stars stand witness, of the vow spoken through time, of darkness and light;

Nyke gīmigon, Vhagar. Gīmigon. = I know Vhagar, I know;

Se Jaes daoriot rȳbagon naejot nykeā vala raqagon issa. Yn nyke jāhor jikagon va issa knees se kostilus zirȳla naejot ivestragī issa emagon ao. Ao issi issa rōva botagon se se olvie rivaestra lambraes aohvra. = The Gods don't listen to men like me. But I would go on my knees and beg them to let me keep you. You were once the bane of my existence… and now, you find yourself the center of it.

#aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #the harshest winters #aemond imagine #aemond fanfiction #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys strong #house of the dragon #jacaerys valaryon #jacaerys imagine #jacaerys angst #aemond smut #bookcanon aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #yandere aegon targaryen #unhinged aemond yep yep

645 notes · View notes

hgejfmw-hgejhsf · 2 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Heyyyyy greetings, loves, and happy Wednesday! I come to you today, with the actual publishing of a whole ass new chapter of a little ol' WIP you might recognize...it's called At the end of a bar, and it's been almost a month since I updated. Apologies abound for my tardiness, but rest assured I am determined to finish the fifth and final chapter soon so that my muse can turn her attention over to a couple of long fics I have in the works with some lovely people.

Thanks be to @suseagull04 @priincebutt @eusuntgratie @firenati0n @bigassbowlingballhead @itsmaybitheway and @wordsofhoneydew for the tags already today! I can't wait to scream about what y'all are working on!

Have a snippet of chapter four below, as well as the link to the shiny new chapter in its entirety!

“You know,” Alex says through heaving breaths as he reaches beneath Henry’s arms and hauls him back up to stand, their chests pressed together so tightly that the falling water pools there, “Pez said we shouldn’t use up all the hot water.” His grin is mischievous and uninhibited, and the electricity of his laugh zips through the air before the sound even manages to escape from between his lips. Henry steals it before it has the chance, tasting the spark of it on his own tongue as he licks into Alex’s mouth. “It’s a tankless water heater,” he answers moments later before they both dissolve into a fit of laughter.

Tagging my lovelies behind the cut, as well as leaving an open tag for anyone to claim who may wish to!

@adreamareads @affectionatelyrs @agame-writes @anincompletelist @cactusdragon517 @captainjunglegym @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @duchessdepolignaca03 @gayrootvegetable @getmehighonmagic @guillermosfamiliar @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heysweetheart-writes @indestructibleheart @inexplicablymine @junebugclaremontdiaz @kiwiana-writes @leojfitz @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @magicandarchery @ninzied @nocoastposts @nontoxic-writes @notspecialbabe @onthewaytosomewhere @rockyroadkylers @ships-to-sail @songliili @sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @stereopticons @taste-thewaste @theprinceandagcd @thinkof-england @typicalopposite @vanillahigh00 @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @whimsymanaged @wordsofhoneydew @zwiazdziarka

#wip wednesday #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #rwrb fanfiction #my fics #my wips #my writing #my fics: at the end of a bar

60 notes · View notes

burntheedges-updates · 10 months

Text

over again, chapter 1

This is my updates-only blog! Follow me at @burntheedges

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: you fell in love with Joel Miller in Austin, Texas, in 2001, but you thought you lost him and your whole family in 2003 when the world turned upside down. now it's 2024, and you find the surprise of your life waiting for you in Jackson, Wyoming. or, five times you and Joel fell deeper in love, on both sides of the apocalypse (and one time you did something about it) 18+ minors DNI chapter tags/warnings: fluff, flirting, light angst, cursing, no use of y/n, no description of reader (see note below), smallish age difference (reader is 26, Joel is 32/almost 33 when they meet in 2000) (small for this fandom, anyway) (the smut comes later, y'all, we're just getting started here) a/n: Well, here we go! This is part 1. This fic is completely finished. It’s a 5+1 and for some of the 5 parts I’ll post them together (on Sundays) and for some I’ll post them separately (on Sundays and Wednesdays) just due to length. Obviously I'm posting this one early (lol). I’ll tell you whatever the schedule is for the different parts. I've paid a lot of attention to the reader's description in this fic. I've avoided skin color, hair type, body shape/size descriptions, and even clothing (except for one or two spots where you are specifically wearing jeans and boots). You are vaguely shorter than Joel. He does not run his fingers through your hair, and you feel the blood rush to your face or your face heat, but you don't turn red or pink. Please tell me if you notice anything I missed - I want this to be as inclusive as possible. word count: 1724 (for this part) series main post & chapter list | series playlist (w/ plot-related mix) ao3 | chapter 2

Chapter 1: Meet Cute

Jackson, Early Winter, 2023

You’ve been heading northwest from somewhere in Kansas, thinking you’ve never bothered going out this way, even Before, so why not? It’s been months since you saw another person. You’re not even sure the last time you spoke out loud.

You blame the lengthy isolation for how easily they get the jump on you.

It's just after dawn when you're rudely awakened - at first, you’re not sure why, but a second kick to your hip sends you scrambling to sit up in your sleeping bag, which is tangled around your legs. Looking around as you struggle, you realize you’re surrounded by people on foot and on horseback. Every single one of them is pointing a gun at you. You glance to the side and realize your backpack along with anything possibly useful inside of it has been kicked away from you. The woman who kicked you has a steely look in her eye that reminds you, in your half awake state, of the last boss you had Before.

“State your business.” As she speaks you notice the two men closest to her start to fan out a bit, but you don’t dare look away from her.

“I’m just passing through, I’ve been looking for a good place to spend the winter.”

Or, that’s what you would have said, if not for the voice from your past shouting your name in shock just as you open your mouth. “No goddamn way, is that really you?”

You think you must be hallucinating, because everyone you knew Before is dead, but then Tommy fucking Miller pushes his way in front of the woman who spoke. For a moment you can’t do more than stare at each other — him with his gun hanging limply in his right hand, you with your legs still tangled in your godforsaken sleeping bag. Then you launch into motion and start to kick it away as you find your voice. It comes out shaky. Or maybe you’re shaking all over.

“Tommy? But — you’re alive? Where the hell have you been? Wait, are Joel and—“

Tommy cuts you off as he pulls you to your feet and into a tight hug. “Holy shit, we thought you were dead. Holy fucking shit.”

“We? Tommy wait, are they—“

Tommy pulls back, keeping hold of your shoulders as he looks you in the eye. He’s grinning, his eyes wandering all over your face. “He’s alive, sunshine. Or he was when he came through here about a month ago. We’re expecting them back in the spring.”

You can feel your heart racing and your whole body feels hot and tingly. You’re overwhelmed. You didn’t think you could still feel hope like this. It’s terrifying, but you have to know. “He’s- Them? They’re both alive? Sarah?”

You know the answer before he even says anything. Tommy’s face falls, his eyes drop from yours, and you feel it like a sucker punch, as bad as it was the first time around. Your knees give out even though this is what you’ve known, or tried to convince yourself must be true, for 20 years. Tommy falls gently with you to the ground.

Your baby girl. “Oh god, Sarah. And Joel, he must have been—“

“Yeah, sunshine. He thought he lost you both. It wasn’t… well. It wasn’t good.”

You’re starting to feel numb. You have no idea what your face is doing right now, but judging by Tommy’s, it isn’t pretty. 10 minutes ago you were alone in the apocalypse, and suddenly you’re face-to-face with your almost-brother-in-law and you know, without a doubt, that your fiancé hasn’t been dead this whole time. Is this shock? It’s been 20 years since you felt a shock like this. Since you felt anything like this.

“Tommy, I… I need to sit down.”

“Well, you are sitting down, sunshine. But get up, gather your stuff. You can come to town with us. Stay as long as you’d like.” You nod, unsteady, and Tommy guides you carefully towards what must be his horse.

The day passes in a daze. You think you might actually be hallucinating, or still back in your sleeping bag, dreaming, because a whole, functional town? A commune, and a house they’re just going to let you have as your own? A real community? With your only remaining family, miraculously alive? It’s impossible. You float through the rest of the day and find yourself sitting on a bed in a house with indoor plumbing that somehow belongs to you, having just eaten real food in the company of the family you thought you lost 20 years ago.

You give up and go to sleep. (What else are you going to do?)

...

As you settle into life in Jackson, the knowledge that you might see Joel — your Joel, any day now — never leaves your thoughts. It’s like a drum beat at the back of your mind that only repeats his name, marking time every hour of every day. You don’t know how you’ll prepare yourself for it. How could you? You haven’t seen him in 20 years. Anything could be different. You can so easily picture him with a daughter, but it’s Sarah in your mind, not Ellie, who Tommy has told you a bit about. Every time you open those old wounds that you’ve done your best to bury it hurts like the first time. Would he still want you? Still know you? Do you still know him? Would Ellie like you? You can’t imagine not knowing Joel, or Joel not knowing you, but it’s been 20 years and people change. You’ve changed, after all. Some days you barely recognize yourself.

You express these fears to Tommy once, but he only laughs and says his brother may be stupid but he’s not stupid enough not to want you. It’s reassuring and rude, so, exactly like Tommy. At least some things never change.

The day Joel Miller walks back into Jackson you happen to be standing on the road near the gates, talking to Tommy, and you swear he spots you in less than 5 seconds. It’s like you can’t help but look to each other first, even when you don’t know the other is alive, even when you haven’t seen each other in 20 years. You’d know the shape of him anywhere and your eyes have never stopped looking for it, never stopped catching on a set of shoulders, a cocked hip, a tilted head, only to be disappointed when it faded like a mirage. When the person in front of you didn’t fit the hole he left behind. It hurt every time. Maybe it’s been the same for him.

Joel looks like he’s seen a ghost, and you have no idea what expression is on your face, but the moment you lock eyes all you see is the moment you first met, almost 24 years ago, like a film negative laid on top of what’s really in front of you. He’s older, of course, but so are you, and he’s still the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

He steps towards you and whispers your name like a prayer.

Joel fucking Miller.

Austin, Summer 2000

It was a Saturday morning in late summer, so not yet the hottest part of the day, but not comfortable, either. Your belongings were steadily moving from the truck to your new rental house under your somewhat careful supervision when movement from the house next door caught your eye. You looked up just as one of the guys from the moving company almost dropped your nightstand off the back of the truck, distracting you from the sight of a young girl, maybe about 10, rocketing out of the house next door and down her front steps. She was wearing a bright green soccer uniform.

By the time your nightstand had been righted and you looked back towards your neighbors’ house, she’d made her way to the bushes between your driveways, standing on her tiptoes and taking in all of the commotion. She met your eye and grinned. You grinned back as she called, “Hi, new neighbor!”

You walked over, stopping on the other side of the bush to introduce yourself. “Hi there, neighbor.”

It didn’t seem possible, but she grinned even wider. “I’m Sarah, that’s my dad.”

You looked up, realizing there was a man coming down their steps towards the two of you — the most attractive man you’d ever seen in your life. He was tall, with broad shoulders and the look of a man who spent a lot of time in the sun, tan lines peeking out of his shirt sleeves. His brown curls were a bit messy and his shoulders and strong arms drew your eye like a magnet. You caught yourself giving him a quick once over and felt your face start to warm, embarrassed, but when you met his eyes again you caught him doing the same to you. You realized you were both caught and you smiled, introducing yourself.

“Nice to meet you, darlin’. Joel Miller, and I think you’ve met Sarah.” You felt your face turn hot at the endearment but you knew he probably didn’t mean anything by it. Southern hospitality and all. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

You’d opened your mouth to respond when you were rudely interrupted by a crashing noise from the moving truck behind you, and you whirled around to see a box on its side on the ground that definitely should not have been. You glanced back at your neighbors as you excused yourself. “It’s great to meet you! Sorry, I need to see what that was.”

They shooed you along before you could even finish your sentence, reassuring you that they understood. “Let me know if anything broke, darlin,’ I’m pretty handy, could probably fix it. It’d be my pleasure.” He smiled at you a bit, just on one side, edging towards a smirk, and you did your best not to stare at his mouth. “Deal,” you agreed, grinning. Both you and Joel seemed unable to draw your eyes away from each other. You were stuck, pinned in place under his gaze until Sarah tugged on his arm and dragged him towards their truck. “Dad, we’re gonna be late!”

The view from the back was just as nice as the front.

...

a/n: ch 2 is up!

taglist: @morgaussy

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #x reader

217 notes · View notes

honeypiehotchner · 10 months

Text

Devil's Backbone (Unsub!Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part seven

It's so fun to relive this fic as I post it because when I tell y'all I've been writing it for MONTHS I mean it

Warnings: more unsub!Hotch in action

Follow @honeypiehotchnerlibrary and turn on post notifications to be “tagged” when a new part goes up!

Seven: I've fallen in love with a man on the run -- "Devil's Backbone" by The Civil Wars

A week later, you found yourself on the BAU jet once again -- awake this time, and headed to Florida. It was a run-of-the-mill case, nothing too special, but you remember it because of the call Rossi got when you landed.

“Really?” he asked, turning around, walking to the back of the plane. A smart move, to keep his face and expressions away from the rest of the team. “Alright. Do they know who did it?”

You shared a look with Morgan and Emily. Reid was listening intently, and JJ was typing furiously on her phone.

“What is going on?” you whispered.

Emily shrugged.

“Alright, okay. Thank you. Uh-huh. Bye.” Rossi returned to the main cabin and took everyone in. “Issac Holman is dead.”

“How?” Reid asked before you could say, who?

“He was beaten and shot in his home in Washington,” Rossi replied with a shrug. “They don’t know who did it. It looked personal, but he wasn’t liked in his neighborhood. It could’ve been anyone.”

“If they even try to look,” JJ added, gesturing with her phone. “I’m hearing that they saw it as a good riddance case.”

“Who are we talking about?” you asked.

“I think it was the year before you joined us,” Morgan said. “Holman murdered his friend’s family. Mom, dad, and a little girl.”

“Madison,” Reid said quietly.

“Why?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“Because he wanted to,” Rossi shrugged. “His words.”

“We found him when he was seconds away from killing another family,” Morgan continued. “He tried to create a hostage situation, but we got them out.”

“God,” you groaned. You found yourself not that upset that he was dead, but something still felt wrong. No one deserved to be brutally murdered, even if they had murdered a family. “Well. On to the next one.”

“Yep,” Emily nodded, exhaling. “Let’s go.”

+++

Hotch made sure to be long gone from Washington by the time the news broke about Issac’s death. He had another job to finish, one closer to Virginia, so he decided to stop back at his place near Quantico first.

He needed a rest after the drive to and from Washington. He needed to sleep for a full twenty-four hours if he wanted to feel awake again.

Before he could do that, though, he tossed everything in the washer.

Hotch’s phone remained on the kitchen counter, only a few texts from Rossi and one voicemail from him, too. He picked his phone up to listen.

“Aaron, hey-- I got a call a few minutes ago from a friend up in Washington. Issac Holman is dead. They think it happened last week, but they don’t have any suspects. Just thought I’d keep you in the loop. I hope you’re doing alright. Call me if you’re not. Bye.”

Unexpected, but fine. He should’ve known Rossi kept tabs on almost everyone.

He decided to call him back, regardless of if he answered. He needed to curb suspicions before they even began, so he dialed.

Dave didn’t pick up, so Hotch left a voicemail in return. “Hey Dave, got your voicemail. Thanks for keeping me updated, I hope they figure out what happened. Sorry I’ve missed you, I’ve been leaving my phone in random places around the house,” he chuckled. “Thanks again for checking in. Talk soon, bye.”

He ended the voicemail with surprising calmness. Indifference. How easy was that? This would be easier than he thought.

Once his laundry was done, he put it in the dryer, and then went to bed. He slept like the dead.

+++

Rossi listened to Hotch’s voicemail in the conference room of the police precinct in Sarosota, Florida. Hotch sounded good, better than Rossi was expecting, but not off the deep end, which left Rossi relieved.

You heard every word. Because Rossi wasn’t aware of how loud the speaker was, and you didn’t want to tell him. A foolish part of you wanted to hear Hotch’s voice. And he did sound good.

Hearing his voice made it all hit you like a ton of bricks. You missed him more than you previously thought. Everyone saw you missed him more than what felt normal, but no one mentioned it.

Rossi did, though, after he caught you listening to the voicemail. He gave you that typical Rossi smile.

“I know you miss him,” Rossi said, nudging your shoulder with his. “He sounds like he’s doing good.”

You nodded. “Good.”

“I know things ended…badly between you two,” Rossi started again, “but he’s going through a lot.”

You scoffed. “I know that.” But did he really have to end things with you so abruptly and fiercely? Like he wanted nothing to do with you in the first place?

Despite that, you don’t blame him. He lost his wife and child to a serial killer. They were divorced, sure, but should you really have been sleeping with him so soon? How much of this had you caused by not giving him more time?

Part of you wanted to apologize, but didn’t know if that was right. If you had the right to apologize.

“Do you think I could go see him?” you asked, not expecting an answer, but Rossi still gave you one.

“I think he’d like that,” Rossi smiled. “But I don’t know for sure. I can’t speak for him.”

“I know,” you said.

But you wanted to see him. Even if it was just to say you were sorry.

+++

Aaron woke after nearly eighteen hours of sleep. His head hurt like fucking hell. He needed painkillers. Or something.

He went stumbling into the bathroom, pawing open the medicine cabinet. He steeled his face when he saw the various vitamins and over-the-counter cold medicine from when Jack was here. Hotch grabbed them and tossed them aside. The bottles clanged loudly in the bathtub. Whatever.

Aaron found the Excedrin and wrenched the cap off, grabbing two and then a third. He swallowed them dry and shook his head, waking himself up.

He had plans for the day. He had a new unsub to catch.

This one was particularly disgusting. This unsub murdered his wife, nearly murdered their son, yet was never convicted, and even retained custody of their son after it all. The evidence, the profile -- none of it was enough.

Hotch needed to do some surveillance work first. He needed to make sure the son was nowhere near the home when he acted. He would never put a child through something like that.

Not like Foyet did to Jack.

Hotch smacked the doorframe of the bathroom as he left, hearing the wood crack underneath his force. He kept walking.

He threw his clothes in the dryer, surprised by how little blood was left on them. The few that weren’t redeemable, he threw in a separate trash bag to burn somewhere. At some point.

Back in his bedroom, he rummaged through his closet for a black shirt and dark blue jeans, preparing for a long day of surveillance.

+++

Strauss called Rossi on the third night of the Florida case, under the guise of a status report. It didn’t take long for Dave to realize what she really was calling for.

“He’s fine, Erin,” Dave chided lightly. “You could call him yourself.”

“I tried. It went to voicemail.”

“He’s been off his phone more, like you suggested,” Dave added. “I just talked to him a couple days ago. He said he’s been leaving his phone around the house instead of staying attached to it, which is a good thing, if I say so myself. Quit worrying.”

“Alright,” she conceded. “I do hope this time off helps him heal.”

“I think it already has,” Dave said.

“And you haven’t discussed any cases with him?”

“Nope.”

“Has anyone else?”

“I just told you he’s off his phone,” Dave paused to chuckle. Who knew Strauss would turn into an overbearing mother over Hotch. “No, Erin. No one has.”

“Good, good,” she said, pausing. “How are you?”

Dave smiled. “I’ll call you later.”

After hanging up with Strauss, Rossi decided to send a quick text to Hotch. Strauss is worrying. Give her a call when you can, would you?

Hotch replied about half an hour later. Just saw she called, about to call her back. I was out on a run

Rossi smiled, wishing he still had Strauss on the line so he could say See? He’s doing just fine.

+++

A day of surveillance taught Hotch a few things. 1. The unsub lives alone with his son. No other family members means no unnecessary casualties. 2. The unsub is home alone most of the day while his son is at school. Presumably working a remote job. 3. This will be easy.

Or so he thought, because the next day took a turn.

Everything went according to plan, until the unsub ruined it.

Hotch parked down the street. Went up to the unsub’s door, knocked. The unsub answered. Hotch, prompted, “I’m a retired FBI agent, Jason Gideon. I’m writing a book.”

The unsub’s eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed. “No you’re not,” he said.

Hotch narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“I remember Jason,” the unsub laughed, good-natured. “You’re the other one, right? Morgan? No, Hotchner. That’s you. You were younger back then.”

Hotch was caught off guard from the start.

“You said you’re writing a book? Come on in.”

Hotch took the opportunity and went inside, joking with the unsub that he introduced himself as Gideon in case he recognized him.

“No hard feelings,” the unsub joked back. “Want something to drink?”

Hotch didn’t answer. The unsub made the mistake of walking ahead, giving Hotch ample time to smack the unsub on the back of the head with the butt of his gun.

The unsub went down to his knees with a groan, but quickly regained his footing, spinning around to stare wildly at Hotch. “What the fuck?”

“Shut up,” Hotch hissed, barreling closer and swinging a punch, but missing. The unsub bolted for the back door and Hotch followed.

“You’re crazy!” the unsub yelled, twisting the back door’s knob. It didn’t budge. “What the fuck!”

“You killed your wife!” Hotch yelled back, cornering him against the door. “And you kept the kid. Do you hit him too?”

The unsub stared, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play stupid with me,” Hotch growled, grabbing the unsub’s shoulders and slamming his head back into the door, forming a dent. “You know what you did.”

In one sudden move, the unsub lurches forward, knocking his forehead against Hotch’s, causing the latter to stumble backward.

“Shit,” Hotch cussed, anger brewing closer to the breaking point. “Oh, you--”

The unsub yanked the back door open and ran, the door shutting behind him just long enough. By the time Hotch wrenched it open and sprinted into the backyard, the unsub was gone, hiding in the woods.

“Fuck!” Hotch screamed, the sound coming from his chest. Not only was he recognized, but the unsub got away. Once he got his hands on him--

But for the next two days, that didn’t happen. The unsub fled the home, but Hotch knew, at least, that he wouldn’t dare go to the police. Not if he was as guilty as Hotch knew he was.

+++

Once the Florida case was over and the jet touched back down in Quantico, you knew you had to visit Hotch.

With flowers in hand -- that you nearly threw away five times on the way because you thought you looked ridiculous -- you knocked on Aaron’s door, not expecting him to answer. If he didn’t you planned to leave the flowers on the welcome mat. Either way, you were here to drop off flowers, check in, and say goodbye. That was all.

Hotch answered the door, shock covering him when he laid eyes on you.

“Hi,” you said, holding up the flowers.

“Hi,” he echoed, standing in the doorway. “What can I do for you?”

You grimaced at the professional tone. “Just wanted to drop these off,” you handed him the bouquet. “And apologize for how things ended. For ratting you out.”

He shook his head. “It’s alright.”

“We miss you,” you said, smiling sadly. “But I hope you’re doing better.”

“I am,” he said, smiling softly. It almost looked too genuine, but you supposed that was a good thing. “And I’m sorry too.”

“It’s alright,” you echoed. “Don’t worry about it.”

And you left. Said something about how you just got back, didn’t get much sleep. He knew the drill. He said goodbye. And you left.

You left.

#unsub!hotch x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #hotch x reader #unsub!hotch x reader #unsub!hotch #hotch x fem!reader #Devil’s Backbone

161 notes · View notes

siriusleee · 3 months

Text

vi. klaxon

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳WORD COUNT: 1.6K ↳TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on.nc-17. ↳AUTHOR'S NOTE: Much shorter than usual, but hey, we can only do what we can do. ↳TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

It’s like waking up in an alternative universe; it takes your eyes and brain a solid minute to remember that you shouldn’t be waking up to the sight of trees and clapboard buildings. Somewhere between awake and sleep, you’d started dreaming about your winter camp and everyone who used to travel with you.

Darren. Alyssa. Trevor. Caleb. James.

The memories of them push you out of bed. The concrete floor is freezing beneath your feet. The clothes you were given the day before are still folded neatly on the floor beside your pack; you were clean for the first time in years and you didn’t want to sweat in your sleep.

You try to finger comb your hair, but it snags on the tangles; you give up halfway through and throw it up with a piece of elastic you ripped from a pair of old underwear you found in a pharmacy a few months ago. Someone around here must have a pair of scissors sharp enough to give you a decent enough haircut.

Through the little window, you can see the sun is watery - you have to find your jacket despite how ratty it is. Winter is rolling in way too fast for you to be without one. The last time you’d seen it, it was at the end of the bed in the med bay - you’d left it behind in the sudden surprise at waking up in an unfamiliar location.

The hallway is already empty; the sound of your boots reverberates off of the empty walls. It’s like walking through a crypt; you can almost imagine eyes peering down at you from the dusty corners of the place.

Frost covers the grass and it crunches beneath your feet. Your stomach rumbles and you wonder if there’s anything for breakfast to eat in the mess hall. Just crossing the little courtyard turns the tip of your nose frozen, and your fingers stiff. The med bay is unlocked, and inside it's as freezing as it is outside. There are no lights on - no doubt that even though they still have electricity, it must not be able to run all the time.

You prop the door open with a rock so that just a little bit of light filters into the room. Your breath fogs up around your face, and you do your best not to trip and fall. The medical equipment glows in the weak sunlight pouring in from the doorway. You retrace your steps from the day before. There, at the end of the bed you had been placed on, is your jacket. It’s still coated in dirt and mud, but it’ll keep you warm for the time being. You wrap it around your shoulders, the smell of the forest surrounding you.

A choking shout cuts through the med bay, broken off after half a second. A sliver of ice slides through your veins - it came from behind the med bay, through the thick concrete wall. It can’t be the mess hall directly on that side - Ghost had taken you around the entire building to get there yesterday. There’s a set of double doors, thick, durable metal that leads into an unknown part of the building. In the past, it would have been something that would overtake you with curiosity, and you’d be compelled to open the doors, but now they give you the creeps.

There’s a crash against the wall, and it makes you jump. The doors at the end of the med bay open, and you scramble backward, dropping down to your knees. Heavy footfalls cross the concrete floor as you skitter beneath the medical beds, squeezing between the thick shadows between the two of them. You press yourself onto the floor, trying to blend in with the shadows. You press your mouth into your forearm to muffle your breath. You have no idea if it’s alright for you to be here, and you don’t want to find out.

The person’s face is shadowed, but from the lilt of their body, you think it might be Doc. You watch them walk towards the front door; the sound of the rock you used to prop the door open being kicked out of the way fills the room and the heavy door slams shut.

The only sound in the room is your breathing as you wait to see if the door will open again, and if anyone will strut back through; the seconds into minutes and no one interrupts the silence. Scrambling to your feet, you jerk your jacket up and exit without a sideways glance to see if anyone's noticed you sneaking out of the Med Bay. You're alone in the little courtyard.

The Dining Hall is almost empty - the food is nearly gone as you grab a mismatched plate and try to even your breathing. Two women crowed in the corner together point at you without abashment, and you ignore them as you peer at the little breakfast: potatoes cubed and boiled, steamed cabbage, and some kind of white bean. Your stomach grumbles; it's no Belgian waffle with syrup, but you put just enough on your plate to carry you over and find a spot to sit out of the line of sight of the women who are still staring at you.

You're spearing the beans one by one, trying to make their earthy flavor last on your tongue when the shape of Ghost fills the Dining Hall door. You do your best to ignore him as you move on to the potatoes, cutting the cubes into smaller pieces and thinking about how they'd taste drowned in butter.

"You should have woken up earlier," he says, standing on the opposite side of the table as you.

"I'll remember to tell the valet to wake me up earlier tomorrow."

The sarcasm feels good on your tongue - a weight you didn't realize you missed carrying. Ghost settles onto his heels; above the dirty white of the skeleton, his eyebrows crinkle. The wrinkle they form is natural like he was born with it. You can imagine him as a baby, soft and sweet with that little wrinkle between his eyes.

The silence is unnerving; you scrape your fork against the plastic plate just for a sound. The two women in the corner stare at the two of you, and you realize they're waiting for you to finish eating so that they can clean up. You scarf the last few bites down and resist the urge to lick the plate clean. You hardly have the last bite in your mouth before Ghost snatches the plate from the table.

He doesn't have to tell you to follow him, you just do. He hands the plates to one of the women: a pretty blonde who looks at him with barely contained awe. The look on her face irritates you, and you resist the urge to say something to her.

"I'm going to show you around," Ghost says, pulling you back outside. The mud on your jacket cracks and falls off in clumps as you slide it on to avoid the chill.

"How many people live here?"

It's a struggle to keep up with Ghost's stride; it takes two steps for you to keep up with his one. The soreness in your legs is still there, but the feeling of warm food and a safe night's sleep fills you enough to ignore it.

"Depends."

He doesn't finish his sentence, but his steps slow enough that you can fall into line with him. You follow him around the edge of the building to the part of the base you haven't been able to explore. To your left the gate the two of you arrived in yawns above the two of you; the fence disappears into the distance, behind more brick buildings.

"The garden is over here,” he says, gesturing to a chain link fence in the middle of a grouping of squat buildings. Inside the fence, women kneel in the dirt. Burlap sacks cover some plants, and others are being pruned by a few men.

“That’s the storage locker,” Ghost points at a building just on the other side of the garden. A pair in ratty black fatigues sit outside, guns slung across their shoulders.

“It’s guarded at all times?”

Ghost nods, lifting one hand to wave in response to one of the guards who waves at him.

The rest of the tour is quick: a second set of unused bunks, a building full of cars and trucks that look mostly unused, and the generators (also behind two guards who look like they haven’t slept in years). The last place he takes you is the armory; you spot your bow locked up behind the iron bars, the few arrows you had left leaning against the wall.

“Can I get that back?” You ask, fingers lingering on the cold metal of the lock. Ghost shakes his head; you don’t miss the way his fingers roll together, and you wonder if he’s wishing for a cigarette.

“When you need it.”

His replies are infuriating you; you envision yourself kicking him in the back of the knee as you follow him out of the doorway. The sun is directly overhead by the time the two of you make it back outside. You flex your fingers in the rays, drinking in the little warmth that it brings in.

You’re going to ask Ghost what next - a question that you’re not sure borders on the philosophical or the practical - when there’s a sound like a klaxon that comes through the entire compound. Ghost’s shoulders stiffen, head tilted just so. A second alarm repeats through the compound, and he walks away from you without a word.

“What is that?” You ask, jogging to catch up to him. His steps are quick, and it takes the breath away from you to keep up with him.

“They’re back.”

#my fics #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost #simon riley x you #cod x reader #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #mw2 #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #zombie au #simon riley zombie au

60 notes · View notes

storiesofsvu2-0 · 1 year

Text

Translucent

Alex Blake x reader Warnings: language, smut, teasing, masturbation, guided masturbation, sex toys, minor degradation, very brief choking. a/n: Covers a bingo square! and a req from @rustyzebra I’m gonna be posting from this blog either permanently or until the other one gets un-shadow banned. I don’t know why or how or how long that will take, my guess is that it’s got something to do with the community labels? That being said, this is under said label, so that this blog doesn’t get shadow banned. So make sure you have your settings set appropriate to see what you want and so you don’t miss any future stories. (Eta: apparently theres no winning. I post with a label, it wont show in the tags. I post without & risk getting shadowbanned. Hellsite.) Also if you see this and you’re writing for bingo, pls tag this account as the other one basically has no access anymore (hopefully temporarily).

Nobody was having a good time on this case and that was evident, everyone hyper focussed to make sure you could get the hell out of there and back home as fast as possible. The team had been back in DC less five hours when Hotch called to reroute everyone back to the jet, you’d only had time to toss laundry in and get ready for date night before it was time to grab you go bag. You changed on the jet, cursing yourself when you realized you’d forgotten to toss in what you called your work bra, at least your shirts were thick.

The grumpy moods continued as you deplaned in a small town in Texas, quickly jumping into the field to trace down a team of unsubs. You were in the field with Emily when you managed to apprehend the unsubs and when one of them jumped into lake with the hopes of getting away on the boat moored ten feet up you were the one that was a second faster. Your swimmer instincts taking over as you dove into the lake and caught up to them before they even realized you were in the water. Emily muttered something about owing you coffee for the next month and you made your way back to the local precinct, one unsub in tow. You’d left your vest on in an attempt to not get the chills on the way back, thankful that Emily had tuned on the heat in the SUV. Passing off the unsub to be processed the two of you crossed the building back to the meeting room you’d been using, joining JJ and Morgan.

“Woah, someone take a break for a swim?” Derek greeted with a tease and you shot him a glare, Emily answering for you.

“We’re lucky she did, unsubs in custody.”

“Our guy’s in the wind.” JJ replied with a sigh and the entire room felt the frustration sink in.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” You grumbled, half of your brain regretting diving into the lake, wondering if it had really been that worth it.

With a huff you ripped at the Velcro on your vest, pulling it off over your head to toss onto a spare chair. You could feel your clothes clinging to you, soaked with lake water, at the very least you were thankful you hadn’t been wearing jeans and that your make up was waterproof.

“So what’re we looking at?” You asked, crossing you arms over your chest and the conversation rerouted back to the case at hand. Everyone was more than eager to at least get back to the hotel for some rest and a solid lead would help that.

It was almost a full half hour later that Alex returned to the room from talking to a witness, Reid half a foot behind her. You had your back to the door as you updated the white board when Alex’s voice caught your attention and you capped the marker, turning around to them and Reid’s eyes widened, a blush creeping up his neck.

“Oh my god, y/n!” He was whipping off his FBI jacket instantly, moving to get it wrapped around you and at first you thought it was just because you were still drenched, but the smirk on Emily’s lips told you otherwise.

“What? I—” Glancing down you realized your misstep. Laundry day plus date night meant you were still in date night lingerie. Lingerie that was deep red, lacy, a hint of mesh that left very little to the imagination and thanks to your little dip earlier, completely visible to everyone in the room through your shirt. “Could’ve said something.” You scowled to the three who’d been there when you took off the vest, hands clutching at the jacket seams in an attempt to keep it closed.

“Didn’t wanna get in trouble for looking.” Derek muttered, his gaze on the file in front of him.

“Pretty sure I was with you when you bought that one.” Emily smirked in return and you rolled your eyes, glancing back to Alex.

Her head tilted, eyes flicking down you body, watching the way your shirt clung to your skin before she cocked a brow at you, her jaw hardening and you couldn’t help but gulp. While she always was a wonder with words, you were at the point in your relationship that you could communicate without them and she was making her point very clear right now. Alex could feel the arousal building deep within her already, annoyed that the case had taken away the opportunity to see you in whatever set matched the now very visible bra. Though, she wasn’t complaining about how erotic this was, on display for everyone to see. She felt the possessiveness surge through her, her eyes narrowing in your direction until you properly fixed the jacket so you were covered, you knew better, something like that was only for her to see.

You felt the heat creeping up the back of your neck, knowing exactly what Alex was thinking, that you were hers and only hers, even if the team didn’t know it. Daring to look her in the eye you felt your pulse quicken, knowing that she was thinking of all the dirty things she’d seen you do, all the dirty things she’d made you do and just how she was going to remind you who you belonged to later. You were aware that the conversation had picked back up in the conference room but there was no way you were hearing any of it, lost to the sinful imagination of one Alex Blake. Suddenly, Emily swatted at you with a folder and you were pulled out of your dirty thoughts, glancing toward her.

“What?”

“I said go back to the hotel. You jumped in a lake, you caught an unsub, I think you deserve a shower and a change of clothes, we won’t be much longer.”

“Yeah… thanks.” You nodded at her before crossing through the room and Alex’s eyes didn’t leave your body once, her lips pursed tight.

By the time you were warmed up, out of the shower and wrapped in a surprisingly fluffy robe, Alex was already back in the hotel room waiting for you. She stood from the bed when the bathroom door opened, a smirk on her lips as she sauntered through the room toward you. Her finger curled under your chin, tilting your eyes up to her.

“You pulled quite the little stunt today sweetheart. Wearing that kind of lingerie to work?”

“I didn’t have time to change.” You countered.

“You changed on the jet.”

“I forgot to pack another bra.”

“Sounds like someone’s making excuses.” She tutted, pinching at your chin, “were you feeling like a naughty slut today? Did you want the entire team to see what you were wearing under your shirt, because I’m starting to think that you did. Be a little show off, let them know how much of a bad girl you are?”

“No ma’am.” You murmured, “it was an accident.”

“Hmm.” She surveyed you for a moment, “I’m not sure I believe you. I do know how much you like to make it all about you, how much you love putting on a good show when you bounce on my cock. So how about you take off that robe, get on the bed and be a good girl and spread your legs.”

Your hands swiftly undid the belt of the robe, letting it fall open and Alex’s eyes dragged down your naked body, darkening as they went, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. When you dropped the robe to the floor her finger and thumb pinched at your chin, rewarding you with a kiss, her lips moving gracefully against your own before she nudged you toward the bed.

You dropped onto it, shuffling upwards until you were comfortable among the pillows, looking down to Alex who simply arched a brow in return as she slipped out of her blazer. Trying not to gulp, you spread your legs for her, opening yourself up to her burning gaze.

“How long were you in that room with your vest off? Hmm?”

“Not sure…” you could feel your breath picking up already with just her eyes on you, wondering exactly what she had planned. She frowned in your direction, hands moving down the center of her shirt as she undid the buttons, “maybe… half hour?”

“Well, then you’ve got half an hour to kill.” She shrugged, adding the folded shirt to the pile on the other bed, “better get yourself warmed up since you were in the mood to show off.”

It was only after a small nod from her, confirming that she was okay with you touching that your hand slid down your body slowly. You kept your eyes trained on Alex as she pulled a chair to the foot of the bed, pausing to strip out of her pants before she took a seat in it, her gaze landing between your legs.

“Timer doesn’t start until you do sweetheart.” She smirked and you let out a breath, your head falling back into the pillows.

Half an hour was going to be torture and you knew it, then again, that was the point wasn’t it? Your hand snuck between your legs, making sure they were nice and wide for Alex to see what you were doing. Your fingers brushed against your clit, slowly beginning to rub at it in small circles.

“That’s my good girl.” Alex cooed from the end of the bed, soft grin on her cheeks as her eyes darkened.

You took a deep breath, knowing that your time had just started, your fingers slipped down to your cunt, gathering some of your wetness and bringing it back up to your clit, continuing to rub at it slowly. Your breath hitched, your hips gently rocking toward the touch and you heard Alex chuckle. You continued on like that, wanting to drag it out as long as possible to kill the time until you uncontrollably moaned, your hips rocking up off the bed.

“I can see you glistening from here.” Alex mused, “why don’t you see how wet you really are? My dirty girl…”

“Please?” You whined, your eyes cracking open to look down at her with a pout on your lips and she laughed.

“Oh sweet girl, it’s only been four minutes.”

“But—”

“Ah!” She scolded, “did you want me to restart the timer?”

“No ma’am.” You pouted, your hands returning to your body.

One groped at your chest, pinching your nipple between your finger and thumb, repeating the action on both sides until both were hard peaks. Your other hand slunk between your legs again, heel of your hand brushing on your clit and you whined before slipping two fingers into your wet cunt.

“Oh god…” you moaned, eyes fluttering shut.

“That’s my girl.” She praised with a happy hum.

Your fingers began thrusting into your cunt, pulling out more wetness with each pump of your hand, slow and steady, ready to wait out the clock Alex had set. Your breathing picked up, little whines and whimpers leaving your lips as you felt the heat begin to build deep within your body. You shivered when the tips of your fingers briefly brushed across the sensitive spot of your walls, a moan leaving you and Alex hummed again.

“Why don’t you try that move again? I know how good it must feel.”

Knowing better than to defy Alex’s requests at this point your fingers sunk back in, curling right where you knew it would feel incredible and you let out a moan.

“Fuck…”

“There you go. That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.” You moaned, unable to control yourself as your fingers curled again, brushing against the spot and you pressed harder, your breath catching in your throat. Your hips rocked up off the bed and you could feel yourself getting wetter, juices starting to dribble out of you as you picked up the pace.

“You may come darling.” Alex purred, “but if you do that doesn’t mean you’re done, you still have seventeen minutes.”

“S..so good..” You moaned, fingers thrusting deeper into you with each flick of your wrist, you were so incredibly close, your pussy fluttering around your fingers. It was never going to be enough, you knew that, but at least for the time being you could sit on the edge of the peak, hoping that there was a chance you’d be able to fall over it. Your noises were getting louder, including the wet sounds coming from your pussy, juices coating your fingers and slipping down to your wrist. Your free hand moved back to your chest, pinching at your nipples again in hopes that it would help you see stars. At this point you were scarcely aware of the sound of movement from the foot of the bed until Alex let out a breathy moan and your eyes shot open.

She had her legs spread in the chair, her hand in her underwear as it moved lazily underneath the fabric, when your breath caught in your throat her eyes cracked open, a grin on her cheeks as she noticed you watching, your own hand stilled.

“What can I say? I like what I see.” She smirked, “and look at what you’re doing to me already?” She sighed, her eyes closing briefly and you could hear her wetness as she slipped a finger into her pussy.

“Fuck…”

“Keep going sweetheart.” She nodded at you, “how about you spread that pussy nice and open for me, let me see how gorgeous you are?”

“Yes ma’am.” Your fingers slid out, your palm rubbing at your cunt briefly as you ground down on it, letting out a small moan before it slid up, fingers framing your pussy lips and pulling them apart. Alex let out a hum of approval, her mouth watering at the way it was absolutely shimmering in the low light of the hotel room.

“So fucking gorgeous.” She groaned, “I’ll admit though, it does look prettier stuffed with my cock, don’t you think?”

“Yes!” You cried back in response and she chuckled.

“Shame. Your fingers will have to do. Twelve minutes left.”

You let out a whine but slipped your fingers back into your pulsing cunt, eyes scrunching shut as you began to fuck yourself again.

Alex sighed softly, the tips of her fingers grazing her g-spot right as you let out a moan and she pulled her fingers out, returning to lazily rubbing her clit while she watched the way your body trembled every so often. You were absolutely soaking, practically every thrust of your hand pulled a whimper from your mouth and if she wasn’t so heart set on punishing you she would’ve wanted to devour you in that moment. You always looked so fucking hot for her, but especially when you were fucking yourself, imagining that it was her fingers thrusting in and out of your drenched pussy. Her teeth sunk into her lip when her fingers pressed harder onto her clit and with a soft moan her fingers slipped back into her pussy.

“Are you close sweetheart?” She asked, her voice low and husky, words split by breathy sighs.

“Need more.” You whined in response and she chuckled darkly, the laugh morphing into a moan as her fingers curled inside her cunt.

“Just keep going.” She urged, feeling the heat building within her, she resisted the urge to let her eyes close, staying focussed on the movement between your legs instead, groaning at the sounds coming from you as you fucked yourself faster. The heel of her hand began to grind against her clit with each thrust of her fingers and she arched forward, her thighs tensing as she cried out, her orgasm hitting her.

The sound was almost enough to get you where you wanted… almost. Instead you were left letting out a frustrated whine, pulling your fingers from you with an annoyed huff.

“Please!”

“Please, what?” Alex asked, cocking a brow in your direction.

“Need more.” You grumbled and she glanced to the clock.

“Nine minutes left darling, then I’ll touch you.”

“What about a toy?” You pouted.

“I didn’t happen to bring one of those.” She shrugged, watching you carefully and she caught the way your eyes looked toward your go bag, lingering on it for a moment as you tugged your lip into your mouth. Her head tilted in curiosity and it was when she stood that your eyes darted back to her.

The blush crept up your cheeks as you watched her silently move through the room to the bag. She swiftly unzipped it, her hands sifting through its contents until she found what she was looking for, revealing the double sided dildo and she looked toward you with a brow raised.

“Really? You have the time to pack this, but not an appropriate bra?” Her voice hardened slightly, in a tone that you knew was practically a tease and you resisted covering your face with your hands. “I almost think I shouldn’t let you use it.”

“No! Please!” You cried out, tears of frustration pooling into your eyes, “I need it. Or you.” You pouted, and Alex’s face softened.

“Oh you sweet thing.” Grinning she approached the foot of the bed, “you’ve become so spoiled you can’t make yourself come anymore, is that it?” You nodded, your cheeks feeling hotter than any part of your body as you admitted it. You started to shift to close your legs, suddenly feeling very exposed but Alex’s free hand closed around your ankle.

“Ah.” She tutted, “absolutely none of that. You don’t get to act like an exhibitionist all day just to play shy now.” She dropped the toy on the bed beside your hand, “eight minutes left. You best make the most of it.”

“Thank you.” You murmured, your hand darting out for the toy, picking it up. You watched for a moment as Alex’s eyes darted from it to your lips and you smiled coyly at her.

Instead of instantly bringing it to your fluttering pussy, you brought the larger end of the toy to your lips, easily wrapping around it, moaning as you sunk it into your mouth. You sucked hard, tongue swirling around it’s girth until drool was practically leaking out of your lips and Alex’s breath was catching in her throat at the sight. Pulling it from your mouth with a pop you let out a gasp of breath, quickly moving the toy to your cunt.

“Seven…” Alex stated, her hands closed around your calves, spreading them as wide as she could on the bed, kneeling between them as she watched the way you slid the dildo into you with a satisfied moan.

You were finally stretched out, finally feeling Alex’s fingers on your skin and you almost felt like you could burst.

“Fuck…” You groaned, feeling your cunt pulse around the toy as you fucked it deeper into you, aching to hit your peak. Your head dropped back into the pillows as your eyes scrunched shut, your thighs slowly starting to shake with each push of the toy.

“So pretty when you fuck yourself darling. I should make you do this more often.” Alex cooed, her hands suddenly left your body but you were too far gone to care, not realizing she was ridding herself of her bra, beginning to cup at her chest. “be louder for me, how does that feel?”

“So good… fuck!” You panted, fire burning just under your skin, “but need more…”

“Dirty girl…” she chuckled, “what ever shall we do with you?” You felt her weight shift from the bed and your eyes cracked open, a frustrated whine escaping your lips once more as your hand nearly stilled between your legs, stalling your orgasm once more.

“Just wanna come…”

“I know sweet girl.” She squeezed at your leg before her hands slipped into the waist band of her panties and she pulled them down your leg, “but that toy has double uses… you’re going to come while riding my cock, understand?”

“Yes!” You practically shrieked, earning a laugh from Alex as she crawled over you.

You let out a very satisfied moan as she leant over you, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, her tongue surging into your mouth to silence your noises. Her skin was hot on yours, rubbing against your aching nipples, her hands ghosting up your sides, leaving goosebumps in their paths. Her teeth sunk into your lip and you whimpered, your hips rocking up toward her, the toy brushed her pussy and she broke the kiss with a breathy gasp.

“Oh that does feel good.” She husked, smirking down at you before her lips attacked your neck, kissing at the supple skin before her teeth bit down hard and you gasped. “Need to leave a mark sweetheart. A nice big one if I have my way.” Her tongue swiped over your skin, “make sure the entire team knows that you really are a little dirty girl, that it’s not all for show. Because you’re not a tease, now are you?”

“N..no.” You moaned, your pussy clenching around the toy when her teeth sunk into your skin, her mouth sucking the crook of your neck and you could feel yourself building back toward your peak.

As if Alex could sense it, she bit your neck again, tongue darting out to soothe the burn when you hissed in pain, kissing the spot softly before her and snuck between your bodies to line the toy up with her cunt. She let out a low moan as she sunk down onto it, and you mewled when the base between the two sides bumped at your clit once she was fully seated. She firmly wrapped her arms around your waist, holding you tight to her and rolled over, pulling you on top of her. Alex kissed you, tongue swiping into your mouth once more before she pulled back, pushing at your shoulders with a wild gleam in her eye.

“Well, go ahead. Make yourself come all over my cock like the good dirty girl you are.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You braced your hands on her waist, raising your hips up to begin to bounce on her cock, breathless moans leaving your lips with each time your hips met hers, the toy pressing against your clit with each thrust. Alex’s hands slid up your thighs, her touch sending sparks flying through your body, she groped at your ass, squeezing you, urging you to ride her harder, faster, making the toy move within her more, the base rubbing her clit just as she wanted.

“Feels good,” she panted, “doesn’t it sweetheart?”

“S- soo good.” You whined back, “m’ so close…” With each pump of your hips her cock grazed right over the sensitive spot in your pussy, your walls pulsing around it, juices slicking it with wet. The coil in the pit of your stomach returned fire prickling under your skin and heat soared through you. “Oh god… oh god…”

“That’s it… come for me sweet girl.” Alex cooed, one of her hands slid up your body, fingers delicately wrapping around your neck, thumb nail pressing into the mark she’d left earlier and you gasped.

Your hips began to move more erratically as you chased your release, feeling yourself right on the brink. You were about to open your lips to beg, but Alex could always read you like a book, her free hand moving between your legs where she began to rub circles on your throbbing clit. Electricity shot through you and you cried out, your eyes scrunching shut as white took over your vision, your body trembled, thighs shaking uncontrollably as you finally hit your high. Your hands dug into Alex’s sides, nails scratching at her skin while you shuddered, your hips stilling when she finally let up on your clit.

“Good girl.” She purred, letting go of your throat, her hands rubbing up and down your sides, guiding you to gently drop over her, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. “Always so gorgeous.” She pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, fingers tracing patterns on your back while you slowly came back to earth to catch your breath. “You feel better now sweetheart?”

“Yes.” You murmured, lips brushing against her skin and she gently hoisted you off her, tossing the toy to the bedside table to be dealt with later.

“You think you’ve learnt your lesson? No more showing off what’s mine to everyone else, right?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded and Alex smiled.

“Good.”

She couldn’t help but smirk at the already purpling mark in the crook of your neck, it was high enough she knew you wouldn’t be able to cover it tomorrow. Even if you got slightly embarrassed, there would be no mistaking by anyone on the team, you were very much spoken for.

_____________

@svulife-rl @clarawatson @hbkpop @momlifebehard @alexusonfire @itisdoctortoyousir @temilyrights @alexxavicry @leelizzzle @evilregal2002 2 @alcabots @ladysc @dextur @augustvandyne @supercriminalbean @lex13cm @prentiss-theorem @happenstnces @whiteberryx @heidss @geekyandgay98 @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @allyofcl @desperate-gay @amypoehlfey @overtrred28 @emobabeyy @1974-sp @theclassicgaycousin @kalixxa @leftoverenvy @bigolgay @daddy-heather-dunbar @regalmilfs4me

#criminal minds #alex blake #alex blake x reader #alex blake smut #k2023bdaybingo

280 notes · View notes

mechformers · 1 year

Text

Ma Miles - Ch. 9

5k words

Bold letters are spoken in English by the Reader to Quaritch.

Thank you so much for all of your kind comments! I'm so grateful. They really make my day and I treasure each and every single one of them! <3

(If you want to be tagged with the updated chapters, please leave your @ myusername in the comments!)

Previous chapter | Masterpost | Chapter 10

Looking at Quaritch flying his Ikran, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips, nor the fluttering in your stomach as you shout into the open air before you. The man had grown so much in the last few weeks, accepting the Great Mother in his heart. It was in everything he did now - in the way he moved, in the way he observed - it was in the way he spoke. He had accepted Eywa and her way of life, accepted that there could be another way to live - a more peaceful and giving way, filled with joy and happiness for each day that passed. As the days turned into weeks, everyone seemed to enjoy this new way of life. Some, more than others.

Mansk had been the best student of them all. His natural curiosity almost rivaled that of Quaritch himself. You loved the way he dug deeper, the way he took so naturally to the Great Mother’s way of life. Had you not known he was a recombinant and had he not had five fingers and the weirdly low tswin, you wouldn’t have thought twice about him being anything but Na’vi. He had a natural skill for harvesting and cooking, for tending to his unit, which surprised them all. But not Quaritch, you noted.

Every time Mansk would fuss about food, about refreshments of any kind, a fond kind of soft smile crossed Quaritch’s face before it was gone, the leader's sharp eyes roaming over his unit, checking on them as he silently noted who ate well and who would need a snack later on. It should not have surprised you as much as it did to see what an attentive, although stern, leader Quaritch was. To have commanded so many warriors at once, he had a surprising compassion for his tightly-knit little unit. To be able to hold the command of so many, he obviously was a powerful man, and although he was stern with the others, to be able to see the softer side of their relationships spoke to something so deep within you.

Looking behind, you see Lyle following closely, Quaritch’s second in command never far from his leader’s side. At first, the bald man had put you on edge, his words strange and cruel until you realized how uncertain the man was. The past few months you had watched the loud, cruel man mellow out the more he got to know you and you realized that he wasn’t cruel at heart. As with most warriors, there was a hierarchy everyone wanted to climb. Being near the top, the man fought tooth and nail to be there. With time, the cruel words translated to poorly made jokes, his sneered snickers becoming fond, well-meant laughter. Lyle was a good man, deep down. And if only he could see his own worth, maybe he could relax a little more and finally realize that he was good enough as he was - as himself. Smiling fondly to yourself, you turned back to look ahead, feeling the way Hawnu enjoyed stretching his wings. Running your hand along his powerful neck, you looked back on the way the unit had changed, on how a select few had opened their hearts to Eywa, letting her guide them in their new lives.

Then there was Ja. The young man had taken you completely by surprise with his gentleness and skillset. He had turned out to be a natural artisan, so good with his hands and creativity. It hadn’t been long before you knew that you needed to nurture that side of him, and nurture it, you had. Like Quaritch’s hunter skills and Mansk’s gathering skills, Ja completed his role as an artisan so well, his natural curiosity shining through. He was a good boy at heart.

“What got you so deep in thoughts, sweetcheeks?” Quaritch’s deep rumble sounded from beside you, sizzling through the wind between you.

“I think about your skills, how you are different. Like completing each other,” Your words, when they register, make Quaritch’s eyes widen a little.

“They’re good kids,” He nods before falling into deep thoughts himself.

As you soar through the skies, you don’t want this flight to ever end, but on the ground with the others, Spider is waiting for you. Letting Quaritch take the lead, you fall back letting Hawnu spread his wings as he slows down. What awaited you on the ground was nothing you looked forward to, but something you would endure to keep Spider safe. Stepping down from Hawnu, you watch as he follows Cupcake to the Ikran area, hoping that he would stay safe until you got to see him next.

“Mom!” Spider’s excited voice greets you when you walk into the recom grand hall, “This is a video game,”

You follow your son as he takes your hand, dragging you over to a big TV by a nest-like sitting area. On the screen, odd figures moved around as Walker, Brown, Fike, and Lopez elbowed and pushed each other while holding onto something in their hands. You didn’t understand what was happening or what was supposed to happen. The figures moved quickly around the screen as the unit shouted with excitement.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t get it either, darling,” Quaritch drawls from beside you, his ears twitching with annoyance.

“What uh… what is it?” You whisper back, looking up at him as his face scrunches up deep in thoughts.

“To be honest, I’m not really sure,” It’s not the answer you were expecting as the man beside you seemed to know just about anything, but in a way, it made him more… real.

You stay with Spider until it was time for food, watching him play with the others. In a way, it made you happy to see him able to explore games from Earth. The joy that spread across his face every time he learned something new would be with you until the day you would meet Eywa. Still, as Pandora was bathed in the dark caress of night, only one thing stood in your mind. They would be coming for you soon. Focusing on getting Spider to sleep, you tried your best to be calm, to put on a stoic face for your son. He must never know what you had been forced to sacrifice for him each night for the past two weeks. And sure enough, the gentle swishing sound of the door sounded to reveal the three warriors that picked you up each night.

“Come with us,” One of them said gruffly, almost bored as the other two steadied their weapons to allow you into the hallway.

Walking as non-threateningly as you could, you would let them lead you through the corridors until you arrived at the lab. The female named General Ardmore greeted you like she had each night while she sipped from her bowl of bitter-smelling liquid. She would watch as the males and females in white robes, the scientists, strapped you into the machine you were sure Spider had been in, before starting her round of questions. Each day you thanked Eywa that you were able to do this for Spider, that you were able to spare your son the excruciating pain as the machine hummed to life and your head was assaulted.

“Where is Jake Sully?” General Ardmore asked, her stern face sipping at her bowl.

Again and again, she would repeat her questions, never giving up, never caring about your pain. Not even when your nose started bleeding did the woman stop, unbothered by your begging, unfaced as consciousness left your body. It was no matter. They would inject you with something that burned your veins, that made your heart race in your chest, before loosening the straps, letting you fall to your knees on the hard, unforgiving ground. With tears falling down your face, the warriors would hoist you up between them as they struggled to drag you back to your room. Usually, by the time you reached the door, you would be able to stand by yourself, and when the door closed, you would quietly let yourself into the bathroom to clean up. For once, you were grateful for the sky mirror on the wall, probably the only thing you liked that the sky people brought. It allowed you to see your reflection, to clean your nose and the blood that was smeared down your chin and chest. You would slowly enter the shower and use the strong-smelling soap to clean yourself, hissing at the way the hot water burned your body. In the morning, Spider would be none the wiser, greeting you with that handsome, sleep-warm grin of his that you loved so much. The pain of the previous nights would always be worth it then.

However, this night, something changed. When the sky people warriors closed the door, the neighboring door opened and Miles Quaritch stepped outside, his powerful arms crossed over his massive chest as he scowled down at the warriors leading you away.

“And what do you think you’re doing, soldiers,” Quaritch drawled, his voice rough, leaving no room for doubt about his anger.

“General Ardmor’s orders, Colonel,” The lead warrior replied as he raised his hand to his forehead in what looked like a stiff greeting.

“And what orders might that be?”

“The hostile is to be questioned after the child has gone to bed, Sir,” The warrior sounded nervous, almost scared as he hastily answered Quaritch’s questions.

“Lead the way,” Quaritch hums, gesturing with his hand.

As the warriors lead you through the corridors to the lab, Quaritch followed closely behind you, his presence suffocating as you moved through the halls. Entering the brightly lit lab, the General Ardmore greeted you the same way she always did, but this time, her eyes snapped up to the man slowly walking in behind you.

“General,” Quaritch drawled lazily, his voice like hard stones around the room.

“Colonel, what a surprise,” The General Ardmore greets, her thin lips nothing more than a slim line as she covered most of her face with her bowl, sipping it in a display of nonchalance.

“I’d say,” You turn your head to watch the two of them, noting how a silent battle goes on between them. “How is the interrogation going, General?”

Quaritch’s voice is as smooth as fresh, cold water from a dapophet leaf as he speaks, the words rolling off of his lips and over your skin like the warm wind. It doesn’t have the same effect on the older female though. Her features darken and her thin lips get even thinner as she sets it in a firm line.

“The hostile has been uncooperative, Colonel,” She ends up grounding out, pretending to be unaffected by the tall man.

“Ah,” Quaritch smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes at all. “So this is why the native that’s supposed to teach us the Na’vi way - on your orders, mind you - has been unable to do so because of exhaustion, making my reports mediocre.”

You don’t understand what they’re talking about, but the moment his words register with the General Ardmore, her entire face changes. It goes through a series of reactions. Anger, frustration, desperation, rage. In the end, dejection wins and she nods to Quaritch.

“Good point, Colonel Quaritch. However, results have been lacking as of late. Precaution had to be made,” She snaps sharply, squaring her shoulders as he looks up at him.

“On behalf of my mission, without my knowledge?” He shoots back just as sharply. “It could have potentially put my squad, and the RDA’s investment, in danger.”

“An error in judgment, Colonel,” The General Ardmore challenges, her features so angry you’re certain a fight will ensue.

“An error I trust will be rectified, active immediately,” Quaritch challenges right back, his own shoulders squaring as he lifts his head dominantly, looking down on her.

You have no idea what they’re talking about, the English, and their manner of talking, way beyond your knowledge. You stand there awkwardly, waiting to be told what to do as you didn’t dare risk the fine-fine balance you had going for keeping Spider safe. What felt like ages passes in silence before Quaritch grins.

“Come now, General Ardmore. We both want the same result here, and as I understand it, the slow and steady method has brought us closer to that result. It’s the Tortoise and the Hare kind of situation here.”

“Very well,” The stone-faced female nods before hastily turning and walking out of the lab.

Quaritch gives the warriors and the scientists a harsh look before roughly gripping your upper arm, dragging you after him as he takes you back down the hallways you had just walked. You can’t help the wince that leaves you at his firm grip, but he doesn’t stop. Quaritch’s long legs take you through the halls faster than before and before you know it, you’re in the sleeping hall. He doesn’t take you to your door though, instead, slapping his hand over his own door, dragging you inside when it opens. Harshly, he sits you down in his nest as he turns back to gently, soundlessly close the door. You watch as he paces before you, briskly walking back and forth through his room before he comes to a stop before you.

“How long?” He hisses low, his voice filled with so much rage that it takes you aback.

“I do not know,” You whisper back, unable to meet his eyes as you curl in on yourself.

“How long?” Quaritch growls loudly before closing his eyes and breathing deeply. When he opens them, the clouded fury swirls in his sharp eyes. Quaritch walks closer to the nest, stopping only to squat before it.

“How long have they been torturing you, Y/n?” He repeats his question, his voice gentle, almost desperate as he looks up at you.

“S-some weeks,” You whisper, flinching when he once more closes his eyes before you and growls.

“Have you only been in the machine?” He asks, his sharp eyes looking up at you from where you hang your head

You only manage to nod, uncertain what it means when he sighs a breath of relief. Distantly, you wonder what other kinds of machines they have, but the thought quickly leaves your mind when Quaritch gets up on his feet again.

“Can Ja have a look at you, to see if you’re alright?” Quaritch asks, silently standing before you as he waits for your reply. Once more, you only manage to nod.

Quickly turning around, Quaritch is out of his door and you’re left alone in his room. Desperately, your breathing returns to you, your lungs expanding to pull much-needed air into your lungs. You feel as if you’re suffocating, however. In desperation, you fall sideways onto the nest as your body curls up to protect you. Distantly, you know that you need to lift your arms above your head, but as the air in your lungs stings, you can’t help the scared whimper from leaving your lips. Short moments later, warm hands cup your face, gently turning your head. Your arms are pulled over your head as you’re flipped onto your back. Sharp, yellow eyes are inches from yours, a warm forehead resting on yours as warm breath ghosts over your lips. Once more, you find Quaritch breathing with you, guiding your breath as you slowly calm down from this all-encompassing fear that has started gripping you. His eyes are focused only on you as he takes deep breaths, holding it for a little bit before slowly letting it out again.

“There you go, sweetness,” He whispers gently, “Nice and slow now,”

He slowly pulls back, the hand holding your arms up gently opening from around your wrists. Distantly, you notice how your legs are being lowered as Quaritch sits up. He’s stopped breathing with you, but his eyes still focus on you and you only.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” He asks, his face scrunched up in what looks like genuine worry, and that’s it for you.

On your next breath, you’re unable to hold back the sob that escapes your wobbling lips. You’re so tired, exhausted beyond anything you had experienced before. You missed your home, you missed your people, and your way of living. You missed the safety you could provide for Spider, the happiness playing with his friends brought him. You had been strong for so long, tricking yourself to be something you weren’t in the hopes that it would be enough to get your son to safety. However, the warm embrace of the man above you, his safe scent wrapped around you, and now, the genuine worry for your wellbeing, was all it took for you to break down.

“Hey now,” Quaritch tuts as his long arms wrap around you, easily lifting you up into his arms before he sits down in his nest. “You’re alright now,”

Quaritch holds your head to his chest as he shushes you, but you’re unable to calm the tears that roll down your face. You don’t know how long you sit like that, but by the time you come to again, you’re still sitting in Quaritch’s lap, the man’s strong arms pressing you to his body as he hums at something. Ja is sitting on a chair by the TV, his finger dragging across a small see-through screen of some sort.

“You with me, sweetcheeks?” Quaritch hums, his hand that had been holding you to his chest disappearing as he turns to look down into your face.

“Yes,” You croak, your voice rough.

“Good,” He hums as he gets up from his nest. Gently putting you down to sit, Quaritch gets down on his knees before you once more.

“What you’re experiencing is called a panic attack, darling,” He starts gently, his sharp eyes holding a gentleness you haven’t seen in them before today. “It’s when your body can’t take the stress anymore, shutting down on you. Have you had them before coming here?”

You shake your head after thinking about it. You had never had this happen before you had been captured. But what he said made sense, you had never been as stressed out as you were right now, never had to worry as much about keeping both Spider and yourself safe and alive.

“Ja is here to check on you, is that alright?” Quaritch turns his head to look back at Ja who waves at you, a small smile on his lips.

Nodding once more, you watch as the two change places. Ja is gentle with you although his hands are rough. He takes a stick with sunlight out of a bag, slowly running it past your eyes, humming to himself as he continues with whatever he’s doing. By the time he’s done, he gives you a long see-through bowl of water, a bottle, with clear instructions for you to drink it all. You do as he says but grimace at the awful taste. He’s having a quiet conversation with Quaritch, the two men nodding and shaking their heads every now and then as their ears twitch and turn. By the time Ja leaves, you’ve managed to drink all of the water. Embarrassment rides high on your cheeks as you meet Quaritch’s eyes. You just let this man comfort you like a baby, or even worse, like a mate, being held close to his heart. The realization takes your breath away as your eyes widen. Quarich takes the empty see-through bowl from your hands and throws it into an open box on the floor below the TV.

“You’re sleeping here tonight so that I can keep an eye on you,” He rumbles, seemingly just to inform you of what you were doing before he turns and walks out of the door.

You can hear the door to your own room open and close before gentle rustling and the sound of the door opening and closing again. When Quaritch walks into his room again, it’s only to reveal a sleeping Spider tucked in his blankets in his arms. Stepping up to the nest, he slowly and ever so gently put Spider down against the wall, his hand lingering after brushing hair away from his forehead, much in the same way you do. There’s something in Quaritch’s other hand as he pulls back, but it’s only when he puts it on the table that you see it’s an extra battery for Spider’s mask. Your heart skips a beat in your chest as the open display of affection Quaritch is displaying for your son. Without being told, he brought an extra pack just in case Spider would need it. Looking up into his eyes, you see the dawning understanding in his eyes, but Quaritch refuses to look away. Nor does the care for Spider go away.

“You should sleep,” He nods towards the nest and Spider. “Rest,”

“Where will you sleep?” You can’t help but ask.

“Don’t worry, I’m a Marine, I can fall asleep anywhere. Perks of the occupation,” Quaritch replies, a smug grin on his face.

Holding his eyes for a while longer, you eventually pull your legs up into the nest, pulling the tight blanket with you. Rolling Spider over, you smile as he mumbles in his sleep, burrowing his head into his own blanket. Laying back to back with Spider, you pull the blanket over your body, taking deep breaths as Quaritch’s scent wraps around you. Quaritch moves around the room before entering the bathroom. The shower turns on and the mumbling he apparently tends to do while in there starts up. The exhaustion from the day is starting to pull you under, however, your eyes close as you listen to Quaritch doing his routine. When he eventually steps out of his bathroom, he’s wearing a white tweng as he rubs his hair with a cloth. His hair is unbraided exposing his queue as he walks into the room. Behind a movable wall, he takes out another blanket, this one smelling stale, before he sits down on the floor.

“Night sweetheart,” He nods to you, his voice one long, smooth rumble before he starts braiding his queue.

Averting your eyes, you try your best to keep the heat in your face from continuing to burn. You’re sure he can see it from where he sits. For a moment you wonder why he would expose such a vulnerable detail of himself to you. A queue was sacred, something mostly only your parents and mate would touch beside yourself. Sometimes, the very best of friends would trust each other enough to help braid their queues, but for the most part, throughout your life, the only other person who got to see your naked queue was your mate. Still, Quaritch flaunted it about as if it was nothing to him to show it off. Deep, deep down, you wondered how many other women he had exposed it to. Hissing with annoyance over how ridiculous you were being, you pull the blankets up over your head. Your plan to hide from the annoying male backfires, however, when in your new cocoon, his strong scent surrounded you, wrapping around you like the faintest of touches by the Great Mother herself. Gasping for clean air, you roughly pull the blanket down again.

By now, Quaritch is trying to finish braiding his queue, but as your eyes land upon it, your face scrunches up with displeasure. It looks awful, the man obviously unused to braiding his own queue. That ugly thought of who Quaritch exposes his queue to bubbles up again, but you push it down, stomping out its lights. Annoyed huffed grown escapes Quaritch as he undoes the braid again, starting anew. This time, the result looks worse than the first. You watch as Quaritch gets angrier and angrier with each failed attempt until you can watch no longer. Sitting up in the nest, you wait until his narrowed eyes meet yours.

“You don’t know how to braid your queue?” You ask as gently as you can, but it’s not enough.

“I do,” Quaritch growls back, annoyance dripping from his voice.

“Who braids it for you?” You have no idea why you keep prodding, but when he huffs and flings his queue and hair behind his shoulder you can’t help but smile gently at him.

“Come,” You gesture to him as you scoot over to the edge of the nest.

Quaritch stares at you for a little while before sighing deeply. Crawling across the ground, he turns around and sits down between your open thighs, your feet already on the ground. His long arms rest on his lap as he bends his head back toward you. Surprised, you look down at him, unable to move as he offers up his queue with such unwavering trust. Your mind tells you that he doesn’t know better, that he doesn’t know just how rare the touch of another is on one’s queue, but something deep within you longs for it to be something more.

“What’s wrong?” Quaritch hums as he bends his head back to rest in the crook of your lap to look up at you.

Sleepy yellow eyes meet yours as his queue presses naked and warm against your inner thighs. A breath catches in your throat as you stare into his eyes, unable to look away, unable to move. He’s so warm against you, so muscled and powerful between your thighs. Swallowing audibly, you blink down at him.

“Your queue is meant for mates touch and the Great Mother only,” You explain, your voice nothing but a husky breath of air as his eyes hold yours prisoner.

“Is that right, sweetheart?” Quaritch smirks up at you, his eyes sharper than ever as he turns his head in your lap, his queue all but caressing your skin.

“Who braids your queue?” You manage to push through.

“Ja braids all of our hairs, he’s the only one who can do it, sweetness,” Quaritch hums, his tongue poking out to quickly wet his lips. “But he ain’t my mate, darling,”

The wink he sends you before lifting his head back up again, makes your stomach flutter wildly as your heart beats louder in your chest. His exposed queue is thick where it starts from the bottom of his skull instead of from the top. It’s strong and healthy beneath his hair. Up close like this, you can see how Quritch’s hair curls, the waves cascading down his back to pool on the ground between you. Reaching forward, you let your fingers touch his hair, surprised to find how soft it is, how smooth. It smells of something wrong, but to your touch, it seems clean and well-maintained. Carding your fingers from the top you notice how his short hair is a smattering of small tight curls too. Unable to hide your smile you’re glad that Quaritch is leaning forward.

Ever so gently, you start to braid his hair, carefully braiding it around his queue, choosing a pattern you thought suited him. Quaritch hums as you card through his hair, as you collect your tails and put one over the other until you eventually reach the end. While tying off the end, however, pink tendrils emerge to dance across your fingertips as you work. Quaritch groans deeply where he sits between your thighs, his body leaning forward to allow you more space to work on his long braid. Your face is burning hotter than ever as his queue’s tendrils touch your skin, as it actively seeks you out. Clearing your throat, you gently lay Quaritch’s queue over his shoulder. Taking the end in his hand, you watch as the pink tendrils search for you before retreating into their protective housing once more.

“Pretty,” Quaritch hums as he pulls more of his queue over his shoulder. “Thanks,”

You sit there frozen as the man between your thighs moves away, reaching out for his blanket before laying down on the ground. You watch as he shuffles around, finding the right position before unfolding his blanket and harshly flapping it over himself. You sit there until his breathing evens out before the spell Quaritch has managed to cast over you breaks. Looking down at your fingertips, you almost expect to see something, but there’s nothing but the vague feeling of his touch lingering. Gathering your legs up into the nest again, you curl up under the blankets, wrapping the warm material up under your chin. You don’t know when you managed to fall asleep, but when your eyes shoot open, Pandora is still draped in the darkness of night. On the ground, Quaritch mumbles and grunts as he twists and turns. Listening to the annoyed, time passes by until you’ve had enough. His annoyance is starting to annoy you and all you want to do is sleep. Growling, you fling your blanket down as you roll over to reach for him. Taking hold of the first thing you reach, you pull him back toward the nest, listening as Quaritch hisses and winces.

“Come sleep,” You mumble, still half asleep.

The nest dips under Quaritch’s massive weight, lulling you back into his warm body as he lays down behind you. Letting go of him, you search for the blanket you discarded by your knees, but it’s not there. Quaritch moves behind you and short seconds later, the blanket is pulled over you once more. The warmth is almost instantaneous as the body behind you radiates against your back. Content, you scoot back, plastering yourself against the heat as you reach out for your son, pulling him close in his blanket cocoon. Sighing deeply, you’re asleep again before you can register what is actually going on. As you drift off, you’re clueless to the way Quaritch throws his aching queue behind himself and away from your grabby hands, clueless to the way he looks down at you and your son. You’re not clueless, however, when he wraps a strong arm around both of you, pulling you both closer to him. In your sleep, you sigh happily as your hand holding Spider close finds Quaritch’s, intertwining your fingers together.

In a world of your own, your dreams take you far away to a place where you’re happy, safe, and loved by your mate sleeping behind you.

Chapter 8 | Masterpost | Chapter 10

#miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch x you #colonel miles quaritch #colonel quaritch #miles quaritch #quaritch #recom miles quaritch #recom quaritch #na'vi miles quaritch #na'vi quaritch #avatar miles quaritch #avatar quaritch #avatar the way of water #Mech writes #Ma Miles

324 notes · View notes