#youre fucking 12 and you already have pressure on your back. then you get to secondary school. form 1 and 2 aren't better

[waters-and-the-wilde]

hehe scenario. jupeter coming out the other side of All That with a bit of 'wow you're just straight up a bit codependent but maybe that's actually the best-case scenario for you right now carry on fellas'

oh they've Had Their Talk in the aftermath, and, okay, it's agreed that they are Not Doing Romance because Nureyev needs Time To Grieve and it would be better to Take The Pressure Off Of Being In A Relationship and they will Reevaluate when Nureyev's had a chance to be a guy who doesn't have to worry about where his next meal is coming from. but also Like Hell is Juno just going to Leave Him Alone after all this. and the result is that they spend the Big Crash just. completely unhinged about each other. Nureyev's shot past 'feeling vulnerable around Juno scares the shit out of him' and well into 'raw nerves and gaping wounds and compound trauma and feeling vulnerable about literally anything and everything all the time and being around Juno is integral to not spiraling into the abandonment hell vortex'. meanwhile Juno's like 'holy shit Nureyev is letting me be there for him. this is already incredible progress'

u think they were insufferable on the Carte Blanche well. on the Carte Blanche Nureyev was still working on things like trusting Juno enough to let him back in at all and he Had An Image To Maintain and lots of Private Stuff to Deal With and Juno was still figuring out how not to be a prickly ass all the time and 'when is it appropriate to give your bf his space when your default mode is to Investigate Shit' and none of that is a going concern right now

'sometimes you gotta be a little bit mentally ill to handle the mental illness' they have so much separation anxiety and they are clipping their carabiners together. hooking pinky fingers and following each other when one needs to do something in the next room. where's Nureyev? sitting in Juno's lap again. his ass is experiencing 'nervous system doesn't know how to respond to the sudden removal of constant crushing dread and just goes fucking haywire at unpredictable intervals'. he gets random-ass panic attacks and there's only so much the breathing exercises and the grounding exercises and self-soothing techniques can do compared to 'Juno is here and he's fine and he's safe and he is more than happily providing prolonged physical contact' to get him to calm down on a physiological level

meanwhile Juno's like 'i chased this idiot across half the galaxy because he wouldn't ask for help and had to deal with him being all stone-faced and cold about it, do I look like i mind that he's clingy now? a lady does not need his personal space at this time. a lady is living for this. a lady is also maybe feeling clingy have u considered that'

everyone who isn't rita (idek who. melee? the other vivopolis refugees??) is assuming they are just getting a very bad grade in taking it slow and are barely humoring them about it. and neither bothers with denying the boyfriend allegations but it's not bc it's true it's they're just. too exhausted to get defensive about it

rita: and i mean they ain't actually smooching too loud in the kitchen or whatever

melee probably: he just came out of Juno's room wearing Juno's shirt

juno: he's a thief that's his shirt now

(12 hours earlier:)

nureyev: (shows up to juno's room at 3am) im sorry for waking you i had nightmares about [the bomb/the carte blanche raid/dokana capturing you] i just needed to see that you were alive and make sure im in the reality timeline and then i will go back to-

juno: get in loser we're watching bad cops

rita: hi mista' n do you want some of this blanket

nureyev: that's very kind but im afraid im

juno: yeah hold up he's like really sweaty im gonna get him a clean shirt

nureyev: you really don't need to-

juno: how are you even still standing up when you're shaking like that

nureyev: that is. an excellent question

juno: anyway welcome to the club i fired rita like an hour ago bc i had nightmares about her dying on the asteroid

rita: i had one where i was gettin chased by this big stompy plant monster with lotsa teeth and i had to distract it by throwing all my snacks behind me and then i was outta snacks and then i was up getting more snacks when mista' steel fired me

rita: you know i think only reason i ain't got separation anxiety about mista' steel is because we spent all that time in the ruby together while we were chasin' after you and that gets a gal over it real fast

juno: thanks rita :P

#good morning i am once again committing my little scenarios #hypothetical denouement nonsense #this is not even remotely legit speculation i am just saying words recreationally #the penumbra podcast #juno steel #peter nureyev

[masked-and-doomed]

Shut the fuck up for once. Maybe.

#negative #/negative #I'm so close to killing myself I'm not fucking around. #I CAN'T TAKE THIS SHIT ANYMORE! #i cant. for so goddamn long. #it's not really that long considering I'm young but too fucking long. still. #can you imagine. this stupid society. where you're fucking 11 and your parents are urging you to get better with your studies #because fuck you better get into a good highschool. get good UPSR marks. and that happens at the end of the year when you're 12. #youre fucking 12 and you already have pressure on your back. then you get to secondary school. form 1 and 2 aren't better #you get low ass scores. and it builds up more #and your low point gets lower and lower throughout the years. #i cannot state this enough when you're fucking 12 they do want you to study hard for the end of year exam that determines #if you're getting in a fancy pantsy enough secondary school that could get you more. credit. #but whatever. I'm lowest in class. i personally can't care. but my mom! oh she does! #yknow someone *has* to be at the bottom. eventually. someone will. someone will just not get it #is it so hard to believe it's your kid? #would you rather some other parent scold their kid and threaten worse because they couldnt keep up? #why are you doing this? this isnt helping anything. you see that. it is in fact a problem with me but you dont see how you're affecting me. #i swear to Allah I am not fucking gonna take this shit anymore #I am so close to losing it. I've already reached the end of the threads that hold my sanity together. i can't. #i don't hate you. but i can't live with your thorns digging into my flesh anymore #i can't fucking take it

[m-ayo-o]

first

18+ best friend Megumi x reader wc 1100 things got a bit out of hand... selfshiptember; 12 // first kiss

The idea of giving away your first kiss is a daunting one. You feel anxious and pressured about it, your peers already well ahead of the game. And at eighteen, sure, it’s ok if they want to have all the freaky sexual experiences you wish they didn’t tell you about. But for you, that kind of thing has never come easy.

You get so hung up on the feelings in any possible romantic relationship, dawdling around wondering if they like you for the right reasons, only for them to become impatient, put off by your timid nature.

And sure, some of your friends tease you for it, but that’s just how you are.

But there’s one friend, your best friend, who never speaks on the matter. In fact, over time you realise he’s never spilled a single detail of his own intimate experiences. And that’s got you curious.

“Megumi,” you peer over at him from your desk after finishing another study session, “how was your… first kiss?”

He’s lying comfortably on your bed, his dark eyes pulled from his book, staring at you before he shakes his head, “haven’t had it.”

“Oh”

He knows you’ve been worried about it recently, getting hung up on what all your friends are telling you.

“You shouldn’t compare yourself to others”

“Yeah, but,” you feel a bit shy admitting this, “it’s not like I don’t want to, it’s just hard to find that…”

“Connection?”

“Mm” you smile, feeling comforted by his understanding. But it’s always like that with him. If nobody else gets you, it doesn’t matter. You know he will.

There’s a long pause, Megumi’s eyes dropping down to his book again.

“Do you think we–” he stops, frowning slightly that his words aren’t coming out, “do you think we might have… a connection?”

You jump at the sudden unfamiliar tingle that surges through your stomach and chest, making its way to your cheeks. It took you off guard, but that felt nice.

And, of course, you’re close, you support and appreciate each other as best friends do. How could you not feel connected to such a person?

“Mhm” you give him a little nod.

“So… what about me?” he asks, hesitation fading as he notices that pretty blush on your face.

You tilt your head to the side, “hm?”

“Why don’t you kiss me?”

The end of his question leaves a stifling silence in the air, like the calm before the storm.

And before you know it, you’re standing from your desk chair and kneeling next to him on your bed, like he’s pulling you in with invisible rope.

His hands are releasing his book, instead finding your shirt and the back of your neck, squeezing and tugging you closer.

He leans up, your lips drawn together, so close you can feel his breath.

Leaving you no time to overthink, he grabs you and seals your lips with his.

“mmf–” your voice is muffled by his sudden contact.

His lips are soft and hot, all of your senses overwhelmed by him.

And he pulls you closer still, his hand working into your hair.

You feel his mouth open a fraction, his tongue gently sliding over your lip. Your body reacts before you can think, opening for him, feeling his tongue with your own.

The kiss gets feverish, your breathing becoming erratic, mouths opening wider to taste each other eagerly.

Then you feel his teeth.

The impact of his first bite makes you shake.

But the second time, once he realises you liked it, when he’s pulling away with your bottom lip between his incisors, has you whimpering.

“You like that?”

Fuck. Since when did Megumi talk like that?

You nod.

So he does it again and again, kissing and biting and sucking till he’s pulling you onto his lap with your legs spread.

You realise when he’s ripping your shirt off and your hands are tugging at his belt, that you both may need more than a kiss.

You get greedy, that little bit more turning into him unzipping his jeans, his cock slipping out.

Instinct takes over when he pulls your naked body onto him, over him.

He eases in, so gentle, leaving you lightheaded, fucking you with his tip, then half his length, until you’re sitting on him, taking him all.

And he ruts up into you on his lap, thrusting as hard and fast as his body will let him, grabbing at your hips.

You’re so desperate to tell him how good he’s making you feel– you want to praise him with all the pretty words you can think of.

But you can’t.

Because your best friend is fucking the breath right out of your lungs.

He’s just so deep and hard that he’s leaving you feeling choked.

Despite this, your lips part, intent on forming a sentence.

You take in a few ragged breaths, little vocalisations sounding on every exhale.

To your dismay and confusion, the words die in your throat. All you’re left with is–

“M-Megumi–”

And it’s ruining him.

Those beautiful, strangled whimpers are driving him insane.

He gives you a mixed look– it feels like anger, maybe pain.

He’s staring at your lips, the way they move and form his name.

If he hears it one more time he might do something hopelessly romantic. Like tell you he loves you, or ask you to be only his.

So he grips your neck and takes your lips in a desperate kiss, committed to silencing you with his tongue.

It’s intense and wet and hot, his cock digging into you deeper and harder than before.

Until his restless pumping gets you feeling something so pure and primal, you can only follow the rush, helplessly craving release.

And you know he feels the same, recognising the look in his eyes, not as anger or pain, but passion.

Now he can’t help it, he can’t hold it back anymore. That maddening thought in his head, the feeling in his chest, it just has to come out–

“I love you”

The deep tones of his voice, those three words, the unabated drag of his cock, all have you spiralling into your dizzying high.

“I love you too, Megumi” your whimpered reply leaves his hips stuttering, cock pulsing suddenly, shock and confusion crossing his face when he feels his hot load spilling into you.

“Fuck– fuck, I can’t– can’t stop–” he all but cries, pumping and filling you thoroughly, wondering how he could feel so full and empty at the same time.

“I, I didn’t– couldn’t– mmh–” you silence his apologetic stammering with a sweet kiss, watching his every feature become relaxed.

You hold each other, your lips moving slow and steady as you both sigh, coming down.

“How was your… first kiss?” you utter over his lips, earning a relieved smile.

[use protection omg]

selfshiptember 12!!

megumi m.list

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated! <3

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #female reader #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #18+ content #megumi jujutsu kaisen #jjk megumi #megumi smut #megumi fushiguro smut #selfshiptember 2023 #selfshiptember #self shipping

[roseykat]

KINKTOBER DAY 12

TITLE: Like Throwing Petrol on a Fire

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

SUMMARY: Hyunjin can't get either his or your clothes off in time for him to fuck you. Unfortunately, he has to resort to and put up with another method.

TAGS: pre-established relationship, dry humping, swearing, poor Hyunjin can’t help himself (also both reader and Hyunjin are mentioned to be at the club but there is no alcohol involved with this story)

KINK: Dry humping.

KINKTOBER23 - MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @kbitties @luneskies @mal-lunar-28 @kibs-and-bits @aaasia111 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung @queenmea604

🩷🩷🩷

-

It was meant to be a good night out for you and Hyunjin, which it was to begin with. You, him, and a group of friends all collectively decided to go clubbing together for the first time in a while. However, later in the night, Hyunjin would find himself in a predicament that he never would've been able to climb his way out of.  

What started off as innocently taking you to the dance floor, turned out to be the worst decision he had ever made. 

Had you not been pressing your ass against his hips for the entirety of the night, Hyunjin wouldn’t be where he is now; sexually frustrated and pissed off because you were teasing him in public. The fact that you knew and felt that he was getting hard, yet continued to grind on him was enough for Hyunjin to take you by the wrist, and pull you with him to the bathroom. 

Sneaky, public, bathroom sex would’ve been ideal for you both at the club – had it not already been full to the brim with other occupants already going at each other. It was either that or go home, and Hyunjin is not one to muck around when he’s horny.

He gets desperate, almost borderline agitated when he’s in the mood because he can’t fuck you.  

Seeing him like that always makes you want to tease him, but you know better. Teasing him means pure punishment for you and Hyunjin has a very creative mind so you always tread carefully around him when he’s in that state. He could deprive you of his body for an entire week or fuck you every day if he wanted. He’s just full of surprises. 

But now and then, Hyunjin becomes so needy that punishments and rewards don’t even cross his mind. That instance just so happened to occur at the club.

Having been so frustrated with not being able to find a decent place to fuck you, the pair of you needed to go home. Alleyways and narrow streets weren’t going to cut it for him, not when there were too many people loitering around. 

So Hyunjin led you back to his car, jumping in and nearly racing off. To make matters worse for him, you decide to test him by palming over his already hard cock. He couldn’t bear the strain he felt against his pants regardless of the small easements of pressure you were giving him as he drove you both back home. 

His head presses back into his chair, trying with every ounce of strength to keep his eyes on the road, “baby, why can’t you wait until we get home?” 

“Because I need you now Jinnie,” you mutter, taking advantage of the state that he’s in. 

Hyunjin does his best to ignore your answer as he turns the last corner onto the street of the house. He eventually slows down and pulls into the driveway to park. As he gets out, he’s thankful that it’s pitch black and everyone in the neighbourhood is asleep, otherwise they would’ve easily seen how hard is. 

“Keys,” you say to him. 

Hyunjin is already on it, barely saying anything as he pulls the house key out of his pocket with a shaky hand and unlocks the front door. The second it’s open, it’s Hyunjin’s game now. 

He pulls you in by the wrist, slamming the door, and backs you right against the entryway table with such force that it dents the wall behind it. There’s no making it to the room, let alone the lounge at this rate.

Hyunjin helps lift you onto the surface of the table, hoisting your legs up just to push and spread them for him to slide in between. Even just feeling the heat in between your thighs is enough to give him some relief, but not the kind that he's craving. 

“I need you…so bad baby,” he groans, pressing his hard, clothed cock into your pussy. 

The friction for you is incredible against your clit, but you do feel for Hyunjin who can’t do much when he’s in formal black slacks. All the while one of Hyunjin’s arms wraps around your lower back so that he can grope the other side of your body while the other hooks around and digs into your thigh.

“Yeah?” You ask, allowing him to continue to fake fuck you while his face is buried in your neck. He can’t even think straight enough to try to take his pants off.

Hyunjin groans, his voice raspy yet hurried, “fuck, I-“

“You know I’m ready for you, so wet for you Jinnie,” you egg him on even further. “Just want you to fuck me.”

His moans are exasperated and breathy, he always sounds beautiful to you when he’s like this, “I can’t – fuck I’m gonna cum…”

You’re not surprised given that you’ve technically been teasing him for the past hour now. So now all you can do is sympathise and let him do what he needs to. 

“It’s okay,” you assure him, breathing just as fast as he is. “Just cum for me.”

Hyunjin’s hips stagger out of their pace, continuing to thrust his dick repeatedly until he has to bite down on your shoulder to suppress the loud moans that are straining out of his throat. Not even a few seconds later, Hyunjin is rocked with an orgasm that has him gripping tightly onto your body, nails digging into you.

The pace of his thrusts slows down after his breathing reaches its peak height. Hyunjin has forgotten what it felt like to not cum inside you for once. It reminds him of the time when you first got together and were scared to take each other's virginities so only dry humping really made the cut. It still feels good, but not as nearly as glorious as busting a warm load inside of you.

"Fuck," Hyunjin sighs.

"Feel better?" You ask, carding your hand through the back of his black hair.

He looks down in between your legs, seeing the hairline-like, sticky strings of cum that connect from his clothed dick to your damp underwear. Hyunjin can barely tell if it's from him, or if that's just because you're wet. Maybe it's both. Either way, he finds it hot.

"You drive me crazy you know that?" Hyunjin says to you, leaning back in to snuggle his face into your neck once more. “Now I have to get hard again to fuck you.”

#rosiewritesskz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #bang chan smut #han jisung smut #hyunjin smut #changbin smut #felix smut #i.n smut #hyunjin x reader

[jockfootstories]

Billy semi-hated his sisters new punk boyfriend. There was just the cocky attitude about him that he didn’t care for not to mention that he was only 5’10 and his sister’s boyfriend Luke was 6’4, always towering over him. The only thing Billy was drawn to was the 19 year old’s size 12’s and his foot smell. Every time Luke took his shoes off, the smell would fill the room. His sister had complained a couple times on it but Luke didn’t seem to take notice or change his behavior.  The three of them were in the den area with Jenny, Billy’s sister, coming in and out of the room to help their mom in the kitchen. Billy was originally on the couch watching some movie when Luke came in and sat down opposite of him. He had slipped off his shoes and after a short while, after Jen had exited the room, lifted his big bare feet up, and plopped them in his lap.  Billy could already smell them after the shoe were slipped off but it was now more apparent as they were right under his nose. Luke lifted one foot up, pushed it against Billy’s chest some, and said,”Hey, my feet are kinda tired. I need a foot massage.” The smell already getting him exited but he couldn’t blow his cover, responded,” Hell no, I’m not rubbing your rank feet.”  Luke grinned, easily lifting one foot up, and pressing it against Billy’s face. Billy watched the hulking foot press against his nose, pushing him back into the armrest as he heard Luke sarcastically say,”Awe, you mean this foot? Guess you want me to rub them in your face then since you don’t want to give them a massage.” Billy pushed the huge foot away but Luke quickly brought it back, lifting his other one up, pressing both against his face. Billy felt the pressure and his nose rub against the soles as his view was engulfed. He breathed in the baked foot smell of the HS senior as he felt the bare soles rub over his face. Billy grunted out and Luke responded,”How do my feet smell?” Billy managed to pull one of them down and croaked out,”Fucking stink.” He then saw his sister come back into the room and grab a chair. Billy tried to put up more of a fight against the huge feet as Luke wasn’t letting up. She looked over at Luke had said half teasing,”You know your feet stink and you’re going to make him sick right.”  He responded,”Hey, he didn’t want to give me a foot massage so he opted for this instead.”  Billy wrestled with them for several more minutes and managed to keep his feet down in his lap just as their mom popped her head in asking for Jenn to help her with their neighbor next door. Jenn looked over at Luke and said,”Give me like 15 or 20 min then we can go.”  She got up and followed her mom out as Billy slightly relaxed. Luke turned his attention back to him, quickly shoved his 12’s back into his face, and said,”Keep smelling.” The soles consumed his entire face, covering him in foot odor as he lay there letting the bottoms rub against his nose. Billy inhaled as Luke rubbed his toes against his nostrils. ”Yah, fucking like that don’t you? Like my foot smell all in your face.” Billy got momentarily scared and tried pushing one foot away, stammering,”I don’t…” Luke quieted him up by covering his face again. “Shut up. Anyone would have bolted from the couch by now but you’re just staying there taking it. You’re loving this.”  Luke rubbed his bare feet into Billy’s face more persistently waiting for confirmation. When he didn’t get one, he squeezed Billy’s nose with his toes, and asked again. “Yes,” Billy reluctantly answered. Luke laughed at him and moved one set of toes down, slightly pushing them against Billy’s mouth. “Lick.” He licked between the punks toes, tasting the saltiness of them. Luke continued teasing him for several more minutes till he ordered him to put his shoes on. As Billy did, Luke said,”Looks like I got myself a new slave.” Luke stood up and looked down at him and ordered,”Get down and kiss my feet good bye.”  Billy knelt down, replying ‘yes master’ , and gave each shoe a few kisses. “Good slave boy. You’ll be worshipping them again soon.”

[shidouryusm]

✿༝༚༝༚ Wrapped in red ✿༝༚༝༚

・❥・Kuroo x reader

・❥・synopsis-> hey siri, what are the consequences of surprising your fiancé with a lingerie under a coat for his birthday?

・❥・ word count-> 5.6k words (nobody look at me)

・❥・content warning-> mdni, explicit smut, fem!reader, cun!lli!ngu$

・❥・a.n -> this is the last time I'll be reposting this if tumblr still doesn't like me I got nothing to do. Tagging a bunch of my mutuals so that atleast they can enjoy. may your cheese rot tumblr. Also happy kuroo day ignore I'm this late everyday is kuroo day stfu. dividers by @cafekitsune , @benkeibear and @quirrrky

Kuroo can feel the chills of the winter already settling in mid-November. The expanse of his living room is veiled with a thin layer of frigidness. The tiles were cold and a siren of silence rings through till the ends, until the little clock resting on the small table breaks through the curse with the beginning of a new day. 17th November. He stares at the clock. The slick hands points to 12, busy announcing his 29th birthday. It is a small, black, cat shaped clock that you found from god knows where and gifted him out of blue. Your justification being “it looks like you”. Kuroo snickers at the sudden wave of memory.

A whole lot of other things around his house are also extensions of you – the little section of potted plants on the shelves, the matching coffee cups, the red mittens hanging over the oven handle, kitchen magnets comprising pictures from both of your trip to Paris. They all are like pockets of your shadow scattered around, giving little hints of the day when you’ll ultimately mark your reign as the Mrs. of this house.

But as of tonight, each of them wildly indicates your lack of presence. Kuroo discerns that the silence was not any call of winter, rather it’s the sheer absence of your chortles and excited squeals around the house, especially tonight.

Kuroo was never that big on celebrating his birthdays, being on a competitive position in corporate asked for lot of compromises and Kuroo had wired himself to do that in his early years on job, not caring about forgetting his birthdays and stuff. Still, he manages to dig up time when it comes to yours or others. The man that he always is - relentless in his acts of services. 

However, you being around never quite made it possible for Kuroo to actually forget about his day. Always the more excited one, the best planner and as always, a little better than the previous years. Whether it be by throwing a grand party in a club for him or just by yourselves, with home cooked mackerel and rice, catching the golden sunset above and just savouring the day with a casket of good memories to look back on. Or it may be simply you by his side that makes each of his birthdays something to look forward to, even while being clutched by stress and non-stop work.  

He was indeed getting spoiled by such pampering because, as of this moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to be around you. To bask in the incessant warmth of your hugs and engulf himself in the pool of your kisses. Fuck. he really wishes you weren’t drowned in your work right now just so your singsong voice of Happy Birthday could reach his ears the first. He peers at his phone, several texts from his co-workers and friends wishing him were flooded in his notification bar, along with your last text, sent over an hour ago. 

Love♡♡ : work is so crazy right now, they should pay me for even gracing them my time this late >:(( anyways, good night. love you tets &lt;;33

Nothing after that. He stares at the text. You weren’t online which meant you are either too busy in work or have already fallen asleep…without wishing him? 

A small twinge of hurt pinched his heart at the thought of it. Although he tries to reason it with your pressure at work. But it’s been like this for a few days, you completely submerged in work, barely getting the chance to even facetime, not being overly zealous atleast 3 business days before his birthday.

The little red demon above his head tries to play tricks yet his heart works with rationale – leading two projects at the same time meant things will slip up. Distance may be bound to form. Who knows? even paths of life may deviate from one another and eventually-

His train of thought cuts short by the sharp ring of the doorbell. It’s 12:30 already. Kuroo internally pleads that it’s not some surprise by his former teammates because without you, he doesn’t think he will indulge even a slightest bit. 

The door swings open and so does kuroo’s jaw. You, in your full glory, a ginormous beige jacket wrapped all over you, hair dishevelled from the wind, yet framing the most beautiful face in the world, stand at the threshold, panting and holding a large box of what seems like a cake. 

“Oh my gosh tetsu, I was almost about to punch the baker. Dumbass messed up my whole timing”

Kuroo was still busy steadying himself but he shifts from his place, allowing you to scoot past him and settle yourself in the dining seat, placing the cake there. 

Weren’t you asleep? Weren’t you way too busy to come? What is going on? 

He looks at you, making yourself comfortable at his space, like you are just meant to fit inside these 4 walls. The frosty silence suddenly vanishing by the cauldron of warmth you bring with you everywhere. He can’t wait for the day when it will be regular sight. 

“Baby, are you gonna stand there the whole night?” you giggle, striding towards his still figure beside the doorway. You hook your arms around his waist, your head tipping back as you stand on your toes, planting a soft kiss over his lips.

Kuroo’s eyes flutters shut as he draws himself into every fleeting moment of this kiss. His hands find your cheeks and large palms cradles them as gently as a rose petal, head dipping down to take in more of the feeling of your lips against him. The taste of your cherry balm engulfing him. 

You part from him, merely inches away as your lower lips bruses against each other. You whisper into the small gap, “Happy Birthday, my love. I’m not too late, am I?” 

“Doesn’t matter when your wish is what makes it worth. I almost thought you forgot” he hums, hands curling up against your neck, urging you to look at him. You crane your head up, meeting those honeyed eyes pooling with a multitude of emotions. 

“Awe you miss me that much? I have been real quiet this year on purpose. Trying something a little different”, you cheekily say, poking your tongue out. Kuroo quirks an eyebrow, “always a step ahead, aren’t you?”  he pecks your forehead while a small whisper of “I love you. Thank you for making this day something to look forward to” grazes over your skin. Your feel the kaleidoscope of butterflies zooming inside your ribcage, for the way his words echoed through the drums of your heart. As if the resonance between his and your heart just created more love to harbour.

"Tetsu", you grab his face, dipping his tall frame downwards to place another kiss. This time between his eyes. Hoping this kiss was equivalent to the million words he said with those gaze a few seconds ago. 

You take his hand, pulling him towards the cake, “now now,  it’s not the time to be all mopey. I fought for this cake and now you get to commemorate this day of high significance”. Kuroo chuckles, you were full of beans indeed. 

To think just a few moments back his thoughts were spiralling, he registers that that how much you being by his side grounds his inner monologue of hidden insecurity. Kuroo is always the epitome of  confident man but the inner cloud of anxiety yet rumbles time to time. Until, your presence acts like the yellowy sunshine after rain, banishing any grey thoughts that dare to delude him. 

“Why such high significance, may I ask?” you roll your eyes, amusement twinkling in your eyes and you answer like this is the most simple question ever, “Because you got to be born and be my boyfriend and then my groom-to-be, duh”, wiggling the left ring finger, you laugh. Shaking his head, he tunes into the peals of laughter with you. He cuts the cake, feeding you a piece before noticing you were still in your coat. 

“Baby, are you that cold? You know you could wait a bit more for your winter cloth haul” he gestures at the neck high coat. You squirm a little. He finally noticed.

“y-yeah, I know. there’s a…reason”, you send a sheepish smile on his way, effectively avoiding his gaze. 

Kuroo reaches towards you, curious at your shift in demeanor. He leans down, meeting your gaze with his ever sharp ones and you found yourself faltering a bit, heartbeat pacing higher than normal. 

“Princess, are you okay? you got a fever?” he runs his hand over your forehead to which you shake your head. Taking his fingers in yours, your fingertips glides over his knuckles. Unable to stall in any longer, you slung your arms around his neck. 

“Actually, I have your gift”, bringing your mouth closer to his ear as you whisper, “right under”, you murmur. His hand is now brought on your lower back, the feel of your skin right underneath the coat, clearly evident. 

Kuroo sucks in a breath, catching on to your innuendo immediately. Palms migrates towards your shoulder blades where he can feel the thin strap and bare skin over the coat. Curiosity killed the cat and now he just got fucking murdered.

“Hmmm? Should’ve said it earlier, princess.” kuroo hums, a mellowy timbre coating his voice. You gulp audibly, anticipating his moves. 

His hands trail over your shoulders, reaching up and stop around the collar of your coat, playing with the top button as he flashes his Cheshire like smile. Demeanor changing from concerned to smug in a flash of light. You keep your eyes on him, heavy breaths escapes your nose and mouth. Kuroo leans forward, his voice now merely a whisper tickling your ears.

“Should I guess what my present is?” he asks coyly. You can feel the teasing glint the words carry.  

“You can open it already, y’know?” your voice had an air of neediness, wanting nothing more than to indulge in his touches and losing yourself in him for the night. 

Kuroo tuts, shaking his head in faux disappointment, “tsk tsk tsk. it’s my present, princess. Let me enjoy it. in my way”. With that, he flicks the button open, his eyes catching a hint of red around your neck. A dark chuckle escapes his throat.

“Red, huh? You surely did some homework before”, another button pops open, this time, the base of your throat open up and a little red ribbon wrapped around the middle like a bow greets him. 

Kuroo felt his heart thrumming loudly, imagining what he could find after fully unbuttoning your coat. The suspense of the act spiking his blood and rushing downwards towards his crotch, he can already feel himself getting hard. God, you really knew how to outdo yourself every single year. 

Kuroo presses a kiss right beside that bow, feeling your erratic pulse against his lips. It curls into a smirk, right against your skin. You tip your head back, eyes closing and hands finding their way to the hem of his shirt. 

“Uh-uh, princess. Not so early.” Kuroo envelopes his hands over yours, before bringing them together behind your back, caging you between his hold. His right hand, once again,  flits back in its previous mission while his left hooks both of yours ; effectively locking them behind your back. “Not until I’m done unwrapping my present”. A kiss plants underneath your ear; the skin tingling with its effect. 

“You sure are taking a hell lot of time” you scorn. Kuroo chortles, popping another button open. This time a part of your sternum peeps out, he can make out the hint of cleavage from the skin exposed. More blood runs downwards and kuroo fights the urge to tear the coat off and bend you against the table to ravage you then and there. 

“Good things take time, princess. Moreover, you seem to enjoy it.” Kuroo muses, his hips roll against yours and you could feel the hardness of his crotch brushing up against your lower belly. “Take this as a punishment for being late to my birthday” he opens another button and the lace cupped cleavage makes their way.

“But it wasn’t my fault.” you pout. You’re so adorable, kuroo thinks. He laughs under his breath before pressing a soft kiss against your cheek. His hands trail over your sternum, dipping down towards the fat of tits spilling out before he ghosts over them ever so slightly, drawing a whine out of you from the untouched touch. 

“Oh but you were…” he drawls, “to think you went outside like this. Being a naughty little girl, are we now, princess?”. You open your mouth to say something  but his lips silences yours. His tongue almost immediately finding its way in your mouth and playing with yours. 

The kiss was sloppy with the way kuroo laps at your top lip, engulfing it in his mouth, saliva smears over your upperlips and drips down your lowers. The steamy makeout session in addition to the his hips grinding against your coat covered crotch leaves you staggering. 

One by one, he unbuttons the whole coat till the end, each time kissing a part of you he passes in the process, to all the way down, where he is kneeling. He looks above to see your figure hugged by this beautiful dark red fabric, only covering the bare necessities. 

He is eye level with your bare thigh, the plush skin adorned by a thin lacy garter, linked to the equally thin panties with a small band of cloth. You feel his hand runs across the back of your thigh, the cool band of your engagement ring gliding smoothly over your skin. The pads of his fingers dip down a little deep when he reaches your almost bare ass. 

“Fuck. what I’d do to you” you hear him murmur against your lace clad thigh. He scrapes his teeth against the fabric, peeling it off and exposing the beautiful skin out. The sharpness of his teeth mingles with the softness of his lips as he sucks and nips at the skin, leaving a purple well of mark around that area. Your breath hitches as you feel the dull throb of the hickey while he continues his ministration all over your inner thighs. 

“We better take this to the room before I end up taking you right here” his teeth still ghosts over your skin, now attaching around the band of your garter, tugging it gently before releasing it back, the elastic smacking your skin, causing a whine to tumble out your throat. His actions causing your pussy clench around the fabric.

He continues his journey up with his mouth before reaching your pussy. The material doing nothing to hide the outline of your cunt and looking closely enough he sees the dampness that is caused by your arousal. His fingers join in, smoothing upwards over the fabric gently. A moan leaves your lips, with the way he is being tantalisingly slow. If you could, you would have shoved his fingers inside. 

“Already wet and I barely did anything, baby. Wait for the real action atleast” his voice sardonic and praising simultaneously. He plants a kiss right over your crotch before trailing upwards. 

“Tetsu, you little-” you whine to which kuroo snickers. He loves you to death but he loves it more than anything when he is edging you and you are writhing and pleading.This is when he gets the chance fill you to brim with pleasure. The power surge he gets from this is immeasurable, when nothing leaves your mouth except his name. 

“What, my darling?” kuroo kisses below your navel, his lips smoothing over the surface with no friction. He peppers your stomach with nips and kisses before reaching under your breasts. A small kiss between the valley of your tits and then he finally rises up. He caresses the sides of your breats before holding you by your waist, squeezing you gently,pulling your figure flush against him. His hardened member now rocking against you with less obstruction. 

Kuroo tugs the coat off of your shoulder and it pools around your ankle, revealing your whole set to your fiance. Kuroo gawks at your figure, as if time stopped its track for him to drink your body with his eyes. 

“God you’re fucking beautiful” his voice low and husk filled. Kuroo peppers kisses on the curve of your shoulders, hiking his lips up into the crevice of your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses trailing towards your jaw.

You have always been the prettiest for him but this colour on you has popped out every feature of yours in the most alluring, elegant way. Kuroo huffs out short breaths as his eyes find it difficult to tear away from you, he eyes you from down to up before his eyes land on that ribbon. 

Oh fuck that ribbon. The way you made yourself like a present, kuroo is positive there isn’t any better gift in the whole planet than the one before his eyes. His lips find you again, passion and lust permeating through the kiss. His hands reach up to your breasts and he gives them a good squeeze. The nipples pert and poking through the cloth against his palm.

He guides your body along with his towards the bedroom without breaking the kiss, stumbling along the way but nonetheless reaching towards the edge of the bed. He pushes you, still connected with your lips, cradling your head before you fall into the heap of soft mattress. His body hovers over yours and one of his knees positions dangerously close to your cunt. 

“We gotta take this off before I tear it and that is the last thing I wanna do” kuroo husks, his hand deftly working their way to take off the top. 

Not that it did anything to cover what’s underneath, yet as he removes the bra and sees your tits spill out, he couldn’t help but take one in his mouth. Fondling the other one with his hand.

The feel of his mouth finally somewhere on you has you teetering on the edge, you let out out a moan. Your hands rake through his ink black locks while he tugs you nipple with his teeth. His knee presses against your almost bare pussy the sensation spikes your insides. 

Your hands reach for his shirt once again, urging him to take it off , to which he obliges but not before remarking something about it. 

“Can’t wait to see me naked, guess I can indulge in your desire a little bit”, you roll your eyes. Smug bastard. You feel him shift downwards, his knees touching the floor while leaving you sprawling on the bed, he adjusts your legs around his shoulders before scooting downwards.

His hands plays around your nipples, twisting and turning while his mouth travels south. He lets his teeth do the work, pulling at the underwear and tugging it off of you, finally letting the sight of your clenched cunt soothe his eyes. The way he keeps a unbreaking eye contact while doing the dirtiest of act makes your arousal seep down your cunt even more. He tugs the panties halfway through before teething at the garter again, slowly dragging it across you skin and pulling it off. 

“Practising for the big day, princess” he grunts, taking them off of you fully. You let out a light croon, even amidst the unholy acts of provocation, the gentle reminder of your promised near future sends you into a blissful train of thought. 

Kuroo’s sharp nip at your inner thigh brings you back. He stares at you with drooping eyes, silently challenging you to not break the contact as he lowers himself over your slit. He licks a stripe of your pussy, the feel of his tongue like millions of fireworks inside your nerves. You silently breath out a gasp while kuroo begins his onslaught of kitten licks over your cunt. Gradually reaching to your clit. He presses a kiss over the nub before capturing it with his mouth, gently sucking on it.

His tongue flicks your now swollen clit as you rock your body, bringing him closer, as if it’s anyways possible. Your mingled sounds of squeals and moans and whines mixes with the soft squelch of his fingers entering you. He prods them gently over your walls, knowing where to stretch and poke to evoke the most raw reaction from you.

“Tetsu…fuck...aah..” your voice are nothing more than little tufts of breaths as he shifts his pace every so often, while never leaving your puffed clit unattended. The alternate of his tongue and fingers works wonders to roll you over the edge. 

“Cum for me, baby” you hear his raspy voice vibrating across your skin, he sloppily makes out with your slit before driving his tongue inside, his face tilts as he tries to reach as deep inside you as he can. The grip of his hands on your thighs tightening. His cock feels heavy and the burning desire to replace it with his tongue flames his inside – but not before he makes you cum like this atleast twice. 

Two of his fingers drum over your clit while his tongue prods inside you. His jaw hurts but nothing matters when he gets to see the expression he draws out of you. Mouth falls open, while your head tips back. Not giving a damn about keeping eye contact because fuck if you could have exploded out of your body, you would. 

Kuroo groans at the irresistible feel of your essence around his tongue, “tastes so good for me”, he hums around your pussy. You could feel the wave of arousal waiting to burst and as you hear the words escape his mouth, your body reacts on accord. Back arches beautifully as you release yourself against kuroo’s lips.

Your mind levitates in the cloud of bliss while you feel Kuroo laps at your essence, the drag of his lips against you too euphoric. to joyful to get down from. But even while being on the daze, you feel Kuroo going at your pussy once again. 

“T-Tetsu…hnnggh”, you can feel the added force that his tongue applies as it drives inside you once again. 

“You thought I’d leave you to come around my tongue only once.” he rasps, his nose brushes against the overstimulated clit. He nuzzled himself against your cunt, his hands reaching over your ass and kneading the soft flesh. You let a wanton moan, too loud for the neighbours to not hear. Kuroo smiles, tongue thrusting inside your cushiony walls even more. 

You could feel your body quivering, preparing itself for another wave of orgasm not long after the previous one. You tug at his hair, your nails scraping against his scalp. Your other hand grabs at your breast to hold onto something. A sight Kuroo savours from behind his bangs that cover his face.

“I’m gonna…” you whine, thighs jolting around his arms while he keeps them locked. “Make a mess around my face, darling. Let go.” Kuroo was getting delirious at your taste. His cock nearly bursting his load in his pants. He rubs against the board of the bed, releasing some friction. He can sense your orgasm looming and naturally, he increases the pace, tumbling you over the edge for the second time. His teeth grazes the clit, giving it some attention before a harsh suckle has you going for the 2nd time that night. 

Your back arches, juices spraying out of your pussy. Kuroo is enthralled seeing you this dirty, this sexy, this sinful. You didn’t hold back  your sounds either, sweet melodies of his name with pleasured moans ringing throughout the room and satisfying Kuroo’s ears as he succeeds in making you spent. 

Not that he intends to stop yet.

Your body is still quivering, the afterwave of the pleasure still gushing inside your body. Kuroo caresses your thighs and hips, coaxing your body to relax. 

“You did so well, my sweet baby. looking gorgeous cumming around my face like that”, kuroo engulfs your mouth, his tongue shoves yours around and you decide to suck the tip of his tongue, relishing in the tangy essence of yours. A moan erupts from the man above as your wrap your hands around his sculpted back, losing yourself in the kiss. 

Kuroo helps you get down from the high before flipping you over. You notice the way he positioned you both, you are right in front of the dressing mirror. 

When did he even do that? 

Kuroo kneads your ass from behind, while another hand grabs your chin to make you look at the mirror. 

“Eyes up there, baby. Watch how I fuck this little pussy into oblivion”, you can feel his clothed cock grinding against your ass. Whimpering, you wiggle back, feeling more of him, causing Kuroo to suck in a breath.

“Behave, darling.” Kuroo lightly smacks your ass, watching the flesh ripple and groaning at the sight. 

You look over your shoulders at him. He looks so broad, the toned sculpture of his long hours at gym and sports really gifted you with a goldy sight. His face flushed with crimson and copper eyes blown out with lust. The contour of his abs to sexy to not gawk 24/7. His sweatpants are already hung low, cock whipped out, hard and swollen. The tip angry with precum dripping down the globes of your ass. You try to shift back, intending to return the favour he generously gave you a while back. 

But Kuroo , not-so-gently puts you back on your position, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you against the sheets. Your ass hiked up more to flash the clenching pussy in the air. The cold draft blowing around your sticky folds making you shiver. 

“Tetsu!” you exclaim, as he starts dragging his length over your folds, adding more of his arousal with yours, the spot lubed and moist for Kuroo to slide right in. 

“What did I say about behaving, princess? Are you looking for to get punished?” his voice dark and menacing, only reserved for you, in the bed. You shake your head, eyes locked with his through the mirror. Your nipples brush against your sheets with the way you are bent, adding more to the sensation.

You try to tug off the red ribbon, not wanting any ounce of fabric on your skin when kuroo grabs your hand, harshly. Hooking it over your back, he hikes your body up a little higher, his cock straight against your fold, the tip hitting snug the clit. His eyes are narrowed, eyes a little menacing, 

“Don’t you dare take that off. This stays on.” his voice low. You mewled an okay, too entranced with the way he looks behind your back to notice his manhandling. 

“That’s my girl”, kuroo hums before sliding inside you with ease. The remnants of previous shenanigans making it easy. Your mouth falls in a O as you feel the ridge of his cock gliding past your walls. With each of his inch bottoming inside you, you let out a moan, voice deliriously filthy. The sounds like a dulcet for him. 

He rams the last of his inch at once, making your body lurch forward. Your face scrunched in a beautiful frown, teeth digging at your lips. Hair falls over your face as you dip your head down to adjust to his size.  Kuroo becomes too busy admiring your features through the mirror. You look like a goddess, a goddess he brought down on her knees before him. 

He was probably too enticed because it wasn’t until the roll of your hips around his pelvis that dragged him down to where he was. “T-tetsu. movee” , he hears your plead. 

“As you say, baby girl.” kuroo starts drilling his cockinside, sliding in and out of you, the head colliding with the gummy walls near your cervix. You were pushed forward with the intensity of his thrust yet the feeling of his prominent vein grinding inside your wall was too heavenly to complain.

It was him and you, intertwined with each other, knocking the door of lust but beneath it was promises of love.  

The grip of his fingers around your hip was deathly. It sure is gonna leave a dent. Kuroo grunts and groans as he watches the base of cock froth with both of your juices. The squelching sound everytime he enters you fills the room along with the slaps of the skin. 

You could feel his balls hitting you right above the clit, light strokes against them making you dizzy . His hands snakes around your stomach, reaching your clit. He takes the nub between his two fingers, rolling them around and pinches it. You squeal at his actions, back bending away from him, but the grip of his arm around keeps you flush. 

“Your pussy is made right for me. Almost made me bust a nut the moment I slid my cock inside, sh-shit. so fucking tight and clenching” , his words are so vile, yet so sweet to hear. He bends down, back flush with his chest as he presses a hoard of kisses around your nape and shoulders. Suckling the skin and leaving out purple marks in its wake. 

“Tetsu..more…you feel so good against me” you cry, eyes rolling with the way he is snapping his hips against yours. The constant assault over your g-spot inside and the clit outside once again announces the impending avalanche. 

“More you say? Greedy girl.” he rasps before hoisting you up, one hand still playing with your clit while the other finding your left breast. 

Cupping the whole fat of it, he squeezes the mound hard. His hips unrelenting with their strokes. The bed creaks from the sudden movement. The headboard banged against the wall once. Now the neighbours are definitely gonna know.

“So fucking beautiful. Truly the best gift ever, princess. I love you so much”,  you turn sideways to face him, his molten amber eyes mirroring the heart eyes you are sending him across. 

You capture his lips in a soft kiss, your hands reaching his face to cradle the sides and pulling the front tufts a little. Vibrations of hums and moans share between you two in the kiss, while both your bodies work on their own accord. The golden light of the  lamp falls over your skin, the golden iridescence  reflecting of your skin makes you nothing less than a fallen angel. The halo like glow of your body makes Kuroo's heart gallop loudly. Makes him wonder how he managed to find someone as perfect as you are.

“Look at the mirror. See how ethereal you look while taking me like that. God really took time while making you” , you chuckle at his cheesy words. No matter how dominant he acts in bed, at the end it was still your dorky, corny Tetsu. 

You zero in the way he fucks you, the outline of his cock visible as he drills into you. A dragged moan fills the air. kuroo kisses around your temple, his thrusts erratically hits you, losing rhythm. You realise he’s close, so you arch your back, feeling more of him inside. Fucking himself inside you. 

Kuroo hisses at the act, his fingers pinching your clit in return. Your walls clamp around his shaft, making him lose all the threads he had been holding onto ever since he buried his face in your cunt.  

“Shit, baby...take me…take all of it. Let's cum together”, his babbles choking in his throat as he thrusts in you one last time before warm ropes of his cum fills your pussy. You came around the same time, pooling his thighs with hot, sticky mess. 

He kisses you throughout the high, a level of euphoria never felt before. He realises he didn’t use any condom today neither did you retorted against it. Kuroo slides out of you, your cunt clenches from the lack of his heavy cock. He gently lays you down, bringing a wet towel and cleaning off the spilled cum from your thighs and his. Your face beams with the post-coital bliss as you spread your arms over your head, breathing heavily. 

“You good?”, kuroo asks, his voice regaining the gentle hold back. You nod, closing your eyes and relaxing yourself. 

“If I knew you’d go this crazy over a lingerie set, I’d have thought it through before buying.” you breathily say, seeing Kuroo’s face turn a little red. The debauchery dawning on him a little.

“You could wear an overalls over a trash bag and I’d still fuck you the same. It’s you who’s this hot”, Kuroo plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek, his hands smoothing your hair. He scoots you over, finding himself a space beside, pulling you against his side. His fingers work through your scalp while you find warmth in his body.

The comfortable setting almost lulling you to sleep before you lurch up, face palming yourself. Kuroo sits back, concerned at your sudden leap, while you look at him with guilty eyes.

“I forgot your actual gift at home, while being too excited for this one.”, you hide your face between your palm, whining and falling back on his chest. A hearty laughter rolls out of Kuroo at your state while he rubs your shoulders. His mind already bent on to tease you.  

“Wanna suck me off to balance that out?” kuroo sends a sly grin your way, his voice holding a glint of tease but really not expecting you to wallow in.

To his surprise, you part away from his chest, face filled with a challenging gleam. Without any words, you straddle him, holding his cock by the base. A dopey smile spreading all over your face. 

“Say less. I’ve been meaning to do that since forever.”

a.n-> aint nobody leaving the house without giving him a sloppy. if tags dont work and it flops then im giving him an even intense sloppy

comments, likes, reblogs are appreciated

tagging : @stsgluver , @kuroosexuall @shotorus + @satoruhour @hannzai @tetzoro @mrs-kurooo @quirrrky @pastelle-rabbit @planetnini @selarina @sookisaurus @itadorey @utahimeow @this-is-still-mia @kamorikiri @shoyostar @screampied-main

#sam.writes #sam.in.hq #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #kuroo x reader #kuroo x reader smut #haikyuu smut #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsuro smut #kuroo x you smut #haikyuu x you smut #kuroo x yn #haikyuu x yn #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader smut #kuroo imagines #haikyuu #kuroo tetsuro #hq kuroo #hq smut #kuro hcs

[fruitmins]

Purple Car | jungkook

➭ summary: in which jungkook is a successful solo idol and your his long time girlfriend that he hasn’t seen in almost two months. again. it’s starting to feel like your more like distant friends more than lovers so when you unexpectedly disappear, jungkook goes the distance to try to find you.

➭genre: solo idol jk x reader, drabble

➭warnings: none really. a little angsty and depressing. there’s a couple bad words

➭note: first post🥳 | heard a snippet of the acoustic version of ‘car outside’ and this was the outcome sooo feedback would be appreciated.

Jungkook’s eyes begin to strain as he stared at the blue screen with wide and glossy eyes. He didn’t care how badly he was damaging his eyes. It didn’t even cross his mind for a second. He could barely process the information that was on the screen. But still, he stared at it in disbelief. How could he care about himself when the most important person he cared about was missing?

‘nearest train station’

‘train tickets to Daegu’

According to your laptop that was the last thing you had googled. The last time you had used it being almost an hour ago.

His heavy heart sank. Would the train be gone by now?

No. He didn’t want to think of the possibility that you actually left him. You two had always talked about going to Daegu together. Going out to hotels and spending the days happily touring together.

Jungkook’s throat ran dry as he thought about the word touring. When was the last time he actually spent quality time with you? He had just came back from a month tour, promoting his new solo album. He had spent weeks prior getting ready for it and his schedule became full in an instant.

He felt bad and had always planned on making up for lost time as soon as he was done. He knew that after his company would leave him alone for once and he was set on making you his top priority after.

He always made sure to call you at least once a day when on tour, or send little gifts and things to the house in an attempt to cheer you up.

Jungkook glanced around the room, some of his latest gifts not even out of the box. At first, he was constant with the calls and gifts. They would be sweet and meaningful. But as the tour continued the more tired he got. His calls were short and late at night and his gifts became small and less frequent.

His stomach swelled with guilt at the thought. How could he do this to you? Abandon you, make promises, and give you false hope. He remembered the words he said to you to cheer you up.

‘It’ll be over soon before you know it.’

‘When I get back we’ll have the best nights of our lives.’

‘I promise to call you more babe.’

‘I promise I’m fine babe, everything will go back to normal when I’m done.’

‘Stop fucking freaking out so much.’

Most of the time, his mind was clouded by exhaustion and pressure he forgot about the things he said. It felt like all the nights before he slept was like a drunken blur. All he could remember was being on stage and wanting to do good for his fans.

Well now he remembered. All the dry talks between you two. All of the half hearted things he said while slurring, barely awake. Sometimes almost yelling at you whenever you spoke to loud or to much. It was clear as time went he became more moody and distant.

He felt sick.

On the king sized bed, next to the earlier gifts laid your phone. No wonder you hadn’t been answering your phone. Did you really go the extra mile to leave everything at home?

No, he thought again. This must mean your in the house. Maybe the shower, or you went for a walk. Why would you leave your phone?

He tapped on the screen as it lit up. His handful of text showed on the screen. Your phone was almost dead and seemed completely untouched.

12:02AM

Even though he knew you never took showers this late, he went to the master bathroom to take a peek. Nothing. There was limited places you could be hiding, and he had already checked the place once he realized you weren’t home when he first arrived. You weren’t ANYWHERE. Not even in the guest bedroom.

Now he was really starting to panic as realization set in. He had screwed up. He had played with your emotions. He had left you one to many times. Now you were leaving him.

Now he was feeling everything that you had been for the past month and a half, and every other time a big event happened. He felt abandoned, sad, ditched and empty. How the fuck did he not realize what he was doing? How did he not realize how you were feeling? Why didn’t you talk to him? Did you? Not like he could really remember if you had.

‘nearest train station’

He clicked on your past search to see the exact responds. Shit. It wasn’t that far from the house. Only fifteen minutes to be exact. And you had been ghosting him for an hour.

He sprung into action at the realization. He would just had to hope that the train didn’t leave yet. To just hope that you went to early or that you had changed your mind.

He jumps into his car. Not caring that he wasn’t even supposed to be out this late, especially not in his recognizable purple car. Something even his fans knew was his prized possession since he and your favorite color was purple. In his purple car he felt like any other normal person. Especially when you were in the car with him. Now if just felt empty.

He practically sped to the train station (he actually did go over the speed limit a little), immediately parking his car in a random lot before booking it inside the large building.

Inside, he is immediately hit by a sense of bustling activity and the sound of people rushing to catch their trains as his eyes try to scan to look for you. Even though it’s early in the morning, there’s still a bunch of people.

Even when it’s a little dark inside the station since the sun isn’t up yet, he can spot a variety of posters and signs, displaying information about train schedules, destinations, and services available at the station.

He runs to the board, looking for the word Daegu and the color from his face drains when he finds it. The last train to Daegu had left at 11pm. Almost an hour ago. And what’s even worse is that he couldn’t even get a ticket till six.

He almost growled at the board out of anger. What he wasn’t going to do was sit around for five hours while you would be at a foreign place with no phone and nothing to defend yourself with. Especially since you were arriving at such a late time. He was not going to sit around when he had a perfectly good private jet.

Jungkook didn’t care who he woke up. He was the most successful man under his company and getting even more popular around the world. If he wanted a private jet ready at twelve o clock, he was going to get it.

Jungkook would be arriving to Daegu a big whopping thirty minutes before you, and it would take him a decent amount of time to get to the train station you would be arriving it. In short, Jungkook was seriously cutting it short.

If he was even a second to late, you’d disappear into the sea of people and his chances of finding you would decrease drastically by the minute.

Despite being exhausted and sleep deprived, Jungkook couldn’t sleep on the jet. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat. All he could do is refrain himself from tearing out his own hair by repeating calling your number, listening to your voice mail for comfort since he knew you wouldn’t answer.

Once his phone had died, all he had was his thoughts. The depressing feeling of sorrow and loss took over him as he cried his eyes out. He missed you and he hated that he drew you away. He hate that he hurt you. He couldn’t imagine a life without you. He wanted to marry you for God’s sake. He felt like his chest was crashing the more he was away from you.

Finally, after he arrived he had a car waiting for him to take him to the train station. He had requested the same purple car he had left back at home, it didn’t feel right picking you up in an all black shaded windowed limo. Whenever you both went somewhere you took that car. You two had spent camping trips and dinner dates in that car. Sure it was newer and wasn’t his car but it was close enough.

He drove himself to the train station and ran inside the building as fast as he could. His face was hidden with a hat and mask as he tried his best to blend in with the people while still desperately trying to reach the platforms.

When he did, he saw one train already letting off a load of people. Jungkook immediately grew terrified. Did you already get off? Did he already lose you? A million thoughts ran through his head as his eyes started to water again.

He didn’t stop walking till he was at the front of the platform, watching as the people who got off with smiles reunited with family members or friends.

Jungkook watched the train empty, looking through the windows in hopes of getting a glimpse of you still inside. But it was mostly empty. You must of been one of the first people to get off. You must of been in a rush to get away from him. To start over. To leave him like he had done you.

Jungkook’s heavy head dropped, looking straight at the ground with closed eyes as tears started to fall. Grieving over the loss of his soulmate. And he could only blame himself.

He wished he could turn back time and do things differently, but he knew that was impossible. All he could do now was try to pick up the pieces of his shattered life and move forward, even though he had no idea how to do that without his wife by his side. But he would always missing you piece of his life..

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s body immediately froze at his name. The voice was behind him and spoke with a shaky voice but he was positive it sounded just like you. Was his mind fucking with him? Did he actually hear your voice? For the first time in a month? Were you still here? Did he still have a chance?

He swallowed a lump in his throat as he turned around, a little cautious. His breathing stopped when he met your red eyes. It was you. Only a couple steps away from him. You looked different. More skinny, you had on older clothes. Not the ones he bought you. And he could tell by your tear stained cheek and puffy eyes that you had been crying for a while. But you still looked beautiful. He missed your eyes, your touch, your smell..

Without giving it a second thought, he jumped towards you. His arms immediately wrapped around you as he gave you a tight hug and held you. His tears were spilling more violently as he sobbed into you. Relief rushed through him as he held you. You didn’t push him away, but you didn’t exactly hug him either. But he didn’t care. As long as he got to hug you. He was scared of letting you go. He didn’t want you to leave, and he didn’t want to leave either.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He managed to choke out and soon enough you began to cry with him, becoming emotional in his arms. “I’m so fucking sorry.” He repeated, the first genuine words he said to you in a while. Your familiar soothing smell with the warmth of your small figure stopped him from having a full out panic attack.

“Jungkook I—“ you started to speak but he quickly shook his head, pulling away to analyze your face. He looked into your eyes with such relief and care but sadness still filled his expression. He was still scared you wouldn’t forgive him. That he had still lost you.

“I’m terrible Y/N. I didn’t realize just how much I let my job take over my life. Our life. I missed you Y/N I really did. I love you. I love you more than myself. I don’t wanna leave you anymore.” He said quickly pulling you back into a tight embrace, and this time he almost melted when your arms wrapped around him. He wanted to say so much more but he couldn’t form the words. It was paining him just seeing you cry.

“Please, give me a second chance to fix things. I’m not going anywhere without you Y/N.” He said, his desperate words spoken in a firm voice. He wanted to let you know just how serious he was about his words.

“Don’t promise anything..” you mumbled. The first proper-ish sentence you’ve said the whole time. He missed your voice, it wasn’t the same over the phone but your words stung. Did you not trust him? Did you think he would abandon you? Cause if so he’d get on his knees and propose to you right there.

“I just don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to leave you.” He sobbed into your shoulder honestly. Jungkook had always been a little shy with crying, even in front of you. But he was willing to expose himself to you. To let you know how he really felt.

“I-I won’t. Leave..” You choked out in a low voice and Jungkook was immediately over the moon. All his worries and fears washed away at your words. “I love you.” You spoke, this time in a stronger but gentle voice as his grip loosened a little around you.

He responded by pulling down his mask and kissing you with starving lips. His arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled your body against his. You kissed him back, melting in his touch as the world around you disappeared. You both had missed each others touch and you practically cried of happiness at the familiar warmth of his lips on yours.

When you pulled away to catch your breath, Jungkook leaned his forehead so it was touching yours. He closed his eyes and took everything in as he continued to hold your waist. Never would he be leaving you again. Never.

— A YEAR LATER —

“You ready for the tour baby?” Jungkook asked you in a gentle and soothing voice when he slithered behind you, wrapping his arms around you and putting his head on your shoulder. He gave you a kiss on your neck as he watched you pack your large suitcase.

“Absolutely. I can’t wait to visit all the different places.” You said with a wide smile as you leaned into his touch. When Jungkook cleared his voice you giggled. “And watch you preform of course.” A satisfied smirk showed on his lips at your response.

“Well I’m glad your happy.” He replied with a warm smile, his voice filled with joy and happiness.

Because what you didn’t know was that on the last day of the tour in Daegu, Jungkook was going to propose to you after singing Still With You.

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x female reader #jungkok #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x you #bts x army #bts idol au #bts ot7 #bts reactions

[gremlingottoosilly]

Your ride is here (dark!Ghoap x fem!Reader)

CW and tags: Non-con, poly, group sex, size kink, daddy kink, power imbalance, kidnapping, dead dove do not eat, forced orgasms, praise, humiliation I really really adore @ohbo-ohno and @ceilidho for their amazing takes on writing dark fics with Ghoap and fem!Readers Word count: 3794 AO3

You were already way too drunk when you got out of the bar. It was an annoyingly loud party, too many people you never even knew – you thought that it would be nice since it’s a nice bar and not some weird tech music club, but it didn’t really matter in the end. You were still wasted, head spinning around and headache already forming with bile in your throat every time you opened your eyes. Your phone is dead, your brain is barely working, and the only thing you wish to do right now is to curl down in a small ball and cry. 

You barely managed to call for an Uber before your phone blinked one last time and turned off – and judging by the fact that the somewhat kinda, big-ish car was the only one in the dim alleyway, you assumed it was your ride. Hopefully, you’ll get home as soon as possible, get a shower, clear your stomach from alcohol slowly brewing into nausea, and fall asleep. 

You’re far too drunk to notice that the driver didn’t even ask for your name when you got inside. 

— H…hey there. You’re my driver, yea? 

You force the words out of your mouth as you slowly duck your head into the car and settle on the backseat before the guy even says anything. He is pretty, somewhat – a weird fucking haircut for sure, but has a roguish charm of a boy you might meet at the nearest gas station shop. You’re way too buzzed to think of him in any romantic way, but he is nice to look at, and you’re staring to the point of being inappropriate. 

He smiles, and you feel your cheeks heating up – probably just alcohol working its way up your system. But he looks nice and probably would feel nice in bed, too – he clearly forgot about shaving for a few days, and you almost think about the way it would feel on your face. Or between your legs. Or just right on your…

— Aye, it’s me. 

You can see his cheeks getting flushed as he stares back at you. The situation becomes slightly more weird with each passing moment, but he taps on his phone, probably searching for a map. You turn your head to look at the blurry image – not like you have any knowledge of the area, transferring here for your big girl job and trying to make your way in the city that couldn’t care less about you or your feelings. 

You press your cheek against the car seat, leaning over to help him. 

— It’s on…yeah, um, Maple 37-12. I think I might have typed the address incorrectly on the app. 

— Thank ye, lassie. 

He quickly turns on the map to head over to your house, and you smile, happy about your management skills even as you’re still drunk as hell. You allow your head to fall on the backseat headrest again, closing your eyes just for a second. It’s a long ride home, and you already regret every decision that made you go to this fucking party. 

The driver is chatty. 

Really fucking chatty. 

— So, where do you work? Ye shouldn’t be up in that hour. 

You grumble something in the answer, not wanting to speak too much. Your brain isn’t built for this kind of pressure right now. 

— Yer boyfriend goin’ to pick ye up? 

You slightly wince at the words, another reminder of how utterly alone you were. Of course, if you had a boyfriend or even some close, responsible friends, you would ask them to help you with a ride home – you never trusted public transport at this hour, and uber is often varies between a last resort and a stranger danger on wheels. 

— Don’t have any. 

Your brain is far too drunk to even comprehend why you didn’t just lie that a mysterious boyfriend will meet you. Somehow, the expression of the driver – he called himself Johnny with such a beautiful boyish smile that it made your toes curl – made you feel dizzy and light in the head. God, you don’t want to act like a high school sweetheart, but all of those drinks made you feel lonely. 

— No way. A wee bonnie like ye shouldnae be alone. 

You lick your lips, trying not to sound too miserable. You’re failing. 

— I’m focusing on my career. 

He actually laughs at that, and you feel even more embarrassed. 

— Career? How does that work out for ye? 

You just grumble at the answer, not wanting to bury yourself even deeper. Truth be told, it’s not what you expected when moving to a new city – you don’t know anyone, don’t have any friends here, your life has started from a blank point, and there is really nothing for you to do besides trying to connect with some uptight work buddies in a grimy bar. 

Driver says something else – just general questions, something about the weather. Silly jokes that make you snort and reconsider your sense of humor – he is really nice for a cab driver, and you kinda want to just listen to him talk over and over again. You kinda just want to close your eyes and sleep, but you suddenly realize that you need to charge your phone in order to check the payment – you don’t think you have enough cash in your purse, and you don’t want to make the driver’s life even more miserable. He must be low on money to work at this hour, and you kinda feel bad enough to leave him a big tip after all of this, especially if you would end up throwing up all over his nice, big car. It's suited for some brutal man from war movies, not an Uber driver. 

— Hey, sorry. Can I charge my phone for a bit? 

He smiles even more, getting you the required cable – you plug your phone finally, for the first time in the past few minutes, seeing your home screen again. God, this is late hours – you never got home at this time before. 

The car takes an unexpected turn, and you swing your head to look at the window – you don’t recognize the area. Of course, the road was dark, and you lived far away, but even with your blurry mind and hazy memories of the street you moved to,  you knew this wasn’t right. The driver is nice and all, but you feel like he made a mistake by relying only on Google Maps. You hope he made a genuine mistake, at least. 

— Um, sir? 

— Aye, lassie? 

He looks so innocent it immediately drops you off guard. You lean closer to him, a phone still in your hand – you were trying to refresh the Uber app quite a few times already, but it somehow never showed you the price you were supposed to pay for the trip – and try to sound as chill as possible. No use in making a scene, you both are tired, and he probably wants to get done with you as soon as possible. 

— I think you took a wrong turn. My street should be on the right side. 

— Didnae think I did. 

— What do you mean? My home isn’t…

The app blinks, and you look at it, trying to concentrate on the obscenely bright screen, punishing your eyes for simply having those. You lick your lips, blood running cold. 

You stare at the “Your driver will be here in 5 minutes”. With a description of a car that couldn’t be more different than the car you were in. 

With the driver, whose name wasn’t even remotely “Johnny”. 

***

Soap wasn’t intending to bring a girl home. What he intends is to find a nice chip place near the bar he and Simon used to go to together and then bring something home to eat because, of course, Lt came home before him, and his cooking skills are almost as bad as his jokes. Simon is a mad dog that will probably eat anything provided and isn’t against chewing on his shoes in case of an emergency, but he doesn’t want him to do this off-deployment. 

Johnny literally just wanted to buy some grub, get it home warm, and take off drinking beer and watching some mindless shit on the TV. Preferably with Simon by his side because their relationship cannot be defined by any labels, and he as a nice fucking ass. 

Well, turns out random drunk girls who slammed into his car just when he got the takeout bag securely on the front seat have nice asses too. And Soap can’t think of the last time he had his dick smothered by a woman’s lips and not his fist or, somehow, Simon’s hand. 

You’re pretty, drunk, and kinda dumb – just like he loves them. Silly girl, really, what did you expect when your phone is dead and you have no other means of contacting safety. He saw you approaching the car, not even looking at his plate – you probably wouldn’t remember when he would dump you in the morning. Not that he would, of course, pretty dumb girls like you should be protected, and his job is, well, protection itself –  he can drag you to his and Ghost’s apartment like a trophy in his teeth. 

He licks his lips, enjoying the expression of fear slowly creeping on your face. You’re so drowsy, so adorable, he can’t help but smile widely when you’re panicking. You try to open the door, but, of course, it’s child-locked. Fitting for someone who behaves like one. 

The last time he tried to convince a girl to have a threesome with him and Simon, she preferred to just watch them awkwardly jerk each other off. The last time he tried to convince a guy for a threesome with him and Simon, Johnny spent the whole night in the corner, blue-balled and lonely, as the twink preferred to suck Lt until he’d cum like two times in a row. 

Johnny knows that if he wants a chance for something other than a sloppy seconds, he will have to accept a quick car fuck, possible kidnapping, and forging marriage documents for a pretty girl he just locked in his car because why the hell not, why can’t a handsome Scotsman just kidnap a drunk girl who mistook him for an Uber driver. 

He stops the car in a more or less secluded area – poor bird, you’re still trying to bump your way out of the door with your shoulder, only risking dislocating it. The car was a fucking tank in disguise, the only thing that could survive Ghost’s driving skills – there is no way you would be able to get it to open without the owner wanting you to. Soap licks his lips, turning to you. Hell bells, you look divine. 

Tears in your eyes, panicked expression, hands curling into fists as you’re trying to get out of your personal nightmare, no matter how drunk you are. Poor baby, he really feels bad for you – you’re so sweet, so trusting, there is no way he was the first guy to ever try to harm you like this. Sergeant might like to think of himself as being more or less in touch with normal people, but when he sees a pretty girl in trouble, he wants nothing more but to become her trouble. 

He opens the car just for a second from the driver’s seat – he needs to get to you, after all, just looking at you, trapped in the backseat, won’t be enough for the throbbing erection he has in his pants. You try to fight him as he heavily lingers on you, almost crushing you under his weight. Car isn’t nearly big enough for someone like him to comfortably sit in normal position on top of you, so Johnny uses one hand to drag you back, deeper into the seat, and the other hand – to unbuckle his belt, proving to be fucking beautiful with his fingers. 

You look so pretty, he can’t help but snap a few pictures for the group chat – dumb idea at first, as he thought, but now he can’t wait for the Captain to see what a pretty catch he has on his arms. The last mission was pretty rough, and they all deserve a pretty thing to cover themselves in fear and tremble under them after they fuck her, one after one. Might even bring you to Captain’s house, show you what a good girl you can be for your daddy if given a chance. 

Soap smirks as he drags his hard cock out of his pants. Your eyes are wide in shock – he might not be the biggest of the group, Lt has the crown rightfully and deservingly, but it doesn’t mean that the Scot is small. Thicker than average, leaking pre-cum already – has been since you first got into the car, all cute and disoriented. He had to waste quite a few minutes driving you as far from civilization as possible without alarming your pretty, dazed head about anything – now he can reap his prize. A part of it, anyway. 

You cry and squirm, trying to fight him off when he pushes his hand into your hair and tugs angrily – you’re simply too fucking weak to be a reasonable challenge, so Johnny only laughs when he can put your fight with a single press on your windpipe. You cough, struggling again – soon enough, you learn to just stop and allow him to lead. Good girl, can be trained so well – you’d make a good soldier if you weren’t so pretty and so vulnerable. 

— Don’t make me break yer nose, lassie. Open up, aye? 

He smiles, too warm for the situation – you don’t understand what you did to deserve this, his hand presses your throat in a tight embrace, and you can’t do anything but squirm and try somehow to use your legs to fight – but oh, you’re far too drunk to do this. You whimper, and your head spins and aches with each hiccup, leaving your lips. Such a pathetic sight to see, you could almost feel bile in your throat as he pressed his cock closer to your lips, smearing bitter liquid all over your closed mouth. 

— Pl…please, don’t do this, don’t… what do you want? Money? I will give you money, or my phone, or…

He groans, the waiting time for this pretty girl is far too long already. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you’re too soft for this – a thought of slapping your face lingers in his mind, but ruining your pretty cheeks won’t be efficient in this case. Johnny tugs on your hair, hoping it will be enough to set you straight – he doesn’t want you to pass out from pain, after all. Already too merciful with just using your throat and now that tight ass hiding underneath your dress. 

Your words are slurred, hazed, your tongue can’t move quite right enough – still too drunk, and lack of fresh air only makes you go dumber by each second. Soap only lets go of you when he is sure you’re far too gone to try and bite him – still, he pushes his two hands in your mouth, opening you wide as you gag and cough. 

— Don’t worry yer pretty head ‘bout it. Just take me, and then we’ll go home. 

He will ride you home, make you ride him, and make you some really nice breakfast later. He will carefully wipe away the damp makeup from your face – poor girl, you’re crying too much and ruined all of your hard work on this skin – and send some pretty pictures to the group. But, hey, he can snap a couple right now. 

With one hand still in your mouth, he awkwardly moves his hips so his cock can point right against your lips – and presses down, making you gag more and more as he slowly but surely pushes his cock inside of your tight, warm mouth. God, this is the heavens – he can’t remember the last time he had such an amazing blowjob from such a cutie. Gaz would fucking love you. 

You’re so pretty from this angle, coughing on his cock, tears streaming down your cheeks – Johnny tells you to smile for the camera and snaps a couple of pictures. Group chat was an amazing idea, after all – he can’t wait to share some more cute videos once you’ve settled it. The feeling of your warm mouth on his cock is absolutely divine – you’re tight, probably inexperienced, and he relishes in the fact he might be the biggest cock you ever took in your pretty lips. 

You try your hardest to pull away, but he keeps you close, a hand tugs on your hair again, making you cry harder. Soap is so sorry, bonnie, he will make it up to you later – will eat your pretty cunt sloppily, maybe mess with your ass a bit, making sure you’re all wet and open for the members of his team and their members. He snorts at the thought. smiling as you’re still fighting the urge to puke. 

— Like this, aye? Don’t fuckin’ try to bite me, I don’t want to prick yer teeth off. 

Threat lingers in your panicked mind as he drags his hips back before slamming in your mouth again, his balls slapping your chin with an obscene sound. The drool is leaking down your lips, creating a mess on the car seat – it’s not a problem, really, he will clean it later. Maybe would have to change the fabric of the seating for something less damp if he plans to fuck you in the car more. And oh, aren’t they all planning to do this? 

His phone rings when he was least expecting it – skull emoji on the display. No name, no photo – of course. He must have predicted that Lt would like some of the fun beforehand. Well, Soap isn’t the one to hoard every trophy to himself – even if he really wants to be the first with a pretty girl. 

He loves his team – and they will love you as much. 

He picks up with a smug grin on his face, staring at the screen. His moans become louder, grunts that make your cheeks burn as you just know he is faking it for more theatrics – pressing his phone between his cheek and a shoulder, leaving his friend to listen to his pleasure. Licking his lips as Ghost groans, a familiar sound of an unbuckled belt clanging somewhere in the background. You sob, trying to trash out of his hold again – he only presses you deeper, your nose flattening against his pubic bone. 

— Couldn’t fuckin’ wait, Jonny? Simon sounds tired, angry, jealous even – his sergeant smiles wider, slowly removing the phone from under his cheek and going into video call instead – showing your pretty face, all smothered with pre-cum, ruined makeup, and tears. You look so pretty, so perfect, he moves his hips more to remind you to suck on his cock and not just stare at him like a pretty kitten. He loves you like this, of course, but his dick twitches without proper movement, and Johnny was never the one for patience. Only for bombs, maybe. 

Well, you’re a freaking bombshell, aren’t ye. 

— Sorry, Lt. Dumb thing thought I was her ride. 

The other man snorts. They both laugh – a cruel sound, taunting your ears. You whine and cry, feeling the cock in your mouth pulsating. You try to turn away from the camera, but it’s impossible with a hand still pressing down on your head – you can only close your eyes, poor attempt at saving your dignity. God, you feel absolutely trashed. Soap adores that defeated look in your eyes. 

— And you aren’t? 

— Still a better driver than you, sir. But no, not this time. Can give her a ride, though. 

You hate their laughing, hate the way he is gently caressing your head like you’re a threatened animal and not a living, breathing being. He is being soft with you, like he isn’t forcing his way into your mouth – like he isn’t showing your fucked face to his friend. You hate the way your pussy burns, wet from humiliation, and the soft retirement you’re receiving. Bastard isn’t even thinking of your pleasure, and maybe that’s good. You don’t want to like it. 

— Goin’ bring her home? 

— Aye. Would look bloody adorable on our bed. 

They both snort while your blood runs cold. You hoped, you prayed he would let you go after this – traumatized, but mostly alive and well. You have a job, you have a life, and you can’t be fucking “taken home” to some bastard’s bed while he is using you like a sex toy. You try to squeeze your teeth on his dick, maybe do at least something to make him let you go – but Soap strikes your cheek with unknown anger, making you squirm in his grasp. You sob. 

— Don’t break her yet, Johnny. 

— Sorry. Dumb thing tried to bite me. 

— Doesn’t know any better. Gaz had a special muzzle for dumb girls. 

— Too tight for my dick. 

— Bloody hell, Mactavish. Don’t get too cocky. 

— Never intended to, sir. 

He pushes his dick deeper into your mouth. Your cheek burns from the slap, you can almost feel the bruise forming – and the bastard just tugs on your hair, filling your throat with sticky, disgusting cum. You drink it all, no use in trying to choke yourself on his seed when you’re already set in his hold. 

— How is her mouth? 

— Fuckin’ heaven, Lt. 

— I noticed. You finished fast, even for you, Johnny. 

— I’ll try better next time. Maybe get our dollie off after. 

— Selfish, Mactavish. 

— We all deserve to be selfish. 

Soap has the fucking audacity to wipe your mouth after you finish drinking it all, pushing the remaining cum and drool back on your tongue. He gently patted on your head, then made a small apology for being too rough. Was never his intention. 

— Sorry, bonnie. Don’t try to fight again, aye? You’re too tired to answer, and he just cradles your head against his chest. You whimper and cry, pleading senselessly for him to leave you – he only snaps even more photos of your tear-stained face. God, he can’t wait to bring you home. You’ll look heavenly as a fucktoy for the whole team. 

— L..let me…

— Naw, lassie. Shut up and let me take you where you belong. You’ll love it, promise. 

He kisses your forehead before moving to the front seat again. 

You clutch to the seat in silence, bitter taste of his cum still lingering on your tongue. 

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #yandere ghost #yandere soap #yandere #ghoap x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dark content

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ “Behave” — JJK Men

Synopsis:- They’re all gentlemen, at least they try to be, but then, just what can a man do when you’re literally, asking for it?

— A/n:- because chemistry sucks ass and rather than calculating the pressure of some random ass monoatomic has, I’d rather get scolded by a man🤭

— Word Count:- 0.9k

— Warnings:- smut!!MDNI!!Geto + Gojo + Nanami x reader (separately); brat taming; slight humiliation (just a bit mean sided); hints of oral (male receiving); spanking (very light?); hints of edging; idk rest just yea<3 (not proofread!!); sir link with Geto; name calling

Suguru Geto:-

Suguru Geto holds the patience of a priest, quiet simply, and punishes like the God Complex he’s built himself around. Nothing ever truly goes unnoticed by him, watching intently as he counts each strike—it’s true, often he’ll punish you in spite of it—but more often than not (because you’re a decent brat too) he finds himself giving all that you perfectly deserve.

“How many do you deserve?” he murmured against your skin, hands bound with the pretty handcuff, the one he insisted upon buying—face shoved deep into the white sheets and ass up and facing him.

Fingers playing with the loose sheets, you smirked, “20?” You reply was short, almost sweet and innocent.

Suguru didn’t budge, he knew it—a smirk he adorned too, “I think that’s a lot doll let’s do a little less than half of it, ok?” A sharp slap landed on your rear—a rough squeeze.

You whined simply, in response—he knew however, spankings weren’t all so much a punishment for you as much as the pleasure it passed you.

And he wasn’t having it tonight, not when you were audacious enough to insult him in front of his friends.

“That’s very less su’- ah!” A squeal you let out when another sharp slap crashed upon—“Sir! That’s far too less sir,” your correction amused him still.

“You think 8’s less doll?” And just something about the edge in his voice alerted you, “Last time you were crying and writhing when I edged you 5 times—but if that’s what you want…”

A smirk and a whine let out together.

Satoru Gojo:-

Satoru Gojo is all by himself, the embodiment of a brat—so to seek out ways to thin his patience is almost stupid. But stupid is as stupid does— a challenge shouldn’t go wasted right? Satoru doesn’t need reasons to punish you, at least, that’s what he makes it seem like, but he remembers and he remembers well.

Back pressed against his chest, you nuzzled deeper—aware perfectly of the uncomfortable hard-on your almost bare ass, pressed against his crotch, caused him.

A whine he let out- hands groping your breasts roughly, kneading and pressed together, “Don’t fucking tease me,” he muttered against the sensitive skin of your neck, you grinned.

“Awh, poor Toru’ can’t take it?” And you were sure you almost head a purr at that, “don’t push it princess,”

Another whine, when you pushed your ass against his dick further, “Push what Toru?” The little pout your lips held drove him crazy as that.

“That’s it,” he growled right there—“you asked for the punishment,”

An amused look you offered, “Because you can’t control your dick? What are you 12?” You knew your words only tipped him more, but he was just always worse at the game than you ever could be, “For cumming and soiling those pretty panties I bought you, especially when I wasn’t home,” you eyes went wide, and his smirk—not one thought sprang your head, how did he know that?

“Or for those shorts you wore when Nanami was over, wanted him to check out this sweet ass angel?” You squealed as his hand pinched your ass.

“Maybe for the nudes you kept sending me during my missions hm? But the real question is, what should I even do hm?”

Before anything could even register inside your head, he had already manhandled you between his legs, kneeling on the bed as he sat legs wide.

“Go on,” he grinned, “Only I deserve the pleasure tonight yeah?”

Nanami Kento:-

Nanami Kento is a man of few words and perfect ideals—you almost knew what you were getting into, except, you didn’t. Kento wasn’t exactly strict, he let you as you pleased- he liked it feisty, but there were moments of his own. And sometimes, he just couldn’t help the sudden flare of anger bubbling up.

Your head bobbed along the length of his shaft- your mouth was getting sore for that was how he’d kept you for the past 15 minutes, kneeling under his table, your warm mouth keeping him occupied while he worked—all so because you couldn’t help your need for attention.

A glare he passed when you let out a whine, eyes flitting onto the door handle, making sure no one would enter and suddenly, he pulled out—making you whine all the louder.

“Just don’t fucking get it, do you?” His words were harsh, so contrasting to the usual Kento he offered in your gaze, “Just wanna be fucked in front of everyone like a slut,” his fingers gripped your jaw tight, “that’s what the slut wants hm? For everyone to see just how good your mouth takes me?”

You loved it, the intense gaze in his eyes, the rough embrace he offered and mean words—he knew you loved it.

“Tongue out,” he ordered, and you did as he pleased—an amused smile tugged at his lips.

Plap-plap-plap—he slapped the tip of dick against your tongue, it felt so filthy this way—“good pet,” he murmured, “gonna have you hold it 15 more minutes, this is the only way you’ll learn to hold your tongue yeah?”

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Reblogs and likes highly appreciated!

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru #geto x reader #jjk #gojo x reader #getosuguru #getou x reader #geto suguru x reader #getou suguru #suguru geto smut #geto suguru smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento jjk #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento x you #nanami kento smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojou x reader #gojo saturo #jjk smut #gojou satoru x reader #getou suguru x reader

[snipersfucker]

Hcs for mirage and make it spicy too 😈

yall so down bad for that robot dick smh (me too)

its nsfw (mirage x human!reader) stuff here so mdni even though i know yall read that 18+ shit anyway but imma just put it here. also, i am a grown ass woman and was still blushing while writing this so. warning: its hella fucking long

mirage headcanons

let's start with something that just popped up in my head:

when he's the dom, he praises you a lot but also i feel like he's the type to slightly tease/mock you? hear me out. "aw, you're gonna cum? yeah? you wanna be good for me and cum?" while slamming into you and ridding you of any thoughts

and while subbing, he's so whiny... like, whimpering, begging you to let him finish (in general or inside you cause i have a breeding kink) but also, he's being a big fucking brat, literally provoking you so that you'd go harder, be meaner to him

loves edging, loves doing it to you, loves watching you squirm and turn into mush with that cocky smile on his face, only using his hands on you

he definitely likes being edged, too. definitely. imagine him with his wrists tied behind his back, you not letting him touch you/stop you from torturing him, him complying even though he could easily break free..... he's a good boy and lets you do anything you want. (whimpers)

overstimulation as well, he just loves seeing you in that state, begging, crying in pleasure, moaning, whimpering, whatever. really.

he loses it when you overstimulate him though, definitely overheating and not being able to do anything other than beg you to stop, even though he's so fucking into it

12 inches. at least tbh.

i don't even wanna imagine what his cum must taste like, it's either washer fluid, gasoline or fucking rainwater he collects inside him so that you wouldn't have to swallow the first two things idk

back to pleasant things:

he'd definitely take you on rides where he just tells you to touch yourself for him in the driver's seat so that he could watch and hear everything

if you're a bold person (me) and came up with that idea first? like, he's driving around, talking with you through the radio, the mood is already slightly sexual, teasing and all (you know how he is), and then you decide to win the war and begin slowly undressing and touching yourself.... i feel like he'd either go completely silent for a moment or be like "damn... didn't know you had it in you". and expect him to literally ruin your insides when you get back to the garage. the positions he'd put you in.....

speaking of positions. he's big. i really like to believe your human body would be able to take him (i definitely would) but i am not entirely sure. do i care, though? no.

so his fav one is cowgirl. you straddling his lap while he's sitting, his servos on your waist/hips, them not moving you up and down but only staying there, allowing you to do anything you want (he doesn't wanna hurt you as any normal person)

missionary, too. mating press when he feels like ruining you in the sweetest way possible.

he'd try most things you'd ask him to do. he's a whore tbh. but. choking is a no, slapping and any other thing that could potentially cause you unwanted pain due to his strength and size is a no for him. wrapping his fingers around your throat just so that you'd feel them there? hell yeah. actually applying pressure? you might die

doesn't mind your hands on his neck, though. he knows you can't do shit to him, he'd let you hold a knife to his throat if you wanted to tbh, he couldn't care less (turns him on)

he looks like he fucking enjoys roleplays and the cringe ones, too. like, police officer stopping him for speeding, him acting all innocent and then he has to get punished for breaking the law or some shit. he just has that face that looks like he likes these things

he'd be so bratty as well. "no, ma'am, i am sure i wasn't speeding. well, you could always handcuff me if you think otherwise....." in that fake innocent tone....

size kink, breeding kink (just pretend his cum is normal like, potential gasoline inside me is a turn off for me personally tbh), bondage... he'd tie you up but again, he doesn't wanna hurt you, he'd prefer if you had complete control over your limbs and all. but loves it when you do it to him as i mentioned earlier

he's gotta prep you real good before putting it in, again because of his size. fingers, lube, your spit, anything. he needs to make sure you're stretched out enough to take him

he'd definitely steal your panties to jerk himself off with them (will be writing a whole fic about it someday)

speaking of masturbation, he's a horny fuck, everything about you gets him going and there aren't enough occasions for you to actually have sex, so he just uses his own hand, imagining you in various positions, even the impossible ones just because.

i don't think they have involuntary boners that show and they have to transform a bit to get their dicks out so he just does it to get rid of the unbearable tension inside him, not because anybody would see him with a hard-on

he cums a lot. the fluid literally never stops coming out of his dick when he finishes. breeding kink goes brrrr once again.

once came up with a funny safe word and told you to use it every single time you feel anything else other than pleasure

his digits are so big, he could easily use just one and make you crumble for him with just pushing it in and out of you

his aftercare probably consists of him holding you after sex, although he's aware that the metal body might not be the most comfortable thing ever. he'd definitely offer to take you on a joy ride afterwards. oh, and praise, too. but would also probably playfully make fun of you for saying horny stuff you'd normally never say to him if your mind wasn't clouded with lust

he's so confident in his bedroom abilities, too, as he should tbh.

i want him to manhandle me but also make him my pet.

#mirage rotb #mirage #mirage x my pussy #mirage x you #mirage x reader #mirage smut #mirage fluff #mirage angst #mirage transformers #transformers rotb #transformers #mirage headcanons #rotb

[ellieslittleburrow]

Siblings

Summary : You live near campus, away from Dean and Sam. You haven't seen them in a while. How do you react when you find them right at your door?

Pairings : Dean and Sam winchester x sister

Warnings : nooone, just fluff.

A/N : Hi, babies ❣❣ I hope this is as refreshing to you as it was for me.

------

Oil sizzled as you set the stove on the lowest heat. You tossed the chopped up onions into the pan, filling the room with the familiar aroma.

The house phone rang. And you moved the pan aside before heading for the phone. You pressed a button, setting the phone near your ear when a familiar hum sounded.

Oh my god!

"Dean!" You excitedly shouted, earning yourself an "ouch" over the other line. You pressed a another button, opening the complex door for him and since you were only in the third floor, it only took him a quick minute to appear, followed by Sam.

"Hii" You opened your arms, running to embrace both of them. "What a surprise."

"Hey, kiddo." Dean tightly wrapped his arms around you, letting you go when Sam spoke.

"Hey, honey." Sam pulled you into a hug.

"I missed you both so much." Your voice vibrated into Sam's chest. "What are you doing here?"

"Eating, apparently." As Dean's voice went distant, you pulled away from Sam, spinning around to find Dean marching towards the kitchen.

You let out a little chuckle, following behind.

-----

After setting the plates and beers on the table, you plumped down on the couch, waiting for your brothers to join. And as all three of you started eating, an hour and a half of talks about life, uni, cases and john flowed seamlessly.

"So..." Dean coughed. "Anybody in your life....kid?"

You rolled your eyes at Dean's sudden change of voice. You knew this one, a low tone, manipulative and curious. You're not falling for it.

"Nobody, Dean." You smiled at him, not caring that he already knew you were lying.

"Are you sure about that? Because i'm pretty sure you don't wear size 12 flip floppers." He eyed the entry door and you snorted a laugh. Fucking hell..This guy's eyes..

"Leave her alone, Dean." Sam rolled his eyes before turning to you. "As long as you're happy, honey."

You smiled at his response....your eyes darting around the room when silence set in...

"Alright....Time to head out, Dean." Sam slapped his thighs, readying himself to get up when you pushed him back down.

"No!"

"We have to go, honey. We still have 5 hours to go before we get there." Sam argues and you shook your head.

"Please don't....it's only been an hour." You pleaded, looking over at Dean, who, to your surprise, was staring at you with pleading eyes.

He did not want to go either.

"Come on, Sammy. It's-" you spun around to get a look at the clock. "It's 6pm, don't you wanna get some sleep and head back for the road tomorrow morning?."

Sam grimaced. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, honey. I really do want to stay, but we could always stay over on our way ba-."

You turned to Dean, leaving Sam hanging. But Dean was already laid back, quiet, waiting for you to do all the dirty work. That's when Sam spoke again.

"Okay, how about this" He started, and your eyes grew wide, anticipating what's about to happen.

Sam straightened his back as he held his arms out, positioning one hand on top of the other, his right fist resting on top of his left palm. And as Dean understood the assignment, he got up, mirroring sam.

And in silence you watched, as for the very first time, Sam laid a rock, losing the fight as early as the first round.

You burst into laughter as Sam's eyebrows arose. Nobody expected that. And as you lifted your arms up, jumping in pure ecstasy, Dean grinned triumphantly.

"I won."

You nodded. "And you spend the night here."

Sam smacked his hands together. "Alright, then. Let's prep for a night in."

----

And we're done! If yall can spare a minute and tell me about my writiing pleaase? if i should change it up, if it's too repetitive and stuff. No pressure and thanks in advance ❣ 🖤🖤🥀🥀

#winchester sister #sam winchester x sister!reader #sister!reader #sam winchester x sister #dean winchester x daughter!reader #dean winchester x sister #dean winchester x sister!reader #sister x brothers #baby winchester #father figure fic #sibling fic #platonic!reader #dean winchester × platonic!reader

[pyramid-of-starrs]

11&12😍

It won't hurt will it?

Kinktober request: 11 Boyfriend Yunho, Impact play

Pairing: Soft boyfriend hard dom Yunho x fem reader

Summary: Yunho was your sweet golden retriver boyfriend that always catered to you and your needs, that was great and all but sometimes you wanted a little extra push, or slap?

Word Count: 1.6K

Kink: Impact play

Warning: Impact play, spanking, degrading

A/N: This shit is just straight up porn it don't even have a halloween or fall theme this was just freaky as hell lol

Minors dni

"Sooooo? What do you think?" You happily turned to your handsome boyfriend with the cutest smile while you sat in his lap on the couch.

Yunho used his other arm to reach up and scratch his head while the other was still wrapped around your waist, you could see his puffy cheeks start to grow red.

"I don't know Y/N... What if I hurt you?" His eyes met yours and you rolled yours.

"That's the point baby, Impact play isn't meant to feel soft, it's a chance to let out your tough side!" you said still trying to convince him. Yunho has all ways been a picture-perfect gentleman, he treats you with the utmost respect outside the bedroom and in the bed, he is a gentle giant that takes his time with you and while that is beautiful you couldn't help but wanted more. You would find yourself randomly watching BDSM porn and wanting Yunho to take his big veiny hands and strike your ass or face, but you knew he wouldn't just do it, he would rather die than hurt you.

"Is this about something I did? Do I not satisfy you anymore? I did the name calling and choking and being more aggressive like you wanted am I not doing it good?" you could see the worry on his face, and you quickly hugged it out of him.

"Noooooo baby it's not you I promise! It's me I just wanted to try some new things forget I asked, okay?" you of course still wanted to try it but if it made Yunho insecure then fuck that.

Later that night you cooked dinner for the two of you then after you were done you both took a shower, kissing and hugging each other throughout while the water ran over your bodies. Yunho's large hands perfectly palmed your round ass, and it made you crazy, you started to get lost in the imagination of feeling the stinging pain of him slapping your wet ass in the shower while his words degraded you. Feeling his hands grip your neck while the other slapped you for harboring such dirty thoughts about your lover. You snapped out of your thought when the cold water started to hit your back.

"Come on, let’s get out beautiful." Yunho said while leading you out the shower, you both put your robes on and dried off to get dressed, Yunho put on a t-shirt and his boxers while you just slid on a silk nightgown. You both cuddled into bed and eventually drifted off to sleep, later in the night around 2am you were woken up to a pressure against your ass and Yunho kissing down your neck, his hands were already in your gown as he gently massaged your chest, you started to whimper as his finger started to play with your sensitive nipples.

"Can't sleep Yun?" you asked.

"I can't stop thinking about what we talked about earlier..." He said in between kissing your neck.

"Baby I said you don't have to worry about it, if it makes you uncom-"

"I want to do it." he interrupted you to say, you pussy throbbed a bit.

"O-oh! Oh, you do? are you sure?"

"Yes, but if you don't want to anymore then we don't have too."

"No! No, I do please let’s do it Yun please."

"Okay, if I go overboard or make you uncomfortable, let me know. I might not be able to control myself..." when those words left his mouth you knew you were in for a treat, even though Yunho was new to being Dom he still entered Dom space pretty easy, fucking you till you drooled, degrading you just right and choking you till you covered his dick in your cum, it was all just a treat. He snaked his arm under you to wrap his hand under your and neck, he squeezed and turned your head back so your lips could connect. The kiss was very hot and eager, you followed his motion as he slid his tongue into your mouth, you could feel his other hand cascade down your body and stop at your ass. He started to rub and grip your ass, feeling the fleshy mound in his palms, his hand lifted and then came back down, an audible smack was heard in the room, he immediately continued to grip and rub you to subside the sting. Your mind was going crazy as you yelped into his mouth upon being struck, his lips moved off of yours and he checked your face for any discomfort.

"W-was that too rough?" he said nervously.

"No please keep going, you can be rough with me Yun." he nodded and continued to kiss you, his hands rubbed your ass and then he detached his lips again, before you could ask what’s wrong another smack landed on your ass, you yelled out a swear while you face contorted to show your pleasure, your pussy was pulsing, you could feel the wet sensation between your thighs thanks to going to bed with no panties. Yunho once again rubbed your ass to soothe the pain then smacked it again, this time your body jolted at the power of the smack, your eyes rolled back feeling the pleasurable stinging.

"You're such a fucking slut, already about to cum from getting her little ass spanked, I haven't even fucked your needy little pussy yet." He said into your ear, more moans feel from your lips as he taunted you with his hands around your throat, he removed his hand from your ass to your core, he rubbed his 2 long digits between your hot pussy and wasted no time slipping them into your hole. He pumped them into a feel times while your walls clenched and unclenched around them, your started to moan more since Yunhos finger could reach so deep into you, but he pulled them out causing you to let out a disappointed whimper. He brought his two finger up to your face, even in the dark moonlit room you could see your slick glistening on his digits.

"Look how wet you are for me, did you really want me to spank your slutty ass that badly?"

"Yes, yes I wanted it so bad." when you replied you could feel his dick hard press into your ass, he gripped the sides of your cheeks with his thumb and index finger causing your mouth to pucker. Without warning he slid his wet fingers into your mouth, his fingers started to fuck your mouth while you sucked your juices off of his fingers, he occasionally touched the back of your throat and it made you gag, drool and saliva fell from your mouth uncontrollably. "Eager little cock slut already drooling to get fucked, get up and take off your gown so you can sit on my dick." you immediately did what you were told and got undressed, Yunho did the same. He laid on his back while you climb onto him to straddle him, you lined his long dick up with your entrance and slid down slowly, Yunhos hands flew to your ass, you placed your hands on his stomach and sat there once he was completely inside you, due to Yunhos length you had to adjust for a moment. After about 30 seconds you dropped your head back, even without moving Yunhos dick was sending you into orbit as it hit your cervix, Yunho waited for you to move and when you didn't you could feel a strike to your ass, you yelled out from the pain.

"Ride this fucking dick." you listened well as you started to rock your hips back and forth on his long dick. After getting comfortable you started to bounce on him, he moved his hand to your throat to grip it, your mouth was stuck open, your face was messy with drool still, he guided your body up and down his length, he watched you fall apart on his dick with your pussy throbbing on him, his, just like yours, climax was on the rise.

"You love fucking this dick, don't you?" he hissed.

You nodded your head then it happened, his hand gripped your throat tighter than a strong slap hit your cheek, a stinging sensation was on your face, you once again yelled out a string of curse words.

"Use your fucking words." he demanded.

"Yeesss." you wined out, your hips started to bounce faster, your pussy was squeezing his dick to milk his cum from his shaft, a wet slapping noise was filling the room. Another slap came across your cheek then you were soothed by Yunho sticking his thumb into your mouth, so you had something to suck on to bring you back down, your tears started to roll down your cheeks as you felt yourself fall into sub space.

"Yes what baby?" you continued to bounce as he drilled his hips upward to drive his dick even deeper into you.

"Yes I love this dick so fucking much!" you yelled out releasing his thumb, you could see stars as your climax hit you full on like a train, you stopped but Yunho kept driving his dick into you then he halted while he came deep into your pussy. You cried out his name while you sat on his dick, he removed himself from you then placed your limp sweaty body next to him you were still whimpering, and tears were still falling while your teeth chattered. He put his boxers back on to grab a warm towel to clean you up, after he was done, he wiped your tears and peppered your face with gentle kisses as he wrapped you both with the blanket.

"You did so well for me Y/N, I hope I wasn't too rough with you." he said as he cuddled you into his chest.

"It was so good Yun, thank you for being open to trying it." you placed your hand on his chest.

"Of course, I'm glad you liked it because this won't be the last time for sure." he smiled then you two drifted off to sleep.

#ateez smut #ateez fanfic #atz smut #yunho x reader #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #writenbypyramidofstars

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

one | two

Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Sirius Black smells like winter. The deep and fruity fragrance of cranberries, pomegranate, maybe cinnamon. You aren't certain, and if he weren't currently an inch from your face, you'd ask him what it is. 

"You poor thing," he murmurs, dabbing very, very gently against the bruised skin of your cheek.

"It's not–" You hiss at sudden pressure. He immediately recedes. "It's not so bad." 

"I've half a mind to rag him around and take up the mantle myself." 

"I'd love to see that," Remus says.  

"I'd look good in the uniform, right?" 

James doesn't look happy at their joking but he's been nothing less than a grovelling puppy since last night, and he breaks his silence to say, "You don't have to wear any make-up if it's going to hurt." 

"Uh, yes she does. Imagine the headlines otherwise: Lost Princess Bruised Under the Imbecilic Watch of New Bodyguard," Sirius announces, sharing a not-so-private smile with Remus across the coffee table. 

"It doesn't hurt," you say to James. 

You're lying. Being smacked in the face with a door isn't just embarrassing, it really fucking hurts. James' biceps aren't for show, that's for sure. He'd swung open the door and you, having tripped seconds beforehand over the cord of your lamp, had been at the perfect height for it to bounce off the highest point of your cheek. 

"Princess," he says now, as he'd said last night, "I'm so sorry." 

You think of his hands under your arms pulling you up into a standing position, and the way he'd tilted your head back. The barking order he'd given Frank to grab something to use as an ice pack, and the warmth of the pad of his thumb as it stroked the soft line of your jaw. 

"It was a freak accident." You smile, careful not to push up your cheeks lest you invite another round of shooting pains. "Please don't feel bad. It's my fault for being up in the first place, I– I couldn't sleep." 

"If you want anything for it, let me know," Remus says. 

"He's got, like, his own personal pain pharmacy," Sirius says. "You should take him up on it. I beg him everytime we fly for some of the strong stuff and he always says no, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity." 

"Let's not start on the co-codamols," James says. 

"I have ibuprofen," Remus placates. 

"I don't need anything, I promise." 

Some ibuprofen would be awesome but you really don't want James to feel guilty. You want to forget it even happened, embarrassed by both your idiocy and your tears. 

Getting hit in the face by a metal door handle hurts. Your reaction had been justified, but crying all over your handsome bodyguards nice hands hadn't been something you'd pictured doing. Not 12 hours after meeting him.

"You want me to do your lips?" Sirius asks. 

"How do you mean?" 

Sirius pulls a metal palette of lip colours out of his small make up bag and shows them to you. He circles two with a disposable brush. "These would suit you. I wasn't sure about your complexion. Now I know, I'll get you more options when we're back in Genovia." 

"Oh, um…" You shake your head at him apologetically. "I don't know. You should do what you think is best." 

He puts the palette away. "You don't need anything you're unsure of. You don't need any makeup at all, my love, it only enhances what's already there." 

"Ten minutes," James says. "Princess, are you sure this is everything you want to take?" 

He taps your suitcase with the side of his shoe. You nod. 

"You can bring whatever you want. All of your things, if you like." He gestures to your bedroom. "Though we can get you anything you need, and we will, you're welcome to pack everything." 

"In a day, you'll know I'm not your princess. Less stuff to carry," you say. 

"You're so sure," Remus says. 

He speaks quietly but not timidly, laid back in your chair with an air of relaxation you wish you could master. He has a small mass market paperback tucked into one pocket of his jacket, the yellowed pages peeking over the hem, and his hand stuffed into the other. His pose doesn't speak of any arrogance. He looks happy to be here, and it puts you at ease. 

"Do I look like a princess?" you ask. You don't mean to put anyone on the spot —you aren't fishing for compliments— so you steamroll your own question. "I just find it strange. Surely I'd know. I would've known before, I mean." 

"Like a princess beacon?" Sirius asks. 

"No, but… I don't know. I think I'd feel it." 

Remus straightens a touch, grinning. "You look like him. The Prince. You have the same nose." 

Remus stands up before you can ask him to explain. James offers to take his bag and he shrugs away from his big hand with an annoyed huff. 

To your surprise, James only smiles, cooing after him, "You know you love me, Moons." 

"Well," Sirius says, zipping his bag closed and clasping his hands on top of it. "You can always have your things sent for once we're home." 

Home for them. 

Truthfully, deep down, you want to be a princess. Something in you is singing, is ringing, a string plucked, a tuner reverberating. Finally, something is happening. Your life could be more than mistakes. 

You're not used to having people around and this entire process has been hard. Getting hit in the face had sucked. But, to have company? This single hour has been one of the best you've had in a really long time. Sirius is sweeter than you'd thought, sarcastic but kind-handed, and Remus' dry humour has caught you off guard enough to laugh aloud multiple times. Even James' grovelling niceties have been shamefully enjoyable. You can't remember the last time you had someone around who wanted to comfort you.

And that's exactly why you're afraid to admit what seems true. You can't be the Princess, because if you are, you get to have this for a little while longer, and that would be too good to be true. 

Much, much too good. 

"Alright, let's go. Sirius, you have the keys?" 

Sirius swings his bag into James’ arms. “Am I driving?”

“What a stupid question.”

Another member of James’ security team meets you at your front door to help carry the bags downstairs and into the back of the SUV. James won’t allow you to help and getting inside while they’re still packing the boot feels spoiled, so you stand at the corner and feel too many eyes on you. James stands beside you, one hand hovering behind your shoulders to shield you, ridiculously, from the hedge behind, the other held aloft in level with his mouth, fingers curled around a small radio you’ve seen clipped to his shoulder. He’s enunciating clear, short instructions. He doesn’t sound as severe as you’d pictured someone in his occupation would sound. 

“What’s traffic like?” he asks. The answer buzzes down the line, inaudible to you but obviously understood by James. “Alright, brilliant. We should be on schedule, then. Is the third team on call?”

You can make the next answer out. “Yep, they’re waiting. You want them at the front?”

“Please. I want everyone we have, ideally.”

“Isn’t that overkill?” Sirius shouts from the passenger seat of the car, bent over the handbrake to be heard. “All three teams? That’s twelve men. None of my sources hint at any leaks.”

“I’m being over cautious.” James smiles at you, so suddenly you smile back on instinct. “Security on call get paid either way. Might as well make them work for it.”

He ushers you into the back seat, a cushy leather bench fit for three people. It’s rented, but Sirius is quick to pop a section behind his chair for you to show you the drinks fridge. 

“Oh,” you breathe, legs lit and cooled by the light and the chilled air, “cool.”

“You’ll want to drink one before James assesses that they’re poisoned.”

You wince back. “Are they poisoned?”

“Probably not, my love.”

Sirius is a mixture of flirtatious and genuine that you can’t wrap your head around. He’s awfully handsome, too, which makes it worse: he’s tanned, his curls shine, and he has the most perfect Roman nose you’ve ever seen. He’s almost as handsome as James. 

“Let me be very clear,” he says gently, turned in his seat to face you, “I’m not an intelligence agent. I don’t know nearly as much as darling Jamie about security, but I have a lot of friends in high places and, as far as I’m aware, nobody outside of the British or Genovian government knows what we’re doing here. And nobody has reason to hurt you just yet.” He grins. “It’s James’ job to be paranoid, but that’s all it is.” 

You waver, and his cheerful smile fades. 

He lowers his voice, tone sympathetic. “I can always try one first if you’re worried.”

The driver’s door opens and James climbs in. “Try what?” he asks. He moves through a routine quickly of safety checks like a learning driver would. He rolls up the open window and turns in his seat, gaze flitting between you and Sirius suspiciously. “Everything okay?”

“I think the Princess is a little anxious about leaving the country,” Sirius says. 

“Yeah?” James asks, eyes back to the windshield. He turns the key, and the car warms to life with a low roar. 

“A little.” You nudge the fridge closed with your foot. 

“What was that?” James asks. “Is that a fridge? Do me a favour, don’t drink any of that. I'll get you whatever you want at the airport.”

“She can’t have a bottle of water from the fancy jeep but airport drinks are fine?” Sirius laughs. 

“Spike one fridge’s worth or the entire supply chain?” James asks. 

“What if this assassin is inefficient?”

“Assassin?” you ask. 

James glares at Sirius. "There are no assassins, Princess. He's being ridiculous." He looks to you with a smile. "You have everything?" 

Your expression, a sickly grimace, has him giving pause. All fake smiles and dramatics fall away, and in its place is the genuineness you'd been met with last night. 

"Hypothetically," he says, "there are assassins. In reality, there absolutely are not. You're not in any danger, alright? Sirius is the master of badly timed jokes." 

"Okay," you say meekly. 

James nods and you buckle in, sitting back in the comfiest car seat you've ever sat in and turning your face to the window. You look up at your flat building, and as the car starts to move, it shrinks. You drive further and further away, until you turn a corner, and your life is out of view. 

—

James is worried about you. As an acquaintance, he's starting to think you're a worrying person. There isn't a whole lot of spark behind your eyes — you rival Remus for number of tired smiles. 

He wonders why you hadn't packed any of your art supplies. Your room is teeming with them. Even if you're correct and you aren't the Genovian princess after all, there's still a day or more before they can actually confirm that, and factoring in travel time, you won't be home for at least a week. A week without your sketchbooks and paints and pencils. 

As your bodyguard, as a bodyguard, James has always taken concern in his charge's overall health, mental and physical. You don't seem ill, but you do seem unhappy. 

"Are you afraid of flying?" he asks, hoping that will explain your distance. 

He stands less than half a foot from you. He'll allow you some more space just as soon as you're not in an airport. 

"I'm not sure," you say. 

Another peculiarity, you're a pathological liar. 

Okay, that's unfair. You aren't pathological — James is an excellent judge of character, as his job requires, and he's gotten good at profiling a person's motivations. Your motivation is to become the smallest version of yourself that you can be. Any possible imposition is set aside, such as your refusal of painkillers when your cheek can't not hurt. You refuse to inconvenience others. 

"Is there something I can do? To help you feel better?" 

You smile awkwardly. "Is that your job?" you ask, voice lilting upward with self-consciousness. 

"Kind of. You know, as soon as your paternity test is recognised, you could ask for just about anything. An assistant, as many assistants and attendants as you want. Your security will most certainly increase, especially when the Palace makes a statement." 

He notes your widening eyes and backtracks. "It's not really my job, but I wouldn't mind. If you think of anything, let me know." 

You hide your hands in the pockets of your hoodie. You're dressed as he advised, comfortably and nondescript. 

"Do you need anything from me?" you ask. 

He hides his surprise, eyes doing another lap of the semi-private waiting room he's ushered you into. He takes in business men, officials, and diplomats for the tenth time in half an hour. 

"I don't need anything from you, Princess. Thank you." 

"I don't want to make your job any harder than it is." 

"You haven't." 

"That's not true," you murmur, bruised cheek  toward the floor and away from view. 

"That was my fault," James says. "Not yours." 

He can feel the heat of your tears running down his index finger. 

"That was my mistake," he reaffirms. 

You don't answer, but James knows it isn't an agreeable silence. Which is fine, he isn't trying to dominate your opinion, would never assume he had the right to police what you're feeling. He wants to reassure you more than he strictly should. 

This might be harder than I thought, he thinks. 

"The flight is near enough three hours. You're sure you don't want anything to take with you? If you're worried about dietary restrictions, there's a salad bar in the Mastercard lounge. I'm sure we can get someone to make you something up." 

"I'm fine… Will you be hungry?" 

He laughs. "You really don't understand the employee employer dynamic, do you?" he asks, not unkindly. "You don't have to worry about me." 

He says it sweetly, careful to ensure you understand. He isn't telling you off. He's teasing you. 

He knows he's done a good job when you lift your head. 

"I don't think you can talk about employee employer dynamics," you say, eyes flitting downward to your cheek's bruise. 

He chuckles, eyebrows jumping up. "Oh, nice! That was a quick one. We'll make a Genovian of you yet, they're all sarcastic." 

"They? You aren't Genovian?" 

"Do I look Genovian?" he asks, gesturing to his face. You splutter. "I'm messing with you. No, I'm not originally from Genovia, but my heart is hers." 

"You've always lived there?" 

"Since I was two." 

Your expression dims. It takes James a second to connect the dots. 

"There are plenty of people living in Genovia who aren't native. Remus is Welsh, can you tell? His accent hasn't quite survived it." 

"You've met before? You all seem familiar." 

"We went to the same boarding school. Well, we actually shared a room. We-" He feels heat crest at his unprofessional phrasing. "We're best mates." 

"And you all get to be together," you say softly. 

"Yeah, we do. We're lucky. Before this, Remus was working as a royal tutor for the young elites, and Sirius was trying to micromanage Julianna. That's your cousin." 

"The Princess' cousin," you correct. 

"You brought us back together," he says. "You'll have to forgive me for hoping you are who they say you are." 

"Lily never really explained, how I- I mean, why they think it's me." 

"Well," he says, stepping closer to you still, and lowering his voice, "my assumption is that, because the Prince's passing was a freak accident, they hadn't really planned for any other successors yet."

"Well, what were they going to do? He'd pass on eventually." 

"I believe there were hopes he'd marry a Duchess." 

"And have a legitimate child." 

"Yes. You are, to the majority, a secret. The Prince would have been seventeen at the time of your conception, which is a royal scandal if I've ever heard one." 

"Seventeen?" you ask. 

"Lily didn't tell you any of this?" 

"Honestly, uh, she might have. I wasn't-" You clear your throat mildly. "Wasn't really listening? I had a pretty bad migraine at the time, and I was tired, you know?" 

"You were overwhelmed at finding out you're apprincess." 

"That I might be a princess." 

"Sure. When they told me I might be Prince of Italy, I had the same reaction." 

You wrinkle your nose at him, the most forceful thing you've done in his presence. He laughs a storm, only tamping it down when he remembers he's a  professional. 

Soon, the boys return from their airport traipsing. Remus makes a quiet comment on James' happy smile, and he pretends to zip his lips closed when they both spot Sirius' curious glances. James moves your entourage to a small aircraft, not private but almost, and you board into first class seats, two per each side of the aisle and partitioned by a sheet of frosted plexi-glass. 

You and James sit together. 

He doesn't subject you to conversation. He's technically working, and so while he relaxes into his seat and stretches out his tired legs, he doesn't cut vigilance. 

You look around in awe for some time. Eyes widened just slightly, lips parted, you sit up and sneak glances at everything you can. James knocks on the partition gently. 

"You want the fan? The heater?" 

"The fan," you say, and he supposes you do look a bit warm at the collar. "Please." 

He doesn't bother saying of course, or no worries, or no problem. He's a problem solver. If you're going to be under his watch, he's going to make it as easy on you as he can. That means letting you be thankful without shrugging it off. 

Your eyes close quickly. Your eyelashes flutter imperceptibly in the overhead fans slow breeze, and your lips part as you fall into sleep. Last night's disruption had been hard on you no doubt. He stands quietly and eases sideways down the aisle to check on Remus and Sirius inconspicuously. 

"Anything for me to read?" he asks Remus. 

Remus knows exactly what James is up to. If he appreciates or abhors the extra attention is anyone's guess, until he digs through the bag at his feet and pulls out one of his Russian philosophy novels with a smirk. "This or the newspaper." 

James takes the worn paperback with a wry look of defeat and reaches over and across to Sirius head of curls, tugging one cruelly. 

Sirius looks up, but is only irritable when he notices that it had been James, and not his seatmate. 

"What?" Sirius demands. 

"Do you need anything?" 

"No. Quit mothering. And maybe get some rest?" 

"I can't."

"You most certainly can. Swap out with Frank, or Mickey or someone." 

James swaps out with Mickey. Mickelson, please keep an eye on the entryway. Yes  boss. He returns, finding you aren't as asleep as he'd thought. You look at him through lashes. You've gone soft, in little regard for your appearance, and he's glad for it. Watching you is like watching a spring stretched tall, and now you've finally snapped into yourself and deflated. 

"You alright?" he murmurs. 

You nod, and he sits, and when he doesn't get up you fall asleep again, like you'd been waiting for him to get back. You sleep for hours, through turbulence, Sirius' roaring laughter, Remus' answering chuckles, and the flight attendant who scolds them. James wishes he could do the same, reading a mind-numbing forty pages of Russian literature densely translated and sipping on a glass of coke, the ache of an oncoming pressure headache pinching behind his eyes. 

The hubbub doesn't wake you. The plane lands, you sleep on. 

James whispers your name, quiet, speaking louder when you fail to rouse. Finally, he gives in and squeezes your shoulder. Heat radiates through the thick fabric of your hoodie. You hair is frizzy where it's rubbed against the seat behind you. 

You wake with a raspy cough. "James?" 

"We're here, Princess, in Genovia." 

"That was," —you yawn, turning to hide your face so he can't see— "fast." 

You look like you might fall asleep again. His heart does this awful little flip. He ignores it.

"It was hours. You've slept the whole time– A good thing, huh?" He bends down until you're face to face, an amicable gap between you as he squints at your bruise. He's close enough to share your breath. "Bruise is getting worse. Remus will give you painkillers, and I'm gonna get you an ice pack as soon as we're off the plane." 

He squeezes your shoulder again. "Up. Come on." 

You nod and rub your eyes, stretching in your seat. He averts his gaze and stands as tall as he can, shoulders hunched to avoid clipping his head. Remus has made no efforts to move yet and Sirius is in the aisle, pulling their bags into his arms. 

"Are you alright, Moony?" James asks. 

Remus has gone ashen. 

"He has a migraine." 

"Can you see okay?" James asks. 

Remus gets blurry, occluded vision when he gets these sudden migraines. He winces, hand over his eyes, and says, "Not really. Can I have your sunglasses?" 

"Yeah," James says, holding in the, of course you can, I'd genuinely die for you, that he wants to add. 

He slides his rucksack off of his shoulder and takes his sunglasses from the front pocket. He taps them into Remus' hand. 

"You'll have to touch up the Princess' bruise for me," Sirius says. 

James coughs. "What?" 

"It's easy–" 

"I'll take Remus," James says. 

"You can both go do your jobs, I'll be fine," Remus mutters, flinching at an invisible, biting pain. 

"No," they both deny. 

Remus doubles over. 

"All you have to do is stipple it," Sirius whispers fervently.

"Sirius, I don't know what stippling is." 

"Dots of makeup. She knows what shade we chose. Here, take my bag. There's a clean brush." 

Sirius smiles at James. Remus hasn't always let them take care of him. His disabilities have often made him the subject of disdain, pity, and misguided attention he has never, ever wanted, and he'd mistaken their friendship for lots of things at first. Nowadays, he accepts the help that he needs, help that his friend's are happy to give, and disregards their smothering overkill otherwise. That being said, Remus has always found it easier to accept help from Sirius than James. They all know it and none of them bother saying why that is aloud. 

Flying nearly but not quite privately means they can get off the plane whenever they're ready (within reason), and so James ushers you back into your seat where you'd been standing tentatively in the aisle and presents the little make up bag. He kneels in front of you. 

"I'll get the painkillers," he says, remembering his earlier promise, "Sirius is preoccupied, so. You're stuck with me on touch ups." 

"Is it bad?" 

"No. Does it feel bad?" 

Your slow response is telling. "No," you lie, "it's not that bad." You point at one of the colours through the clear case. "I think it was that one." 

"Thank you," he says, murmurs, opening the case. There's a brush tucked inside, and he picks it up clumsily. 

"Does he have a mirror?" you ask. "I can do it myself, if you want."

"If he does, he didn't give it to me. I promise not to mess you up too badly, Princess." 

James presses the brush into your chosen colour and pats. The concealer is harder than he'd thought it would be, tough under the brush. It all looks silly in his hands. 

"Lean your head back for me," he says softly. 

You tip your chin up. Your eyes close as he begins. 

He's too careful. The colour doesn't want to transfer. "Sorry," he murmurs, applying pressure. You wince but say nothing to stop him. "Tell me if it hurts too much." 

"It's only a bruise."

"You're allowed to be hurt. And you should be more angry with me." 

"It was an accident." 

"It was my mistake." He watches the bruise disappear under concealer, but the colour doesn't quite match your skin. He tries his best to blend out the edges. "A professional mistake, which means you're more than allowed to be annoyed." 

"I'm starting to think you want me to be mad," you say. You're trying not to move, and so each word is half a whisper. 

"I do. I want you to be furious. It's ten times harder to keep someone safe when they have no self-preservation." 

He gives up on the brush and uses his pinky, his cleanest finger, to smudge out the blocky colour he's left behind. Your skin is scorching under his touch. 

"So if I'm angry with you, that makes your job easier?" 

He hums. "Mh-hmm. Much easier." 

You hold your breath as he finishes up, a gentle patting motion as he was instructed. 

"How some girls do this every day," he mutters. 

"It gets easier." 

"Yeah?" He drags his pinky down your cheek without thinking. "Hopefully this is my last time. It looks fine. Maybe don't stop in direct sunlight." 

He collects all of his things and pulls the makeup bag into his chest, easing his way out into the aisle again. You follow. Everyone else has left, except for a pearly-smiled flight attendant, who's smile grows impossibly wider as they approach. 

"Everything okay today folks?" he asks. "How was your flight?" 

James offers thank-yous and guides you down the length of the plane to the exit. You're quiet from the plane to the steps, his hand ghosting your shoulder, to the tarmac, where your security entourage awaits. Including James there are eight bodyguards. Two stick close, five form a mock perimeter around you. 

"Unfortunately, you might draw attention from the protection detail alone. It's up to you, Princess, but I can hide your face." 

"Is that… dramatic?" 

"It's completely up to you. I don't think it's dramatic. Just depends on how comfortable you are with your face potentially being used somewhere." 

"Can I– Maybe I'll stay close," you say, pulling your hood up. 

"Yeah. Tell me if you're uncomfortable." 

He takes you by the elbow and you walk. There aren't any paparazzi waiting outside, and James thinks maybe the news of your arrival has escaped them, and you won't be exposed to the madness that is paps with a story like this one, until he sees Sirius and Remus waiting at the glass doors into the airport. 

"Can't we go around?" Sirius asks. 

"They have to check our passports, idiot," Remus says, with little malice. 

"You can fucking see them, mate," he says to James. 

James motions for you to stand where you are and crosses the gap to get a better look. Mickey takes his place by your side. 

"Fuck," he hisses, "what the fuck is that? Who fucking leaked?" 

"Should I be worried?" he hears you ask quietly. 

"Mickelson, give the Princess your sunglasses." 

"So yes, then," you say. 

James props open the door with his foot. "Princess, you're going first. They'll expect you in the middle. Hopefully that'll minimise what they can get." He holds out his arm. 

You slot perfectly underneath it. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

You don't look very ready. You nibble your lip and nod anyhow, tucking your face into his front. James walks you forward, into a storm of white flashes and shouting, the precipice of your new life.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 please consider reblogging if you did, I'd love to know what you thought and what you want to see in the next one! and a happy new year !!!!

#james potter fic #james potter #marauders era #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #the marauders

[fxrmuladaydreams]

For Logan weekend, could you 8, 12 and 16 from the smut list Or 9, 10, and 20 from the fluff list? Which ever is easier for you to write!

send me logan blurb requests (sfw & nsfw) for logan weekend

warnings: !! CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI !! fingering, unprotected p in v

but my dear anon, why not both? 👀 i’ll tag the fluff blurb here once it’s finished

8 : crying because of how good it feels

12 : interlacing your fingers during it

16 : taking care of them afterwards

It was a spur of the moment to end up tangled in Logan’s sheets. After peer pressure from friends and hesitant confessions of feelings followed by rushed kisses and the need to be as close as possible, you ended up in his hotel room, clothes strewn around the room.

Logan wanted to take his time with you, to truly savor you, but he felt like he’d lose his mind if he didn’t feel you around him in as soon as possible.

He kisses you as he thrusts two of his fingers in and out of you, your lips his new favorite flavor.

You beg him to fuck you as you feel yourself getting closer to your climax. He pulls his fingers out of you and slips them into his mouth. His eyes roll back as he groans at the taste of you. No, maybe this was his new favorite flavor.

He leans over to shuffle through the drawer next to his bed, his head falling forward as he sighs.

“I don’t have any condoms…” He tries to roll off of you, but you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him back to you.

“Logan. I need you.” You tell him as you stare up into his eyes.

He promises to be careful, to pull out, and to get you some Plan B.

All thoughts of actually being careful are thrown out the window once he’s actually inside you. He’s thick, you can feel every ridge, every vein pressed against your walls. The stretch he gives you quickly morphs from pain to pleasure. Your arms slip from around his neck, falling to rest on the bed next to you in an attempt to ground yourself.

Logan feels like he can’t breathe. You feel like velvet wrapped around him. If he were to die while inside you he’d die a happy man. You clench around him when he rolls his hips, practically clinging onto him.

“Logan, move.” You whimper.

He does, slowly thrusting himself in and out of you, creating a steady pace. He reaches down, and interlaces his fingers with yours. He presses his body closer to yours as his thrusts get harder.

It feels like too much. He’s hitting just the perfect spot over and over again. You feel like you’re buried in the warmth of his body above you. You feel tears spill out of your eyes as you reach your climax. You arch your back, your chest pushing into his as you cry out his name.

Logan quite nearly dies then and there. Your warm cum surrounds his cock as you tighten around him. It’s as if your body wants him to cum, wants to hold his release inside you.

He’s able to hold onto an ounce of self-control though, quickly pulling out of you before he reaches his orgasm. He shoots warm white ropes of cum onto your stomach, groaning as he paints you with his release.

He tries to catch his breath as he moves to lay next to you. He sees you wipe your tears away out of the corner of his eye. He quickly leans over, replacing your hand with his own, softly stroking your cheek.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?”

His immediate care for you warms your heart. If it were possible to fall even more in love with Logan than you already were, you would have.

“No, no, I’m okay. They’re good tears.” You give him a soft smile.

“Oh, alright.” He gives you a shy smile in return. “Um, give me one second.” He sits up and walks over to the bathroom.

He comes back a few moments later with a damp towel. He collects the cum off your stomach and softly wipes down between your legs.

He takes the towel back to the bathroom then comes back and climbs into bed with you. You lay your head against his chest, drawing lazy patterns against his skin, listening to his heartbeat.

“I think I love you Logan.” You tell him quietly. You can hear his heart pound a little faster.

“I think I love you too.”

#logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant smut #ls2 x reader #formula one x reader #logan weekend

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞, 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one || part two: so many signs

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ When Miguel fell so hard for an anomaly that ended up being another one of his canon events; a soulmate. Only that it was late, very late.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ fluff, angst?, reader is a hot Hispanic sunshine, plot twist at the end, age gap? (How old is Miguel?, like 28, early 30's?, reader is like 20 not specified) I'm 19, so in my head reader is 20, fuck it <3.

𝐀𝐍_ hellooo, this is my Ist fic for this fandom, I've been trying to hide this crush for weeks, I can't anymore.

♪ ♫ 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙒𝙊𝙍𝙎𝙏 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙈𝙞𝙜𝙪𝙚𝙡 𝙈𝙤𝙟𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖.

<3,𝙄𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙭 (+fics)

_________________

[11 months before the events of SPIDER-MAN: ATSV]…

Nothing is perfect; nothing can be that special. But somehow, you ended up being that, at least almost. 

Because this is how everything starts; you were stressing out for college sophomore year finals when in the middle of your room, a portal opened and absorbed you. 

Sounds incredibly ridiculous and cringe… Right?. Sorry, but it’s about to get worse.

The portal only left you there, hanging between random universes, and out of nowhere, a spider bit you. And seconds later, you were back at home stressing over the finals.

Yeah, you didn’t think it would be a problem, only that it increased your phobia of spiders. Later, you accepted that Los Angeles would have an arachnid vigilante. 

Yeah, Los Angeles. No shit, you wouldn’t fly to save New York in your universe just to fit the stereotype. Besides, they already had one, the most significant and original anomaly, Miles Morales.

That’s for later, by the way.

You had your suspicions that the multiverse existed but no curiosity. You only cared about your sacred California and, to be more specific, your friends and family. 

So it goes; you were a sparkly spider-girl with glitter webs and fantastic hair, saving people from the crime on Skid Row, abusive elites in Downtown, corruption in Glendale, and extortions from Santa Clarita. 

Your family knew about it, and your friends too. They helped to pick out your surname; Aragmatica.

So you had everything; no pressure from being the spider-girl Aragmatica, wonderful friends, and family. A transcription remote job and a firm college pathway to be a writer and teacher. 

Except for one thing; love.

You didn’t have anyone to hold, anyone who made you laugh like never. Someone who made you feel the scarlet blush and raced heartbeats.

Nah, fuck that. You don’t need a man. 

________

Warm day in Hollywood Hills, 12:00 pm. 

Finally, your official transcript from that year was carefully sealed in an envelope. Summer break was yours, starting with a good ballet class.

Your spider senses weren’t fully developed because you never saw 4 pair of eyes watching you.

The class was fun, though. All the music was from the most famous plays, and having the opportunity to wear a tutu was always accepted. 

You didn’t care coming out of the building wearing it after the friendly teacher gifted you the fluffy piece of clothing.

You also didn’t care to sing slightly aloud as you walked towards your car. 

And that’s when 4 individuals interfered with your way; Peter B. Parker, Hobie Brown, and Gwen Stacy.

“Uh… nice cosplays. But the Comic-Con is more to the south. In San Diego…” They looked at each other. Only the older guy stepped further, laughing.

“Oh, you’re funny. There’s also one in my universe, but it’s celebrated in Coney Island and-“ only that Gwen pinched him. The older man frowned.

“She’s leaving, Peter,” Gwen said. 

“Hey! Wait!” Peter stopped you from closing your car door, and you looked more confused than ever.

“Dude, back off. There’s a kid between us. You don’t want to do this…” Hobie giggled. He had remained leaning against a mailbox during the whole interaction.

“What? No-, I-. We need to talk to you… we’re also spider people” Rolling your eyes, you just rested your head on the steering wheel.

“Yeah, your suits are too good to cosplay. I like your pointe shoes though” Gwen blushed but said thank you for your flattery. 

“I’m Peter Parker. The guy with the cool outfit that’s Hobie Brown. And the girl with the pointe shoes you liked is Gwen Stacy” They looked lovely. Hobie and Gwen, probably your age, but you were running late for dinner. You had to drop the transcript for validation in early registration for a master's program.

You didn’t have time for this Have you heard of the Avengers initiative? moment.

The best you could do was politely turn them down. But they were already inside your car. 

“Hey!. Okay, if this is some spider intervention, I don’t have time to travel between universes and that stuff” Hobie started playing your radio. Again, you rolled your eyes.

“This is good music, girl. Nice…” he said, making you smile a little. He seemed nicer.

“Thanks, but…” Then Gwen interrupted you.

“You could be dangerous or cause a massive disaster for the canon. You are a rare case between spiders” For the first time, you were quiet. Maybe that omen was this, that not everything could be perfect.

“You felt it….” Peter said because your silence was loud enough to tell him. 

“You knew about us then?” 

“The multiverse and variations are not a thrill in this universe. I wasn’t expecting this on a random Friday afternoon,” you explained.

“Our boss wants to meet you. We need to know what type of anomaly you are” They all heard you sighing. You had too many questions but were tired, so you wouldn’t be annoying. 

“Okay.” Peter shrugged in disbelief.

“That’s it?. No questions?” Gwen passed you a blue band, probably to travel between universes.

“She’s not energetic nor annoying. Miguel will like her,” Hobie stated, comfortable in the passenger seat. 

“Just don’t smile too much, avoid questions, and you’ll be fine” Humming in agreement, you waited.

A portal of bright colors and blinding flashes appeared seconds later from your car's windshield. It was different from what you expected. In the movies looked easier.

“Okay, here we go…” Peter announced. And with fast blood pressure, you followed them. 

The first thing you felt was the urge to complain on the ground. Laying on your stomach, with your hair in a now disheveled bun. 

Everyone turned to look at you, finally noticing you were wearing a tutu and leotard in grey and black colors. 

“Lost your hoodie?” Gwen asked, being the first to start giggling, followed by the others.

“Could any of you have alerted me to prepare for this type of landing?” You asked anyone in particular. Then you analyzed Gwen’s question. 

“MY hoodie!. Damnit, it was new!” And that’s how you lost 75 dollars. But soon, you stopped thinking about the new tour merch you lost.

It was a bright earth, futuristic and agitated. And as soon as you entered the giant building, you noticed it was full of spider people. 

From any size to any color, but… no one was similar to you. Well, you didn’t have a suit yet, but… you couldn’t feel a spider sense with anyone.

“Surprised?” Gwen asked, walking by your side. 

“Well. I’d rather say disturbed,” she giggled.

“You’re unlike any spider I’ve met,” the blonde added.

“I can’t be special. I must be the most boring spider-girl….” Bored or not, you were missing dinner. Your family would be worried if you didn’t come back past midnight. Hopefully, your first interaction with another universe will be quick.

“That’s why you must be here…” said a new voice.

A pregnant spider-woman?. Could you feel any weirder?.

“Yeah…I’m y/n. No suit yet, but I have the name of Aragmatica” She nodded. Her yellow glasses were very cool, you liked her look in general.

“We know that. But let’s go. Miguel needs to see you….” and officially, that was the beginning of everything.

The HQ was futuristic, wide and full of people. Everything was so weird that edged being ridiculous. Until, the group of spiders lead you to a dark room. Full of technology and chemistry stuff.

For the first time, you felt a tingle when he finally faced you; Miguel O’Hara. And to be honest, his broad and tall figure intimidated you. 

He said you were a bizarre anomaly. You were the only spider person who had been bitten between universes. Meaning that you were an accident, nobody was like you. 

Unconsciously, your own canon was building up as every day passed. So your actions were vital for everyone. 

He offered you a place in the group to keep order among universes. Suspicious, but seemed honest at the same time.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have a degree to finish. And I got enrolled for summer ballet classes….” you said, ambling towards the exit.

“No. You need to be a responsible spider girl and do what you’re expected to do,” the man said, intimidating you more as he towered you. Beside getting lost in his amazing hair, intriguing brown eyes and sharp jaw, your thoughts were running. Maybe you were being selfish. Most of the people in the room had lost a lot. You didn’t.

“You just said I’m an accident. There are no expectations from me. I can’t break canon. I’m making my own….” you dared to say, avoiding looking into his brown eyes. 

“You want to find out?” a little closer, and you would touch his chest. Besides, the tingle was back. Miguel also felt it, but he called it on you being angered by this new phase you would enter.

You knew he was going to be hard to deal with. But deep inside, you liked the feeling he had planted on your stomach.

“No…” you admitted. Slightly afraid of losing what you had. He smiled but for less than a second. 

“That’s what I thought” After that, it was history. 

________

Two months. And things were… okay.

You made a great friendship with Peter and Hobie. Something inside you was stopping you from trusting Gwen at all.

Then, Jessica was good but slightly challenging. Even Pavitr was good.

And then, it was Miguel. 

Fucking Miguel O’Hara. He was dead serious every time. Still, you refused to show he could intimidate you.

Like right now, or… at that moment, whatever. 

“He’s going to kill you…” Lyla whispered, moving in circles around you.

“He won’t if someone no va de chismosa,” she frowned.

“He’s going to kill us both, y/n,” she almost yelled. Following you to the briefing of a new case.

“He can’t kill you, Lyla. Be serious…” you stated, shrugging.

“I don’t want to know…” 

“Me neither. So just shush….” The room was almost empty. Only Peter, Hobie, and Jessica were inside.

The sound of the door captured everyone’s attention. Miguel sighed. After that, he stopped talking.

“You’re late….” Of course, he would remark on your irresponsibility.

“Traffic on Venice. What can I say, handsome?” he rolled his eyes and indicated you sit down. 

Earth-238, neon venom, evacuated civilians, blah blah blah. The mission would be easy, and you’d be leaving the room.

“not you, y/n….” Miguel’s voice caught you off guard. When you turned around, Lyla was still whispering to him.

“Bitch…” you whispered.

“Hey, I’ll wait for you,” Hobie said, indicating that he would wait outside the room. 

You nodded at him, smiling as he left.

“Why did you send the evidence of last week’s mission to Jessica instead of me?” He asked, arms crossed. 

“She’s also my boss,” you admitted, avoiding his judgemental brows and gaze.

“I’m in charge. She’s second in command. So?…” you pinched your nose, anxiety creeping over.

“I-…” It was useless; you had to be honest.

“Because uh-, I didn’t want you to see the anomaly recording” he was right. He knew you would be afraid of his reaction. Something inside switched to be softer. 

“I almost killed that girl. It was an accident, but… I can’t control this new ability. And I want to do a good job” Your anxiety was evident. Miguel had to suppress a smile.

“You have a big responsibility on your shoulders. The power to retain or doom canon” a lecture was coming. And you wished he wore his mask because you could see his whole features. Making it prone to capture any negativity from him. 

“And that’s why you must be on missions with me, not Jessica. I’m training you, not her” To be honest, you were surprised. 

“You make me nervous all the time. I’m afraid I’ll make something stupid on any of these days, and you’ll send me home” He kind of chuckled, and it made you beyond surprised.

“I thought you were working on the English degree and summer ballet classes.” 

“You remember it?” Could your heart beat any faster?. His eyes were deep-fixed on yours, and it was killing you in a good way.

“Madre mía, stop giving me that look. I’m gonna piss myself off from nervousness.”

“Don’t be that of a perfectionist. You’re doing good, kid” The pat on your shoulder made you explode.

Right there, you knew it was over. You had a crush on Miguel O’Hara.

____________________

Was it possible to see everything in pink shades and heart sprinkles? That’s how you were looking at every universe. You were starting your lover era.

“PETER! PETER!” You yelled, running towards the man, heading out of the cafeteria. Most spider people on the headquarters looked at you, but you didn’t care.

“Woah, calm down, girl,” he said with a smile.

“I need to tell you something” he couldn’t describe your excitement but happily took your hand when you pushed him inside an empty conference room.

“I have a crush on Miguel,” you said with an evident blush.

“YOU WHAT?” He asked yelling.

“I know, I know. But… he’s so sweet to me. He said I shouldn’t be nervous about him and that I was doing good. He remembers my career and that I’m doing ballet classes. Oh, and today he opened the door for me TWICE!” You explain excited, pinching your suit, in pearl and iridescent tones with a sparkly spider resting on your chest. 

“This is insane. Are you insane, y/n?. We’re talking about Miguel. Our grumpy and snarky boss that gets stressed over the tiniest detail and doesn’t know how to smile” You nodded, rolling your eyes.

“It’s not like he’s the love of my life or destiny, Peter. It’s just a crush….” you tried to convince yourself.

“No, no, no. I disapprove of this. Isn’t he a little older for you?” You sighed.

“Oh, c’mon. MJ is younger than you, Mr. No age gap”

“This is serious, y/n. I’ve known Miguel for a long time. You know what happened to him. I don’t think he’s emotionally ready for this” he was right. But you were confident that this crush wouldn’t be a big issue.

“I know. The least I want to do is hurt him. But once again, it’s just a crush, Peter,” you started coming out of the room. And, like a big coincidence, Miguel was walking through the hallway with Lyla talking to him. 

“Hey, is it okay if I go to your office at lunchtime?” you asked the broad man once he was walking near you. He had his mask, that if you stared too long, it was a severe and scary gaze, but he nodded once. Neither you nor Peter noticed Miguel was actually looking at you. Causing him to feel a weird pricking.

“Sure,” with that, he left with the female IA giving you a bad look.

“What?” Peter asked in disbelief once again.

“See? Nothing to worry about, love,” you said,

_____________

“Don’t be so late, mija. There’s no crime tonight for you to take that long,” your grandma told you from the kitchen. You entered the room being greeted by the smell of mole and ponche.

“With this food waiting for me. Yeah, sure, the city can rest a night without me, abuelita,” she giggled as you kissed her cheek. 

“I’m just going for a stretch. And maybe a flan for dinner” Your favorite part of the day was starting. So happily, you left the house. AirPods on with your favorite music blasting through them, and it felt like heaven.

Swinging from palm to buildings and watching the crowds of the traffic of LA. Until you were in the Fashion District Downtown. You stopped at your favorite rooftop to see the last minutes of the West Coast sunset. 

And it was beautiful. Orange, pink, yellow, purple, blue, and black. Like a firework evaporated in the sky. 

The air feels perfect for taking a long breath, and you feel thankful for having a good day.

“Hey..” you nearly fell from the building, but a well-known bright red web caught you in time. 

When you turned around, you had Miguel watching you.

“Miguel?. What are you doing here?” The surprise and shock were eating you alive. Maybe an emergency happened, or he exiled you from the Spider Society. Who knows?

“Just checking on you…” lately, he had been more close to you. Giving you a hand on missions, being willing to have more extended conversations, and softer pieces of advice.

“Why?” You ask, arching a brow.

“Last week, you were a little slow…” he hears you giggling, and as he walks closer, he sees you hanging your toes on the edge. He sees your hair freely fly as you laugh. Cute, he thinks.

“I was on my period. We’re good now…” he thanked, wearing the mask because his cheeks were burning. 

“Don’t be silly, Miguel. It’s… normal,” you said after he stood there quietly.

“Come, seat with me…” he obeyed, establishing some distance with you, but not too much. 

Then he removed his mask, and you confirmed that his hair always looked gorgeous. 

“Your universe is interesting,” he said finally.

“We are very fixed; little surprises us. And capitalism is leading us to ruin, but yes... it's interesting” Miguel wasn’t expecting that answer but smiled. Only because you didn’t catch it.

“You are spending too much time with Hobie,” you laughed, nodding.

“Yeah, I’ll take that…” This time, you noticed his smile. And you wanted to keep the moment a little longer.

“Can we talk?” 

“We are talking, y/n…” he let out a brief chuckle again.

“No, I know, but…I’m afraid. Of hurting someone in the process of creating a disaster with all of this being an anomaly” For weeks, you tried to avoid the thoughts of insecurity. But this was a good moment because Miguel had been training you, and he was the right and worst person to talk about this. 

“And it frustrates me that I don’t understand at all what I am….” you said, covering your face, letting all the intrusive thoughts out. Because even on a good day, anxiety could sneak in.

“Being a spider person means being afraid of many things. Keep in mind that you’ll constantly worry, but it’s part of the job. You don’t sign for it; it just hits you” his words were profound. Enough to soothe some of your panics.

“I wish I could be straight to the point like you….” Miguel was urged to touch your hand or strands of hair that brushed his forearm. But he resisted, only looking at your profile. 

“No. It’s good to be honest and worry too.” 

“And you’re something bigger than an anomaly. You’re special” Maybe his tone made everything sound softer.

“Well, I don’t feel special,” you admitted. “I feel like an accident. Not meant to be here, but nothing else to do.”

“You don’t need to feel it. I just see it…” when you turned to look at him, it was his soft look that made you realize, you were falling in love with him.

As your smile grew, Miguel completely ignored any thought of fear. He was just feeling, letting his heart warm and reciprocate your smile. 

“You have to come and have dinner with my family and me,” you blurted excitedly.

“No.” 

“SI!.”

“Por Dios. No, y/n!” He said, rolling his eyes.

“They’re not annoying or nosy, I promise,” you pleaded. He knew there was no problem because they knew you were a spider girl and the Spider Society. But… Mexican families could be nosy when a girl arrived home with a man. 

“Please, as a thank you for listening to my bullshit. Por favor, ándale. Di que sí…” he couldn’t say no. He didn’t want to reject you.

“Está bien, pues….” 

He smiled again, watching you celebrate as you started balancing between buildings. Soon he followed you, happy to feel the way he was doing.

________________________

The shock on everyone’s faces only increased the more you talked.

Pavitr, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter had their mouths open.

“And then, we went to get a flan for dinner. A kid asked for a selfie with us, and it was so silly,” you narrated.

“When we arrived home, he was so sweet. Only speaking Spanish, and he told mi abuelita I was doing great in job” Peter decided it was time to cover his mouth with one hand. Soon, everyone followed, keeping the shock.

“Dad was slightly judgmental but soon changed his mind because Miguel accepted a beer from him.” 

“Oh, and we spent hours in my room” That was enough for Peter.

“WHAT?… EXCUSE ME?”

“NO, PETER!. Jesus… we spent hours in my room because I was explaining to him some of my analysis from literature classes” The color returned to his face. Nodded understanding, and everyone else laughed.

“I can’t believe this. I simply can’t…” Pavitr confessed. “Love can come in strange ways…”

“Who’s talking of love, Pavitr?” Hobie asked playfully.

“Well…” you whispered.

“What else?” Gwen almost jumped, needing to know more. You were starting to like her more.

Once again, both of you were back on a rooftop. It was almost 2:00am.

“I-, I liked this…” Miguel managed to say. Looking down at you, trying to regain his neutral and serious tone and look. But after spending hours with you, it seemed impossible.

“Me too. You were so sweet, and thank you for being so comprehensive” Your excitement didn’t match your words, not that Miguel cared. But he realized you had jumped and grabbed both of his hands. And before you pulled away, he was caressing your knuckles.

“It was nothing…” 

“Are you coming tomorrow?” He asked.

“I think I stopped being a half-time employee some time ago…” he nodded, smiling.

“True.”

Hands were still holding. And none of you wanted to break the touch.

“Till tomorrow then….” you said, sad to break the touch but happy for everything that happened that night.

And with that, you saw Miguel opening a portal, and you left. 

You accidentally dropped a notebook when you entered your room through the window. Cursing between whispers, you hoped you didn’t wake up your family.

“Te dió un beso?” your grandma asked, opening your room door. You smiled deeply.

“No. But we hold hands for a long time, abuelita.”

“Creo que lo amo….” you admitted, very afraid.

“I think he loves you too,” she said.

“NO - FUCKING - WAY!” Gwen yelled.

“Are you sure you weren’t dreaming of drunk?”

“No, Peter. I only drink in Mexico, and I had a dream of the last episode of The haunting of Hill House I watched” he snorted as if he had heard something incredible. Gwen couldn’t stop taking time to digest the information, Pavitr too, and Hobie was… being Hobie.

“Dude looks nice with her. I heard him laugh the other day,” Hobie stated. 

“Me too. And he canceled a meeting to go and train her,” Pavitr added.

“He’s, like, the last person I imagined you would say you had a date with.” 

“It wasn’t a date….” you said.

“IT WASN’T A DATE?. Girl, he had dinner with your family, listened to your boring old books for hours, and held your hands for… five or eight minutes?” 

“Okay… maybe it unconsciously turned into a date.” They all nodded. Even Mayday seemed to nod. 

“Oh, my god… Was it a date?”

_______________________

Peter sighed as he watched you laugh with Hobie. 

“… y/n is very happy. Did you two have fun last night?” He asked Miguel once he entered his office. 

“I’m not discussing this with you,” the broad man approached to say.

Peter loved you like a sister. He wanted you to be happy and safe. 

He trusted Miguel after years of knowing each other. But he wasn’t sure if you two had a bright future. 

“I don’t want to discuss this with you either.”

“So?”

“Look, she’s like Mayday’s aunt. I want her to be happy. And you too, man. But… I want you to think… Is it correct?” Miguel stopped looking at the screens. 

“We can’t lose her. And I don’t want to see another era of pain and collapse” It hit him.

What was he thinking? Letting all of his feelings take over him. He couldn’t be in love; it wasn’t meant for him. 

Your canon was unsure, delicate. And his… was doomed.

He imagined having to see you gone, and he wasn’t ready to find out. 

He wasn’t ready to go through that pain again. 

“Just think… because maybe it’s meant to be, but-“

“No. You’re right…” Miguel accepted. 

Peter grew quiet. 

“After y/n leaves tonight. Call the others, except Hobie…” 

Miguel made a decision. Losing you was going to save both of you. Or so he thought. 

_____

Weird.

The cafeteria was quiet.

Then a piece of your suit ripped off. 

And spider-cat was absent!!! 

Then, you didn’t see Miguel the day before. When you asked Lyla, she said he was swamped with his job, so you would not make him stressed. Plus, having some space after spending the night together would be great. 

“Hey!” You called Hobie when he sat next to you on a bench. He was used to visiting you in your universe. He liked the food and how the people complained about something new daily.

“Something feels weird,” he blurted, tilting his head.

“RIGHT?. I thought I was the only one” he nodded and sighed. That was also weird; Hobie never hesitated to spit the words out.

“What?”

“Yesterday. After you left, Peter called everyone except for me. It seemed weird that just as you left, he called everyone to get a lecture from Miguel,” Another weird thing. Why you and Hobie would be excluded?

“Miguel stopped wasting his time with me, But a meeting without you?” Maybe it wasn’t anything. Perhaps a simple meeting. There had been some occasions where you had not been present.

“Do you wanna go and find why?” you asked playfully. He nodded with a gentle smile.

“Hell yeah���” Both of you left in seconds.

Spending time with Spider-punk was always fun. Hobie made you remember things like; fuck it, just do it. 

And he liked spending time with you because of your honesty. 

But for the first hour, you didn’t find anyone. Even when the headquarters of the Spider Society were big, you thought it would have been easier. 

By the evening, you find yourself eating an empanada, thinking of Miguel. Accepting you started missing him. 

“Guys!…” Gwen called you and Hobie. As she walked towards you two, Hobie said something quick.

“Don’t ask anything yet…” you nodded to him. 

“We were busy getting scolded by Miguel. But there’s a new mission we need to go to. And he wants all, let’s go….” The punk man and you exchanged looks, not buying Gwen’s words.

You got too carried away, forming possible explanations for her weird behavior. Why you hadn’t seen your friends the day before?. And why you and Hobie were excluded from the last meeting?. 

You didn’t even look at Pavitr taking Hobie away. 

As soon as you entered the room, Jessica, Peter, and Miguel were inside.

“Where’s Hobie?” He asked.

“He was right here…” Gwen mumbled, looking around, making Miguel sigh tired. 

He didn't look at you for the first minutes of the debriefing. The more he ignored your presence, the more your questions emerged.

“Everyone get ready… except for y/n,” he announced with his neutral and cold face.

“Why?”

“You’re going home.”

“WHAT?” you screamed.

At the end of the day, Miguel wasn’t ready for this. But he was doing his best, even if it meant lying to you.

“Your canon is changing, constantly glitching. We can’t risk anything happening. I’m sending you home…” he explained like nothing.

“No, please. You have to stop seeing me as a danger. Look at me as your talisman, like a ghost in the multiverses. If it was something bad, it would’ve happened already” he kept looking straight at the doors, not even moving.

It hurt you that he was still unsure of you, especially after everything he said in your home.

“It’s for the best.”

“Can we talk… In private?” You whispered, taking his forearm. He slowly moved away, making you feel the pain grow.

“There’s nothing to talk about”

“Oh really?. I think we do. What about the other day?”

“It was. All this time, it was. It wasn’t a coincidence that you appeared after someone tried opening portals in your earth,” you gasped in shock.

“I did it for the Spider Society. I needed to know you were not a threat.”

“You said I was special…” he managed to hear you whisper. And it was tearing him.

“You are. But a potential danger too. Which is why I’m sending you home…” you shake your head, fighting the tears rapidly forming in your eyes.

“All of you knew about this?” You asked, looking at Peter, Gwen, and Jessica. 

The pregnant woman bowed her head while Gwen looked like she wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“We do this because we care for and want to protect you…” 

“Really? This is not what friends do. All you do is lie and lie to me!” you said with a broken voice.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel admitted looking down.

“GOD, STOP LYING” you yelled. 

“Tell me I meant nothing to you. Or admit you might be scared of the possibility of falling in love with me….”

“You meant nothing to me. It was all a lie” he broke you. You swore you heard your heart decreasing its heartbeats. 

“For one minute, I thought you… loved me back” As he stood there quietly, you started crying. 

To everyone’s shock, it was the first time they saw you crying. Gwen tried to reach you, but you stepped back, moving away from all of them.

At the same time, Pavitr and Hobie entered the room.

“Something weird happened. You might want to see this, boss,” Pavitr announced. 

“It was dope….” Hobie admitted leaning on the door frame. But stood quiet after watching you crying.

The moment turned uneasy, debating whether to go or stay with you.

“Please, let’s go, and then we’ll talk with tranquility about this,” Peter told you. Giving a look that he wasn’t happy with seeing you cry. 

Slowly, you followed them. Ignoring Miguel’s look. 

Then you thought, What was the point of following them? If they would send you home after that?.

Anger wasn’t a good feeling, but it was blinding you. All the fantastic facade they sold you of good friends. The months Miguel lied to you. He could have done it differently. But he even dared to agree to have dinner with your family. 

He held your hands and made you believe there was a chance. 

So you stopped following them and turned to the lower plant of the building.

___________

Your web was tiny, like a baby’s. It glitched a lot, but when Miguel entered with the others, he noticed the glitch was even more aggressive than ever. 

There were only two canon moments; you getting bit and joining the Spider Society. But a new one was forming. And from the shiny dot, a new line grew.

“What the hell?” Peter asked in disbelief.

The line started moving until it was connected to another: Miguel’s.

And from that connection, a new canon event was officially established.

You and Miguel were together. Dramatically holding hands and facing each other.

“Holy sh-” Gwen almost said but couldn’t finish the sentence. 

“Does this mean…” Jessica started.

“She’s part of your canon,” Peter confirmed.

Miguel was in shock; his eyes remained on what the model displayed. You were really meant for him. He hadn’t need to worry about it ending in disaster. Still, it didn’t soothe him.

“Uh-boss? Our pretty little y/n started a countdown to return home and temporarily block the entrance to her earth,” Lyla announced, appearing beside Miguel. He turned to look at her, worried. 

“What?”

“I tried stopping her, but I believe she’s growing her cosmic powers?” the day couldn’t get more complicated for Spider-Man 2099.

“Cosmic powers?” Peter asked, running when Miguel started heading towards the exit.

Lyla, crossed her arms looking at everyone starting running. She couldn’t admit it to anyone. That if your issue wasn’t fixed, something darker could happen. The AI couldn’t throw salt in Miguel’s wound.

“Jessica, send help. Lyla, stop her,” he demanded. Jessica nodded, and Lyla disappeared.

“There’s no spider with cosmic powers. But y/n was a bit between universes. So maybe she has some of them or….” 

“Peter shut up!. I just can’t lose her!” If you were Miguel’s destiny, he would do things right. And he regretted setting up all of the secret meetings and lies. 

He rushed to get to you faster than anyone. He wasn’t even sure the blocking earth thing worked. 

Maybe he was exaggerating, but he was willing to set the alarms so everyone would try to stop him. 

If he had waited a day, none of this would’ve happened. But he had understood once that things happened for a reason; canon. 

So as fast as he was running, something inside told him it was already late.

Peter and Gwen followed close to him, ready to find you prepared to leave. 

The panic finally settled when they entered the dark room, and you were already behind the colorful barrier. 

“NO!. Please, y/n” You turned to hear Miguel’s voice calling you. 

Your look was empty, but the anger was there. He kept calling for you, but you didn’t say a word. 

All of you wanted was to leave. Sleep and forget you were a spider girl. Ease the pain of your broken heart. And accept that no matter if you were the only variant of yourself in all the universes, you were meant to end up without love. 

Because when he had you face to face, you were gone. 

Confused, you appeared on a random street in Downtown LA. Your suit was ripped, your hair was a mess, and the tears didn’t seem to stop. A wave of cold air hit you, making you shiver and hug yourself. 

Feeling broken and in shock, you found yourself stepping on a broken glass bottle. Your left foot instantly started bleeding, making you fall to your knees.

That’s when you no longer held the tears; you just let all the sobs take over. 

You shouldn’t have accepted to join the Spider Society; you shouldn’t have pushed your crush for Miguel. 

I hate this. I hate this. God, I hate this…

With no more strength, you stood up. And tottering, you started walking towards home. 

It was okay; it would be okay. 

________________________

Cringe in general? Maybe… part two?

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara angst #spiderman 2099 #atsv #peter b parker #miguel o’hara imagine #accross the spiderverse #miguel o’hara

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

ñuhus prūmӯs (my heart) │Chapter 6: Retribution (NSFW!)

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 │Chapter 11 │Chapter 12 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Childbirth is the duty and dismay of all highborn women. Together, you and Daemon experience the trials, tribulations and triumphs of expectant parenthood. Your husband seeks justice.

(Set post-episode 7, though Daemon never married Laena or Rhaenyra.)

Thank you to @angelqueen04 for beta-ing! Thank you also to @evisnotok​, @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ajthefujoshi for holding my hand throughout the drafting, teehee!

Triggers: incest, age gap, purity culture, detailed depictions of pregnancy, graphic violence, graphic depictions of blood and torture, graphic depictions of murder, erectile dysfunction.

He can hear you screaming the moment he alights upon the top of the stairs.

“Guards! Guards!” he roars, already running.

Bolting down the corridor, his mind whirls with terror. What will he find when he gets to your rooms? He braces himself, thoughts whirling uncontrollably. Thoughts of stained sheets and the scent of copper and death upon the air, your tear-stricken face wild and wretched with the anguish of being ripped apart by babes too small to survive, the still forms of infants in miniature, slick with blood and already greying upon the ground below you—

What he discovers is infinitely worse.

The Mallery knight is engaged in a tussle with an unknown assailant, the clash of steel ringing in his ears and reminding him of battles past. You lay on the stone floor beside a body, one of two, your face and hair and gown wet with gore. A man straddles your legs, brandishing a knife that inches its way toward your belly. Toward his heirs. You’re giving him a good showing, kicking your legs and shoving at his weight with all your might and shrieking—but you are not strong enough to sway the encroaching threat of the blade in his hand.

“Shut up, girl!” The malefactor grapples against your stubborn hands preventing the knife from reaching its target, holding it at bay. “Not ‘ere for you… just them babies in you. Hold still!”

“No!” you yell, spitting in his face. The man snarls, backhanding you. You yelp.

Daemon moves instantly, unsheathing Dark Sister and striding toward the fray with barely a second thought. The Valyrian steel slides through flesh like butter, piercing straight through the assailant’s back and up through his ribs while being careful to miss his heart.

Non-lethal, painful. I want him to feel this.

The man shouts, dropping the knife. He yanks the sword out and kicks him away from you, sneering as he watches his prey scramble through the ooze of his own life essence. He’s still alive. Daemon casts aside his sword and falls upon your attacker, taking up the other man’s blade and slicing cleanly across the jugular, just enough pressure to release a gruesome spray that wets his face and tunic. He wants this creature to die bloody.

“Daemon—”

He presses his thumbs into the cut, smiling darkly as the man thrashes and gurgles. Ichor stains his skin and fills his nostrils with the stink of metallic warmth, humanity reduced to its basest form and lashing about in its final throes—

“My Prince—ah!”

In his periphery, he catches a figure scrambling from the room through the narrow server’s passageway, Mallery falling to the ground and clutching his leg. The man below him is still twitching. He cannot let him go until he is certain he’s dead, until he has paid the price for daring to lay his hands on you.

The guards burst into the room from the main entrance, taking in the scene with shock. Fucking useless.

“What the fuck took you so long?” he growls, releasing his hold on the man below him. He’s dead. The knowledge that he has taken care of this immediate threat to your safety soothes him somewhat. And yet, not all have been vanquished. Jerking his head in the direction of the opening in the far wall, he says, “One of the attackers escaped. After them!”

They nod hastily, sprinting away with a clang. Daemon readies for the influx of more people; the Kingsguard, the servants, the nobles, his fucking brother—

“Daemon…”

Your weeping reaches his ears, little fingers brushing tentatively against his shoulder. The gentleness of the motion breaks him from his violent spiral. His gaze jerks to yours, the burning rage cooling to a simmering ember as he takes in your terrified demeanour: wide eyes and quivering lip and tears tracking through spattered crimson akin to grisly warpaint.

You swallow. “He—he—”

He is momentarily struck by fear. What if you’ve been wounded? What if your pains have started? That old urge to run at the first sign of strife rears its ugly head, but he tamps it down viciously. I am not that man anymore.

“Sh.” Pulling you bodily to him, he feels the weight of you solid in his arms and on his lap, a reminder that he has not yet lost what is most important to him.

She is safe. She is safe. The rest can wait.

He runs his bloodied hand along your jaw, down your spine, across your belly, cataloguing every iota of you as though it is the first time he has ever held you. It might have been the last. He cannot help that the movements are rougher than he’d like, frantic and desperate.

“Are you alright?” he asks, trying to keep his voice gentle so as not to plunge you further into hysterics. “The babes?”

You nod shakily, tugging his hand back to your swollen middle. And oh, what a moment to feel the thudding motions of his children, the first time he has been able to lay a palm there and experience the sensation himself. They are active within your womb, small thumps and jabs that are more delicate than he had expected—but they are alive.

Tears burn in his eyes, angry, boiling things that he cannot, will not let loose. Not now.

He bands an arm beneath your knees and lifts you from the ground—the cold stone is no place for his little niece, his sweet baby wife—reassured by the heaviness of you and his heirs all. Conveying you swiftly to the bed with hardly a care given to the large stains smearing across the covers, he supposes you shall need an entirely new set of chambers, what with the mess soaking the stone ground.

Several arrivals occur in quick succession. Four of the Kingsguard enter and move immediately to secure the perimeter, one breaking off to aid Mallery across the room by tamping the ichor oozing steadily from his leg. Good man. He’d have hated to have to slay your sworn shield for incompetence, but his performance had been admirable in the face of the odds laid before him. It looks likely that he will not be able to use the limb again, though.

The healer woman is the next to toddle in, exclaiming in dismay at the sight. Your lady-in-waiting—and oh, fuck, the body that had been beside you is the other, he realises—follows swiftly on her heels, immediately bursting into tears when she absorbs the carnage.

Ūlla picks her way around the debris in a manner that is almost comical. “Princess! Princess! Are you safe?”

One of the Cargylls—he can never fucking tell them apart—steps before her, blade pointed in her direction.

She scoffs. “Move, boy! Pah—are you ‘Princess’, then? Go away!”

As much as he’d love to see the ensuing standoff, now is not the time. It’d be best to have the physician verify that you and his heirs are well. No doubt the shrew will bring you a measure of matronly comfort that he cannot.

“Let her through,” he commands.

The knight steps aside reluctantly, allowing her to proceed onwards. Daemon moves away for the woman to begin fussing over you, for your attendant to step into place so as to comfort you. He is wrenched by the sound of your plaintive whimper when he has gone too far for you to reach.

But needs must—this is not over.

He rolls over each of the attackers lying dead on the ground with a foot, examining them with pursed lips. There’s a blotch on each of their cheeks. At first, he assumes it is no more than a discolouration of the skin, perhaps a curious disease or a sign of familial relation—but leaning closer and wiping some of the blood away reveals that they are in fact identical stars carved and scarred over. Seven points.

Mellos makes his way inside, no doubt summoned for Mallery. It is a rare occasion indeed to see him act decisively; he dithers in overdramatic fright but for a moment before moving along to his task.

Lord Cunttower himself appears then, accompanied by his bitch of a daughter with the King in tow.

Daemon sees red.

“You,” he whispers, or maybe he shouts it. He can barely hear anything over the pounding in his ears as he shoves his brother’s prized lackey against the wall, cursing his lack of a blade. “You’ll die for this.”

“Daemon!”

“Look at her!” he snarls.

Hands wrapped around the man’s throat, Daemon revels in the distressed gasps and choking gags as the lord’s face slowly turns purple. The snake tries to pull at his grip, but a pompous fuck from the Reach is no match for a seasoned Targaryen warrior. Viserys is at his back, pulling at his shoulder with his one remaining hand. No doubt that is the Hightower whore crying out from further away.

“Look at my fucking wife, Otto! Mark my words”—he hounds ever closer to see the panic and the fear in the eyes of a man so usually unshakeable—“if this is your doing, not even the King or the gods themselves will stop me from taking your head—”

“Guards!”

“Kepus!”

He is dragged back by the nearest of his brother’s soldiers, forced to release his punitive grip. Otto sags with a guttural heave, water streaming from his eyes and clutching at his neck. Alicent rushes to her sire, staring between him and Daemon with sheer distress painting her features. Her hands flutter uselessly over the bruise already blooming across the flesh, though her overtures are quickly batted away.

“What is the meaning of this?” Viserys asks, even greyer as he looks about the scene of your attack; the blood, the bodies, your sworn shield emitting a muffled howl through a strap of leather between his teeth as the Grand Maester cauterises the wound. “What—”

“They ca—came for the babes.” Your speech is slack and monotone now that the shock has properly set in.

I can’t fucking do this, Daemon thinks.

He nudges the healer out of the way and ignores her grumble to sit beside you on the bed, to clutch at you once again and remind himself that you’re here. You grip his hand for support, heedless of the dried gore flaking off between joined palms.

“Three of them,” you say, numb. “They—oh, gods. They killed Miriam. They killed her.”

“Sh.” He presses his lips to your head, the smell of the rose oil apparent even through all the blood. She’s safe. She’s safe. He turns to your present company, to the figures of the King and Queen and Hand, arranged in various poses of horror. “This was not an accident. These—these scum knew what they were doing. They made their way into your Keep. They meant to slaughter your daughter’s babes, and in doing so, murder my wife. This is treason, Your Grace, of the highest order.”

Viserys looks as though his spirit is about to part from his body, pallid and desolate in the face of this hidden menace. “But why?” he asks, a child at prayer.

Daemon scoffs at the naivete. Is his failure to acknowledge the wound he has let fester for so long really so great? Of all the people in this room, the King ought to know best that all choices have consequences.

“My daughter’s never caused harm to a single man, woman or child,” the King continues. “Who would do this?”

“Ask him.” Daemon glowers at Hightower, who is still covering the line of his neck with his own hand.

The man makes a noise of incredulity. “I have been ever loyal to your King and your House these many years, Prince Daemon,” he says, or tries to. His voice is gravelly, raspy in the way that belies a considerable trauma inflicted upon the area. He affects a moue of outrage, though the alarm lingers. “To accuse me of such a—grievous crime—as to engineer the slaying of the Princess’s babes is simply preposterous!”

“And to what cause?” his daughter asks, forcing an aura of regality. It does not suit her. She’s far too common to view as anything more than a descendant of wildling savages. “Where is the benefit to doing such a thing?”

This time, Daemon cannot help but snort aloud. He stands, passing you back into the care of the healer, who has gathered a basin of water and some rags with which to start shedding you of the layers of congealed blood upon your face. You do not need to hear this part, and so he strides closer to the trespassing forms before him.

This time, he directs his poisonous inquiry to the Hightower woman, finally laying the truth of the matter bare.

“Have you yourself not openly alleged that the Princess Rhaenyra’s sons are bastards, my Queen?” He keeps his tone deliberately light, though it is clear all can sense the danger lurking beneath each intonation. “It stands to reason that, to those who might be persuaded to believe such falsehoods, my wife would be her heir by right of precedence. And if my wife should bear a son? Well, that makes your son’s claim rather difficult to advance, doesn’t it?”

“How dare you accuse me—”

“Enough!” his brother say, hushing himself when he notices he has caught your attention across the room. His next words are spoken far softer. “Did I not say that such rumours would incur a stay in the Black Cells? I do not wish to hear speculation as to the legitimacy of my grandsons!”

“Your Grace.” Daemon genuflects.

His rage is a seething, smouldering thing, but he needs Viserys on side if he is to tear the capital apart to find this cunt and rend him into pieces. There are plenty who believe him to be an unreasonable beast when the fire burns through his veins, but he is more than just an unmoored conflagration; he’s a fucking Prince, and he knows how to play the game when the occasion calls for it.

Assuming a countenance as servile as he can manage, he appeals directly to his brother. “Close the city gates,” he begs quietly. “Give me the City Watch. Let me root out the last of these cu—these reprobates, street by street, door by door. Let me gift my wife the justice she is owed.” He steps aside so that Viserys can see straight to you, to the way you have begun to tremor despite the huddled warmth of the women who are tending to you, to your face streaked scarlet with the blood of others, to your hands clasped tightly against your belly in protection of your children. “Please. If not for me… then for her.”

Viserys may be a wretch, but he loves Aemma’s girls.

“This affront must not be allowed to go unpunished,” the King says, suddenly weary. “I give you leave to find this assassin, brother, so that we may learn who has placed a price on my daughter’s life.”

Daemon is one step closer to meting out punishment. He can already taste the death and destruction that awaits. Staring down the Hightowers, he says, “I will find the perpetrators, Your Grace. And there will be no mercy for those responsible.”

Let this be a warning to all who believe the Rogue Prince to be a tamed man. He is a fucking dragon, and this city will soon feel the flames of his wrath.

He gives Rollingford the orders to start the search without him.

“Thin build, dark hair, has a star cut into his right cheek. An old wound.” He rattles off all he has gleaned from his observations and yours and Mallery’s testimonies to the Commander of the gold cloaks. “Likely to be bleeding, probably limping on his left leg. I want him located. I want him surrounded until I arrive. No one is to touch him. This one is mine. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Ser,” the solemn soldier says, snapping to attention jerkily before striding off with his captains in tow. He is already issuing directives as he rounds the corner.

Ser. It is easy to sink into the role of combatant, doing away with titles and courtesies to embrace the mortality and mayhem of battle—but he cannot allow the bloodlust to consume him just yet.

Though you insist in a small whisper that it is not necessary, he carries you from your (old, spoiled, defiled) chambers to the King’s rooms himself. It is a temporary respite for you and your staff until the final attacker has been caught. He chafes at relinquishing you to your father’s care—it tastes strangely of defeat—but even he cannot deny that these apartments are the safest in the city, if not the Realm.

There is a self-indulgent joy that seeps through the cracks of his fury at the sight of Viserys so flummoxed by your insistence that he remain as you are bathed and dressed in nightwear, finally free of the wash of thick crimson that had crusted in your silver hair and stained your blossom-soft skin. His brother’s own bed has been stripped and redressed for your use, a surprising concession—or perhaps not. You are one of two pieces left of Aemma, after all.

Daeron had been brought to you for comfort, and you hold him as tightly to you as you had held your dolls in gummy fists as a tot, meek and withdrawn. It makes his chest ache to see you so terrified.

He uses the very last of his patience to help the healer woman coax watered dreamwine to your lips, to bundle you in tight in the bed beside your brother, to stroke at your hair and your belly and hum some half-recollected lullaby from your childhood or his until your eyes droop, exhausted and overcome.

As he rises to depart from the room—to seek his retribution—he shares a glance with the King, one that is mayhaps a beat too long to lack meaning. In it, he tries to convey what he cannot say aloud. ‘Protect her for me. Keep her safe while I cannot. Do this for me, brother.’

It is the first time in many a year that he is united in common cause with this man. A single nod, and then he exits, the Kingsguard closing ranks and barring the door from all who may seek entry.

The air is sharp with the chill of night and the stifle of smoke wafting from lit torches, the dim orange smoulder a gloomy spotlight throwing the shadows of soldiers into stark relief. Daemon can hear the cries near and far of alarmed citizens and distressed patrons as the City Watch raids homes and taverns and storefronts. The sound is intoxicating, a pulse of vicious pleasure loosening the strain in his shoulders and the tightness of his breath.

This is what he does best—bringing chaos and cruelty to his enemies’ doorstep. It’s a reminder of the fate that awaits those who dare to cross the House of the Dragon. Until this man is found, the entire city is his enemy.

“My Prince.” Rollingford falls into step beside his horse as he crosses into the Great Square, seemingly appearing from the shadows. An impressive skill. He slides down from the saddle, absently patting the mount’s flank when he chuffs at the motion. With an arched brow, he wordlessly prompts the Commander to continue. “We have guards manning all seven gates, as well as postings along the Blackwater. The harbour has been closed and the ships at dock searched, and the men are working their way through the city.”

“Good. What of the High Septon? I want him questioned. Make use of Largent.”

“The—the High Septon?” Rollingford asks. He does his best to sound carefully blank, but Daemon can hear the underlying pitch of nervousness.

“Yes, the fucking High Septon,” he snaps. “He’s here, isn’t he? Some business with the King. Tell him that the Prince wants to know why three assassins bearing the Seven-Pointed Star attempted to murder my wife and heirs earlier tonight. If he resists—bring him to me. I care not for the wrath of his gods.”

“Ye—yes, Ser.”

He doesn’t actually believe the Faith to be responsible for the attack. Those petty worshippers have become unmanned since the days of Jaehaerys, and the High Septon is far too gutless a creature to conjure up such a scheme. He also doubts any of the man’s underlings have the capacity to act without first being thoroughly vetted by the circuitous bureaucracy of the Most Devout. But it will send a message that none are safe from his wrath, one he hopes will lure forth the real culprits.

It nears dawn when the search bears fruition. One of the soldiers—Cressey, he thinks, or perhaps Hayford—brings forth a location.

“We’ve got ‘im surrounded, milord,” he says, “so ‘e’s not likely to escape. But those nearabouts all say they saw a bloodied man with a star on ‘is cheek limp inside and not come out. That was some time ago.”

It might just be a form of irony that the answers I seek are to be found once more in the whorehouses of King’s Landing, he thinks to himself.

He retraces the familiar route to the Street of Silk—straight down the Street of Sisters, left onto the Street of Flour, right along Copper Street—the sound of hoofbeats against cobblestone overloud in the early morning. It is easy to tell which of these establishments houses his quarry, the glimmer of the gold cloaks easily recognisable even in weak light.

The men part for him as he stalks along the way directly to the heavy oak door. Curious. Run-down, moth-eaten and hosting some of the most common girls in the Realm, this particular brothel had been one of the cheaper bastions of debauchery in his youth. A fuck was a fuck no matter which way it was dressed, though, so it is not as though he had refused their attempts to solicit his coin. A good Prince is a fair one, after all. The door is new, and already he can see signs of refurbishment in the scrubbed-clean stone and the pale thatching of the roof.

Daemon barges directly inside, immediately being struck by the thick clogging scent of incense and sweat and bodily fluids. Gone are the thready chaises and faded portraits and the half-destroyed staircase. Instead, the space is dark and richly furnished in deep reds and blacks, the walls inlaid with lacquered wood and gleaming with the flicker of burning braziers.

Several whores squeal at the suddenness of his importunity, turning wide kohl-lined eyes to his form from where they sit in the laps of strangers in various stages of undress about the open foyer. He scans each of the patrons critically, seeking out one who matches the description of his target.

Bald, pot-bellied, pockmarked, old, young, yellow hair, black hair… A veritable array of men soused on drink and desperation, and yet there is no sign of your assailant.

A woman moves from the shadows, her speech carrying above the sighs and moans despite the soft, lilting cadence. “Welcome to the Gilded Doll, good Ser. What pleasures do you seek this day?”

I know that voice.

“Mysaria.” His long-time paramour smiles teasingly at his shock, flicking her dark hair over her shoulders at the recognition. Little about her has changed since their separation. “I thought you’d be in Pentos.”

He had left her there in the Prince’s palace what seems like so long ago now. It is strange to think upon the version of himself who had been so afflicted by desire for Rhaenyra. Sometimes, he forgets you have only been wedded to him for a comparatively short period. There is a settled comfort in his life with you, a conviction and dependence that still surprises him. Peace is not a feeling he thought he’d ever find in marriage.

“My place is in Westeros, My Prince,” she says. She steps closer—too close. His tense demeanour does not go unnoticed, for she wisely elects to drop the carefully cultivated mask of temptation to speak honestly. “You are not the only one who has been called back to these shores by those in need.”

He scoffs. Ah, yes—I’d forgotten about her delusions of grandeur. “And you’re doing your great philanthropic work as the madam of a brothel? I suppose it’s not a terrible advancement for a common whore.”

“Not so common, perhaps.” Her crimson lips twist, the old insult stinging still. She will accept a great many indignities, but never has she abided being regarded as someone unexceptional. “My women are well-cared-for, which is more than I can say for most of the brothels along the Street of Silk.”

He rolls his eyes, already growing bored by the conversation. He’s not here for a reunion. “Such a noble cause. Effigies ought to be built for you, I’m sure.”

“What brings you here, Daemon?” she asks.

“A trio of assailants tried to murder my wife earlier this evening,” he says, afforded some measure of privacy by the collection of sounds filling the room. Though his blood is up by the promise of violence, there is none left to fill his cock—and truthfully, he does not know if the sight of whores’ tits or the wet squelch of overused cunts or the shrill performances echoing from the second floor are even enough to elicit such a reaction now. He’d much rather stare at your tits and hear your moans and fuck your cunt. “Two have been dispatched, and the last has been tracked to your establishment. You’d do well to tell me where he is.”

She stares up at him but for a moment, something unreadable in the set of her features.

“I have a great many customers walk through these doors, My Prince,” she says, brow arching challengingly. That veiled insolence had been what had drawn him to her in the first place, when she was just an exotic dancer from Lys baring her body for him and his lackeys in the Blue Pearl. So few dared to test his famed temper, fewer still who’d let him fuck them whichever way he pleased. It rings hollow now. He wonders if her defiance had always been so trite. “You will have to describe the man to me.”

He rattles off the description in a short tone, a warning that she ought not to tarry much longer lest his malice seek out the nearest recipient. Her answer is prompt, wary: “Second floor, fourth door on the right.”

He pulls Dark Sister from its sheath in a pre-emptive motion, again startling those nearby, and makes to climb the steps.

“Daemon.” She lays her hand on his arm, stopping him briefly. “Try not to destroy the furnishings. It costs a pretty coin to maintain such luxury.”

She knows me well. He nods, and then pulls away.

The surprise of Mysaria’s return is one he discards to the recesses of his mind for the time being, allowing the ire to scald in his veins as he trudges to the far quieter upper landing. The sounds of groaning and rustling are muted, almost far-off, a mere backdrop to the thunder of his heart in his ears.

So close. I’m so close.

The fourth door does not open on first attempt. He tries again. Locked. Once more. He takes a few steps back and slams his full weight into the barricade, bursting the wood clean off the hinges.

The whore inside screams in fright, clutching her shawl to her chest. ‘Tis strange to see a clothed whore in a private room, he thinks, surveying the mousy-haired woman and her dull brown eyes and too-thin lips. How drab. That she is still dressed is a promising sign, one that suggests that mayhaps she is not alone. He looks around the room for another; there is no evidence of any company.

Then, he spots the wardrobe ajar, a slight wobble to its frame—as though a heavy being has flung themselves inside. There.

“Get the fuck out,” he growls, levelling the whore with the most vicious look he can muster. She squeaks and darts out into the hallway, vanishing from sight.

His focus affixes itself once more to that sliver of darkness, within which he is certain his mark has tried to hide. He tarries, waiting to see if the other will make the first move; he cannot help the incredulity that arises when he encounters nothing but silence.

Does he honestly believe he has successfully concealed himself from retribution?

With a baring of teeth that is more a grimace than a smile, Daemon strikes, darting forward to fling the door wide and grasp onto whatever part of the man he can reach.

“Lemme go!” your assailant yells, crying out as he is dragged free from discarded gowns and thrust onto the floor.

How… disappointing. He’s already pissed himself, and Daemon hasn’t even had the opportunity to make him regret ever stepping foot in this world yet.

“I didn’ do nuffink, good ser—”

He cuffs the man across the face, a return upon the strike so callously landed across your sweet little face. It knocks more than one tooth loose, leaving him dazed and groaning on the ground, the fight abruptly beaten out of him.

“You were in the Red Keep earlier,” Daemon says, pulling the commoner upright by the hair and dealing another wallop to the nose. An audible crunch sounds out as the bone gives way beneath his knuckles, and the man moans weakly, stunned and bleeding from his leg and his face. “Your co-conspirators are dead. Tell me what I want to know, and your end will be quick.”

He matches your account exactly—dark hair, thin, and that fucking star emblazoned in scar tissue across his cheek. There is a curious pin on his lapel, an insect of some sort rendered in metal.

“I dunno what you mean,” the wretch moans, caterwauling when Daemon steps down on his fingers and grinds them into the ground. Each digit gives way with small pops, pulverising into jagged puzzle pieces no healer is skilled enough to patch together. “I wos here visitin’ my sister, and I ain’t done nuffink in no Keep, Ser!”

I’m almost glad for the resistance.

“A pity,” Daemon says. The man relaxes at the affected resignation in his tone. His mistake. “We’ll do this the hard way, then.”

He shoves the man against the wardrobe and drives Dark Sister cleanly through the meat of his shoulder, pinning him to its surface like a butterfly on canvas. His screams are piercing, surely disrupting the business taking place throughout the brothel. The scarred star stretches grotesquely as he vocalises his agony.

“Who sent you to murder the Princess? Who?!” Daemon snarls, twisting the blade for good measure. Scarlet trickles from the wound, blooming dark down the fabric of the man’s shirt. The howl that releases itself from his throat is nearly inhuman, a drawn-out choking heave that tingles in his extremities. “Talk!”

“I—I—I’m sorry, we wos offered coin—there ain’t none to be had wif the Order—”

Pathetic. Daemon had hardly needed to incentivise him overmuch and yet the scum is already spilling everything. No wonder he had run. Cowards never change their stripes, after all.

“A Poor Fellow, are you?” he asks, angling the blade up slightly and pushing in just a little further.

Daemon had suspected as much. The Seven-Pointed Star is a sure indicator that the attackers are sworn to the Faith Militant, though it is obvious that the evening’s trials had not been the work of those particular sycophants. It seems that an attempt has been made to lay the plot at the High Septon’s door—which means the architect is intelligent.

He continues his line of questioning, manipulating the hilt of his sword to widen the wound, each press shredding fresh slices into overwrought tissue. He basks in the squalling and weeping below him, the singular sound of flesh rending apart, the rich heady aroma of fear and gore. The desire to split open his guts and feed him his own entrails is tempting, but this is not the time. He needs information.

“What price was enough to make you abandon your precious Faith and risk eternal damnation, hm? Three stags? Four? A gold coin?”

The man gasps, spasming with each shift of the blade. “Three! Three, Ser—”

Three gold coins. A wealthy mastermind, then. It narrows the field considerably. Only the nobles at court would have that kind of coin to spend on a plot with a variable chance of success.

Daemon brings his foot down on the Fellow’s knee, crunching the joint beneath his steel-capped boot. With an almighty crack, the bone gives way, its owner leaning to the side to vomit. The acrid stench of sourness permeates the air, tangling with the scents of blood and piss.

He sneers, kicking the man’s leg for good measure. It splays at a misshapen angle, bent back upon itself on the ground. The jagged edge of his shinbone has pierced clean through the back of his knee, a macabre lance of pearl-white tearing through skin and muscle.

“A measly three coins to murder a girl heavy with child,” Daemon mocks. “A Princess. Your gods must be so proud.”

“Please!” The craven weeps, spitting blood and bile from his mouth. “Please.”

“Tell me what I want to know. Tell me who ordered the attack.”

“I—I—I dunno his name, Ser. He wears a hood. Calls himself the Firefly.”

Daemon nods absently in acknowledgement, his mind ruminating over this discovery. It is not an epithet he recognises. Firefly. He’ll have to conduct a careful search to find the owner of this sobriquet.

He refocuses his gaze upon the last of your assailants, the remaining member of the trio who had so callously threatened your life and the lives of his children. As pathetic as this creature is, he has been rather valuable in providing enough intelligence to further his own search. But the man has outlived his usefulness. Daemon cannot afford for his benefactor to learn of his loose tongue.

“In the name of the Princess, I—Daemon of House Targaryen—sentence you to die.”

In a single swift motion, he wrenches Dark Sister from the place where it is embedded and basks in the vile satisfaction of hearing the man release an unearthly squall. He swings the sword in a high arc, the momentum slicing cleanly through flesh and sinew and bone and cutting the shriek off at its full. Blood sprays over his armour and across his face, the wayward Fellow’s head rolling across the floor.

Daemon removes the pin from the man’s shirt and stows it away for later examination, using one of the whore’s ruined dresses to wipe his blade clean of gore. He surveys the scene. The door is splintered upon the ground, the wardrobe soiled and defiled, the room itself a painting of crimson upon lumber and metalwork, silks and leathers.

Fuck. He’s made rather a mess of things. Restitution will have to be made.

He leaves the body where it lay, having little care for the remains now he is dead. For now, the job is done. It is with a sense of relief that he retraces his steps back to the lower level of the brothel. The whores and patrons stare at him with mingled shock and fright, taking in his red-soaked armour and ichor-stained face. At the sight of him, the whore from earlier darts up the stairs. She will find her brother dead in her rooms, his life essence puddling out upon the floor and seeping into the wood.

He turns to Mysaria, fishing out a handful of coin and holding it out to her. She takes the proffered gold with an arched brow, surveying his dirtied form with an unimpressed expression.

“For the damage,” is his gruff explanation, tipping his head in the direction of the upper landing. “Unavoidable.”

The whore starts to wail her lamentations from above.

“I see.” Her feline eyes glitter dark and mysterious, lips tipped up ever-so-slightly. She had always found his aggression captivating, and it seems such a sentiment remains unchanged. He shifts in discomfort. She leans further into his space, laying a careful hand upon the line of his arm. “I hope you found the justice you had sought.”

He grunts, making no move to encourage her.

“It is good to see you again, Daemon,” she adds, looking up at him through sooty lashes. Her body presses closer, just shy of touching. He doesn’t know if she holds back to avoid sullying her gown or if she intends to tempt him into closing the space. “You would be welcome here if you should want the company of one of my girls. Or mine.”

Her breath, wine-tart and candied, puffs against his jaw.

“I don’t,” he says stiffly. He is poised, rigid, barely restraining himself from the urge to throw her bodily from him, to backhand her for daring to touch what is not hers by right. “Take your damn hands off me.”

She is as beautiful and sensuous as ever, but she does not arouse desire in him the way she had once done. How the mighty have fallen, he thinks.

Should a version of Daemon from his youth encounter him now, he would make of himself a laughingstock for the single-minded veracity of his ardour for his own niece, a girl half his age. But how could one return to consuming boiled mutton after partaking in roast venison for the first time? Mysaria had been a companion and nothing more. You are his—niece, confidant, wife, lover, mother to his heirs. There can be no other now. That she thinks she might persuade him to wet his cock in lesser cunt is insulting.

At once, her seduction ceases, the veil of allure dropping and resettling into feigned amiability. He has insulted her—but why should it matter? Dragons do not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.

She smiles dryly, stepping aside to clear a path to the exit. “Then I wish you farewell,” she says.

There is nothing left for him here but the ghosts of a former life. It is easier than breathing to turn from her gaze, to cast her aside as a memory from long ago, to stride past her and leave her in the past where she belongs.

He departs the Gilded Doll without another word, mind already settling on returning to you.

You are still asleep when he enters his brother’s rooms.

“Gods be good,” Viserys mutters, hobbling over from his chair as he takes in the sight of Daemon covered in blood. What did he expect, he thinks in irritation, that I would sit down for a civilised meal with her attacker?  “I can only assume you found him.”

“The last one is dead,” he says, unbuckling his baldric and setting Dark Sister, scabbard and all, upon the table as quietly as he can. Through the gauzy drapes, he spies your still form ensconced in the bed. “I got the information I needed.”

“Must I ask for it, or shall you tell me?” the King asks.

Daemon glances over at him. Dark circles bloom purple-grey under his eyes, the contrast to his blemished skin so severe it is as though he is looking at a human skull instead of a living man.

“Not now.” He suppresses a shudder at the malformed creature his brother has become. “I’d like to get this shit off me.”

The bath is warm, but he takes no joy in it. Now that his enterprise is concluded, he is left with naught but his own thoughts. If I had been there, she wouldn’t have been risked so dearly. If I’d refused to leave, she’d be safe and happy instead of fearful and desolate.

He tries to tamp down the maelstrom, scrubbing vigorously at his flesh and his hair as though to physically force the notion from his mind. By the time he is done, the water is pink, flecks of dried blood forming a ghastly film upon the surface.

All he wishes to do now is sit by you. He bypasses Viserys, treading barefoot through the sheer curtains and settling himself gently upon the mattress beside you. In repose, your expression holds none of the fright or devastation that had marred it so many hours ago. You are young, sweet, mouth slack with sleep and cheeks plump and rosy from the heat of the coverings over you.

His eyes burn again. I’ve failed to protect her. Stroking your wild silver hair back from your temple, he trails his fingers along the line of your jaw, over the curve of your lower lip, your throat.

“She has not awakened,” the King says softly behind him. “The boy’s gone to his lessons, but—well, I thought it best not to rouse her.”

“Good,” he murmurs, hand wandering below the sheets to feel the swell of your belly. There is faint movement, and relief blooms anew at the liveliness of the babes within your womb. Tap. Tap. Tap. He had almost convinced himself that it had been a delusion conjured up in his maddened state. “She needs to rest.”

You stir faintly, and he brings his palm to your face once more. You lip insensately at his thumb, easing back down into unconsciousness. A creak to his left makes him think that Viserys has sunk into the chair beside the bed. He can feel the stare boring into him, though he has little desire to entertain whatever it is that has his brother so absorbed.

“When you sought my daughter’s hand,” the King begins, “I assumed the worst.” He knows that. “You are not the sort of man capable of providing the care she needs: patience, attentiveness, placidity… devotion. Someone who would regard her as the treasure she is. Yes, when you asked for her, I thought all manner of abhorrent things, even if you were the one she chose for herself. I was so certain you would destroy her.”

So little trust in me, as always. There is a point to this spiel, a mellow timbre that suggests the aim is not to remonstrate—but to hear how lowly his brother thinks of him is nonetheless cutting.

The King huffs a laugh. “Imagine my surprise, then, to see her so…  happy with you.” Daemon stills for a moment, then carefully resumes caressing your cheek, smoothing over the contour of your chin. “She is a new person to me now, and I regret that I was not able to grant what it is she needed to best thrive. I have many regrets… but I do not regret conferring her upon you,” Viserys says. “I was wrong, Daemon. You make a fine husband to my girl. And I am glad she can give to you what I never did.”

Oh, brother.

There was a time when he wanted nothing more than to earn his brother’s approval; when the attainment of such was a far-off dream, one that would have required him to unmake and reforge himself anew so that he might finally earn what ought to have been his all along. The denial of it had made him bitter and angry, a hot-tempered rake of a being that had terrorised nobles and commoners alike with debauchery and hostility and brutality. It is ironic that having the man finally—finally—proclaim that longed-for praise carries none of the weight he once imagined it would have.

His worth is no longer shackled to the whims of an ailing King. Perhaps it is unhealthy or even unfair to place the care of it in your hands—but for all his poisonous ambition, he knows his is not a nature meant for standing alone. The second son of a second son, he has been bred and built to seek purpose from those designed for a higher calling than he. How he had railed against his fate, once! And how very poetic it is that he has found himself so beholden to you.

He does not need Viserys anymore. But he nods and thanks his brother nonetheless, pays little mind to him as he departs from the room, and waits for you to rouse.

It normally takes time for your faculties to return to you after your eyes first open, but it comes to no surprise that consciousness strikes you with full force after the evening’s events. Your eyes snap open and you jolt, casting about for a half-moment before alighting on the form of your husband. He adjusts himself so that he reclines against the headboard, allowing you to easily wiggle your way onto his lap.

Fretful and fragile, a baby princess seeking protection in the arms of her big, strong uncle. Moisture wets his clean shirt, your face buried against his chest and little fingers clutched to his sides like you are afraid he’ll vanish. He pets over your spine and breathes you in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You shake your head, voiceless. He’ll not press you yet, not now—but there will come a time in the near future where you’ll have no choice but to recount the attack. He needs as much intelligence from as many involved as he can seek out if he is to determine the identity of the Firefly.

You are small and quiet and slow-moving as the day passes, wanting little else than to cling to him and doze. He doesn’t know what to do with this version of you. He is helpless to conceive of a way to break you from this strange trance. Guilt and fury and exasperation mingle like noxious fumes inside his body, pressing against his chest cavity and constricting around the organ there like a bloodied fist. Each hushed whisper, each tenuous tremble, each lamenting little-girl rebuff of all save him only serves to spur the tumult within.

“Is… Are they all gone?”

You finally string more than two or three words together, sat upon the edge of the bed in your new chambers. They are nice enough, he supposes, though he’s not particularly enthused by the prospect of being so close to Viserys and the Hightowers. For a moment, he thinks you are speaking of the attendants that had flitted in and out of your presence throughout the afternoon, but the uncertainty of your countenance suggests otherwise. His stomach drops.

“Those—those men?” you clarify, voice cracking.

Daemon lays Dark Sister back upon the desk and tosses down the cloth he’d been using to work away at the stray crusts of ichor, returning to you.

“Yes,” he says, sinking down upon the mattress.

You lean into him, warm and real and alive. Alive. “I was so… frightened. I thought I was going to di—”

“Don’t.” He shakes his head. I cannot hear it, cannot abide even the thought of it. “Don’t say it.”

You pause, staring up at him, nodding when you take in whatever expression has affixed itself on the planes of his face. He jerks slightly when you push yourself up on your knees and bring your lips to his, hot and wet and sweet. It is ingrained into the foundations of his very self to press into the kiss, to cradle your jaw in his hand and feel the throb of your pulse feed into his skin, his cock twitching in his breeches. There is no pleasure to it, but instead a disconcerting agony that prickles along his shaft and cools the fire that ought to stoke itself.

He draws away, suppressing the tremor that threatens. “What are you doing?” It comes out more abrasive than he’d like.

“Please?” you ask, mouthing at his lower lip, desperate and frenzied. “I—I just want to feel something good again.”

He understands that need. Hells, it’s a feeling that has fuelled many of his own debauched eves across the brothels in King’s Landing and the Realm beyond. Though he cannot fault you for the urge to drive away the memory of those who had nearly carved your babes from your belly (I wasn’t there, why wasn’t I there), his body is refusing to heed your wishes and rise to the occasion.

It tears at him to tilt back into you, to crowd against you and take your mouth with his own, to press his tongue to yours and pull the hem of your shift up. He drives you down into the sheets, nipping at your throat and shoving a finger then two into your grasping cunt, feeling the way the silky walls catch and ripple eagerly as he hooks into the high soft sponge of you, listening to you gasp. You writhe and moan below him, tugging at his pants and taking hold of his cock, and it begins to burst to life in your capable hand. He looks down at you and his mind flashes to the way you’d looked beneath that man, red-stained and terrified and scrabbling to save your own life, and he cannot—

He lurches away from you, from the memory of what had nearly happened. I wasn’t there. You try to pull him back down, but he shakes off your touch. “No. Stop, sweetling.”

“Why?” You pout, reaching for his shaft and making a soft noise of confusion.

Oh. Whatever blood had fought to stiffen him up has dissipated, leaving him limp despite your best attempts to coax it to rise.

“I said—” He bats your hands away, suddenly wrathful. Stumbling off the bed, he stows himself away and fumbles with the laces, whirling on you. “You almost died, and you want to fuck?” he asks, grinding his teeth and snarling at you. “What in the hells is wrong with you?”

He regrets it as soon as he’s said it—even more so when he sees the bewildered tears begin to collect along your lower lashes, lip quivering and looking so, so small. Why wasn’t I there to protect her, she could have di—

The room feels like a cage, like iron bars squeezing tight against his flesh, he has to get out, he has to get out—

“Daemon. Daemon!”

He flees the trappings of your apartments, past the Kingsguard manning the doors to the bedchamber, the hall, Maegor’s Holdfast, leaving you there upon the bed alone.

Scarcely even realising he’s left his blade behind, he moves with purpose throughout the Keep. He knows not where he’s headed, only that he must find a safe haven where he might begin to pull together the edges of himself that are fraying to bits, threatening to send him crumbling.

It hurts. It hurts unlike anything he’s ever felt. The anguish only serves to wind him tighter, a maimed creature lashing out at the world for its suffering.

His steps lead him aimlessly around his childhood home, and he indulges the wanderlust. He avoids the main thoroughfares, not wishing to encounter the absurdity of courtly gossip on his day. The journey takes him past the Great Hall and the Small Council chambers and through the servants’ passages, down to the scullery and the royal cellars. He pilfers a carafe of wine from the kitchens, imbibing periodically as he trudges through hallways and up flights of stairs. Eventually, he makes his way to an old sanctuary from his youth, a lone balcony in an abandoned portion of the Holdfast overlooking the courtyard and, beyond, the Dragonpit.

Daemon leans against the edge and stares blankly at the horizon, taking steady draughts from the jug and letting the drink numb the sharp stabbing pains of his thoughts. The wine loosens him, slows the racing of his heart, and time finally starts to run leisurely again.

She might have—She nearly—

“Princess said you ran from her.”

Fuck. He ignores the healer woman as she shuffles forward, joining him in the dimming light. Her eyes bore into his side profile, but he won’t give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her.

“Said you were angry,” she croaks.

It is the truth, but it is still unpleasant to hear.

“How is she?” he asks. It is relatively easy to assume she’s ventured forth in search of him after making her customary rounds to her sole charge.

He hopes she can hear the words he does not say. Are my children well? Will they survive this?

“Good. Babe both good, too.” He despises how unlike herself she is being, how gentle and kind her tone is. It is not the way she speaks to him usually, and he wants at least one thing to remain normal and logical and sane around here. “You are very, very lucky,” she adds.

He grunts. He doesn’t feel it.

She sighs, thumping him on the back. “You are rude boy. But you are good to her. She need you now—no more hiding.”

“How?” It takes him a moment to realise it is he who has spoken, a rustle upon the breeze. That damned wine. He can no longer control the torrent that he has kept tamped down and locked away, the dogged attempt of a man long accustomed to outrunning all weakness. “How can I just—pretend?”

“Pretend?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he tries to put into words the venom that is eating away at his insides. “That I’m not fucking—terrified.” Daemon hisses the term as though it has personally offended him.

To finally say it aloud is both a bizarre release and an epiphany of sorts. He’s overcome with the curious urge to laugh at the realisation.

Fear. How common of him. But it rings true nonetheless, and the rightness of the admission settles in his bones. How can he not be afraid? There’s an ever-present threat to your life somewhere in this place, a place that should be safe and happy and home for you. Someone has marked his children for death before they are even allowed the chance to breathe air on their own, to open their eyes and see what exists outside the safety of their mother’s womb.

And you are a Targaryen woman. In any other context, this makes you superior, a diamond nestled in amongst the coal. But he cannot help but recall those names once more, the names of your forebears who had undergone the toilsome task of childbirth and met their end there.

Alyssa. Daella. Gael. Aemma. Laena.

He will not survive your death, should it come. With the ever-expanding heft of the babes inside you, the possibility that he might have to face such a dreaded reality looms closer by the day. There is not a fucking thing he can do about it, either. There’s no physician or liniment or spell or prayer that he can avail himself of to keep you alive, to keep you with him should your body fall to the conquering force of childbed.

The woman—Ūlla—hums consideringly. “Fear is… natural. Human,”

He finally turns to look at her. Her countenance is warm, sympathetic, a tilt to the head that belies something other than the deep-seated vexation he had been sure was all she’d felt for him. She takes his hand, and he lets her. All at once, he is a boy again, clutching onto his lady grandmother as his mother’s pyre burns gold in the morning light.

“We all fear something,” she says. “It is stupid to try and push it away like it never happen. Do not waste time to master your fear, or you will forget to live. To fear is to love, boy—and you love her, yes?”

He nods. Gods help him, he does.

She smiles, squeezing his grip. “Then the rest is for later. Go to her—love. And let yourself fear. It is okay.”

The sky is darkening to deep amber by the time he is ready to return to you. He takes the long route back to your new chambers, concealing himself from public view as much as he can, for he does not wish to incite the rumour mill of King’s Landing to pass judgement on his dishevelled state.

You are almost exactly where he left you, though you’ve settled back against the pillows with a book, appearing for all the world as though it is an evening like any other. It isn’t. When you see him standing at the door, he fully expects you to rail at him, perhaps to cry or even avoid him.

Instead, your lips twist compassionately, eyes impossibly soft, and you put the tome aside. “Come,” you say, patting the space beside him.

And how can he refuse?

Daemon clambers onto the mattress, shuffling into the open space of your arms and collapsing there in your embrace. The hard bulge of your belly pushes against his chest, a reminder of everything pure and real and necessary, everything he has fought for. What I would die for.

He cannot speak his apology aloud. It sticks to the roof of his mouth, coagulating in the liminality between his body and the air. Cursing himself for his inability to perform something so simple, he buries his face into your breasts, breathing in the smell of you, the feel of you, safe and whole and alive. His eyes burn.

“It is alright, kepus. Sh.” Your palm strokes the back of his head, trailing between his shoulder blades and up again in soothing rhythm.

My darling, forgiving girl. You are everything to him, and you are here.

The tears finally fall.

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