flora

baelor targaryen’s estate attorney. following from @vi-verouys 🌷

[verouys]

“one not need intend harm to do it.”

𓂃˖𝜗𝜚₊˚⊹ flora. she/her. 21. southeast asian. pansexual.・✭࿐࿔ᯓ₊ southern california coast ✭ graduate student. 𓂃𝜗𝜚˚⊹ 𖠿 ゜

house stark. daughter of nemesis. infj. virgo.

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𖤓 investor of modern!valarr & "you are not my wife" maekar stocks

[paniniimpressed]

Kiss It Better

Pairing: Benjamin Pointdexter X Reader

Summary: After witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, there’s a price on your head. It would be easy for the excellent marksman to finish the job, but something about you makes him reconsider.

Or- I saw Wilson talking about how Dex needs a weirdo freak gf and was like ‘well, yes’. Reader is implied to be neurodivergent but its kept a bit vague.

Word Count: 15.4k

Warnings & Content: no use of y/n, fluff, smut, slow burn (sorta), swearing, attempted murder, actual murder, stalking, violence, blood and injury mention, mention of death, happy ending, slight angst, toxic attachment, 18+ mdni please

I do not authorize my work to be used for Al or reposted across platforms

For most of your life you felt invisible.

Your friends and coworkers seemed to advance easily in life, getting degrees that led to solid jobs and fulfilling relationships. You, despite your best efforts, did not have the same experience.

In high school, you first became aware of your…difference. The way people would easily talk to others and make friends, but with you they would only feign politeness and share wordless looks behind your back.

Even teachers thought you were weird. It wasn’t said explicitly, they had to be professional of course, but there was only so many times they could call you ‘an interesting yet quiet young lady’ without you catching on.

You had tried hard to change it, to ‘put yourself out there’. It never worked out well. Dates would go fine at first until there was something you said or did to unnerve the other person. Even situations you were sure had gone great resulted in you being ghosted.

You wish that they at least yelled at you or complained, then you could know for sure what they didn’t like.

Once you were in your twenties, you made peace with the fact that it wouldn’t happen for you. The relationship thing wasn’t in your cards, you just weren’t built for it. It created a sad acceptance within you, but one that was needed to not go into a mental spiral.

“-ey, were you listening?” The words drifted to the forefront of your mind, dragging you away from your trail of thoughts.

You paused in folding the shirts on display before you, turning to your coworker that was looking at you expectantly.

“Uh yeah, the closing right?” You struggled to remember what Jess had walked over to you for, but you were sure it was because she needed something. Nobody really spoke to you when they didn’t need something.

“Yeah, you can do it right? I can’t do it and Marcus needs someone to cover.” Her green eyes stared at you pleadingly.

It was a request, but it didn’t feel like one. Especially since you were the only ones still working in the clothing store this late.

“Ah, I don’t-" You thought about what was waiting for you back at your apartment. A relaxing shower, the usual quick dinner, and a puzzle of choice. Not the most exhilarating routine, but you enjoyed it. You really didn’t want to close alone.

Just do it, say no. It’s not fair for you to do everything yourself and it’s not like she’ll appreciate it.

You almost did. The refusal was on the tip of your tongue when you had a flash in your head, the disappointment on her face, the awkwardness of the next shift. How she would talk about you to your other coworkers.

“Okay, I can cover.” You blurted, adverting your eyes to continue folding.

She gave you a quick grin, already turning towards the break rooms before replying, “Great! You’re a lifesaver. I’ll definitely pay you back.”

She wouldn’t, just like she didn’t for the four other times you covered her shift. 

“You’re welcome.” It’s muttered with a sigh into empty air, Jess was long gone. You thought about all the unfinished work you had to do alone, already regretting your decision.

You went into autopilot for the next few hours, slipping into the mindless task of organizing displays and adjusting price tags. The small upside was that the clothes in your store kind of sucked, so you didn’t have any customers to tend to.

“You set?”

The words made you jump. You looked up in surprise to find Marcus, who had meandered out of his office without your notice. Being a middle aged man on the heftier side, you didn’t know how he could move so quietly.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The drawer, are you ready for me to take it? I’m gonna close a little early, don’t think it’ll be picking up anytime soon.” He motioned a thick hand towards the empty room to accentuate his point.

You nodded jerkily, shuffling out the way as he unlocked the cash drawer. Another beat and a ring of keys were being tossed your way.

“We’ll, I’m gonna count this out then I’m off, you know what to do.”

Marcus was already shuffling down the hallway before you could form a response.

He wasn’t wrong, you did know what to do. Once he was gone you got back into the automatic motions of clean, lock, organize, until the shop is fully shut down.

There was no stress, no talking or loud music, it was almost fun in a way. Fun if you forgot how you were forced into working at least.

You clicked the last light off with a sigh, shrugging your purse up your shoulder where it threatened to fall off. Going out the back door sent a wave of trepidation within you, but unfortunately it was required. The alarm was already set on the front doors and you didn’t have the keys to those.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. New York had only gotten more dangerous in recent years, with the corruption in politics and anti-vigilante outrage.

Once you were outside, you had to be careful to avoid any trouble. No one could be trusted, not even the police who were put there to protect citizens like yourself. You imagine if you got mugged on your way to the train, the officers on the corner wouldn’t even flinch.

Definitely not an anxiety inducing thought. Not at all.

You swung open the door, locking it quickly behind you. Ignoring the trembling of your hands, you started to make way to the front of the building.

The alley stunk of pee and other things you really didn’t want to identify. The only light around was motion sensor activated and perched on the doorway. Said light was already fading the further you stepped away, the alley delving into darkness.

You quickened your steps.

There was a slight relief in making it back onto the main street. At least there you had streetlights and the buzz of the city around you.

The sidewalk was mainly empty, and you could count on one hand the amount of cars that passed by. Most people out at this time were like you, getting off work, or getting to an early shift with a bleary look in their eyes.

You kept your head tucked down, avoiding eye contact with anyone around you. All you had to do was make it to the train, from there it was a straight shot to your apartment. Easy, simple. You could do this.

You reached the subway entrance, practically flying down the steps. The trains were relatively reliable in this part of town, so you shouldn’t have to wait too lon-

Your thought process was interrupted by a series of grunts, followed by a shout. Ducking behind a pillar, your eyes grew into saucers as you scanned for the cause of the noise.

It wasn’t a hard search, in the middle of the station was a group of men standing over something-no, someone. There was a man there, curled into himself on the cracked tile of the subway. You could barely make out his face past the blood streaming from his nose.

“Please! I don’t have it, I- just give me one more week I’m begging!” His words could barely be understood past a thick Brooklyn accent and the gurgle of blood in his throat.

One of the men snapped his fingers, and another kicked the whimpering man in the stomach, the impact making a sickening crunching noise.

You covered your mouth in an attempt to not scream, mind racing with options. Calling 911 was firmly out of the question, but running back up the stairs seemed promising. You just didn’t know if you’d be quick or quiet enough that they didn’t notice you.

Then there was the train. A quick glance at the schedule showed a less than three minute wait. If you timed it right…

“Please, I’ll do anything please-“

He was cut off by the man before who gave the attack order. “You should’ve thought about that before trying to steal from Moretti, fuckin’ rat. You should be grateful it’s just you and not your fucking family too, that’s how nice boss is.”

It was clear the man speaking was in charge, at least of the small group there. He was faced away from you, but a wayward glance from any of the men could put you in danger.

You stifled a gasp, sucking a sharp intake of air. In focusing on the group, you had forgotten to breathe.

Your heartbeat was a staccato in your ears, the blood flow dimming the sound around you.

They were going to kill that man, and there was nothing to do but watch. They were going to kill him, then they were going to kill you. Oh god, they were going to kill you if they found you.

You felt the telltale beginning of a panic attack start up, your heart rate escalating even further. This was not the time to freeze up. You pinched the skin of your hand between two fingers, the pain sobering you.

This was not the time to freeze.

The man was saying something else, the tone threatening. He was speaking in a much lower tone than before, and you couldn’t make out the words.

In a blink, he dove forward, hand jutting towards the man below him in quick successions.

It wasn’t until the growing pool of red that you realized he had stabbed him. There was a sick gurgling noise that reverberated around the subway that took the strength out of your legs.

Your purse slipped off your shoulder, clinking to the ground.

The sound alerted one of the guys closest to you. A frown quickly overtook his face as he looked you up and down.

“Hey! What’re you doing over there?”

This is how you’ll die, in a dirty subway all alone. Your family probably won’t even find out what happened.

Light flowed onto the platform from the incoming train. The screech of wheels flipped a switch in your brain.

No, you scrambled to your feet, not like this. You were not going to let it end like this.

You could hear a series from shouts and pounding footsteps behind you as you ran down the platform. Nearly tripping over a bench, you righted yourself as the train finally screeched to a stop.

The doors opened, but you kept running, an internal timer ticking in your head.

A little bit more… five, four, three-

You shoved your self to the side, slipping into a train car right as the doors closed. The others tried to follow, but they were too far behind.

You stared, wide eyed as they pounded on the window in anger. You could hear muffled threats behind the metal, but your eyes focused on the man from before.

He wasn’t yelling, or beating on the door. He only stared at your chest with a scowl. More specifically, the logo on your work shirt and your printed name tag beneath it.

Shit.

Dex was unbelievably, inconceivably, bored.

This meeting was already taking longer than he usually tolerated, and if he didn’t have good work with them before he would’ve left.

But no, this gang boss in particular was quite an egotistical bastard, and liked to pay a very nice penny on all his hits. It probably made him feel important to wave an excessive amount of money around and have people disappear.

Quite frankly, Dex couldn’t give a shit about what he felt. Money or not, his patience was running thin. Another five minutes waiting in this damp warehouse and he might just leave, or start throwing things.

He hadn’t decided which.

“Taking his sweet time huh?” He wasn’t really speaking to anyone in particular, just musing aloud, but one of the nearby goons replied anyway.

“Sorry, he had something else to wrap up. He should be here any second.”

Dex only clicked his teeth in response, busying his hands with a dagger absentmindedly. The other man’s eyes widened slightly at the display, tracking the dagger is it was thrown in the air.

Behind his mask, Dex’s lips flicked into a smirk. He wondered what the man would do if he started using the wall behind his head as a dart board, that would be interesting.

The seconds ticked by, and he was about to start some impromptu target practice when the man of the hour walked in.

“Bullseye, my friend! So kind of you to join us.”

Moretti was a small man, much smaller than one would expect the boss of a crime empire to be. There was nothing overtly menacing about him other than the beady gleam of his eyes. Of course, no one vocalized their surprise at that, because they’d end up at the bottom of the Hudson.

He reminded Dex of a small pet with a snappy temper. Like a rabid chihuahua nipping at people’s heels.

“I would think with all that money you’d own a clock.” The man’s words had ignited a flare of irritation within him. He was always annoyed by fake niceties, especially after he had waited thirty-five minutes.

Moretti’s thick eyebrows scrunched in faux concern, “My apologies, I had something else to finish up, I would never mean to keep you waiting-“

Dex cut in before he could finish the bullshit speech, “Who, and where?”

He was here for a job, not to have a tea party. All he needed was the marks information and the payment, then he’d be on his way.

Despite being cut off, the smaller man didn’t show any sign of anger. He knew better than to start unnecessary fights. “A small problem, you shouldn’t have much issue. It is time sensitive however, if she talks it would cause a great deal of issues for me.”

A woman then. Unlikely she’ll put up a fight. Disappointing.

“She saw some things she shouldn’t have. Here,” he stepped forward, a folded paper in his outstretched hand. “they got the job and her name, you should be able to take it from there yes?”

He snatched the paper, scanning over the information quickly before turning on his heel. “Fifteen thousand, same as before.” His voice carried behind him as he walked to the exit of the warehouse, hands in constant movement.

Moretti clapped his hands as if he were signing off on the deal. “Agreed, you’ll receive the wire tomorrow.”

“She’ll be dead by the end of the day.” Faster than anyone could track, he flicked the paper behind him, the point of a paper airplane imbedding into the forehead of the wide-eyed grunt from before.

The man let out a startled shout as blood trickled over his nose.

Dex ignored the commotion, grinning as he walked into the crisp night air.

Time to find a little tattle-tale.

Maybe you did have powers.

It wasn’t super strength, or advanced intelligence. It wasn’t even the power to turn invisible.

No, it had to be the ability to get in the worst situations imaginable. Super bad luck. No one’s life could be this laughably bleak, it had to be a higher power.

After that night at the subway, you couldn’t even sleep, much less leave your house. The day after the incident was your off day, so it didn’t affect much. You did however have to call off two days after that, feigning sickness.

You don’t know if your boss bought it, but considering you have never really taken a sick day before, you felt it was due.

But you couldn’t stay inside forever, you had to go back to work eventually. Getting fired would definitely do you no favors.

There was something else.

In the last few days you’d had a feeling, like spiders crawling over your skin. It was the sinking feeling of being preyed upon. Watched.

You knew they were there. You didn’t know how you knew, but you did.

There was no evidence, no threatening letters or anything out of place. Anyone listening to you would think you were insane, but you knew it wasn’t just your hysteria. You could feel it.

The only thing you were confused about was their inaction. Why hadn’t they killed you already? Not that you were complaining of course, but it just didn’t make sense.

Were they waiting for you to try to call the police? Were they not fully sure it was you at the station?

It was the cycle you went through. For days just driving yourself mad with questions and counting down the time. You hadn’t come up with a plan yet, but time was running out.

You had to go out into the world eventually.

The time went quicker than you expected. You had called off your fourth day when Marcus firmly hinted that your job might be in danger if you didn’t come in for your next shift.

You agreed, one last day of hiding and then you would come in.

Your hands trembled as you clicked the combination to your locker in the break room. Taking a deep breath, you took one last furtive glance at your belongings before turning to clock in.

“Didn’t know you hated customers that bad Oranges.” A mocking voice chimed behind you.

You tried to ignore him altogether, but he picked up his pace to walk by your side. “Don’t worry, I won’t snitch.” Matthew shot a conspiratorial glance your way, winking.

It took all your resolve to not roll your eyes. As if today wasn’t already horrible, you had to work with your least favorite person.

Matthew always found a way to antagonize you somehow. It wouldn’t have been that bad, if it weren’t non-stop. He always singled you out about something, with a fake friendly tone as if you were both in on the joke.

It started with the first week you started working. You were eating your lunch quietly, and as you started to unpeel the included orange a stream of juice shot at your face.

You could only sit there in mortification as Matthew cackled in your face. He insisted on calling you Oranges after that.

“What are we so worried about?” He continued, like you weren’t ignoring him. “If you need to relax I think they have a stress ball in the back rooms. I know you have issues with that stuff.” He could barely get out the words without laughing.

More silence from you.

“Alright then. Don’t blame me if you freak out, see ya Oranges.”

You let out a relieved sigh at his retreating frame, grabbing the clothing rack near you and resigning yourself to eight hours of torture.

Your neck let out a series of pops as you stretched it in your doorway. The house keys in your hand were tossed in the dish by the door and your jacket was shrugged off your shoulders into a pile on the ground.

“You should take better care of your things.”

The words stopped you in your tracks. You’d been so focused on the aches in your body and getting to the shower, you failed to notice the large figure in your living room until they spoke.

There was a man shrouded in shadow sitting on your lounge chair. In his hands was one of your puzzle boxes, and he seemed to be reading over it like it was the most important thing in the room.

“Please don’t.” You could barely recognize the way your voice squeaked out, strained with fear.

He looked up for the first time, eyes glinting behind a blue ski mask. “Don’t what?” His voice was deep but scratchy as it travelled across the room, as if he’d worn it out by yelling.

You could also hear a hint of amusement in his tone. He was enjoying toying with you.

“Don’t mess up my puzzles, or my apartment please. If you can, make it quick.” Your reply was more stable than before, having overcome the initial shock of his appearance.

In truth, you’d come to the conclusion you’d probably die no matter what days ago. At first, you were scared out of your mind, but like every other bad hand in your life, you accepted it. You just didn’t want whoever found you to have to deal with a mess.

His head tilted as if considering your answer, one finger twirling the box like one would do a basketball. “Not gonna beg for your life? Plead for another chance?” There was still the mocking tone, but now it carried confusion as well. He genuinely couldn’t understand why you were so calm.

Taking careful steps over to the couch, you could make out more details of him in the light of your living room lamp. He looked like a textbook assassin, wearing all black, save for the blue mask covering his face. The dark fabric of his ensemble held more compartments you could count, and the rest was stretched over a sturdy frame.

He was leaning back in your recliner chair leisurely, legs spread to take up even more space.

You let out a deep sigh as you flounced down on the couch across from him. “No, not really. I’m sure you’ve noticed, but it’s not much to plead for.”

He stopped spinning the box and looked around, as if taking in the apartment for the first time. Your lack of personal photos, the books and puzzles lining the walls. Every item spoke of a very monotonous lifestyle. “This is pretty depressing, yes.”

Of course, what were you expecting? Hopefully he doesn’t make it too difficult for anyone to clean your blood out the place.

You nodded in acceptance and closed your eyes, waiting for the inevitable. After about a minute of waiting, you opened them to find him staring at you.

The piercing gaze kept you still until he spoke again, “What’re you doing?”

‘Waiting for you to kill me’ just sounded silly, so you said nothing, adverting your gaze.

After a few more moments of quiet, you cleared your throat, “If you don’t mind, how long have you been in here?”

It was a morbid curiosity that drove the question. The idea of him waiting in your living room just to kill you, twiddling his thumbs was enough to make a sardonic chuckle rise in your throat.

You pushed down the urge. The man seemed fairly calm so far, but laughing at him definitely would do nothing in your favor.

He reached up a gloved hand, scratching at his jaw. “About a half hour.”

You blinked, “Oh, okay.”

Quite frankly, you were running out of things to say. How does one even strike up a conversation with their killer? You shouldn’t have even felt the need to make the man comfortable, but you did for some reason.

In a flash he was leaning over you, one hand on the back of the couch to speak directly in your face. “What’s your problem? Hm? You didn’t even do anything wrong and you won’t fight for your life? How is that fair?”

His other hand gripped your chin firmly, you could feel the warmth of the of his hand seeping through the fabric. With his face so close, you could see every detail of his brown eyes scrunched in anger.

You could also see more of the little items strapped around his waist and in the compartments of his pants. Knives. More knives than anyone (murderer or not) should need, in your opinion.

“I’m sorry?” Now you were a bit peeved. Who was he to lecture you about valuing your life when he came in here to kill you?

Unless… he wasn’t here to kill you, but do something much worse. A new flash of fear goes through you. You were prepared for a quick death, you were not prepared for torture, or the other ways a man could hurt a woman.

He must’ve seen the change in your face, because the hand on your chin swiftly dropped to his side.

He moved slightly out of your space, mumbling to himself. You could barely catch the words ‘balance’ and ‘worth it’ in the rambling.

“Okay,” he dipped away, back to the chair. “okay.”

You blinked at him again, “Okay?”

“Yes.” His tone, despite being amused again, invited no further questioning. He had reached a decision within himself, you just had no idea what that decision was.

With that, he settled back into your chair with all the ease in the world.

“You should go to sleep now. Been a long day.” Like before, his tone was closed off. What might’ve been misinterpreted as a request was definitely a demand.

You slowly rose to your feet, half convinced it was a trick and he’d shoot you at any moment, but nothing stopped you from gathering your bag and going into the bedroom.

Even as you shut and locked the door, there was no action, just a glinting gaze following you in the darkness.

You didn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing you recall was the unnerving conversation with the intruder before jerking awake the next morning.

A quick check showed that none of your clothes had been moved and there were no injuries on you. Despite your hair looking like a birds nest, you looked exactly did after work the day prior.

You were alive. Another day knowing someone was out to get you, and another day of being able to do nothing about it.

You groaned, trying to settle your hair with one hand as you rolled out the bed. Washing up in the bathroom was quick business. After feeling clean again in new clothes you moved to unlock the bedroom door.

Wait. He wouldn’t still be here, would he?

You highly doubt the intruder would stay for coffee in he morning, but the whole thing had been so strange you couldn’t rule anything out.

Slowly, you pressed an ear to the door, straining to hear anything on the other side.

Nothing.

You un-clicked the lock, still moving at a snails pace. Once there was a half inch sliver open, you took a peek into the living room. Empty, no homicidal men with a hundred knives in sight.

You let out a breath of relief, walking into the room. One last search throughout your place proved that there was truly no one there.

Even so, there was an unsettling feeling you couldn’t shake. You ignored it, moving to start up your coffee maker.

It wasn’t until you were halfway through your breakfast that you realized the issue. Your place was spotless, much cleaner than you’d usually keep it.

You didn't consider yourself a slob, but there was always little things here and there left behind. A few dishes in the sink, a bit of dust. The room was now so clean it looked clinical.

Every can or box of pasta in your cabinet was neatly organized and turned to the front. Swinging open the door to your fridge, you found that all your old food you’d been ignoring was thrown away. Each shelf was sparkling clean and just as orderly as the cabinets.

All your puzzle boxes were in straight, dust free columns next to books sorted by size.

What the hell is happening?

It’s just because you’ve been bored. Nothing else.

Dex had been rationalizing his actions since that first day. He had yet to come up with a solid reason for letting you live, and it sent a distressing feeling up his spine.

He did not do things for no reason.

That was a quick way to spiral, to sink into nothing. No, everything in his life had a reason and purpose. So what were you?

It started the day after the meeting with Moretti, he was poised just across from your window. There was a bolt-action rifle in his hands, and he was perfectly poised to take the shot as promised.

As he watched, you walked around your bedroom in circles. He could see your mouth moving at certain points, but no sign of you talking on the phone. It was clear you were in distress, but made no attempts to get help.

He already had access to your phone line. Throughout the night into the next day, you didn’t try calling the police, not even once.

It seems New York is catching on, those scrubs in uniforms can’t help you. If you want justice, you have to take it yourself.

He continued to watch you with a detached expression, not taking the time to consider why he hadn’t finished the job yet.

He watched as you left to take a shower, coming back a bit later in loose pajamas. He watched as you put a show on your tv, your distracted expression half aware.

You eventually found the television insufficient at calming you, and started digging through the haphazard boxes of puzzles on your shelves.

His fingers practically itched at seeing it, old habits compelling him to march in there and line everything up neatly.

He shook it off, eyes trailing to where you sat on the floor beginning the edges of a very large landscape puzzle.

You were losing yourself in it, the frown in your eyebrows lessening the more progress you made through the picture. Eventually, you had calmed enough that there was almost a smile tilting your mouth.

His eyes stayed there for a moment, wondering what a full smile from you would look like. He definitely hadn’t seen one today, and no search online showed any pictures of you exhibiting anything other than mild discomfort or apathy.

He could almost imagine it, the plush of your lips tilting up, then slowly growing. How your eyes would crinkle, glinting up at him.

At him?

At him?

The fuck was he doing?

He had a job to do, a job he was paid quite handsomely over, and he was sitting here on his ass playing make believe.

He whipped the rifle in position, capturing your face in the scope. He didn’t really need it, your shot was clear enough, especially with his abilities.

Even though it was simple, the clearest shot in the world, his fingers never pressed the trigger. He sat there, as the sky darkened into reds and melted into a dark navy, never taking a single shot.

He couldn’t even pretend that the sick worm inside of him wasn’t hungry for more. He didn’t try to act like he wasn’t coming back the next day.

He thought that would be enough. One more day of observation would be enough to satiate him. Just one more.

Dex felt like the sad sons of bitches at the liquor store on the corner. Just one more bit, I can quit any time I want to.

But he did need just one more bit, and he could quit any time he needed to. This was nothing like Jul-

He broke that train of thought with a snarl. Tonight. Tonight he would end this game and get it over with. She got off work at ten, and when she did he’d be waiting there. After that, it be simple, one shot to the head and she wouldn’t be his problem anymore.

Moretti didn’t exactly ask for proof of delivery, nobody was stupid enough to question Dex after he worked a job. If he said he did it, then he did it.

Except he didn’t do it. Moretti hadn’t asked, and he didn’t tell. But the man wasn’t an idiot, he’d find out eventually.

Even more reason to get rid of you as soon as possible.

He had the plan solidly in his mind. Wait until you walked in with your guard down, lodge a knife in your throat before you could blink.

This night, you took a bit longer than usual. Dex was dully aware that this didn’t bother him. He wasn’t upset by waiting, there was a tingling anticipation within him.

Eventually, you walked through the door, shutting it behind you with a click. You didn’t notice him at first, stretching out your neck and the muscles in your back.

You dropped your coat to the ground, stepping over it without a second glance. You were still shifting your head from side to side, trying to alleviate some tension.

He would be able to do it almost immediately. With his hands on your neck he could target the exact points of your muscle pain. His index finger flinched at the thought.

His eyes flickered to the flash of skin on the side of your neck, words coming out of his mouth before he could recall the plan he came in with.

He was barely even aware of what he said, just your response. He watched with rapt attention as your eyes widened, taking him in.

As your eyes scanned his frame, he could feel his hips shift forward slightly.

A myriad of expressions flickered through your face, fear, surprise, anger. He took them all in with delight. The buzz of anticipation from before rose to a crescendo, he couldn’t wait to see what you’d do.

Would you beg? Offer to pay him for your life?

Despite coming in your apartment with a clear directive, he wasn’t sure exactly what he’d do if you asked him to spare your life.

Not important, focus.

You didn’t do anything he expected. Instead of a blubbering mess, you were composed, if not a little annoyed.

If he didn’t already know it before, it was clear you valued your small possessions. You seemed to care about the puzzles more than your own life.

It made him angry.

Who were you to throw him off? Why were you doing this to him? This is not how this was supposed to go.

He got within a hairsbreadth of your face, trying to intimidate you. Break the facade. It didn’t work, you only seemed more annoyed by the attempt.

Until you weren’t. Something about his stance towering over you seemed to ignite a thought process. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he could tell the cause of your discomfort pretty easily.

He let you go quickly, as if he were burned. He would not hurt you, not like that.

Dex weighed his options. Killing you would make things a lot simpler, both with Moretti and the urges in his mind. This is what he knew best, the only real thing he’s good for. You would be no problem to take care of.

Only issue? The more he thought about putting a bullet in your head, the more he was sure that was the last thing he wanted to do.

This wasn’t even his typical area. The snitches he usually tracked down had blood on their hands, a dark past they were scrambling to escape.

You weren’t necessarily a good person, you didn’t volunteer at food drives or regularly give to charity, but nothing warranted your death. There was no scale for him to equal.

You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He’d reached his decision. Fuck Moretti, he’d deal with that weasel bitch later. For now, he’d have to get you shuffled off to bed.

There was something he was itching to do since he got there.

He didn’t show up that day.

Your off day was spent with anxious anticipation, like he would randomly jump out of your cabinets and scare you shitless.

Despite your worry (hope), Knives never showed. You took a page out of Matthew’s book and gave him a nickname, if only to avoid calling him ‘the man’ in your head.

The more you thought about it, the more perplexed you were.

A masked killer came into your home, had a fairly civil conversation with you, then did your chores?

No matter how much you thought about it, none of that made sense. You should have been dead days ago. If they decided not to kill you, they should at least know by now you weren’t going to snitch.

You didn’t even consider calling the police.

You groaned, head tilting back against your apartment elevator. Your day at work had been relatively uneventful.

Nobody really spoke to you much, sans Matthew who always had something to say. This time about your dark circles and whether or not you had a mental breakdown. And he wondered why his girlfriend left him.

You cracked open bleary eyes to look at yourself in the metal walls and winced. Maybe they had a point, you wouldn’t talk to yourself either looking like this.

There was prominent darkness under your eyes, framing the haunted look within them. Your face was pinched in a permanent frown, and you lifted up a hand to relax the expression.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, and you started the trek over to your door. You raised a hand to unlock it, pausing half way.

Putting your keys back in your pocket, you tried the handle of your door. It opened easily.

Your heartbeat quickened but you didn’t halt your movement, continuing inside the apartment. Everything was just like you left it earlier, dim lights and the tv on as background noise.

You took slow steps to the center of the room, spinning in a circle. He wasn’t there.

The living room and kitchen were both empty, and you didn’t know whether to be happy about that or not.

Why would he just leave your door unlocked when he wasn’t even here? There were robbers in the area, what if someone happened to try your door?

You ran a hand through your hair, barking a laugh. You had forgotten for a moment who he was. He was not a friend or visitor that would care whether or not you were robbed.

But why would he clean your house then?

You weren’t sure if you’d ever find the answer to that last question.

Still on edge, you tip-toed towards your couch, where you unceremoniously dumped your bag and coat. Stretching out your shoulders, you walked towards the bedroom.

You were expecting a boiling shower with warm pajamas to slip into before crashing. You were not expecting a six-foot something man to be leaning over your bedside drawer, rifling through its contents.

“Hey!” You said, equally in surprise and indignation. “That’s private. Put that down.”

Brown eyes flicked up to you from where he’d been reading your notebook. It wasn’t a diary per se, but it held some personal thoughts you’d rather stayed private.

Knives leisurely sat the book on your bed, putting up his hands in faux surrender. “Were you looking for me?”

His voice was just as gravelly as the first night, snaking over your ears. It was much lighter however, he sounded almost… happy?

You cleared your throat, fighting back a shiver. “What?” Did he see you searching your apartment like a goof? Probably.

You could see his lips curl into a smirk beneath the mask, capturing your attention for a moment.

You wondered what he would look like without it.

You could see more of him in the daylight, like the light eyelashes framing his eyes and the similar tone of his eyebrows. The mask was filled out with a sharp frame, and you could see the cut of prominent cheekbones under the fabric.

“Nothing. What’s that about?” He nodded towards your notebook he had been reading.

He was still holding his hands up, for what you had no idea. Maybe he thought it was funny to act like you were the one in power here.

“It’s a notebook, you write in them.” You didn’t care to go over your innermost thoughts with a stranger, briskly avoiding the subject.

His eyes flashed in an emotion you couldn’t place, hands finally coming down to rest at his sides. “How was work?” He asked placidly.

What?

The hell?

Your eyes burned with tears that had yet to fall, sucking in a sharp breath to compose yourself. “Haven’t you had enough? I have been waiting for the day you finally-“ you waved your hands around animatedly. “And then you just-“

He only stared on with the same solid expression.

You took another breath, “Are you going to kill me or not?”

“No.”

You swore you could feel your heartbeat hiccup, “No?”

Before you could pull it back, the words were out of your mouth. “Why not?”

You regretted the question immediately, watching as his eyes darkened.

There was a stretch of silence, and you were wondering how to do damage control when he spoke again, “Because I don’t want to. You…”

His gaze rakes up and down your frame. “You aren’t my North Star, no, something else. I want to find out what you are.”

Your words were little more than a whisper. “What I am?”

He sauntered towards you, slow as if walking towards a spooked animal. Or like he was hunting one. He only stopped once he was directly in front of you, toe to toe.

“Yes, I’m going to watch you and learn you. Why I feel this urge to-“ he cuts off abruptly, eyes widened in surprise.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

It seems like he wasn’t even prepared for what the answer was.

You stared at him, heartbeat still thundering in your ears. It was silly to believe a masked intruder from his words, but you did.

Nothing about that seemed like a lie. Despite what he’d initially found you for, he didn’t look like he wanted you dead. So, you believed him.

Your only worry was what he would do with you.

“O-Okay.” Was all you said before grabbing your clothes out the dresser and locking yourself in the bathroom.

You could only hope you turned fast enough that he didn’t see the redness in your face.

He was gone from the bedroom when you got out the shower. Everything was put back in its place, there was no sign of him. It made you wonder how many times he looked through your things without you knowing.

It should’ve made you unnerved… it didn’t.

He said he wanted to learn you. That you weren’t a north star. What did that mean? Why were you kind of excited about finding out?

You sniffed the air, there was a smell drifting from your kitchen filled with spices and butter. Like it were activated, your stomach suddenly released a large growl.

It seemed no matter how shocked you could get, there were still more surprises, Knives was at the stove, stirring something in a pot. You could see your oven was on as well, the light showing loaves of garlic bread on a sheet inside.

“You should go start a puzzle, it’ll be another five minutes.” He spoke without turning around, still continuing to stir the pot on the stove.

There’s a breaking point in a persons life where they stop asking questions. You were at that point.

So you pushed aside the wonder of why he was cooking, or where he even got the ingredients from, and sat down in your lounge chair.

You froze. It smelled like him. Gunpowder and metal, with a tinge of spearmint, the chairs leather still held a hint of him. You wondered how many times you could breathe it in without him noticing.

He was still focused on the food…

No. Stop. Get yourself together. You can’t just turn into a weirdo at the first attractive man you meet. Who’s to say he’s even attractive? He could be hideous under that mask.

You glanced over at him, eyeing the broadness of his shoulders and the muscle shifting under cloth.

You didn’t notice before, but he had taken off his gloves. His hands were big but deft, he probably would’ve made a good piano player in another life.

The evidence of this life was there as well. White scars marred his hands and trailed up his forearm to disappear under his shirt sleeve. You had no doubt they continued to the rest of his body too.

You tried to remind yourself of what those hands could do, why they were dangerous. Unfortunately your brain didn’t think it was that important at the moment, because the only thing you could remember is how they felt on your face.

You shook off the thoughts, blindly grabbing the closest puzzle box to you, it was a city landscape.

The pieces tumbled onto your living room table, sound echoing throughout the apartment. The only other sound past your moving pieces was the crackle of fire in the kitchen.

You needed some background noise.

You clicked on the tv, the low droning of the weather report filling the empty space. The screen had half your attention, but that was enough for your ears to perk when you heard the next segment of the news.

“And here we have the aftermath of another brawl from the vigilante known as Daredevil, he was in this very warehouse last night when the reports of gunfire started-“

The newscaster was one you’d seen before, usually for the more serious cases around the city. Her mouth was set in a hard line as she continued her warning.

“-advising all citizens to report any vigilante activity to the NYPD or AVTF whenever you become aware. If you do encounter Daredevil, do not engage-“

The tv went out in a wink, making you flinch. Like a bullet, a flying quarter had hit the power button dead center on your remote. Didn’t need many guesses to know where it came from.

The man in question was sauntering over with a steaming plate, glaring at the tv like it had personally offended him.

“You could’ve just asked me to turn it off.” You mutter, loud enough for him to hear you.

He didn’t answer, setting the plate in front of you with a clink. “Eat.”

You looked from him to the plate of food, then back again. It looked wonderful, a creamy heap of pasta with sautéed vegetables and garlic bread. It was all neatly arranged on your only kitchenware you hadn’t chipped.

You only wondered why the hell he had cooked it.

He seemed to misread your trepidation, leaning down to tug up a corner of his mask and shovel in a bit of the pasta. “Not poisoned. Not my style.” He said after a thick swallow.

The flash of lips, regardless how quick, distracted you. You stared on as a pink tongue flicked out to swipe at his mouth before he tugged the mask back down. It took you another few seconds to get it together.

“I know. You prefer to give people a million paper cuts.”

To your surprise, knives barked out a laugh, “That’s one way of putting it, sure.”

You turned to the food and started eating in an attempt to bypass the awkwardness. It was hard to suppress a groan when the first bit hit your mouth, the food was as good as it looked. If not better.

Do all hitmen take culinary classes or was it just his hobby?

You thought he would find something else to do, maybe vanish into thin air like he’d never been there at all, but the man chose to sit right across from you on the couch.

Dark eyes fixated on you as you ate in complete focus. He didn’t seem to want more conversation, just be a spectator. His only movement was circling a small knife around in his hand, but the movement didn’t seem threatening, more absentminded than anything else.

You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you were finishing the meal in record time, only clearing your throat to speak once you’d cleared the last bite, “It was great, thank you.”

He was grabbing the plate from you before you could even offer to clean up, making his way back to the kitchen and placing it inside your dishwasher with the other used pots and pans.

“Really, you don’t have to-“ you started, but he was already finished and walking back over to you.

“I know. I don’t have to do anything at all, advantages of self employment.” It was clear by his tone and the crinkle of his eyes that he was smirking. He took his time walking back to the couch, this time spreading his arms across the back in the appearance of complete comfortability.

What he said made you curious, “You don’t work for the man at the train?”

He tilted his head as if considering the answer. “I don’t work for anyone,” a new tinge of bitterness coated his tone, “but if you’re referring to the bozo who took a hit out on you, yes. I was the one given the assignment.”

“Ah, I figured.” The response came out more nonchalant than intended, but he truly didn’t tell you anything you hadn’t already suspected.

“You’re not bothered by that?”

You shrugged, “Nah, I trust you.” You meant for it to be fully sarcastic, and almost succeeded, but there was a bit of honesty that shone through. Against all better judgement and sound mind, you did trust him.

He stared at you, only providing a small scoff and muttering under his breath as response.

With the newfound silence, you decided to follow his earlier request and complete the puzzle that was started. You almost invited him to do it with you, but your mouth closed with a snap after looking over at him.

He seemed to be lost in thought about something, dark blonde eyebrows furrowed as he stared somewhere out your window.

Your eyes went back to the puzzle, the only sounds being the soft scrape of the pieces and faint breathing. You grimaced while reaching for some of the further pieces, the movement had aggravated the neck pain you usually had after a long shift.

Rolling your neck in a circle only slightly helped, there was still a crick in the muscle that most likely wouldn’t go away until after a lengthy soak in epsom salt.

Your distracted mind was only half aware of the other figure rising from the couch and making his way over to you.

“Sit back.”

You looked behind you in surprise, wondering how he’d gotten right behind your chair without you knowing. “Why?” You weren’t really concerned about the request, just curious what he intended.

“I can’t keep watching you do that without doing something. Sit back.” He tapped the headrest for emphasis.

Okay, bossy.

You rolled your eyes but did as he asked, sliding back to fully rest in the chair. It was a moment of nothing until you felt warmth against your shoulder blades.

You let out a full body flinch at the contact, but his hands didn’t falter, continuing a path from your shoulders into the sides of your neck. Strong thumbs dug into the muscles and nerves causing you pain, and you couldn’t keep a satisfied sigh from seeping out.

You practically melted into his hands as they traveled over every aching part of your back. Every time he dispelled a knot it knocked a quiet sound out of you.

It was firm but precise, every drag of his warm calloused hands left a tingling sensation in their wake. You couldn’t help but think about what else his hands could do…

The idea created a burning within you. The smell and feel of him so close was dangerous, and you were already wanting more of it. Needing more of it. You were absently aware of his breathing kicking up, almost delving into a pant in your ears.

He eventually slowed down, rubbing his fingers in circular motions on the top of your spine before retreating completely. He didn’t retreat too far, barely taking a step back as he stood behind your chair.

You didn’t look at him, focusing on calming your breathing and not appearing like the mess you were on the inside. You didn’t need a mirror to know your the flushed expression you wore.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, not trusting yourself to beg for his hands to touch you again.

He spoke before you could work up the nerve of a response, “I have to go.”

“Wait-” But it was too late, he was already closing the front door when you turned around.

Knives arrived more frequently after that night.

He didn’t stay as long, or touch you again, (much to your disappointment) but he would usually pop in without rhyme or reason with gifts and a bit of conversation.

You never asked him for anything, but he somehow always knew what you needed.

A new detergent when the old one just ran out, some more butter in the fridge, your favorite ice cream when you were craving it.

As far as you remembered, you never told him what your favorite flavor was, nor did you ever have one in the freezer since meeting him. He still knew.

Someone knowing so much about you should’ve probably unnerved you, but it only gave you a sense of serenity. You didn’t have to worry about explaining yourself to him, there was no pressure on your end. He just watched, and learned.

Except in one area. He seemed to be oblivious to your attraction to him, not flirting with you even once. There were his snarky remarks and knowing smirks sure, but that seemed to be less hitting on you and just more of who he was.

Unless, he does know you’re into him and just doesn’t feel the same so he’s ignoring it.

You brushed the thought off, sighing as you unlocked the door to your apartment. It was really no use wondering about it, even with all the time spent with Knives, you barely had a clue what was going on in his head.

Besides, after the day you’d had it was hard to think about anything else.

To say it was a bad shift would be an understatement. You’d overslept that morning, rushing through your morning routine but still arriving twenty-five minutes late to clock in.

It was a rare busy day in the store, and you could barely push past people to get to your register.

“About time.” Matthew shot you a dirty look between filing away the bills in his hand.

Your job was severely understaffed, and today was no different, which meant that in your absence Matthew had to handle the hordes of people on his own.

You gave him an apologetic nod, waving the next person in line over to you. Soon enough, the lines dwindled into nothing as the rush passed.

You wiped your sweaty hands on your pants leg, signing out of the POS to go work on other things. A stack of boxes caught your eye, and you moved closer to start unpacking the items inside.

“Go do the inventory. He wants it in the front on the orange display.” Snapped Matthew behind you. He was pointing at the very boxes you were already walking towards.

You didn’t bother correcting him in saying you were already going to do that, instead giving a curt nod.

“What, you can’t speak today? Didn’t take your meds?” He raised a brow, grinning at you.

Breathe, don’t let him get to you.

“I’m just going to do my job.”

His grin only widened at your answer. “Heh, okay. You do that.”

You ignored him, quickly pulling a dolly from the back transport the boxes to the front of the store.

You wiped a hand over your brow, starting to sweat with the effort. It would be a lot easier with two people, but like hell you were going to ask that asshole.

Matthew wasn’t really nice to anyone, except maybe the new hires he wanted to flirt with, but you still never understood why he seemed to hate you so much.

Because you’re always the odd man out, the one no one really likes, the one-

“Shut up.” You spat out the words, making sure you were quiet enough for no one else to hear. Matthew didn’t need more ammunition to call you crazy.

You directed your attention to the store display and away from your bleak thoughts. You couldn’t help what others thought of you, the only thing you could do at the moment was finish the stupid display and move onto your other work.

You vacantly slapped the folded clothes onto the shelves, mind drifting elsewhere.

I bet knives never had to work in retail.

You’d be very surprised if he ever had a real job before. Trying to imagine his scowling face behind a cash register made a chuckle bubble within you.

He’d probably stab someone on his first day.

Shit, he can stab Matthew for all I care.

You half scolded yourself at the thought, realizing how fucked up it sounded to wish that someone stab your coworker. You weren’t as upset by the thought as you could’ve been.

There was a sharp creaking noise, and before you could react, the metal shelf you had been stacking on crashed down on your arm.

“Shit-” You jumped back to avoid falling with it, but the damage had been done. The edge of the shelf dug a cut down your forearm that was already spurting blood over you and the merchandise.

“Oh no, shit, shit, shit-” You couldn’t think straight, only standing there in a panic as you gripped your bloody arm.

“What the fuck did you do now?” If you thought Matthew was mad at you before, he was pissed now. “I asked you to do one simple thing and you can’t even do that? Who’s gonna clean this shit up?”

He’d left a customer at the desk to see what the sound was, but he didn’t seem to care about their existence as he yelled at you.

“Fuckin disability hire, can’t even stock a shelf. I don’t know why you’re standing there, you should be-”

You didn’t wait for him to finish, bumping into him as you rushed towards the back room with tears in your eyes.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry in front of him, he’s not worth it.

You ignored his calls for you to come back, slamming your work locker open and grabbing your things. You didn’t even bother clocking out, only stopping by the lunch corner to grab paper towels and wipe down your arm.

The harsh wind from outside only aggravated your eyes more, but you steeled yourself against the cold.

You got plenty weird looks on the train ride home, but nobody said anything to you. It was probably the mix of blood staining your hands and scowl that discouraged conversation.

A ten minute ride followed by a brisk walk brought you back to where you were, standing at your apartment door with an aching cut.

You shouldered the door open with your uninjured side, immediately dropping your things to the ground once you were inside.

The cut hurt like a bitch and was still freely bleeding, but you shouldn’t need stitches or anything dramatic. The med kit from under your sink in the bathroom should more than suffice.

You turned the corner towards the bathroom, but stopped short at the figure standing there.

The visitor was more expected than not these days, but you didn’t think he’d be here this early since he usually met you after your shift.

“What did I say about taking care of your things?” He half turned from the window where you assumed he’d watched you come in.

You’d usually muster up something equally as playful in response, but this time, you were not in the mood.

He seemed to sense the shift, whipping his head over to you. It didn’t take long for his eyes to rake over you, gaze landing on your right arm.

“Who did that?” His demeanor changed completely after seeing the injury, voice turning steely.

It only took a few strides for him to reach you, hand snapping out to grasp your forearm. His eyes were blazing with anger behind his mask and he looked two seconds away from disemboweling someone.

Even though you knew his anger wasn’t with you; it still took a moment to stutter out a response, “No one, I-i did it myself. Well, not did it, it wasn’t on purpose. An accident at work.”

Your clarification didn’t seem to calm him much.

He stepped to your side, scooping an arm under your legs to pull you to his chest, his other arm supporting your back. He walked towards your bathroom with purpose.

You let out a squawk of surprise at being airborne, “Hey, I can still walk. It’s just a cut, you don’t have to carry me.”

“Blood loss causes dizziness, and it looks like you’ve already lost too much.” Someone would’ve thought you were bleeding out by how aggravated he sounded.

You didn’t want to mention that the main reason you were dizzy was his close proximity, not the injury. You were closer to him than you ever were before, and you couldn’t stop yourself from taking in a deep whiff. Blood, metal, mint.

He knocked your bathroom door open with enough strength to make it rattle, marching over to your closed toilet where he set you down gently but firmly.

As always, he knew where you put everything, so you didn’t have to direct him as he pulled out your small med kit.

It was just the buzz of the fluorescent lights for noise as he rummaged through the kit, occasionally pulling out select items he’d need.

You watched as hazel eyes narrowed in concentration, stomach doing a flip at how focused he was on helping you. How caring.

There was a mix of disinfectant and many bandages on the counter (more than you’d probably need), and he looked over them quickly before washing his hands and snapping on latex gloves.

“It’s going to hurt, you can hold onto me if you need to.” Was the only warning you got before he was gripping your arm with one hand and wiping down the cut with the other.

The antibacterial liquid was cold and stinging, you let out a sharp hiss at the stab of pain. As the blood was cleaned away, you could see that the cut was a bit deeper than you thought.

“I-ah, you don’t think I’ll need stitches, right?” You were a bit scared to ask, his frown had only deepened once he started working on you.

“No. It’s not to that point, but you’ll need to keep it wrapped tightly for a while so the skin can join back together.”

And he was right, after cleaning the wound thoroughly, he stuck some hefty bandages over the opening and wrapped it all in a tight cover of gauze.

He tucked the end of the fabric inside to secure it, and tugged off his gloves to clear away the mess of dirty wipes and wrappers on the counter.

You didn’t bother thanking him, knowing by now that he wouldn’t accept it.

You looked down at his work, neat as usual. You startled as a pill bottle was being shaken in front of you, eyes focusing to read the label.

“It doesn’t really hurt that much.”

He shook it again, insisting, “It will later, take one.”

You knew there was no chance of changing his mind, and it didn’t seem like the worst idea, so you grabbed the container and swallowed down one of the pills.

Satisfied, Knives leaned back against the wall opposite you, muscular arms folded over his chest.

Despite his quietness, you could still sense the underlying anger rolling off him. Knowing the answer, you asked anyway, “Are you upset?”

“Explain what happened.”

You hesitated for a moment, then started the retelling of what happened that day. You kept your composure for the most part, voice only hitching when you repeated what your coworker had said about you.

Knives stood stock still through it all, watching with that calm dangerous air that he had.

By the time you were done, you felt the telltale signs of tears, but you pushed it down again. You didn’t want it to bother you, but it did. After a life of dealing with rejection, it still stung.

A warm hand lifted up your chin, thumb swiping away tears you weren’t aware had fallen. “You don’t deserve that, none of it. It won’t happen again.” There wasn’t an ounce of question in his tone, he was sure of it.

You let out a weak laugh, sniffling. “I could only hope, he’ll probably be worse after today though. Especially since I left early.”

He hummed, “I’ve always disliked the name Mathew, all of them are annoying.” He sounded like he usually did again, slightly amused as if he were in on a joke that you weren’t.

You laughed again, stronger this time. “I can’t say I’ve had experience with that many Matthew’s to agree with you.”

He ran his thumb over your cheek one more time before backing away. “Trust me, they are. You should take tomorrow off.”

There he goes again, giving demands veiled as suggestions.

“I would love to, but unfortunately some of us common folk need jobs, and if I call out again I’ll probably be u employed. I’m sure you’ve never worked one, so it’s hard to understand.” Your tone was playfully mocking, but it was the truth. There was no way your manager was going to be okay with that, plus, you needed to make up for the money lost by leaving early.

“I have.” He adverted his eyes to your left, “worked a job that is.”

You perked up, it was rare that the man offered information past what model his knives were, and you didn’t want to lose the opportunity to learn more about him.

“Oh really? As what?” You kept your tone light, to not seem like you were prying.

“An officer.”

“Like, a police officer?”

“No. Not exactly.”

You blinked in confusion.

He shifted in his stance, like the conversation was suddenly making him uncomfortable. “Agent, would be the better term. I-” He paused, finding the right words. “I locked away the monsters of the world, and protected the people I needed to.”

You cocked a brow, “So, you were a spy?”

He huffed, giving you a look. “No. How the hell did you get spy out of that?”

“You are amazingly vague at every answer, I figured it would fit.” You shrugged, wincing when the movement aggravated the skin of your arm.

He zoned in on the expression, eyes narrowing again. “You should go to bed, especially if you’re insisting on going to work tomorrow.”

It was clear that was all the answers you’d get out of him, this night at least. You let out a huff of breath, using the counter to pull yourself into a standing position.

There was a wave of wooziness, and you fought to keep balance. Clearly the pill was doing its job.

An arm snaked around to your back, steadying you as you walked to your bedroom. As if there were an invisible barrier, he stopped at the threshold. In the dim lighting, you could only see the dark outline of him and the glint of metal strapped to his person.

To anyone else it would be menacing, terrifying even, to have the attention of the killer focused on them. You only craved more of it.

“There’s soup in your fridge if you want it. Change the wrapping in the morning, it shouldn’t cause any issues before then.”

You could only blame the strength of the pain pill for your lack of restraint, “Do you have to leave right now?”

A pause. “I do. I have something else to take care of.”

You tried not to take it as a dismissal, but it hurt nonetheless.

Something else. Not you.

“Right, okay.” The disappointment was obvious in your voice.

Steady steps made their way over to your bedside, “I don’t want to, but are some things I need to do. I’ll see you soon.”

You could barely make out the shape of him standing over you, drowsiness and the pain medicine muddling things together. “Aye, aye captian.”

A deep chuckle, and then a quiet response, “Dex.”

Dex. It suits him. You couldn’t tell if you’d said the name aloud or in your head, already giving way to unconsciousness.

The last thing you felt was a hand lightly trailing down your face before blackness.

Other than feeling like a sledgehammer hit you, your next day at work was uncharacteristically peaceful.

Even though Matthew was scheduled alongside you for the week, he never showed up for work that day.

Or the next day. Or the next one after that.

He didn’t call out, and based on the grumble from your manager, hadn’t quit either.

You never said anything, never even thought the words in your head, but you knew what happened.

If you were really honest with yourself, you knew what was going to happen when you heard the assurance in his voice that you wouldn’t have any more problems.

Kni-No-Dex, was a killer, regardless of how he treated you. You knew how he solved problems.

You were a little nervous at how little it bothered you. You had the same tingling feeling you got when he replaced one of the lightbulbs in your apartment without asking.

Cared for.

But there was another problem, Dex was nowhere to be seen either. He’d never shown up again after that night, and you were starting to get concerned.

Even though he didn’t show up every single day, missing several days in a row was out of character for him. You could only hope that he wasn’t dead or arrested somewhere.

It seemed silly to worry about him, especially with how competent he seemed. You didn’t steadily watch the news, but everyone in the city had heard of a man in a blue mask who could lodge a knife in your head faster than you could blink.

Bullseye.

He’d never told you it was him, but you weren’t an idiot, all the traits aligned. Not to mention his name, Dex, most likely short for Benjamin Pointdexter. The man who was sent to prison a while back for murder.

You didn’t care about any of that. Your only concern was that he was M.I.A. and it was out of character.

Maybe he just got bored, found someone else.

You ignored the slithering thought, knowing it’s not true.

Despite not knowing all of his life, you knew him, he was obsessive to a fault. His cleanliness, the order of his knives, and seeing you all fell into a cycling routine that he didn’t stray from.

He wouldn’t just dissapear.

Your leg shook nervously as you focused on the television. The news was covering a recent stock drop or something related. You were half listening for anything that could be related to him.

You were sure that an extremely wanted convict being detained would make front page news, so if anything happened, they’d talk about it here.

So far, it was nothing of substance, just the economy and a new court case with the slime-ball mayor.

You were shaking your leg so vigorously that you almost didn’t hear it at first. Your hand shot out, muting the tv before straining your ears.

There it was, a soft shuffling sound coming from your bedroom. You jumped up, heart fluttering in your chest as you rushed over there.

You only stopped short of your bedroom door to grab a nearby book, just in case it wasn’t Dex in your room and you needed a weapon.

Turns out, it was unnecessary, you saw him immediately upon entering, slumped against your open window.

“Dex-” His name was expelled in a relieved breath, but you only grew concerned again the more you looked at him.

Dark patches covered his mask and the fabric of his suit. His gloves were on, but you could see the clear glisten of blood coating them.

“Hey. Thought you’d be asleep. I can go soon, just gotta take a breather.”

You scoffed indignantly, quickly going over to him, “A breather? Jesus, what happened?”

“Not Jesus, just me.”

You glared at him. It was not the time for jokes, definitely not as he was dripping blood on your floor.

“You can explain later, here.” You supported him under his shoulder as you guided him to your bed.

“Gonna get it dirty.” He pushed back slightly as you tried to sit him down, but fell back anyway when you applied more force.

“It’s okay, I have other sheets. I’m worried about you right now.”

You could tell he was smirking based off the look in his eyes, further proven by the next statement. “Worried about me?”

You didn’t even bother hiding the emotion in your response, “Yes, I do. A lot.”

That made him quiet, glinting eyes searching your face for any hint of a joke or lie. He seemed to find none, but had no response for you. It was hard to tell his full expression behind the mask, and you found yourself sick of it.

Besides, it’s not like you didn’t know who he was.

Your fingers curled under the edge, lifting it gently, but a firm grip on your wrist stopped you.

“Ben, it’s okay.”

His eyes widened in slight surprise at your use of his first name, but it did the trick. The hand holding you fell away and you pulled the fabric fully off his face.

You sucked in a breath at the injuries before you. A trickle of blood coated his blond grey-flecked hair where it stuck to his forehead, and there was a bruise blooming on his cheekbone.

The lips you had admired not that long ago were sporting a cut, but even with all that, Dex didn’t appear to be in a lot of pain. His face showed an openness and tiredness that you’d never seen on him before.

Without thinking, you raised a hand to brush lightly over his mouth, relishing in the slight flutter of his eyelids as you did so.

You couldn’t stop, addicted to the reaction. Your hand trailed from his lips to the side of his face, and over his sharp jawbone. You mapped out everything that was hidden to you before, ignoring the smear of blood on your hand.

His piercing gaze stayed fixed on you as he pressed his head into your palm. His only other movement was twitching hands where they rested over his thighs. He stayed still, not trying to stop you or rush you, just accepting.

It wasn’t until your fingertips brushed over his throat that he shivered beneath you. The movement was nearly imperceptible, but he had definitely tilted his head back slightly to give you more access.

It made something swirl in your abdomen. How much he trusted you, how willing he was beneath your hands. How good he looked, injuries and all.

You told him as such, and his eyebrows knit together like he had been hit.

“Don’t say that, you don’t know what you’re starting.” His voice was weak, barely a whisper in the quiet of the room.

“I do.”

“No you don’t. You said you care about me, I’m not easy to care for.” The words weren’t said in self deprecation or a stab at sympathy, just factual. He truly believed that care and tenderness wasn’t made for him.

It sent a pang through your heart, for so many years you held a similar sentiment about yourself. You were difficult to understand-to accept, but he did, and you could do the same for him.

“I know.” You held his face in both palms, a hairsbreadth away from him, “Neither am I.”

Your lips meeting his seemed to ignite action within him, hands that were previously dormant snapping up to grab at your hips firmly.

You were pulled down to straddle his lap, already feeling a poking hardness in the fabric. It was your turn to shiver, giving an experimental grind forward as you continued to kiss him breathlessly.

That caused a deep groan to flood from his throat into your mouth. He quickly found purchase over your ass to guide you into repeating the movement.

While you grinded over the hard length in his pants, his tongue explored the expanse of your mouth, flicking over the ridges and smoothness inside. You could taste the uniqueness of him, but also the metallic tang of blood from his lip.

You only pulled away to breathe once the burning in your chest couldn’t be ignored. Chest heaving, you pulled back and watched as he did the same.

He couldn’t seem to see enough of you, eyes raking from your chest down your frame and back again. His lips were swollen and spit slicked, and you were sure you had a similar look of dishevelment.

His hands trailed up your spine and back down to where you sat on top of him. You could hear the swallow he took before speaking, “If I’m going to have you, it’s going to be all of you. If you go through with this, you’re not leaving me, you get that?” His voice was steady despite being out of breath, tone deadly serious.

You could read between the lines for the warning. There was no going back for Dex if you continued, no breakups, no do-overs.

Lucky for him you didn’t want any.

In lieu of response, you surged forward, attacking his mouth with your own as you drug yourself firmly over his crotch.

You gasped out a moan as the movement caught between your legs, right where you needed it most. But it wasn’t enough. You needed to be closer.

You shrugged off your top, throwing it to an unseen side of the room. Another shiver racked your body as lips made use of the newly exposed skin, nipping and sucking over your chest and sternum.

His fingers grabbed onto the latch of your bra, but you stopped him short. “No, get out of that suit first.”

He backed away from you with a half lidded gaze, trademark smirk flicking on his lips. “Yes ma’am.”

He seemed to enjoy watching you squirm as he unlatched all the zippers and buttons of his suit, moving much slower than necessary. The utility belt came off first, knives clinking as he threw them on your nightstand. The top part of his suit was soon to follow, dark fabric peeling away to reveal fair skin.

He wasn’t as injured as you’d assumed, just a dark blooming bruise on his ribs and left shoulder. Every other mark was old and weathered, the raised scars scattered across his torso spoke of years of pain.

You took him in unabashedly, eyes raking over pronounced pectorals and the defined abs that covered his stomach. Light hair dusted his chest and led in a trail past the waistband of his pants.

His smirk only widened as he watched you watching him. Patiently waiting, he sat there for your next move.

It was only fair that you lost the next bit of clothing, so you rose off him to shimmy out of your pants, leaving the underwear on.

His brow rose as he caught onto the little game you were playing. His pants came off quickly after, joining yours in a dark heap.

The only thing shielding the prominent bulge in his lap was dark grey briefs. They didn’t leave much to the imagination, clinging to the long rod of him and wrapping around solid thighs. You could see a dark patch in the fabric where he’d already started leaking, your core throbbing in response.

You settled on his lap again, smiling at the soft hiss he let out from the pressure. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, guiding him to your bra clasp as you trailed fingertips past the waistband of his briefs.

His fingers deftly unlatched the clasp, and the cover fell away right as you pulled his length free.

It slapped loudly against his lower stomach, smearing white across his skin and your hand.

His eyes weren’t focused on that though, only staring at your chest with intimidating focus. “God, the things I want’ta do to you.”

It was spoken under his breath so quietly, you were unsure if the words were meant for you to hear.

“So do them.”

He only laughed, leaning back on his elbows to watch you.

He knew what you wanted, he just wasn’t going to give it to you that easily. Your frustration only made him impossibly harder.

Despite his blasé act, you could see you were having an effect on him. Every rock of your hips made his cock twitch, a bead of white dribbling out the top. His neck and chest were covered in a flush, and every breath he took seemed labored. Shaky.

You decided to play his own game, fuck with him a little, “C’mon Dex, show me what you promised.”

You reached down, rubbing a thumb over the leaking slit between you. He let out a breathy moan, hips involuntarily bucking up into you.

You didn’t stop in your ministrations, leaning down to speak directly in his ear. “You said you wanted all of me, so take it. You have me.”

Your words caused another twitch in your hand. “You have me, I’m yours.”

The words were barely out your mouth when you were flipped onto your back, bouncing against the mattress. You let out a startled giggle at the movement, only sobering when you looked down.

The look Dex gave you made your heart stutter for a moment. The only way you could describe it was carnivorous. His eyes were dark and shadowed, and if you didn’t know him well enough to recognize the want in his expression, he looked almost pissed off.

It only made wetness pool in your core.

“You want this?” He left a trail of open mouthed kisses down your stomach.

It was a rhetorical question, but you nodded anyway.

“Where do you want me? Here?” He bit at your hipbone, soothing the flesh with a lick afterwards.

“Or here?” His breath ghosted across the damp patch of your panties, making you thrum in anticipation.

“Yes, right there.” Any more dilly dallying and you’d probably start begging. You had a feeling that’s exactly what he wanted.

“Hmm, interesting.” He ignored the area, trailing lips down your inner thighs. His hands gripped your knees, preventing you from closing yourself off to him.

He bit random spots all the way down your thigh, licking a stripe on the way up.

“Dex- c’mon.” You huffed. The feeling of his mouth on yours was amazing, but it wasn’t nearly enough and he knew it.

“Whose are you?” The words are spoken into your skin, in the crease of your hip.

“Yours.”

“And who do I belong to?” He grasped the waistband of your underwear between his teeth, dragging them down slowly.

“Me.”

You only saw the flash of a smile before his mouth was on you fully. You let out a shuddering moan as his lips latched onto your clit, sucking hard.

He juggled between your bundle of nerves and trailing his tongue down to your entrance, licking inside.

You could feel him groan against you as you grabbed a fistful of his hair, holding him steady.

Between your existing wetness and his mouth, you were soaking, juices dripping down to the bedsheets past his mouth.

His mouth traveled up again to focus on your nub while one of his hands snaked around to press two fingers against your entrance.

They slipped in easily, quickly building a rhythm trusting into you while his tongue lapped at you from the outside.

You couldn’t even make a sound as your peak quickly approached, your body just seized with the amount of pleasure rolling through you.

Your eyesight blanked out, and you took a few heaving breaths before you were able to find your voice again.

Even as your moans turned to over sensitive whimpers, he didn’t let up, only slowing down the movement of his hands and mouth. He seemed to be lost in the action, only focused on you and your enjoyment.

You had to yank his head back to get him to stop, and he did so with a bit of reluctance.

His hands trailed over you, running smoothing circles over your hips and legs.

Impatiently, you dug your heels into his back, nudging him upward towards you.

He followed happily, the same hungry expression on his face, except now there was a lack of tension. He seemed more relaxed, like he was the one who came and not you.

“I might not last too long. Don’t do this much, or at all really.” He analyzed your face after he’d said it, looking for any shift in your expression.

You were kind of shocked by the revelation, but weren’t put off by it at all. For a normal guy that looked like Dex, you’d assume they had a steady stream of people coming into their bed.

He wasn’t normal, and he definitely wasn’t the type to have one night stands. In fact, before tonight, you weren’t completely certain he was interested in sex at all.

You would’ve accepted him either way of course, but it was nice to know he shared the same want as you did.

“That’s fine, I just need you inside me.”

The words shocked a groan out of him, and he nuzzled his head into the juncture of your neck.

You could feel his hands wrap around your legs to reposition you accordingly.

He slid out of the last piece of fabric covering him and reached down to position his head at your entrance.

It slipped at first from the wetness, but after a few tries the tip caught onto you, slipping inside halfway.

The pressure punched the air out of you, mouth falling open in an ‘o’ shape. Even with his preparation it was a tight fit.

Dex let out a noise somewhere between a whine and a moan, dipping down to capture your mouth in his, siphoning heat into your mouth.

The taste of yourself on his tongue only heightened the experience, and you could barely catch your breath between that and his slow ruts forward.

Every movement pushed him further into you, and before you knew it he was sheathed inside you fully.

You both shuddered at the feeling, and you were sure you could feel every ridge and vein of him in your walls.

“Shit- you feel so good. I gotta pause for a sec.” He breathed against your mouth.

So you waited.

Until you didn’t.

His head tipped forward with a groan as you squeezed around him. One of his hands held your hip in a vice grip, sure to leave bruises later.

“Don’t do that.” His eyes flashed at you in warning.

You couldn’t even focus on a teasing response, you only wanted him to move.

Then he did, starting in shallow thrusts into you, building into longer drags where he pulled almost fully out before snapping into you again.

He grabbed your wrist, planting the palm firmly over his throat and guiding it to squeeze.

You followed the instruction even as his hand fell away, tightening around the corded muscles of his neck.

His eyes fluttered, hips stuttering before speeding up into a faster pace.

His breaths panted against your face as he pounded into you with quick succession. The angle shifted slightly, and he flashed a sharp grin at me hearing your higher pitch.

He pinpointed that spot, hitting it over and over again, only pausing to slip your ankles over his shoulders before continuing.

You couldn’t tell where you began and he ended, mind so blissed out. It was clear from your noises that you were reaching your peak again, and he slipped a hand down over your clit to accelerate it.

He didn’t rub, just pressed down his thumb firmly over you as you tightened around his shaft again.

The feeling of your fluttering walls made him follow right across the edge with you, letting out a shuddering moan as he pumped a few more times and released inside you.

All the strength seemed to sap from him once he came, body falling onto you heavily. You could still tell he was holding himself up a bit on his forearms in order to not crush you completely and you pulled him down solidly to increase the weight.

His rapid heart rate beat in unison with yours where you were pressed to his chest, the slick feeling of sweat and other fluids clinging to your bodies as he softened within you.

The time stretched on as you both sat there in breathless blissfulness, neither one eager to move positions.

His face hadn’t moved from where it sat nestled in your neck, warm breaths disturbing the strands of hair there. When he spoke, you felt it more than you heard it.

“You okay?” It was spoken with an air of unsureness that was unlike him. Based on what he’d said before, you had an idea of what his worries were.

“That was amazing.” And you weren’t lying, the entire experience had knocked a bit of your soul out your body and you were certain there’d be consequences of soreness the next day.

He made a humming noise, satisfied with the answer, and moved to lift off you.

A flare of panic lit up within you. Eventually, you’d have to go back to the real world, real responsibilities and concerns, but at the moment you didn’t want the stretch of peace to end. “Wait, not yet.”

He lowered himself back down immediately even though a frown creased his expression. “You need to get cleaned up, it might feel worse later.”

“Well,” you let out a soft chuckle, rubbing a hand along his scarred spine, “that’s for later me to worry about. Just a bit longer.”

He didn’t make much argument about it, settling his head back over your chest where he gave soft nips at your collarbone.

Despite relishing the peacefulness, there was something else nagging at your mind.

“Hey Dex?”

He hummed out a response, still mapping you out with his mouth.

“What happened?” You didn’t have to clarify, you knew he knew that you were referring to the event that caused him to show up in your room covered in blood.

A soft sigh, and he was leaning back to respond, “The one who put a hit on you, he found out that I hadn’t exactly,” he paused deliberating the words, “followed instructions. He sent a team to finish the job, and I made sure that didn’t happen.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.” There was a burning in his eyes that showed the extent of violence he was capable of.

The idea of him choosing to not kill you even though he’d been ordered to do so, and fighting off anyone else who tried was… rousing to say the least.

His eyes tightened in a wince of overstimulation as you involuntarily tightened around him.

“It’s gonna be a bit longer for that.” He sounded like he detested that fact just as much as you did.

You grinned, “I’ll be counting down the minutes,” you were going to continue with something teasing, but the look on his face stalled you.

The light from your open window casted a bluish tint over his face, contouring the edges of features softly. He fixed you with a searching gaze, like you were the only thing worth looking at.

“I meant what I said before,” You started, “it’s no going back for me either. I’m with you.”

He traveled up to your face silently and your eyes fluttered closed in preparation. Instead of kissing you on the lips, his mouth pressed firmly over your forehead. The touch trailed down to press two consecutive pecks over your eyelids and finally melt against your mouth.

“I’m with you.”

You knew that no matter what was coming in your lives that you weren’t afraid, fully willing to delve into the future with the person that knew you best.

Div by: @pixopix

AN: boss makes a dollar, I make a dime, I wrote this on company time. So if there’s any typos or inconsistencies… sorry. It’s minimally edited from my flow of consciousness. If anyone even reads this, lemme know what you think, is it good? Bad? Just meh? Lmk :D

[verouys]

backrooms baddies pls write a kat taylor fanfic and my life is yours

[stxrrzz]

Spending the summer driving around SoCal with your boyfriend Bobby.

[itsrainingcinnamon]

uhhhhhhh so @the-darklings BB and Reader chilling in the pools??

[celestialwyvern]

WRONG NUMBER II - Aerion Targaryen

SUMMARY - You don't answer any of Aerion's messages but that backfires as he talks to you in person. But even then, you still don't give him much.

CONTAINS - reader is slightly avoidant, aerion is aerion, banter (crack to a point), read part one

A/N - i couldn't tag most of your accounts for some reason so instead i replied to your comments hehe. Also i got carried away ahahahha can you tell...

You remained seated in your car. Staring at the notifications, you didn’t move until your screen turned back to black.

You jammed the keys into the ignition and backed out of the parking space. The drive back home was scary. You kept looking back at your phone, expecting another text to pop up but thankfully none did.

When you finally got home, you locked the front door and leaned against it.

“What the fuck…” You whispered to yourself, closing your eyes.

It was a good thing the next two days were a weekend. A temporary shield. For the next forty-eight hours, you didn’t have to step foot on campus and risk catching a glimpse of his silver hair across the building.

But hiding out in your room didn’t stop your mind from racing. A full day hadn’t even passed when you finally gave in and opened instagram. You pressed the search bar and typed his username into it.

You weren’t mutuals, he never followed you and neither did you follow him.

There wasn’t much to see. He only had one post and a highlight. It was strange trying to match that version of him with the guy who had texted you for the past month.

Though on sunday, while your phone was open on a groupchat, your peace was interrupted.

👻: youre online, i know you see my texts

You stared at the small block of text, your chest tightening. Again, you didn’t reply.

By monday morning, you had braced yourself to go to campus again. It was packed as you walked with Tanselle.

“So I told him if he thinks I’m letting that happen, he’s out of his mind,” Tanselle was saying, before her hand suddenly clamped down hard on your forearm. “Wait. Don’t look but Aerion is heading right to us.”

You looked up anyway.

Aerion was cutting through the crowded walkway. As soon as you looked, his eyes were already on you, his face tense and unreadable.

The people next to you instinctively quieted down, stepping back as he closed the distance and stopped in front of you.

You tried pivoting to the right but he blocked the way, cutting off your route.

“We need to talk,” he said, voice low and rough.

“I’m trying to get to class,” you replied, keeping your voice even, refusing to let the panic show on your face.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered, stepping closer. His form completely covered yours, and you felt suffocated in the open area. “You know exactly why I’m standing here.”

You kept your arms folded around your waist, your posture rigid. A few students walking past were already slowing down, noticing the interaction. “I have to go,” you mumbled.

“No–”

“Aerion!”

A sharp voice broke the tension between you. A girl with long, blonde hair walked over, calling his name as she hurried over. It was Jess—you knew because your friends had told you she was someone he used to talk to before things apparently ended badly.

“Aerion, hold on,” she said, totally ignoring you as she reached him. “Did you get my messages? You haven’t replied to any of–”

Aerion didn’t look at her. He tilted his head slightly, his jaw tight as he dropped a flat, impatient, “not now.”

It was a short distraction, but it was enough. You didn’t hesitate as you grabbed Tanselle’s wrist, pulling her with you as you turned on your heel. You moved as fast as your legs could carry you.

“Whoa–hey! Slow down!” Tanselle stumbled slightly, scrambling to keep up as you dragged her toward the stairwell.

Once you got on the platform between the stairs, you let go of her wrists, your heart still pounding hard.

Tanselle adjusted her tote bag, looking at you with wide eyes.

“What the hell is happening?” She demanded. “You barely explained a thing to any of us and now Aerion is doing this? Since when do you two even speak?”

“I’ll explain later, I promise.” You looked down to make sure he wasn’t anywhere close. “Let’s just go.”

“You’re a terrible friend,” Tanselle grumbled, though she immediately followed you up to the remaining steps.

Five minutes later, the bell rang and you were already sitting at your usual row in Davis’s class.

“Settle down,” Davis silenced the class. “Like I said, today we’re starting the peer reviews on the personal assignment from the start of this semester. You’ll be working with the same partner from the previous project, find them and get moving.”

Your stomach dropped.

Before you could even think about moving, the chair next to you moved. Tanselle was gone, shooting you a sorry look as she settled next to her partner.

You searched around the room when suddenly, Aerion sat down, his shoulder brushing yours as he turned his upper body toward you.

“How long?” he asked, keeping his voice low, but his eyes were drilling into yours.

You turned your head, gaze fixing on your laptop, your fingers resting still on your keyboard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Stop,” Aerion leaned closer. He looked guarded, a defensive edge tracing his words. “The text about the project. You knew it was me. How long have you known before that?”

The accusation stung, but you didn’t raise your voice. You looked over at him, offended by the fact that this was his main concern.

“A few days before that.” You furrowed your brows. “I didn’t know anything at the beginning. I put the pieces together when I saw you pull out your phone.”

Aerion watched your face, his brows drawing together as he searched your expression. “Then why did you go silent on monday?”

“Seriously?” You paused, “I don’t know, maybe because you basically called me boring.” You scoffed, looking right back at him.

“You barely even acknowledged me, and then what? You texted that your partner who happens to be me was just whatever. Why would I want to keep talking to you after that?”

Aerion flinched. The words seemed to hit him, the defensive wall in his eyes fracturing into genuine surprise. He opened his mouth to say something, his hand shifting on the desk, but a shadow fell over your screen.

“Are you guys actually working, or what?”

Jess had walked up the tiered steps, stopping at the edge of your row. She leaned on the desk, looking down at you with a fake, dismissive smile.

“Don’t take it personal,” Jess said, her voice loud enough for the people in the next row to hear. “He won’t even remember your name next week.”

The comment was explicitly meant to embarass you, and it worked. You felt your face warm up as a few classmates looked over.

But before the silence could stretch, Aerion turned.

The change in him was instantaneous. He looked up at Jess, his face turning cold.

“Go.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it brooked no refusal.

Jess’s smile faltered slightly. “I was just saying–”

“I don’t care,” Aerion interrupted, his stare landing on her in a way that made her step back. “Leave. We’re working.”

The people watching started whispering and nudging each other. Jess’s cheeks flushed a bright red. She wanted to snap back, but caught the total lack of interest in Aerion’s eyes, and quickly turned around.

You sat there, your hands unmoving. The frustration that had been building up since last week slowly started to ease, replaced by a strange, heavy feeling.

Aerion had just defended you in front of the whole class. You blinked twice, trying to process what had just happened.

He took a slow breath. Not looking at anyone else in the room, he turned back to face you.

“Thanks,” you murmured, swallowing as your eyes landed back on the screen of your laptop. You clicked open the peer review rubric Professor Davis had shared to the group. You had to find a way out of talking with him.

“Davis wants us to evaluate the thesis of the intro first,” you pointed out, acting as if nothing happened.

Aerion licked the bottom of his lip, caught off guard by the abrupt shift. His shoulders shifted as you continued looking through the rubric. “What?”

“Is your document open, or do you want to look at mine first?” you answered, tapping your trackpad to highlight the first section of the bibliography.

A frustrated sigh escaped him, you could see his confusion from your peripheral vision, his jaw clenching as he realized you were shutting him out.

He was used to people reacting to him by either backing down or trying to stay in his favour. This indifference was clearly a new territory for him. A difficult one too.

For a second, it looked like he might push past it anyway, his hand tightening on the edge of the desk. Yet he let out a heavy, defeated exhale, pulling his laptop closer. “Mine is open.” His voice was clipped.

For the rest of the period, you kept your barrier firmly in place. You weren’t sure why it was so hard for you to hold a proper conversation with him.

You two texted nonstop for a month. It wasn’t like he was a complete stranger. But somehow it felt like it.

Aerion complied, though his compliance was tense. His fingers tapped against the desk whenever you took too long to read through a paragraph. His focus was entirely divided between the text on his screen and your face.

Every time your fingers accidentally brushed his while adjusting the laptop, he would wait to see if you’d pull away. You always did.

When Davis dismissed the class at last, relief coursed through you.

Snapping your laptop shut, you slid it into your bag and slung the strap over your shoulder. “I’ll upload the comments to the docs by the end of the week.” You stood up, looking him in the eye for a brief, passing second.

Aerion stared up at you from his seat, his throat bobbing as he swallowed whatever he wanted to say.

“Okay.”

You walked to the exit, where Tanselle was already waiting for you. Turning your head for a moment before exiting, your eyes met his.

Reluctantly, you had to tell your friends everything as they kept demanding. No, almost everything.

You conveniently left out the part where you had grown to have this strange, unexplainable, and impenetrable feeling for him.

Tanselle then pointed out how she hasn’t seen Aerion with any girls recently. Everyone agreed, which didn’t help your case.

Yet two days passed without a single notification.

By wednesday, the silence had turned from peace into an uncomfortable, distracting weight. You spent the night trying to study, but your mind kept drifting back to him.

Eventually, you couldn’t resist and opened his chat. You scrolled all the way back to the start, back when he was just an anonymous stranger who made you laugh.

Just as you got to the part where you started icing him out, a new message came through.

You frowned, lips parting as you clicked on the button to the most recent chat.

👻: if you wont talk to me in person, fine

👻: lets do it here

Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of the text. You sat up and paced your room for a full minute before warily typing back.

YOU: What do you want aerion

It felt weird to actually acknowledge who you were talking to.

👻: do me a favour

👻: talk to me like you did before finding out. pretend you dont know who i am

Your eyes narrowed at his message. It was a bizarre request, but the familiar look of the text thread made it entirely too easy to slip back.

YOU: What???

YOU: Fine

👻: tell me everything

YOU: Ok u wanna know what i think?

YOU: I think the guy im paired with in davis’s class is an arrogant prick

There was a long pause. The typing bubbles appeared, vanished, then appeared again.

👻: an arrogant prick? really?

YOU: Yes

YOU: He refuses to talk to anyone outside his immediate circle, he walks like he owns the world, and most importantly he treats his project partners as if they were invisible

👻: maybe hes just focused

YOU: Nope, he didn’t even look at my face

YOU: Can you believe it

YOU: Then he has the nerve to say that im a whatever.. Like sorry i didnt juggle for your entertainment??

A couple minutes passed and you thought he wasn't going to respond, but he was still online.

👻: huh

👻: he sounds terrible

A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, and you tried your best to fight it down.

YOU: He is, hes mean

👻: i didnt mean to be

The sudden drop of the bit you two were doing made your breath hitch. The text continued.

👻: im sorry about monday

👻: and the thing i said

👻: youre not whatever

You stared at his texts, the honesty of it surprising you. You typed out a reply then deleted it. While trying to formulate a reply, another message popped up.

👻: i have to go

The chat went dead. You sat back on your pillows, staring at those four words, your mind spinning into a frantic spiral. I have to go. What did that mean? Go for the day? Or was this his dramatic way of saying goodbye to whatever you guys were?

You slammed your phone down on the mattress, irritated by the sudden exit. You needed to clear your head.

Sighing, you grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower, letting the steam wash away the stress of the week.

By the time you stepped back into your bedroom, it was already dark outside. Drying your hair and changing into your pajamas, you picked your phone up from the bed to check the time.

There was a new text, sent just a minute ago.

👻: open the door

You froze, reading the message over and over again to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.

You walked into the living room, your bare feet making no sound against the floor.

You never gave him your address.

The only people who knew the exact apartment complex you lived in were your closest friends.

Fuck, you thought. Tanselle…

Panic flooded your body as you approached the entryway, and right on cue, a knock came from the other side of the door.

Taking a shallow breath, you unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open.

Aerion was standing under the dim hallway light. He was wearing a tight gym shirt, his silver hair slightly messy from the harsh wind of the night.

He wasn’t empty handed. His right hand was carrying a bag that looked to be from a bakery. He saw your gaze switching from his face to the plastic. “You mentioned last week that you were eating cheesecake.”

Your brain refused to believe that Aerion Targaryen was standing at your door with a whole cheesecake because of a passing comment you had made a whole week ago.

The wall you had built felt incredibly fragile right now, but you had to keep your composure. Slowly, you stepped aside, opening the door just wide enough for him to move past.

Aerion walked into the apartment, getting his shoes off by the door. He looked at you, taking in your damp hair and pajamas, then walked to stand near the edge of the kitchen table, setting the bag on the counter.

You stared at him, your mind trying to catch up. The tips of your ears went red at the realization that you were wearing only your pajamas in front of him.

“How do you even know where I live?”

“Tanselle,” he said bluntly. “Don’t start a fight with her, I didn’t give her much of an option.”

“Of course...” You huffed mostly to yourself.

You walked past him to the water dispenser, grabbing a clean glass from the drying rack and filling it with cold water. You set it on the counter near him.

“Thanks.” He picked up the glass. Taking a slow sip, his eyes scanned the living room before settling back on you.

“Look,” he started, voice dropping an octave, sounding rougher in the quiet apartment. “I’ll get to the point. I know you think I'm a piece of shit. It's just that I... didn’t know it was you.” His shoulders shifted slightly as his muscles got less tense.

You raised a brow at that. “So just because you didn't know it was me you treated me like that?”

“No. It sounds terrible I know. I guess I was already comfortable talking to you online that I figured I didn't need to talk to anyone in person,” he explained, his tone stripped of its usual cold edge. “When you started ignoring me, it drove me crazy.”

“At first, I thought you knew the entire time. I assumed the worst, but then I started worrying. And I didn’t wanna stop talking to you.” His voice got quiet toward the end.

You didn’t know what to say. The honesty of his words rang through your mind, effectively breaking down the image you have already built of him in your head.

“...And what about Jess?” You asked after a beat and immediately regretted it.

Aerion’s eyes flickered with genuine disgust and annoyance before he shook his head.

“She’s nothing.” He leaned against the counter. “We used to talk,” he hesitated, “then I stopped but she couldn't accept it. She’s nothing.” He repeated, noticing the fidgeting of your hands.

“Oh,” was all you could say. Aerion seemed to recognize the shift in the air. He finished the rest of the water and set it back on the counter.

“I should let you get some sleep,” he cleared his throat, eyes lingering on your lips.

He walked toward the front door, putting his shoes back on. You opened the door, unsure if you even wanted him to leave.

The curiosity that had been lingering in the back of your mind all week finally slipped out. “Before you go... I wanna know something.”

Aerion paused, an amused spark gleaming in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“What did you think of me at the start? Like after you found out I wasn't Michael.”

He let out a low chuckle, a smirk splaying across his face. “I thought you had a ridiculously sharp mouth. You always called me out on my attitude, it was infruriating. But it was intriguing.”

Aerion then tilted his head, turning the tables. “My turn. Why'd you even reply to an unknown number?”

A smile broke through your expression, you no longer felt the need to put on a mask in front of him. “Mmm... being real I'm pretty sure I was just bored and couldn't sleep. I thought it'd be funny and it absolutely was.”

He laughed softly and paused at the threshold, turning back to look at you. “So you're saying you're glad you replied?”

You pretended to think for a second, looking up. “Maybe,” you teased, the familiar banter coming back.

A tiny smile touched his lips—the first real one you’ve seen from him in person. He let out a hum. “Right. I'll remember that. Go sleep now.” He backed up to the threshold, his eyes only leaving yours as he turned around.

“Goodnight.” You called out to him as you closed the door and locked the deadbolt, hearing the thud of his footsteps slowly fade.

An hour later, you tried to go straight to sleep, but you kept tossing and turning. Giving up, you got out of bed and walked to the kitchen, pulling the box out of the bag. You recognised the logo on the box as you opened the lid, it was from the expensive bakery near campus.

The cheesecake looked so incredible, you didn’t bother with a plate. Grabbing a fork, you stabbed the cake and took a massive bite.

After eating a solid half of it directly out of the box, you stared at the remaining mess and pulled your phone out to snap a quick photo.

YOU: [IMAGE ATTACHED]

YOU: I forgot to thank you lol

You didn’t expect him to reply immediately, assuming he was already asleep. But the bubbles popped up almost instantly.

👻: youre welcome

👻: did you save me a bite or are you selfish

YOU: Nope its all for me

👻: next time ill just make you feed it to me

You bit your lip to contain your smile, sliding down onto the living room rug and propping your back on the sofa.

YOU: Hm

YOU: Depends on how well u behave the rest of the week

👻: im always well behaved

Giggling, you quickly texted back.

YOU: Liar

YOU: Anw out of curiosity what do u have me saved as

👻: unknown

👻: until about a day ago

YOU: Huh what is it now

👻: thats for my eyes only

YOU: Oh rly

YOU: Ok then im saving u as row four lol

👻: how creative

YOU: It fits

YOU: Reminds me that ure an arrogant prick everyday

👻: good

👻: think about me everyday

Your heart did a violent flip.

Going to his profile, you debated on actually renaming him as row four, but you decided on Aerion 🎱. The emoji just felt right.

YOU: Just changed it

Aerion 🎱: row four?

YOU: No and im not telling u

YOU: Thats unless u tell me minee?

Aerion 🎱: oh thats how it is

Aerion 🎱: never

YOU: Wow!! Ur impossible im gonna off myself

YOU: Ok im going to sleep before u piss me off more

Aerion 🎱: lmao alright

Aerion 🎱: goodnight dont die

You let out a content huff before getting up and heading back to your bedroom.

YOU: Goodnightt

The next morning, the lecture hall was filled with pre-class chatter. It was history class but your professor fell sick and Professor Davis was there as a substitute.

As usual, you sat beside Tanselle who was vibrating with anxiety, staring at you sideways ever since you arrived.

Leaning in close, she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Okay, you’re scaring me. You haven’t mentioned him once. Are you not going to kill me?”

You let out a small giggle, shaking your head. “Nope. It’s all settled.”

Tanselle clicked her tongue, utterly puzzled. “Wait… really?” So he didn’t actually go to your house then?”

“No, he did,” you corrected smoothly, as if it was completely normal.

A noise of confusion escaped her, her eyes bulging. “What!? He actually came over? And you’re acting like this isn’t wild?”

Just then, the doors swung open, and Aerion walked in. He was late, and Professor Davis didn’t bother calling him out, simply beginning the lesson.

You watched as he walked up the main aisle, expecting him to stop in row four, but he continued walking. He moved past his friends without a second thought.

Then without tilting his head up, his eyes locked onto yours. A warmth instantly bloomed in your chest, a smile growing on your face, and you quickly bit your inner cheek to hide it.

He reached your row and without saying a word, he pulled the chair beside you and slid effortlessly into the seat.

Nudging your chin toward the lower row, you pointed at a few familiar faces who had turned around their chairs to watch him. “Your friends are literally staring at you. They’re waiting for you.”

Aerion followed your glance for a split second before looking back at you. “So?”

Before you could reply, the screech of the microphone caught everyone’s attention. “You two,” Davis barked into the mic, his voice echoing. “If you two have matters that are more pressing to discuss then feel free to take it out of the class.”

The weight of Davis calling you out together made the class go extremely silent, staring back and forth between you and Aerion. You could see Jess staring menacingly from the other side of the room.

Your lips formed into a pout as Davis finally looked away, continuing his talk. Aerion, on the other hand, did not take his eyes off you, his smirk widening slightly at the sudden audience.

He slowly leaned back in his chair and for a moment you thought the distraction was over. But under the desk Aerion shifted. The side of his thigh bumped firmly against yours, deliberately pressing in with lingering heat. A sharp jolt shot straight up your spine.

You shot him a warning glare, but he was already busy on his phone.

A second later, your phone buzzed in your lap.

Aerion 🎱: z

Aerion 🎱: z

Aerion 🎱: z

You hid your hands under the desk, looking down to make sure Professor Davis wasn’t looking.

YOU: Wtf

Aerion 🎱: we cant talk out loud

Aerion 🎱: i have to find other ways to get your attention

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes, but his face looked to be absolutely calm and concentrated as he pretended to analyze the projector screen.

YOU: Oh ure a pro

YOU: Wait move ur leg ppl r staring

Aerion 🎱: doesnt matter

Aerion 🎱: if you care move yours then

YOU: Ok nevermind

Aerion 🎱: mhm

Aerion 🎱: what are you doing after class

YOU: Its a free period im probably gonna go to the cafe

Aerion 🎱: wrong

Aerion 🎱: we’re going somewhere

YOU: ??? Hello why wasnt i informed

Aerion 🎱: i just informed you

You almost laughed at that but managed to keep it in, not wanting to draw even more attention from Davis.

YOU: Stop before i get kicked out of the class

YOU: Ok im leaving u bye

Aerion 🎱: stay

Aerion 🎱: hes not gonna see

YOU: If he does im blocking u

Aerion 🎱: i know where you live it doesnt matter

Your lips parted at the sheer audacity of his last message, a rush of heat hitting your cheeks as the memory from last night flashed through your mind.

Looking up from your phone, you caught the subtle twitch at the corner of Aerion’s lips. It was then that you realised that replying to a random message was easily the best mistake you’ve ever made.

[whatonearthisthis88]

[emziess]

Lukita Maxwell as Alice Laird Shrinking, S03

[urmomslonelycryptid69]

Elle Greenaway world domination like look at her she's gorgeous

[cuntyjugheadfromriverdale]

hotch and gideon’s gay daughter and thot son

[ghostlybfgf]

L.A DEVOTEE

summary: while high, you and your two best friends get into the usual trouble, this time with something more..

pairing: kat taylor x fem!reader x bobby franklin

warning (s): porn with little plot, mention of drug use (weed), threesome, f/f/m sex, high sex, fingering, tit sucking, male masturbation, face riding, oral (fem!receiving)

word count: 3.1k

a/n: i love them and i’m already thinking of carrying this on when they go into the backrooms, and bring reader with them. based on this ask, by this lovely @thefaetellsnotales .beware this isn’t exactly proofread and iam sick, but i hope you sexies enjoy 💗

“Are we even meant to be here?”

“Come on, it’s closed.. no one’s here I promise.”

The shutter retracted up with a clatter, the three of you ducking in one by one before Kat dragged it back down to the floor, twisting the key at the bottom to lock it.

You coughed as you stood, the air thick with the faint smell of bleach and old lint. It was to be expected from a furniture store you supposed, especially one that didn’t get much movement from well.. anyone.

“Hey is there a light in here?” You spoke through the darkness, turning to catch the silhouettes standing behind you.

“This way.”

An arm hooked around your waist before you could answer, and through the dim light you made it out who it was. A scent of roses and cocoa butter covered the smell of pot, and the coolness of her bangles rubbed against your arm as Kat angled you both across the floor.

You made it a few paces to the back wall before a gold glow lit up from the far corner.

Bobby.

He fumbled with the string of an antique lamp, unwrapping the straps of his camera as he set it onto a nightstand, turning to face you both with a scrunch in his brow.

“Does Clark really sleep on these things? They’re fuckin’ hard.” His hand pressed into the mattress, shoving it up and down before it bounced back into his hand.

“Don’t complain about it now, it was your idea. And yeah.. he does..” Kat looked up at him with that familiar look of sarcasm, shrugging beside you as she swung the backpack from her arm and onto a dresser. Her arm reached into it, rummaging as you leant against the wood.

“Your manager sleeps in his own store?” She huffed a laugh at your quirked brow.

“He’s kind of.. down and out, it’s the only place he has right now.”

“Then where is he?”

“I’m not sure, out of town for something he’s gone crazy about, something he’s found apparently.”

She eventually pulled out a packet of ‘jiffy pop’ from the bag with a proud smile, “Right Im gonna get us actual food.”

Kat turned on her heel, placing a hand on your shoulder before giving it a squeeze.

“Don’t get into too much trouble.. and.. don’t let Bobby touch anything.”

Kat disappeared down the hall in search of the break room, leaving you standing in the middle of Clark's furniture store trying not to laugh at how ridiculous this was.

You had been lying in their apartment for hours before one of you, not that you could hardly remember, mentioned heading out. And after however long of wandering through town, the last glimpses of the sunset burning into the dark, you’d made it to Clark’s.

"Yeah if we don’t get arrested for a break in."

Bobby had already claimed an entire display bedroom for himself, setting it up for you all. The bed was wide, king sized it read from the poster, with deep blue sheets and off white pillows, discoloured it looked from that angle.

"Nah," he said, kicking off his shoes and throwing himself backwards onto the mattress. "This is basically a hotel."

"It’s a furniture store." You crossed your arms watching him with a squint.

"Exactly, free hotel."

The mattress bounced as he spread his arms dramatically with a smirk. Half of the lights had been switched off for the night, leaving the showroom glowing in soft amber pools, and somehow it actually made it look homely. Not the empty, stale place the three of you usually made fun of.

Your eyes wandered over the space, fighting a smile. The whole place felt surreal. Couches were arranged like fake living rooms, lamps casting warm circles of light, rows of untouched beds stretching into darkness, and the staircase behind you leading to the lower level. Not creepy at all.

You found yourself drifting where Kat had disappeared to. The three of you had been inseparable all evening, and lately it had only grown, like some undergrown strange tension that crept on you all slowly. Being friends for years would do that you supposed, but it always seemed as if there was more. Like gravity pulled you together just as you all had stayed close. The lingering glances, the casual touches that lasted a little too long, and some sort of feeling nobody seemed quite ready to put into words.

They’d been dating for two years, and you’d been happy for them, even remembered the exact day they’d came come from school in the late afternoon to your house just to tell you.

“So you’re together, together?” You leaned on the doorframe, eyes wide with excitement.

“Hell yeah.” Bobby’s arm slung around Kat’s shoulders with a proud grin.

“Not that this changes anything, he’s still an idiot, and you’re still my favourite.” Kat smirked at you.

“Hey—“ Kat swatted him in the stomach before grabbing onto you and ushering you outside into whatever left of the summer sun there was.

And she was right, it didn’t change anything at all. If anything it brought you all closer. There wasn’t anything unspoken, it was all out in the open and comfortable, except for one thing. How they had felt for you.

Bobby patted the spot beside him.

"Come test the merchandise." He spoke up, gesturing his head toward his hand.

"You sound like a salesman."

"I'm the best salesman Clark's ever had."

The thought made you laugh, yeah right.

You stepped forward anyway, the bed dipping beneath your weight as you kicked off your shoes and climbed on. Neither of you said anything at first, just laying a single arm length’s away as you realised he was right.

The mattress was hard, sticking into your back through the plump covers. Though it should have been expected, it’s a display. So much for getting high beforehand, you hadn’t through that far. So you made do with what you could, snagging the fur blanket from the end of the bed and tucking it behind you both.

The flicker of the TV box he’d angled into a chest of drawers, lit up your faces through the shadowed space, returns of old tv shows muffled in the background. And both of you were engrossed, staring into the flashing colours fading in and out.

You felt eyes on you after a while, staring into you from the side. Bobby had turned his head slightly, blue eyes burning into you, and you turned yours.

His grin had disappeared somewhere along the way, leaving only the twinkle in gaze, something you’d always noticed reserved for one other person. The one they reserved for eachother.

"You're staring." Bobby whispered dropping his head between you both teasingly.

"No I'm not." You kicked his leg lightly, shaking the buzz from your head, but it didn’t seem to lift, instead it grew, a shiver wracking the back of you spine.

"You are.”

"You started it.” The wood of the headboard creaked behind you as you braced your knees up, tucking them toward your chest.

That earned a laugh, a breathy one like the air had been punched from his lungs as he sat up, and then suddenly you were both laughing. The kind of laughter that came from being slightly high, and running entirely on bad decisions.

Bobby's shoulder brushed yours then, quick and tender, so quick it could have been ignored, but you were already heightened, alert to every movement around you. Neither of you moved away, his eyes flicking down briefly before returning to yours.

"Hey." He rasped softly, lips parted as he turned to rest onto his arm.

"Hey." You whispered back, swallowing thickly.

“Bobby I don’t think..”

You weren’t able to continue, to telll him it was a bad idea, that it was wrong, but before either of you could overthink it, he leaned in.

The kiss was soft. Tentative and warm, his lips brushing over yours with a desperate tenderness, and you almost melted into it, almost.

You jumped apart from him when you heard footsteps, catching the gaze of your best friend in your peripheral. Bobby only retracted, still ghosting your lips as he released the palm he’d placed on your cheek.

Kat appeared around the corner, standing beside the TV stand, carrying the popcorn in a bowl she’d somehow found. Her eyes darted to Bobby, then at you and then back to Bobby, a hand moving to her hip, and for a moment none of you said anything.

"...Seriously?"

“Kat I can—“ Your face burned.

Bobby immediately pointed at you, “Her fault.”

"My fault?" You whipped your head toward him.

"Absolutely." His face was unreadable, even if the smirk that pulled at his lips was far from innocent.

Kat stared for another second before letting out a laugh so hard the bowl of popcorn ruffled in her hands.

"You two are unbelievable. You couldn’t have waited for me?”

She tossed the bowl softly onto the bed and climbed onto the mattress beside you. You only stared at her, at both of them, eyes wandering where your heart hammered in your chest in a way you didn’t know how to feel. Shame? Guilt?

“Really I didn’t think—“ The words left your mouth before you could hardly speak, stumbling over them to explain.

“You have no idea how long we’ve waited to do that.” Kat cut you off gently, settling herself comfortable under the blanket.

Desire—

“You— uh, what?” Your head snapped up, and she just nodded, popping a piece of popcorn into her mouth with a smirk, handing the bowl over to you.

We. The word lingered in your head, stirring your senses as if you’d been dreaming. But they only smiled at you, amused by the dumbfounded look on your face, as if all of it, their own agreement of you, had been common knowledge.

The three of you collapsed into a tangled pile of blankets and laughter, yours somewhat in disbelief. But even as the three of you rested back, Kat bumped her shoulder against yours.

"Move over."

You rolled your eyes and listened, shuffling over into the very middle of the bed, both of their leg’s sticking into yours from the sides. “Bossy."

"Always."

Bobby groaned dramatically as Kat stole half of the blanket, and with the minutes passing and him still busy complaining about the blanket theft, Kat glanced over at you and the playful expression on her face softened.

"Come here," she said quietly, beckoning you over with the pull of her fingers. And before you could ask what she meant, not that you bothered to question, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

She looked just as surprised as you felt when she pulled back, her hand splaying at your hip. Bobby blinked from behind you, grinning softly, leaning around you both where you could both see him.

"Oh, so we're all doing that now?"

Kat reached at her side and threw the pillow behind her back at him. The three of you dissolved into laughter again, and that time nobody seemed interested in pretending that nothing had happened.

Because there was something different underneath it all. Something shared between all three of you finally coming undone.

You shook your head, resting back into one another and staring mindlessly at the static buzzing from the television. The three of you must have passed another two blunts between you when the haze grew, thick and heady. The room contorting amongst you all into something more heated, as if the air had been sucked from the space entirely. A leg slid up against yours, and fingertips touched at your thigh.

Kat steadied her hand there as your breath stuttered, the cool air of Bobby’s exhale sifting right at the back of your neck. Your noses bumped then, rocking back and forth as your breaths mingled, lips ghosting through lidded eyes and exhilaration.

“Hey, you know we haven’t got to do anything you don’t want to.” She was breathless, brown eyes gazing into yours with careful consideration that washed all over your face.

“You want this?” You tilted to look at both of them, Bobby and Kat looked at each other over either side of you and meeting back to you, their hands curled around one another’s, “Uh.. yeah, more than anything..”

You nodded slowly, the breath catching in your throat, “Then I want to.” Your hand curled around Kat’s neck as she dipped back to kiss you, this time hungrier, her tongue sweeping across your lip, and inching you both back against the headboard.

“You’re so so pretty..” She mumbled into your lips with skin pressed against skin your tongues locking around each others and another pair of lips at your neck.

“Open up for me Angel..” Bobby called out to you, arm bending over your waist and snaking the t-shirt from on you. You retracted only for a moment, the material being pulled away and tossed over on the floor, revealing the swell of your breasts. Long, warm fingers tweaked your nipple before his body had bent over you, sucking one into his mouth. His tongue was hot against your the sensitive bud, swirling harshly until you moaned into Kat’s mouth.

One hand fell into his hair, threading through the fine blonde strands as you arched into the feeling, his hand staying gripped at your hip to keep you in place.

His own t-shirt rose over his head with one steady tug, reaching for your hand to put it against his skin, letting you feel him. You traced the warm planes of muscle, down his chest and to his abs, and further along the v of that dipped beneath his jean shorts. Bobby shuddered against you, pressing into your thigh, and trailing his fingers down your sides.

You watched them through the haze, a gentle buzzing in your fingertips and your chest. The high from the pot or them you couldn’t tell, and not that it mattered.

They pulled away only for a moment, impatient and needily, Kat’s arms rising on instinct as he helped her take the rest of her clothes off, sliding her shorts down the legs before her fingers worked at undoing his belt buckle, reaching to cup the bulge beneath his pants, already tented and aching. “Save it.. for next time baby.” She mumbled against his lips over you, and he groaned into the kiss with a slight nod.

Next time.

He shrugged the rest of his clothes off, leaving him only in his underwear, the hard line of his cock poking through the dark fabric. She rose beside him, the curve of her breasts shadowed beautifully in the golden light, and the tan flesh of her thighs curling over yours. The pressure swirled in your belly at the sight, arousal coating slick between your thighs.

Bobby settled behind you, an arm slipping around your waist as though he’d always belonged there, and the warmth of him at your back only made Kat’s presence in front feel more overwhelming. You shivered at the feeling, hands moving between the both of them as they settled.

Kat’s fingers brushed loose hair from your face before cupping your cheek, foreheads touching briefly, sharing a knowing smile that felt private despite the crowded tangle of limbs and blankets.

“There you are,” Kat murmured softly.

The attention from both sides left you breathless, almost unable to move if you couldn’t feel the thump of heartbeats and burning touch of skin.

Bobby’s chin stayed pressed to your shoulder, his hands sliding lower, gripping your hips to keep you pinned between them. Kat’s mouth claimed yours again, her tongue sliding deep while her fingers pinched your nipple hard enough to make your back arch. Bobby’s cock dragged along the cleft of your ass, thick and hot, already leaking as he rocked forward in slow, deliberate thrusts that never quite pushed inside.

"Fuck, you’re soaked," he muttered against your neck, teeth scraping over the fresh mark he’d just sucked there. His tongue followed, licking the sting away before he dropped lower, body snaking further down the bed, spreading your thighs wider with his shoulders. The cool air hit your pussy, as he turned you onto your back, both pairs of eyes flicking between you he gave one long, filthy lick from your entrance to your clit, making your whole body jerk back against the ruffled sheets. He groaned into your cunt like he was starving, sucking your swollen clit between his lips and flicking it with the tip of his tongue, teasing two thick fingers through your folds.

Kat swallowed your broken moan, grinding her soaked pussy against your thigh. She grabbed your wrist and moved your hand between her legs. "Please.." Your fingers slid through her slick folds, her legs widening as two of them sunk knuckle-deep into her tight heat while your thumb rubbed tight circles over her clit. She rode your hand with short, desperate rolls of her hips, her juices coating your palm as she panted into your mouth.

Bobby pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue, fucking you with it in messy, wet strokes before he sucked your clit again, loud and obscene. Spit and your arousal dripped down his chin, his one hand keeping you spread open while the other stroked his cock in time with every thrust of his tongue.

"Taste so fucking good," he groaned, voice muffled against your pussy. Kat fluttered around your fingers as she came with a sharp cry, her thighs shaking and wetness gushing over your hand. She didn’t stop moving, she only kissed you harder, biting your lower lip while her fingers found your other breast and squeezed it into her hand.

Bobby clamped at your thighs, tugging you further down onto his mouth as you mewled, bucking your hips against his face while your fingers pumped in and out of Kat’s wetness, drawing all of you closer to your edge. He rubbed himself into the sheets, fucking himself through the rough fabric of his pants and into his palm desperately.

Moans filled the room of the empty store, so confined and warm, that all care for even being there had left your mind, filled with the haze of them fucking you. You felt the peak of your climax, falling over the edge with the burn of Kat’s whines into your neck and Bobby’s tongue.

“Fuck, make her come Bobby..”

Kat straddled your chest, knees planted on either side of your head, lowering herself onto your waiting mouth, grinding down with a breathy moan as your tongue pushed inside her. Your tongue and sucked at her swollen clit while she rocked against your face her brow pulled tight as she gripped the headboard. Her juices coated your chin and cheeks, as she rode you harder, Bobby’s face still buried between your spread thighs, tongue working in relentless, sloppy strokes.

He dragged the flat of it up through your soaked folds, circled your swollen clit, plunging back down to fuck into your dripping hole. Every lewd sound and moan echoed in the quiet room, his fingers digging into your ass, holding you open while he rode you through your high.

Your own climax hit fast and hard, crashing over your body in a wave and making you come with a muffled cry, your fingers tightening at Kat’s waist. Your thighs clamped around Bobby’s head as your pussy clenched and pulsed, fresh wetness flooding his tongue and he groaned into you, lapping it up greedily while his hips jerked against the mattress. The friction against his trapped cock was too much, “Fuck fuck fuck..” He came with a broken grunt after a few sloppy thrusts, hot cum soaking through his pants in thick spurts, his whole body shuddering between your legs.

Kat followed seconds later, her hips stuttering over your tongue as she came, grinding down hard, her thighs shaking on either side of your head. She cried out into her hand, gushing over your lips and chin, riding out every wave until she finally went limp. The golden strands of his hair fell into his eyes, his forehead rocked into your inner thigh as he finally let up, panting to catch his breath.

Her body fell down beside you, climbing from you carefully where the three of you collapsed together in the tangled sheets, a hazy sheen coating your bodies.

Kat slid to curl against your side, her face tucked into your neck, still breathing hard. Bobby crawled up behind you, pressing his sticky, cum-wet front to your back and wrapping an arm around both of you. His breath warmed your shoulder as he nuzzled closer. Kat’s fingers traced lazy circles on your stomach while Bobby’s hand rested heavy on your hip. No one spoke. Just the sound of slowing breaths and the quiet creak of the bed as you all melted into one another, warm and spent.

The three of you lay there, tucked and blissed out in a bed you shouldn’t have been in, veiled moonlight peeking through the thin shutters in the small glow of the showroom. Every buzz of the high eased off into a comfortable tiredness, as your breathing evened out.

“I think I need new shorts.” Bobby mumbled into your back, and you let out a short giggle hearing the smack against muscle from Kat’s hand reaching over. But none of you bothered to move, his shoulders shrugging, and the pair of them cuddling around you as his arm swung over you both.

So much for bad decisions. But secretly, none you hoped it would end. After all, it was just the beginning of something none of you were ready for.

loving taglist: @userhotd @the-darklings @starxs-s @alexjacobsgoodnight @thefaetellsnotales @clockgirl94 @corgitoergosumithinkthereforiam @oscarisdaddy69 @masterbiter @briefwinnapersona @angelbabydoll22 @freya-heya @verouys @lostinpandoora @luckyladybug9 @ineedmyaccountback @how2besalty @lanadelreykt @randomfrozt @asgardian1023 @sun2951 @thatchampagnebitch @mylcvemineallmine @midnight-sun-bright-star 💗

[fawnredfield]

I need Kat Taylor tumblr fics and oneshots now oh my god she’s so pretty beautiful amazing zoo wee mama

[gwendolinechristie]

the bisexual agenda

[darktargslut]

Are you real

Dark!Bobby X Reader

Summary; Before the Backrooms your biggest mistake was refusing to give Bobby a chance. Now, trapped in an endless nightmare of empty rooms and things that shouldn't exist, you would give anything to go back and change it. TW: Psychological Horror, Obsessive Love, Emotional Manipulation, Captivity / Imprisonment, Paranoia, Delusions, Mental Deterioration, Monster Mimicry / Doppelgängers, Injury Suffocation / Choking Scene, Dark Romance, Tragic Romance, Bobby Needs So Much Therapy, Situationships Are A Public Health Crisis, Local Man Develops Separation Anxiety, Local Man Has Lost His Mind, Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss vs Psychotic Breakdown Malewife, Malewife To Kidnapper Pipeline, Fear of Abandonment Speedrun Any%.

WC: 6K (wrote this in four days so if it's shit don't blame me)

The first thing you registered was warmth. A slow, honey thick warmth that had nothing to do with the pale sunlight trying to bleed through the cheap blinds. This heat was specific, localized, and moving. It was a mouth. Soft, barely there pressure planting a lazy trail up the knobs of your spine.

You kept your eyes closed, breathing in the scent of stale weed, faded cologne, and something that was just clean skin and sleep. Bobby. A hum vibrated in the back of your throat, a sound caught between a sigh and a moan, as his lips traced a path to the space between your shoulder blades. His warm hand splayed possessively over the dip of your waist beneath the rumpled sheet. The only thing you wore was the memory of the night before, a pleasant, heavy ache in your limbs and the faint impression of his teeth on your lower lip. You were both naked, tangled up in each other and a mess of charcoal grey cotton.

You felt the mattress shift, the lean, solid weight of him pressing a little closer, and then his lips were on your shoulder. It was a wake up call you’d become dangerously accustomed to.

Finally, you stirred, a sleepy sigh escaping you as you shifted onto your back. The sheet slipped, and the cool air of the room was a shock against your skin. You blinked your eyes open, and he was right there, propped on one elbow, looking down at you. The weak morning light caught the angles of his face, that highly defined, angular facial structure that was too sharp to be just pretty.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice a low, sleep roughened rasp. His nose brushed against yours as he leaned in. His hair was a tousled mess, falling forward onto his forehead.

“Morning,” you whispered back, your voice still thick with sleep. You didn't fight it when he closed the distance. The kiss was slow, deep, a lazy exploration that tasted of sleep and the last, faint ghost of mint. His full lips were soft, patient, a perfect counterpoint to the hard, sharp lines of the rest of him. When he finally pulled back, just a fraction of an inch, his eyes were still closed, his lashes dark gold crescents against his cheekbones. "Was starting to think you were going to sleep all day."

"Tempting," you murmured, already feeling the pull of the real world, the mental checklist of assignments and shifts waiting for you. “I’m so tired,” you hummed, the words a barely audible vibration against his jaw. You didn’t want to think, didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to do anything but dissolve back into the sleepy, satiated haze. You turned in his arms, presenting your back to him again, and grabbed his arm, a silent, demanding gesture. He understood immediately, wrapping it tightly around you, his hand coming to rest on your stomach. He let out a short, soft laugh, a puff of air against your hair. "Okay, okay. Message received." pulled you flush against his chest, tucking his knees behind yours. You were encased in him, a small spoon in a shell of sharp bones and lean muscle. You closed your eyes, letting the steady thump of his heart against your spine lull you. This, you told yourself. This was the part you liked. The quiet after, where he was just a warm, solid presence, and all the complications of your lives were held outside the door.

For a while, there was only the sound of your breathing and the distant, irritated chirp of a bird outside the window. His thumb traced idle, meaningless patterns on the soft skin of your belly, a gentle, almost hypnotic motion.

“So,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble that vibrated through you, “how’s that project been going? The big one. The one that’s been making you bite everyone’s head off.”

You groaned, the sound muffled by the pillow. “Good, I guess. It’s just… stressing me out. Feels like it’s taking over my entire life.” You didn't mention that your increasingly frequent escapes with him were the only thing keeping you from a full blown meltdown.

"That sucks, baby," he murmured, and the word 'baby' sent a tiny, treacherous thrill right through your middle. His hand, the one that wasn't pinned under you, moved. “Well,” he murmured, and you felt him smile against your hair, a slow, knowing curve. “That’s why I’m here, right?” His hand slid from your stomach, fingers trailing a light, teasing path down to your thigh. He gave the bare flesh a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “Stress relief.”

You snorted softly, a sound somewhere between amusement and deflection. You didn't take the bait, just continued to trace idle patterns on the back of the hand you were holding. He ran his palm in a slow, soothing the curve of your thigh, his thumb tracing a lazy, circular caress on your skin. The touch was meant to be comforting, but it was also a test, a quiet probing to see if the mood of the night before could be rekindled.

“You know,” he continued, his tone shifting, becoming a touch more casual, the way someone does when they’re trying to mask something that actually matters to them, “we could go out this weekend, y’know. A change of scenery. I could take you out to dinner. Someplace that’s not a drive-thru or your kitchen.”

And there it was, the other game. The one he kept trying to play, and you kept refusing to learn the rules to. The bubble of sleepy contentment popped. You forced your eyes open, staring at the slice of light on the wall. Your body, which a moment ago had been liquid and pliant, began to tense.

“Dinner?” you repeated, as if he’d suggested a trip to the moon.

“Yeah, dinner. It’s a thing people do. They eat food, at a table, and they, like, talk.” His voice was still light, but you could feel the new tension in the arm wrapped around you.

This was the point where you always started to pull away. You shifted, gently disentangling yourself from his grip. This time, he didn’t fight it, his arm falling slack as you sat up, keeping the sheet clutched to your chest. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, your back to him. The floor was a warzone of discarded clothes, your jeans tangled with his black t-shirt, a lone sneaker by the door.

“I… uh, I’m pretty busy this weekend, actually,” you said, your voice coming out a little too flippant as you began to reach for your things. “College stuff. You know how it is.”

“Right. College stuff.” His tone had changed completely. The teasing warmth was gone, replaced by a flat, clipped edge. You heard him sit up behind you, the rustle of sheets. “You’re always busy with ‘college stuff.’ Except, apparently, when you’re not too busy to hit me up at eleven o’clock at night.”

You flinched, the accusation hitting its mark with sniper like precision. You grabbed your underwear from the floor and started to pull them on under the sheet, the movements jerky and hurried. “That’s different.”

“Is it?” You could feel his gaze on your bare back, and you imagined those striking blue eyes had lost all their post sex softness, sharpening into that intense, unblinking focus. “What’s so bad about going on a date with me, Y/N? Huh? You always do this. Every single time I try to… to just be with you outside of a bedroom, there’s an excuse. An essay, a shift, you’re tired, you’re just about to wash your hair. It’s a greatest hits album of brush-offs.”

You stood up, pulling on your jeans with sharp, angry tugs. “Because I just don’t want to date, Bobby! That’s not what this is.” You zipped them up, the sound final and loud in the suddenly quiet room.

You could feel the question coming before he even spoke it, a deadly, fragile silence that expanded to fill the entire apartment.

His voice, when it came, was quiet. Dangerously quiet. “You don’t want to date anyone? Or you don’t want to date me?”

You finally turned to face him. He was sitting on the edge of the bed now, the sheet pooling around his hips, leaving his torso bare. The morning light carved his body out of light and shadow, accentuating the lean, defined muscle. He was a work of art, all sharp angles and fair skin. The look on his face was one of pure, frustrated hurt, his strong jaw set, his full lips pressed into a thin line. The intense brow was furrowed, and his eyes, they were fixed on you with a vulnerability that was almost too painful to witness.

“Come on, Bobby. Don’t act like this,” you said, your voice softening despite yourself. You hated this part. You hated feeling like the villain. “Let’s not act like, before this arrangement of ours, you didn’t have a different girlfriend almost every other week. You were the king of no strings attached. The whole reason this works is because we’re on the same page.”

“It’s not the same,” he said, his voice rising, cracking with an intensity that froze you in place. He stood up, not caring that he was naked, and took a step toward you. His hands were clenched into loose fists at his sides. “Those other girls? They weren’t… it was just something to do, a way to pass the time. You’re different. You’re so different, Y/N, and you know that. You’re smart, and you’re funny, and when you’re not biting my head off for trying to be nice to you i can't stay away from you. You can’t tell me you don’t feel it.” He was right in front of you now, close enough that you could smell his skin, see the small, pleading furrow between his brows. “Just give me a chance. One real chance. That’s all I’m asking for.”

His plea hung in the air, raw and honest. It would be so easy. So terrifyingly easy. You could just say yes. You could let him take you to dinner, let him hold your hand on a street not littered with your own clothes. You could let your carefully constructed walls down for a guy who was always a little bit high, a guy you’d written off as a fun, temporary distraction, but you knew the look in his eyes. You’d seen it before on other faces, right before everything went to hell. The look that preceded “I love you” and was inevitably followed by “Who were you with?” It was a trap, a beautiful trap.

You were done picking up your things. You had your bag slung over your shoulder, your keys clutched in your hand. You had an armor of busyness and cynicism, and you put it on now like a shield. You reached up, placing your hands gently on either side of his face. His skin was warm, the stubble rough against your palms. You felt the tension in his jaw muscles as he looked at you, waiting.

“Bobby,” you said, your voice soft but final. You looked into those crystal blue eyes, a color so vivid it seemed manufactured. “I like what we have. It’s easy. It’s fun. Let’s not overcomplicate it.”

You saw the light in his eyes die a little, the hope crumbling into a resigned, weary disappointment. He knew this script. You’d made him rehearse it a dozen times.

“I’ll see you,” you whispered, and then you pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. It was a full stop kiss, a seal on the conversation, a goodbye for now. You didn't let it last pulling your hands away before he could respond, before his full lips could part and say something that would completely undo you.

___

Time didn't work here, that was one of the first things you'd learned, one of the many cruel rules of this place, you'd been navigating by the sickly, jaundiced light that hummed from the fluorescent panels on the ceiling, a constant, maddening buzz that had burrowed into your skull and made a home there. You slept when your body collapsed, woke when the adrenaline spiked, and walked. You just kept walking. Endless, repeating rooms of damp, yellowed carpet and wallpaper the color of old bruises.

You'd gotten good at hiding, at holding your breath. At pressing yourself into the corners where the buzzing fluorescent hum was loudest, hoping it would mask the sound of your hammering heart. Some of them looked almost like people, if you didn't look too closely. A woman in a stained dress who turned and had three noses clustered on her face like a grotesque flower. A tall, lanky man shape with four perfectly blue eyes, blinking out of sync, who had passed within feet of your hiding spot, his head swiveling on a neck that was too long, too smooth. You'd stared at the damp carpet and not breathed, not thought, not existed until the sound of its dragging footsteps faded. Other things were worse because they were utterly alien. Scuttling, skittering shapes glimpsed at the end of long corridors. The sound of something large and wet breathing in a room you decided not to enter. The screaming. Sometimes, in the deep distance, you heard screams that were unmistakably, horrifyingly human, and they always, always sounded like him.

Bobby. His name was a wound you kept touching, a raw nerve you couldn't stop probing with your tongue. Every time your exhausted mind drifted, you heard it again. The sound he'd made when that thing had seized him. His scream had echoed down the endless corridors, a sound of pure, primal terror that had shattered into wet, choked gurgling. Begging. He had been begging for help. The sound of your name, torn from his throat, you cried every time you thought about him. At first, it had been violent, gut wrenching sobs that left you curled on the damp carpet, gasping for air that tasted of mildew and old dust. Now, the tears came silently, a hot, steady leak from your eyes that you'd wipe away with a grimy hand as you kept walking. You replayed the last morning in the real world on a constant, torturous loop. The warmth of his bare chest against your back. The desperate plea in his voice. You're different, Y/N. The way you'd placed your hands on his sharp, beautiful face and kissed him goodbye like he was a problem to be managed instead of a person who was trying, so earnestly, to love you. The guilt was a physical thing, a sharp, acidic lump in your throat that you couldn't swallow down. You'd give anything, anything, to take back that morning. To say yes to the damn dinner. To tell him he mattered. Because he did. He had. And now he was just a fading scream and a trail of blood.

On this day—was it a day? the lights never changed, the buzz never stopped—you were moving with a purpose born of pure, desperate stubbornness. You were trying to find the wall. The spot where you'd all come through. If you could just find it again, if it was still there, maybe you could get out. Maybe you could find help. Maybe you could wake up from this.

You were in a long, wide corridor you didn't recognize, lined with doors that were just painted onto the walls, fake promises. The carpet squelched slightly under your worn sneakers. And then you heard it. Footsteps. Fast, erratic, a stuttering, uneven rhythm. Not the dragging shamble of the entities. Something running, human.

Your body reacted before your brain did. You dove behind a protruding wall, pressing your back against the cold, slightly damp surface. Your heart, that traitorous organ, slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape your chest. You clamped a hand over your own mouth, stifling the ragged gasp of your breathing, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, peered around the corner and the world stopped.

It was Bobby.

He was there, maybe thirty feet away, moving fast down the corridor with a limping, frantic gait. His crop top was torn, a long, jagged gash across the front, and the sleeve had been ripped off completely, used as a makeshift bandage wrapped tightly around his forearm. The white fabric was stained a dark, rusted crimson. There was blood on him. Dark smears on his exposed torso, a streak of it across his sharp jawline, matted into his hair. He looked battered, hollowed out, his already sharp features now gaunt, the high cheekbones cutting even more severely against his fair skin. But he was moving. He was on his feet. He was alive.

Tears were spilling down your cheeks before you even made the conscious decision to move. A choked sob, a mangled version of his name, tore from your throat. "Bobby...?" It wasn't a yell. It was barely a whisper, ragged and raw, the fear of alerting the entities overriding the sheer, overwhelming shock of seeing him. You were already running, your legs moving before you could think, propelled by a relief so profound it felt like being unmade and remade in the span of a single heartbeat.

He stopped dead. His head snapped toward you, and you saw his whole body go rigid, coiled like a wounded animal that had just heard a twig snap. His blue eyes, those intense, focused eyes you'd memorized a thousand times over, found you. For a long, suspended moment, he just stared. His full lips parted slightly. His brow, furrowed in something that looked less like recognition and more like... confusion.

Then you crashed into him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your body slamming into his with a force that made him stumble back a step, his bad leg buckling slightly. He was solid. He was real. He was warm. The feel of him, the scent of sweat and blood undid you completely. You sobbed against the bare skin of his shoulder, your fingers digging into the fabric of his torn shirt, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that had dissolved into nightmare.

"Oh my god, oh my god, Bobby," you were babbling, the words tumbling out between heaving, ugly sobs that shook your entire body. "I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead. I heard you scream, I saw the blood, and I ran, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry." The apology kept spilling out, a dam finally breaking. "I thought about you every second. Everything I said that morning, it was all bullshit, I was just scared, I was so scared of how much I—" You cut yourself off with another sob, pressing your face into the curve of his neck. "I'm so happy to see you. I'm so happy you're alive. I'm never leaving you again. Never."

His arms, after a long, suspended beat, came up and wrapped around you. It was hesitant at first, almost mechanical. Then his grip tightened, his hands fisting in the dirty fabric of your shirt at your back. He held you so tightly it was almost painful, his body trembling against yours. You could feel the frantic, rabbit fast beat of his heart against your chest.

"Can't believe you're real," he mumbled, his voice a hoarse, strange rasp, scraped raw. It was so different from the low, teasing murmur you remembered. It sounded like he'd been screaming. Or maybe just not talking at all. "Can't believe... you're... no."

You pulled back just enough to see his face, to touch him, to prove to yourself that this was actually happening. You cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs tracing the sharp, prominent ridges of his cheekbones, smearing through the grime and dried blood. His skin was clammy, a cold sweat sheen on his forehead, but it was his skin. His eyes. God, his eyes, that beautiful, piercing light blue, they were darting back and forth, scanning your face like he was reading a document he'd been trained to distrust. There was a wildness in them, a fractured, feverish light that hadn't been there before.

"I'm real, Bobby. I'm here. I'm right here," you whispered, your voice cracking with the force of your emotion. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you ever again. I swear. I swear on my life."

You leaned in and kissed him. It was a desperate, tear salted kiss, a frantic press of lips meant to communicate everything you'd been too scared to say in the real world. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I need you. I think I— You poured every ounce of your relief, your guilt, your desperate, terrified hope into that kiss, your hands sliding from his cheeks into his matted hair, and he kissed you back.

At first. His lips, dry and cracked, moved against yours with a kind of stunned, automatic response. His hands on your back tightened. Then his grip shifted. His fingers slipped under the hem of your shirt, finding the bare skin of your waist. They pressed in, hard. Not the familiar, possessive squeeze of a lover. Something else. Something searching. Palpating. Like he was trying to feel the bones underneath, the muscles, the solid architecture of a human body. Verifying.

"Can't believe it," he mumbled against your lips, the words vibrating with a strange, unhinged intensity. "You're real. You feel... you feel real. But you're not. You can't be."

"Bobby," you gasped, pulling back slightly, your hands moving to his shoulders. A flicker of unease, cold and sharp, cut through the overwhelming relief. His hands were still under your shirt, his fingers digging into the flesh of your waist with a bruising pressure. "Bobby, stop. Hey. Look at me. It's me. It's Y/N."

"Y/N," he repeated, but the way he said it, it wasn't a name. It was a word he was testing, tasting for poison. He shook his head, a jerky, birdlike motion. "No. No, I've seen you. I've seen you so many times. You're never real. You're one of them. You're another trick."

"What? No. Bobby, no." Your voice was rising, the unease curdling into genuine fear. Not fear of him—no, it was fear for him. You could see it now, the full, horrifying picture. The wild, unfocused dart of his pupils. The way his jaw was clenched so tight a muscle jumped in his cheek. The tremors wracking his lean frame. He hadn't just been injured. He'd been alone. Alone in this nightmare, hunted, terrified, his mind slowly grinding itself down against the endless, buzzing silence. "It's really me. I'm not a trick. I'm not one of those things."

"That's what the last one said," he hissed, his voice dropping to a ragged, paranoid whisper. His hands on your waist tightened, his fingers pressing so hard into your skin you knew there would be bruises. "The one with my mom's voice. The one that had Kat's face. They all say they're real. They all feel real, for a second, and then—" He broke off, a shudder running through him. His striking blue eyes, those eyes you'd spent so many mornings waking up to, were fixed on you with a desperate, shattered intensity. "Prove it. Prove you're real."

"How?" you whispered, your own tears still streaming, mingling with the grime on your cheeks. "Bobby, how? I don't know how to prove it. I'm just me. I'm the me who thinks about that morning every single second I'm in this place and wishes I could take it all back." Your voice broke, a sob hiccuping through the words. "Please. Please believe me. I'll say yes. To the dinner. To everything. I'll say yes, I promise, just please—"

Something flickered in his eyes. A crack in the paranoid wall. His brow furrowed, and for just a moment, he looked like Bobby again. The Bobby who'd kissed you awake. The Bobby who'd asked, with his heart in his throat, for one real chance. His lips parted. His hands on your waist loosened, just slightly.

"Y/N?" It was a question this time. A real one. Tentative.

"Yes," you sobbed, reaching up to touch his face again. "Yes. It's me. I'm here."

But the moment shattered as quickly as it had formed. His eyes darted to something over your shoulder, a flickering light, a shadow that wasn't there and the walls slammed back down. His face twisted, the paranoia surging back with a vengeance. "No. No, you're doing it again. You're all doing it again. Making me believe. Making me—" His voice cracked, a sound of pure, anguished terror. "You're not taking me again. You're not!"

His hands seized you. Before you could react, before you could even draw breath to scream, he moved with a desperate, wiry strength you didn't know he had. His arm locked around your neck, not in an attack, but in a panicked, desperate restraint. The crook of his elbow pressed against your throat, his other hand clamping down on the back of your head, holding you in place.

"Bobby—" you choked out, your hands flying up to claw at his arm. The pressure was immediate, terrifying. Your airway constricted, a high, thin wheeze the only sound you could make. You kicked, thrashed, tried to twist in his grip, but he held on with the unyielding strength of pure, animal terror.

"Stop moving," he snarled, his voice ragged in your ear. "Stop it. Stop pretending. Stop being her. I won't let you. I won't let you trick me again."

Spots were blooming in your vision, dark flowers unfurling at the edges of the sickly yellow light. Your struggles were weakening, your limbs growing heavy and uncoordinated.

—

The first thing you registered was the buzzing. That damned, eternal fluorescent hum, drilling into your skull, pulling you up from the black depths of unconsciousness. The second thing was the pain. A dull, throbbing ache in your throat, a raw tenderness that flared every time you swallowed. The third thing was that you couldn't move.

Your eyes flew open, and panic, cold and immediate, flooded your veins. You were lying on a bed. A real bed, with a thin, stained mattress and a metal frame that creaked when you shifted. It was pushed against a wall covered in that same sickly, yellowed wallpaper, and the room around you was small, almost claustrophobic, lit by a single, naked bulb dangling from a wire in the ceiling. But you couldn't move. Your wrists were bound to the metal headboard above your head with strips of torn fabric, your ankles similarly tied to the foot of the bed. The restraints were tight, digging into your skin, but they weren't painful.

You thrashed, a surge of animal terror overriding the pain in your throat. "Help—" The word came out as a broken croak, your voice shredded. "Help!"

"There's no one to help."

The voice came from your left. You turned your head so fast a sharp pain lanced down your neck and there he was. Bobby. He was sitting in a wooden chair pulled up to the side of the bed, just a few feet away. He'd changed his clothes somehow—or found new ones. A plain grey t-shirt, a little too big, hanging off his lean frame. The bandage on his arm had been replaced with fresher fabric. He'd washed the blood off his face, he was just sitting there. Watching you. His eyes were fixed on your face with an unnerving, unblinking focus. They were red rimmed. Exhausted and utterly, terrifyingly calm.

"Bobby," you breathed, the relief and the fear tangling into a sickening knot in your stomach. "Bobby, it's me. It's Y/N. Please. Please let me go."

He didn't move. Didn't blink. His full lips, chapped and pale, were set in a flat, unreadable line. He tilted his head slightly, like a dog hearing a strange noise. The motion was too fluid, too detached. It wasn't him. It wasn't the Bobby you knew.

"You look like her," he said quietly, almost to himself. His voice was a hoarse, ragged thing, stripped of all its old, teasing warmth. "You sound like her, too. The last one sounded like her. But it wasn't. It tried to... it got close. Got too close before I knew."

"Bobby, please, I'm not a trick," you said, your voice cracking. You tugged uselessly at the restraints, the fabric burning your wrists. "It's really me. I swear to you. I swear on anything. I'm real. I'm Y/N."

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes never left your face. "Are you real?" he murmured. "Like her?"

He turned his head, looking toward the corner of the room. Your eyes followed his gaze, and your blood turned to ice. There was a figure standing in the corner. A woman. It was you. It had your face. Your hair. Your body, dressed in the same grimy clothes you were wearing. But it was wrong. The face was doubled, two versions of your features laid over each other at a slight, sickening offset. Four eyes blinked out of sync, wet and staring. Two mouths, one slightly above the other, hung open in a slack, vacant expression. Two noses, a confused jumble of cartilage and flesh. It just stood there, perfectly still, its arms limp at its sides, staring at nothing. Staring at you.

A scream clawed its way up your throat, but all that came out was a strangled, wheezing gasp. You jerked against your restraints, your heart slamming against your ribs so hard you thought it might crack bone.

"I met her two days ago," Bobby said, his voice still that low, detached monotone. He was looking at the thing in the corner with a kind of weary familiarity, like it was a stray cat he'd decided to tolerate. "She found me. I thought... I thought it was you. At first. She doesn't talk. Doesn't do much of anything, really. Just stands there. Watches." He turned back to you, and his expression flickered, a crack in the calm mask. Something desperate and broken swam beneath the surface. "She's kept me some company."

"Bobby," you whispered, your voice trembling, tears spilling down your cheeks. You forced yourself to look away from the monstrosity in the corner, to focus on him. "Bobby, look at me. Please. Look at me. That thing... that's not me. That's a monster. I'm me. I'm the real one. Please. You have to believe me."

Something shifted in his face. A muscle in his jaw jumped. His brow, that strong, defined brow, furrowed deeply. For a moment, just a moment, he looked like Bobby again. Confused. Hurting. Lost.

"Why did you reject me?"

The question came out of nowhere, quiet and raw, and it hit you harder than any blow.

"Bobby..."

"No." He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh screech. He began to pace, a short, agitated track back and forth at the foot of the bed. His hands came up, raking through his hair, pulling at the light brown strands. "No, you don't get to just—you don't get to say my name like that and make it all—" He broke off, a frustrated, guttural sound tearing from his throat. He wheeled on you, and the calm mask was gone entirely, replaced by a raw, bleeding anguish. "Why did you reject me? Every time. Every single time. I was right there. I was right there, Y/N, and you just... you kept pushing me away like I was nothing."

"I didn't—I didn't think—"

"Exactly!" The word exploded out of him, and you flinched. "You didn't think! You didn't think about me. You didn't think about what I wanted. You just decided. You decided I wasn't serious. You decided I was just some—some stoner, some fling, some guy who wasn't good enough to be seen with you in public."

"That's not true," you sobbed, the tears flowing freely now. "That's not—I was scared, Bobby. I was scared that if we got together, I'd end up like the other girls. Just another week. Just another face. I didn't think you were serious about me. I thought I was just... I thought I was just convenient."

He stopped pacing. He stood at the foot of the bed, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The thing in the corner didn't move. It just kept watching with its four unblinking eyes.

"You're lying," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, trembling whisper. "You always lie. You lied that morning. You lied every time you said it was just casual. You lied every time you said you didn't feel anything. It's your fault." His voice cracked, splintering into something jagged and broken. "It's all your fault. You're the reason I'm here."

"That's not true," you pleaded, pulling uselessly at the restraints. "Bobby, that's not true. I kept telling you not to go. I told you it wasn't safe. I told you to stay away—"

"I did everything for you!" he shouted, and the sound echoed off the close, yellow walls. The entity in the corner twitched, its doubled mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Bobby didn't notice. His eyes were wet now, tears tracking down his cheeks. "Everything. You think I wanted to work at that stupid furniture store? You think I wanted to follow Clarke around with a camera filming his bullshit? I did it for you. I did it so I could be near you. Because you wouldn't let me near you any other way. You wouldn't give me a chance. You refused. Every time. And I just... I kept trying. Like an idiot. Like a pathetic, desperate idiot."

The guilt was a physical weight on your chest, crushing the air from your lungs. "Bobby, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I was wrong. I was so wrong, okay? I should have said yes. I should have given you a chance. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I was just—I was a coward. I was terrified of getting hurt, so I hurt you instead. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He stared at you, his face a wreck of conflicting emotions. Rage. Grief. Exhaustion and underneath it all, a desperate, flickering hope that he was desperately, furiously trying to smother, he moved closer, his body casting a shadow over you as he stood beside the bed. His hand came up, trembling violently, and touched your face. His fingers were cold, rough with grime and dried blood. But the touch was gentle. So gentle. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, the same way you'd traced his a thousand times before. A shiver ran through you, your breath catching in your throat.

"You're so soft," he murmured, almost to himself. His voice had changed again, the raw anguish smoothing into something quieter. Darker. Possessive. "You've always been so soft. I used to think about it all the time. The way your skin felt under my hands. The way you'd sigh when I touched you. I thought about it every time you left."

"Bobby..." you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs. This wasn't relief. This wasn't the reunion you'd imagined. His hand slid from your cheek down to your jaw, his fingers tracing the line of it with a slow, reverent pressure. He was looking at you the way someone looks at a painting they've stared at for too long, searching for flaws, for proof of forgery. His thumb brushed across your lower lip, and you felt the slight tremor in his touch, the barely contained violence of his desperation.

"I held her," he said, his voice still that low, detached murmur. He didn't look at the thing in the corner. He didn't need to. "Your copy. The first time I found her, I thought... I thought it was you. I held her. I talked to her. I told her everything. Everything I never got to say to you." His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping beneath his fair skin. "But it wasn't the same. She didn't feel right. She didn't smell right. She didn't... she just stood there. Empty. Like holding a doll. Like holding a corpse."

"Bobby, please, you're scaring me," you breathed, the tears still streaming down your cheeks, soaking into the dirty mattress beneath your head.

He didn't seem to hear you. His hand moved from your face, trailing down the side of your neck, his fingers light, almost exploratory. You flinched, a fresh wave of fear coursing through you. He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. That intense, focused gaze was back, but it was wrong. It was the focus of a man who had been broken and rebuilt himself around a single, obsessive point.

"I kept thinking of you," he continued, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. "The whole time. When I was running. When I was hiding. When that thing had me and I thought I was going to die. I thought of you. Your face. Your voice. The way you'd wrap your arms around me and pull me closer in the morning, like you didn't want me to know you needed it. The way you'd always leave anyway."

His hand reached your bound wrists, his fingers curling around the fabric restraints. He didn't loosen them. He just held them, his thumb pressing against the frantic flutter of your pulse.

"I won't let you leave me this time," he said, and his voice hardened, the broken anguish giving way to something resolute. Something unhinged. "You always leave. You always find an excuse. An essay. A shift. You're tired. You're busy. You don't want to date. You don't want me. But you're not leaving this time. You can't. There's nowhere to go. There's no door. There's no morning. There's just... this. Just us."

"Bobby, I'm not going to leave," you said, your voice cracking with desperation. "I told you. I'm not going anywhere. I want to stay with you. I want to be with you. That's what I was trying to say before. I was wrong. I was so wrong. Please. Please just untie me and we can—we can figure this out together. We can find a way out. Together."

He stared at you for a long, suspended moment. His face was a ruin of warring emotions, hope and suspicion, longing and terror, love and something darker, something that had grown in the dark, empty spaces of his fractured mind. Then he smiled. It was a small, sad, terrible smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"You say that now," he whispered. "But you'll change your mind. You always do. As soon as you're free, you'll run. You'll find a reason. You'll find an excuse. You'll leave me alone again. Alone with her." He jerked his head toward the corner, toward the silent, watching thing with your doubled face. "And she's not you. She'll never be you. But I won't let you go. Not this time. Not ever again."

He leaned down, his face inches from yours. His breath, warm and slightly stale, ghosted across your lips. His hand tightened on your bound wrists, his knuckles white.

"I did everything for you," he said again, the words a mantra, a wound he couldn't stop pressing. "And you're going to stay. You're going to stay right here. With me. Until you prove it. Until I know. Until I'm sure."

"Until you're sure of what?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

His full lips brushed against your forehead, a mockery of a kiss. It was cold. Possessive. Nothing like the lazy, teasing kisses he used to plant along your spine in the morning.

"Until I'm sure you're real," he murmured against your skin. "Until I'm sure you love me. Until I'm sure you won't leave."

[entitled-fangirl]

Oh my god!! I just had a thought: modern!Cregan doesn’t have like any pictures of himself.

Before his wife came along, there is genuinely little to no media evidence of his existence.

It’s not that he avoids cameras or hates how he looks. He just doesn’t understand the craze of taking pictures all the time. He lives in the moment and his memory is all he needs.

Enter his girl.

Maybe she’s a micro influencer at first. But once she makes a few posts of Cregan— she quickly gains followers. Videos that follow popular trends (He picks her up with ease, tying a ribbon around his bicep, vlogging date nights) go mega viral.

Because Cregan never looks at the camera. No. He’s constantly looking at her. He talks low, just to her, just for her. And in that heavy accent of his. The internet loves it.

Then come the Instagram pictures.

His girl is the perfect photographer. He doesn’t have social media, but he’s plastered across his wife’s page. He doesn’t understand why she wants strangers to know so much about their life together but he obliges anyway because it makes her happy.

They live more northern, and most pictures reflect that. But that time they spent vacation on the beach and she posted a pic of him shirtless in the sun? Those comments could make anyone blush.

She takes a picture and shows it to him. He barely looks at it before saying “‘s nice” and pressing a kiss to her lips and moving on with his day.

Over time though, he begins to take pictures as well. He’s a shit photographer but the photos are only for him. And they’re all of her: in that bikini on the beach, on their two year anniversary date, lounging around the house in those shorts that ride up just a little—

He’s starting to understand how nice it is to have a few pictures.

[faelinda]

Drain this cursed blood

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms: Prince Maekar Targaryen x Arryn!Reader

Rating: Mature (MDNI)

WC: 4.8 k

AKOTSK Masterlist

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of past character death, arranged marriage, blood, childbirth, reluctant love, wedding night consummation, family bonding, family dynamics, trauma, no use of Y/n, no physical description given of reader, no beta we die like kings

A/n: For anon who sent me: imagining Maekar’s 2nd wife, who he is not overly affectionate with (because he knows better than to fall in love again!) is pregnant. But the pregnancy, is going quite roughly and it’s all reminding him a lot of how things were during Dyanna’s last pregnancy. Let me know if you wished to be added to the tag list, please let me know if I forgot to tag you.

Maekar had resigned himself to living alone in this world after Dyanna had died. He had never expected to fall in love again, but you came to him by way of his brother, the only other person who knew Maekar better than he knew himself.

A dragon alone in the world is a terrible thing, brother. Mayhaps Lady Arryn can heal that splintered heart. Remember the comfort and joy that her sister, Alys, brought to our dear brother, Rhaegel.

Maekar crumpled the parchment between his calloused fingers after reading the words repeatedly until his vision blurred. Then he tossed it into the fire, watching the flames consume it. The allure of the crackling fire beckoned him. A temptation to let it consume him, burn him to ash, and allow the wind to carry him away. To reunite him with Dyanna. But he had made a promise when he held her body in his arms, watching the life bleed away from her. He would stay strong for their children, the little parts of her that remained behind. He could not leave them orphaned in the world.

You entered Summerhall bathed in light, cloaked in sky blue and white, with your cast of falcons in wooden cages. It was hard to ignore the somber family gathered in front of you, awash mostly in black with hints of crimson and scarlet. Maekar was barely a man of forty, yet looked older beyond his years. Though you could not fault him for such. You had lost your own mother to the birthing bed and understood the toll it took.

"We welcome you to Summerhall, Lady Arryn," Maekar stated, a hard bite to his voice before lifting your gloved hand to kiss. The six children stood in a line, and he introduced each one to you.

"I will be leaving for the Citadel soon," Aemon told you, an eager smile on his sweet face.

"Then we must get to know each other very well before we depart," you assured him.

Skystrike, your snowy white falcon trimmed with black on the edges of her wings, preferred to perch on your shoulder, and you were not surprised when Maekar's younger children gathered around to coo over her.

"Oh you have more!" Daella grinned, tugging Aegon's hand as the two ran over to study the birds in the four cages.

"Does the creature not rip your flesh and gowns riding that way?" Maekar asked gruffly, those intense violet eyes studying you from head to toe.

Lady Royce stepped forward to hand you the thick, leather glove, and you clicked your tongue thrice in quick succession, giving Skystrike the command to move onto it. Your lady slipped off your sky blue cloak fastened with a silver falcon in flight to reveal the structured leather pads sewn into the shoulders of your white gown. An impressed smile briefly crossed his face before settling back into his usual dour countenance.

"She's so pretty and soft," Rhae whispered, stroking Skystrike's white feathers. She was barely five and cute as a button with wide, amethyst eyes and downy silver curls. Immediately, you fell in love with her.

"The servants will take your birds to the rookery," Maekar said. "Though I suppose this one stays in your company?"

"If allowed, my prince. Though she can stay with the others if you do not wish her in your house," you replied.

"Oh Papa, you mustn't," Rhae wailed dramatically, clinging to Maekar's hand.

"She may stay with you, you will be living here, and I wish for you to be comfortable," Maekar murmured, and you could tell those words did not fall easily from his lips. You had been reluctant to accept Prince Baelor's invitation, as you did not wish to be viewed as a noble woman trying to advance herself with a prince of the realm. Alys had been the one to convince you.

"Come, we have a feast prepared in your honor," Daeron said, offering you his arm, and you noticed Maekar's nod of approval toward him. Skystrike cawed before moving to her position on your shoulder while your two ladies followed behind.

The younger children danced around your heels, chattering, and Aerion grumbled.

"You're going to send her running for the Red Mountains," he complained.

"I can assure you that I do not easily falter," you chuckled, feeling Rhae's little hand slip into yours as you held onto Daeron's arm.

The feast was extravagant: roasted duck, venison, fresh fish, swan pies, roasted carrots and leeks, ripe red apples, figs, and large bowls filled with thick, creamy sister's stew. Each bite was delectable, and you fed Skystrike little pieces of fish throughout the meal. While Maekar was silent during much of the supper, his children filled the space with chatter and seemed delighted to ask you questions. Happily, you responded to each one and asked your own in return, wishing to know more about them.

"I did not realize how warm it is here," you said kindly, feeling the sweat bead beneath the thick material of your gown.

"Yes, it can be quite balmy," Daeron commented.

"I will adjust," you smiled, grateful for the chilled white wine.

Maekar escorted you to your chambers as the velvety night blanketed the sky. He had to peel Rhae from your skirts and send her off with a handmaiden.

"I had them bring in a perch for your bird," he said, hands at his side.

"That was most kind. Thank you, my prince," you said, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. The flesh instantly warmed and flushed.

He merely grunted in response as he gazed down at you. A simple truth hung heavy in the air, unspoken, with neither of you ready to broach the topic. Baelor's intentions were clear: to wed his brother to you, and Alys had been the catalyst to push the arrangement along. Those intense violet eyes threatened to burn a hole through you, but you were no stranger to gruff men. Your father had not been made of warmth and gentleness, embracing the hostility and sharpness sculpted into the Eyrie. There were cracks in Maekar, the damage done by his beloved's wife's death, and you suspected you could poke and prod until he crumbled. Then perhaps you could make him anew. Rebuild him from the shattered pieces.

"Sleep well." His boots pounded against the floor as he left you alone. A few minutes later, Lady Jessamyn Redfort and Lady Mya Royce entered to help you ready for bed. Skystrike settled on the perch, yet you remained awake until the hour of the eel, exhaustion finally settling into your bones.

The days passed with Maekar keeping a comfortable distance, inquiring politely after you from time to time. His children filled the empty spaces, and as time ticked on, you grew close to each one. Daeron, weighed down by dreams he could not understand, Aerion, wrapped in anger and entitlement, diligent Aemon dedicated to his studies, sweet Daella with her dolls and endless dreams, Aegon longing to be a knight, and precocious Rhae, who was filled with all the whimsy a child could possess. Each one warmed your heart, even Aerion, for you could see the boy trapped inside him who missed his mother dearly. They all did.

One afternoon, you returned to your chambers to find a gown waiting for you. It was made of a lightweight fabric, unlike the ones brought from the Vale, which had similar leather padding sewn into the shoulders. It was a kind gesture, as most of your dresses proved too heavy for the balmy weather; in fact, you had packed away all your veils and headcoverings, having needed them in the veil to protect your cheeks and ears from the harsh, chilled air of the mountains.

"Prince Maekar asked us for your measurements, my lady," Mya smiled.

"He has had a hunting outfit made for you as well," Jessamyn grinned. "A red hot heart beats beneath his surface."

"It was most thoughtful of him," you smiled, trailing your fingers over the dress's sky blue fabric. You were touched that he had it made in your house colors rather than the Targaryen ones. Though you had to admit he did cut a dashing, stern figure in black and red.

A family hunt was arranged within a fortnight, and Summerhall bristled with a palpable excitement, filling the usual quiet halls with exuberance. Young Aemon would be departing soon for the Citadel at King Daeron the Good's instructions, and so this would be the last moment spent together with the whole family. Even Prince Baelor joined, bringing along his sons for the occasion, who were fine young men.

"I never could resist a good hunt, especially with Maekar," Baelor smiled as he walked with you. "Tell me, has he been welcoming?"

"Very much so, Your Grace," you said, pausing to smell one of the white roses blooming in the gardens as the horses, hounds, and falcons were prepared. You were excited to show off their skills.

"That is good to know. I do intend to press the matter of marriage today."

"I think that is for the best. An unwed maiden living within a prince's household for too long would cause scandal. What if he refuses?"

"Then you would be brought back to the Red Keep to serve your sister, Lady Alys. We would not throw you back to the wolves," he said gently. "But Maekar will not refuse. He might cause a fuss, but he is bound by duty, as are all of us in the end. Not even the royal line can escape that."

He kissed your cheek before parting ways, and you went off to prepare your falcons. Skystrike would be riding with you, and you had assigned Stormchaser, the largest male and coated in black, velvet,y feathers to Maekar, thinking they would be a good fit. The eldest of the bunch was a gray female donned Greywing, your dolt of a brother had named her, and she seemed at ease in Daeron's company. Clever, red Fireheart was in Aerion's company; she was fast with sharp eyes. That left the youngest brown and white falcon, Stormwing, for Aegon to handle. All in good hands.

Maekar came over and slipped the clipped and shorn white rose behind your ear. "Best of luck on the hunt, Lady Arryn. I'm sure your birds will prove their worth."

"Thank you, my prince."

You observed the girls mount their horses before getting on your white palfrey. Maekar and Baelor took the lead of the party, and everyone headed into the fertile lands to the west of Summerhall. About halfway through the journey, Skystrike fluttered her wings before departing from your shoulder and diving through a thick swatch of trees. She returned with two brown hares gripped in her talons. The cadger gathered up the prey and placed it on the cart along with the fish Stormchaser had gathered from a nearby lake. Rhae looked a bit pale.

"I do not like this," Rhae whispered to you.

"It is not for everyone. You can stay behind next time if you wish," you told her gently, noting the whispers between Baelor and Maekar.

"No, I wish to show Papa that I'm brave," she replied, jutting her chin in the air.

"My little Egg, would you let your sister borrow Stormwing?" you asked the boy.

"Of course," he said, showing Rhae how to slip on the glove and the young falcon perched on her small arm, letting out a chitter.

You showed Rhae how to lift her arm and gently jostle the bird into the air, using Skystrike as a demonstration. She followed your movements, and Stormwing glided into the air with a screech. He returned a bit later with a pigeon between his talons.

"Papa, look!" Rhae said, pointing her finger.

Maekar clicked his tongue while shifting his black horse and smiled at his youngest. "Well done, we can bake that into a nice pie." Those violet eyes locked on yours, and he gave you a small nod.

"Now he knows how brave you are," you smiled at Rhae.

A deer was spotted, and the hounds were off, followed by the five falcons. You guided the younger children away, letting the others handle that slaHowever,. Though Aegon was curious and followed behind his father and brothers. The hunt proved fruitful, and the party returned to Summerhall with plenty of meat in tow. Rhae bristled in the kitchens, telling the cook that a pigeon pie must be made for her supper.

"You mean to eat the whole thing yourself?" Egg asked her.

"I do!"

The two giggled as they went tearing off down the halls. You removed your leather riding gloves and headed to your chambers, where your ladies prepared a bath for you to soak in before dinner. You nearly jumped out of your boots when you discovered Maekar waiting for you. He stroked the thick patch of feathers on the back of Skystrike's neck.

"Seven Hells!" you yelped, clutching your chest.

Maekar snorted, amused by your response, but did nothing to soothe it. "My brother and I have spoken, and I will marry you by month's end," he told you.

"Very well."

"It will not be a grand affair."

"I do not expect it to be." You wondered if he meant to offend you with his words, but they didn't rattle you. You were to be his second wife and would receive less grandeur than his first wife. It did not matter if he truly loved you, nor you him; people had married worse for less. At least he gave you space to breathe and provided you with thoughtful gifts.

"My brother and nephews will stay on until after the wedding. You have proven to be a good hostess; I expect you will continue to be one during their stay. I will make the announcement at dinner."

"I will make sure to dress exceptionally for the announcement then," you smiled.

He nodded, passing by you toward the door. "I'm fond of the pink silk and the pearls."

After you marinated in the hot bath until the waters grew cold, you had your ladies dress you in the pink silk and your pearl jewelry.

"Oh, you look so fancy, like a rose in the garden," Rhae sighed dreamily as she danced around you, wearing a pale lilac dress.

"Why, thank you. You look very floral yourself, perhaps we grow together in the garden," you smiled, taking her hand and giving her a little spin. You could feel Maekar's eyes on you while you performed a little dance with Rhae. Part of him ached to watch his youngest slowly pull away from him, yet it brought him joy to find her so taken with you. He loved how kind you were toward all his children.

Maekar stood at the head of the table while the family gathered around, and you clutched a glass of sour red wine tightly in your hand.

"Before we begin to enjoy the bounty from our fine hunting today, I wish to announce that Lady Arryn and I will wed at month's end. It will be a small affair," he stated before sitting down.

There was a brief silence which was quickly filled with soft cheers from the younger children and well wishes from the older ones and adults.

"Wonderful news, brother," Baelor smiled.

You couldn't tell whether he or Rhae was happier about the matter. There was no vocal dissent, and that settled your nerves. You filled your belly and drank wine. Rhae only ate one slice of the pigeon pie and shared the rest with her sibling and Maekar, making a little show of bringing the plate with the heaping slice to her father personally. The genuine smile on his face warmed your heart. There was at least one point of common ground: both of you loved his children. You could make this marriage work.

You and your ladies were skilled in the art of sewing, having practiced over the years to pass the time, and the three of you altered the one red dress you owned for the wedding. You constructed new trumpet sleeves from black silk to honor your husband's house colors and lowered the neckline of the dress, trimming it with black Myrish lace. Even Daella and Rhae joined in on the dress alterations. The house smithy was kind enough to construct a thick black leather belt for you, one that hugged and cinched your waist perfectly, and Rhae helped you lace it with red ribbon.

Maekar found you one afternoon, as you suckled on a bleeding fingertip.

"I would have gotten a seamstress for you, silly girl."

"Nonsense, we have it handled," you insisted after removing your finger, another ruby droplet beading through your skin.

"My wife will end up with rougher hands than me," Maekar gruffed, taking hold of your wrist and wrapping his handkerchief around the wound, applying pressure to your fingertip. There was something about his words that made you flush.

"Your hands are perfect," you whispered, watching the red bloom like rose petals over his neck.

"What a pair we will be, you and I. The dragon and the falcon, both of us with talons."

"The Vale does not breed gentle creatures. I hope I do not disappoint you."

He shook his head. "I have enjoyed having you here, and will continue to do so."

"I am glad, I've been very happy here."

"That is good to know." He pulled the cloth away and hummed when he discovered the bleeding had stopped.

The wedding was held in the sprawling gardens with Baelor and his sons in attendance, along with Maekar's children. Maekar's violet gaze lingered on your dress, a rare sparkle in his eyes making them appear as precious jewels. Your hand seemed to fit perfectly in his; his cloak wrapped around your shoulders as you were united as husband and wife.

Fire and blood. As High as honor. Two winged creatures for ancient houses united.

"You make for a lovely Targaryen bride, sister," Baelor praised, kissing your cheek.

"Thank you, brother," you whispered.

That night, Maekar unwrapped you, taking great care with each garment he removed from your body until you stood bare before you. He would not shame you by ignoring his duties; he detested the rumors hurled in Aelinor's direction and often had arguments with Aerys regarding that matter. A wife deserved to be properly bedded by her husband, for she was the one who would suffer should consummation not occur. His mouth was hot and hungry against yours, desiring affection and a closeness he had not felt since Dyanna's death.

You were surprised by his thoughtfulness, his fingers stroking you and opening you up before his cock nestled inside. Not many words were exchanged, instead replaced by soft moans from you and deep grunts from him. After the strange pressure that made you whimper softly, you relaxed and allowed your body to enjoy it. His large hands adjusted your hips, and you clung to him as pleasure swam through your body. His teeth claimed the apex of your shoulder, the dragon leaving his mark behind, and you realized this was the most he had ever touched you. You savored every moment before a delicious peak wracked your body, and his seed filled you.

He hoped his seed would not take, while you hoped that it would.

In the turn of two moons, you grew with child, a blessing from the Gods, from your wedding night. Though your husband viewed it as a curse, but kept such thoughts to himself.

Maekar's hands would knead your sore shoulders, making sure you had warmed pillows to soothe your back. Jessamyn and Mya would prepare buckets with hot water for you to soak your aching, swollen feet. While you were happy to be with child, you found the toll it took on your body fairly miserable at times. Especially as your stomach expanded and grew rounder. Maester Beldon assured Maekar that you were in good health and that the pregnancy was progressing as it should. Fear lingered in the back of his mind; he had lost Dyanna to the birthing bed shortly after Rhae was ushered forth into the world. He would never forget the memory of holding her in his arms as life slipped from her dark eyes.

Rhae was glued to your side, her small cheek pressed against your bump, whispering to the babe that grew inside. Maekar employed more servants to ensure you were well looked after and did not have to lift a finger for any household tasks. Daeron and Aerion began to hover over you as well, no doubt under his instructions to do so. Even Egg, usually boisterous, took on a calmer demeanor in your presence. Daella helped to keep you entertained with cards, dice, and sewing projects. You even looked forward to weekly letters from Aemon.

"How are you faring today?" Maekar asked, kissing your forehead as you relaxed on the long, plush, red velvet chaise. He was sparse with his affection, still keeping you at arm's length. He did not know if he could love another only to have them ripped away again.

"Oh, the same, she feels lower today," you groaned, rubbing your swollen belly.

"Ah, a she now is it?" he chuckled.

"Just a hunch, it could very well be a boy. You seem to make sons."

"I would be happy with another daughter." His hand skimmed down your braid before sending in your ladies to check you over.

His happiness seemed diluted, fear creeping around the edges. A cold dread. Dyanna had experienced a rough time during her pregnancy with Rhae, and the worry was sharp and metallic on his tongue; a hot, phantom blood filling his mouth and threatening to choke him to death. His nights were restless, pacing around the dark, silent palace while you slept. There were times he found himself in the Sept, knees digging into the stone as he prayed to Gods he never believed in. Perhaps this was their curse for his unbelieving spirit, but he was a practical man and found the Faith to be foolish.

"Damn, this cursed blood flowing through my veins. Shall I bleed myself dry for you? Would blood atonement appease you?" he growled, slamming his tightly balled fists against the altar, making the candles rattle. He continued until he broke his skin, crimson rivulets flowing from his torn, bruised flesh. "Take it then, drain it from me, but do not touch her." Scarlet streaks stained the altar, leaving Septon Barre feeling perplexed in the morning when he discovered the garish scene.

You found him in the morning, shaking in front of the cold hearth, and covered your mouth when you saw his battered hands. You had Jessamyn fetch you a fresh basin of water and clean cloths, and you tended to your husband's hands.

"May I ask what happened?" you inquired softly, wiping away the blood.

A sad, solemn look hung heavily on his lined face. "I had a disagreement with the Gods."

"I see. Well, I should like a word with them for making my husband suffer." You pressed a gentle kiss between his furrowed brow after wrapping his hands. "I will be fine."

~~

"The babe comes feet first," Maester Beldon sighed as your labours progressed and grew more strenuous. "There is but one solution, I must cut it out of her belly."

Maekar's vision went black, and when it returned, he found himself with his hands wrapped tightly around Beldon's throat, the maester's face near purple. It took Daeron and Aerion to drag him away.

Mya kissed your temple. "My prince, there are other methods we can try. They will make my lady uncomfortable, but I've seen my mother perform them many times. I mean no disrespect to your maester, but we women know these ways better."

You gave her a strained smile, squeezing her hand. The one babe her mother had not delivered was your youngest brother, the one who caused your mother to bleed out. You trusted Mya more than anything. Vulnerability strained in Maekar's violet eyes, a brokenness lingering beneath his surface. Daeron placed his hands on his father's shoulders. Though he and Aerion looked just as rattled as Maekar.

"Please, save them both if you can, but she is more important," Maekar whispered.

"Maekar…" you groaned.

"I will not condemn another woman to death. I will not lose a second wife," he said through gritted teeth.

"Come and attend to your wife, my prince, while I see to your wife," Mya said. "This will be painful."

Daeron helped his father to stand, and Maekar made his way to you, drawing your hand between both of his.

"Jessa, see to the little ones, please," you panted at Lady Redfort.

"Yes, my lady," she said, looking rather pallid as she scurried out of the room to tend to the younger children. You knew she had a weaker countenance than Mya's and wished to spare her.

For a brief moment, Lady Royce had considered trying the shaking of the sheets method, but feared that if Prince Maekar had to watch them rattle and toss you with the sheets, it would send him into another rage. So she opted agto shift the babe in your womb manuallyt the babe in your womb. Mya placed a wooden stick between your teeth before exploring your rounded stomach covered with the sweat soaked shift with her hands, pressing to feel the baby's position. The pressure increased as she attempted to shift the baby inside you, making you groan with pain and squeeze Maekar's hand. You were tempted to spit out the stick and scream at Mya to stop. Let the damned child live inside you for the rest of your years.

It pained Maekar to see you in distress, but he could hardly wrap his hands around your beloved lady's throat. Not when she had promised to assist.

"Breathe, my lady," Mya said, moving her hands and pressing them deeper against your flesh. "I can feel her move."

So could you. The babe twisted your womb, a newfound hope springing forth that neither of you would die that day. Your fierce, determined nestling with a heart of a dragon. She was fighting for her life and you must do the same even though your body screamed to be finished.

Maester Bolden sat wheezing on the floor, so two of the midwives came over to inspect you.

"There is a head, my lady," one of them said.

You nearly wept tears of relief. Maekar opened his mouth, but Mya held up a hand. "Wait to thank me until the babe is safely out."

"I need you with me, husband. The three of us must persist together," you smiled as sweat beaded down your cheeks. "We will be favored by the Gods today."

The dragon and the falcon unstoppable.

Mya helped you to stand, and Maekar helped lower you into a squatting position as the midwives gathered around while the useless maester remained sluggishly propped against the wall. Your husband supported you with the strength of ten men as you pushed the babe from your womb. Blood dripped and pooled onto the floor below; a sacrifice. Take this from me and bless me with a healthy babe; my husband is not cursed. We are not cursed. You did not relax until you heard a tiny wail fill the room. Even Aerion breathed out his relief.

"You have a daughter," Mya whispered as the midwives cleaned the babe, wrapped her in a cloth, and then placed her in your arms.

"You were right, a little girl," Maekar smiled, kissing your clammy cheek.

"Let us get her to the bed, my prince; it will help slow the bleeding," one of the midwives said. Once you were lying down, they packed cloths between your thighs to soak up the blood. Your newborn daughter rested on your chest. Her face was slightly squished, and her eyes were squeezed shut. The soft breaths she took nearly made you weep.

"I know, you are not ready to face the world just yet, but you were so brave, my girl," you whispered, stroking the downy tufts of hair protruding from her scalp.

"Both of you were brave," Maekar praised, one hand resting on top of your head and the other on his daughter's tiny back. "She will need a good name."

"Jaelarys means hope, perhaps one with that prefix," Aerion offered up.

"That would be perfect for this little one," you smiled, tracing her tiny nose with your fingertip.

Jaenora was chosen after a week, as the family suggested various combinations. It was the one everyone agreed upon. By then, her sky blue eyes were wide open, filled with curiosity. Hope bloomed, bringing Maekar closer into your embrace as he was not afraid anymore to let you burrow beneath his skin.

The second wife spared from a cruel fate.

Taglist: @deadonyouraccount @dixie-elocin @ghostlybfgf @qardasngan @samthegreenapologist

[verouys]

[captainfern]

Have you done a Valarr sex pollen fic yet? I just saw the ask where someone asked for Aerion and it reminded me that I haven't seen a Valarr one. I never thought I'd be so obsessed with a character that has so little screen time🫣🫣🫣

I loved every sex pollen fic you've written, so if you can get to it eventually that would be awesome. No pressure though <3

I love your stuff smmmm

imagined him whimpering, immediately started writing

Pyre of Pride

Valarr Targaryen x fem!reader

✿ after another great victory at a tourney, valarr finds himself alone in his tent in desperate need of his wife (or, a sex pollen fic with our white-streaked prince). ✿ 18+ ✿ wc: 5.2k ✿ cw: fem!reader/wife!reader, no y/n, reader is not physically described, sex pollen, SMUT, m!masturbation, unprotected piv, riding, praise!!! (giving and receiving), valarr is desperate for your praise and approval, pet names (pretty girl, good boy, etc), sub-ish valarr but not insane, reader is that girl, strong language, fluff and devotion and all that good stuff :)

Valarr dismounts his palfrey and is greeted immediately by his squire, who takes his shattered lance with mud-stained hands. The prince then pulls his helm from his head. His hair clings to his forehead, dark with sweat, his cheekbones pink as he spares a look over his shoulder. The sounds of the tourney meet his ears: people shouting their approval, roaring praise as he leaves the tiltyard, peering at his opponent, who picks himself out of the mud with a loud groan.

“An incredible joust, your grace,” a young worker in Targaryen colours says earnestly, taking the prince’s palfrey before leading him away.

“At this rate, you will surpass your father in tourney victories,” a Dornish nobleman, a cousin to some degree, remarks as Valarr heads towards his tent.

“Perhaps the ‘Breakspear’ name will fit well with you also, your grace,” another nobleman, from some lesser house in the Stormlands, adds as Valarr passes by.

The prince offers all those who give him their congratulations a polite smile, but it is largely to conceal a grimace. He had received a solid knock to the ribs, the blunt head of a lance cracking off the edge of his shield and finding the curve of his armour. Despite the steel holding strong, the impact rattled him enough to bruise.

“Where is my wife?” Valarr asks suddenly, glancing up towards the Targaryen pavilion that overlooks the tiltyard. You, his wife, are nowhere to be seen—the seat between his father and his younger brother achingly vacant.

His words seem to fall on no ears at all as the excitable crowd disperses around him. However, he feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he turns to find an elderly woman with a kind smile and even kinder eyes. She dresses in shawls of varying lengths and colours, presenting herself as a traditional healer that frequents the villages throughout the Crownlands.

“Your grace, do your ribs pain you?” The woman asks, and Valarr instinctively raises a hand to his side. The woman notices the movement and nods solemnly, brushing one of her shawls aside and revealing a belt laden with small pouches. She takes one between two wrinkled fingers, presenting it to the prince. “This is a tannin that will ease the pain and reduce bruising. Simply mix it with water—”

The woman is interrupted by a hand gilded in white armour. Valarr sighs softly as Ser Roland plucks the small pouch from the woman and inspects it with little interest.

“Be gone, witch,” Roland says, dropping the pouch onto the ground. With his head, he gestures in the opposite direction. “If you approach his grace again with your poisons, you will be hanged.”

Valarr bristles, eyes snapping back to the elderly woman, who he expects to look petrified. But as his mismatched eyes find her, she appears calm, almost serenely so. She appraises Roland carefully, looking him up and down with dark eyes that seem to bore directly into his soul. Valarr notices the way Roland stands a little straighter.

“I hold no poisons,” the woman says, still looking at the man of the kingsguard. “And you, Ser Roland Crakehall, should know that.”

Roland clears his throat, obviously a little shocked that the woman knows his name. She continues looking at him, before gesturing to the pouch on the ground. Roland looks to Valarr, who simply nods as he silently observes, and the knight sighs through his nose. He plucks the pouch from the ground and hands it back to the woman.

“Thank you,” the woman smiles at Roland, then turnes her attention back to Valarr. “As I was saying, your grace, simply mix this tannin with water and drink hot. It will ease your pain.”

Valarr takes the pouch, ignoring the sharp look from Roland. He bows his head in respect. “Thank you.”

“And this,” the woman continues, pulling another small pouch from her rope belt. “Will… improve your celebrations, should you find your wife. You can mix it with the tannin, if you like. It will improve the taste most definitely, but be aware that it will also increase the properties of—”

“Your grace,” Roland interrupts. “It would be foolish to—”

Valarr raises a hand and stops his guard. He takes the pouch along with the other, and offers the woman a kind smile. He then turns to Roland, gesturing to the elderly woman with a wave of his arm, his armour clinking.

“Pay the woman, Ser Roland,” Valarr orders, then backs away. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must find my wife.”

He leaves Roland with the woman and heads for his tent. Inside, it is spacious but warm, glowing gold with lantern light. Servants flock him immediately, hands working to unhook and unlatch the plates of his armour. He hands the two small pouches to one of his attendings as he stands atop a small platform.

“Please brew a tea with these,” he says, and the servant nods before disappearing somewhere behind him. 

He stands patiently, arms and legs widened as his servants strip him of his tourney armour. When the steel is lifted from his body, and his padded, sweat-damp gambeson is stripped from his torso, he dismisses his servants as politely as he can. His ribs ache something fierce, and he finds himself staggering across the tent in his linen chausses and breeches, bare chest shining with a thin layer of sweat.

The last servant in the room is the one whom he’d asked to brew him the tea. She approaches the prince with her eyes lowered and, bless her heart, trying very desperately not to look at the toned abdomen directly in front of her. She offers the prince the cup of steaming tea, before taking her leave and skittering out of the tent like a frightened mouse.

Valarr sinks down into his plush chaise, peering into the surface of the tea. It’s a milky white in colour, perhaps something closer to cream, but there is an intense berry-sweetness that catches him by surprise. The steam caresses his warm face as he brings the cup to his lips, taking a tentative sip. There is an obvious bitterness in the initial wash across his tongue, but it does not linger.

He smacks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, tasting between sips. The sweet acidity of ripe mulberries is heavy on his tongue, and it takes him back to his youth, where he and Daeron would fill their pockets with the berries from shrubs that sprouted plentifully in the woodland near Summerhall.

He drinks the tea happily, enjoying the silence of his tent. He listens to the distant noise of the tourney, and only when the bottom of the cup stares up at him, pinkish-white sediment sticking to the bottom, does he realise he still hasn’t found you.

With a small huff, Valarr gets to his feet and places the cup aside. Immediately, there is less of an ache in his ribs as he stretches his arms above his head. He pops the tension from his upper back before approaching the flap of the tent, pulling it back and getting the attention of one of his kingsguard.

“Will you find my wife and bring her to me?” Valarr asks, and the guard nods then disappears.

Valarr peels back into the tent, and when he turns, the entire interior seems to glow even brighter beneath the suspended lanterns. He freezes, bare feet on the red Myrish rug that obscures the ground. He peers around the tent, eyes narrowing, as he realises that everything seems clearer. Everything looks more colourful: the reds and blacks of his tent seem even more vibrant, the silver of his sword glints even brighter where it lays across its mount.

That is what he notices first. What he notices second is the fact that his body is on fire.

His blood boils beneath his skin, but it doesn’t pain him. Valarr lets out a strangled groan as he pitches forward, catching himself on the post that holds the ceiling of the tent up. It doesn’t cause him pain, like a blade through flesh, but it causes him discomfort, like the press of an orgasm that just didn’t want to release.

He groans again, body suddenly overcome with this heat. Sweat beads high on his forehead, along the nape of his neck, between the muscles of his pectorals. Something contracts low in his stomach, and he looks down, mouth agape, as blood rushes south and heat spreads through his pelvis.

His hands find the ties of his chausses, and he rips them from his body as he stumbles deeper into his tent, now just in his breeches. His cock pushes painfully against the linen, hardening with each step towards his chaise. By the time he sinks into the plush cushions, he’s completely hard and pitching a tent in the front of his breeches.

His heart hammers wildly in his chest, eyes wild as he lowers a clammy palm to his pelvis. Pushing against the tent there does not help, and he lets out a pained hiss as the friction seems to sear a path up the column of his spine. His hips twitch involuntarily, and his face flushes red as he realises he’s leaking against the soft white linen, a little wet patch spreading across the front.

“Gods, oh gods,” Valarr mutters, fingers tearing apart the knots of his breeches. 

Biting his bottom lip to hide any more sounds, he dips his hand beneath the material and grasps himself. He successfully swallows a groan, his cock hot against his palm, velvet skin pulling taut across Valyrian steel. His chest shudders when he wraps his fingers around himself, the head already wet with pre-cum. He smears it, biting down another desperate groan as he gives himself a short, sharp tug. Sinking into the chaise, he spreads his legs as he jerks himself again, a heavy knot finding its way into the base of his stomach.

Then, the flap of the tent pulls back, and his eyes shoot up to find you stepping inside, dusting your hands down the front of your dress. Your eyes are elsewhere as you pull your cloak from yourself and hang it on an adjacent rack.

“Please forgive me, my love,” you begin, voice soft in the relative silence of the tent. You bend and remove your shoes as well. “You remember Ser Raymun Fossoway, don’t you? Such a lovely lad he is. Well, he and his lady invited me into their tent for a cider, and I just couldn’t refuse. It was delicious, by the way. We really must purchase—”

You finally look up and notice your husband panting in his chaise, his pale skin slick with sweat, his chest heaving. You pause, back to the flap of the tent, brow furrowing as you take him in.

“My love?” You question, taking a step forward. But you stop yourself, eyes shooting down to where Valarr’s hand moves in quick, short strokes beneath the white linen of his breeches. Your eyes widen, then rise, skimming across your husband’s flushed face. “Valarr?”

“My sweet wife,” Valarr breathes, stilling his hand and simply clutching the base of his cock. His other hand lifts, begging you to draw closer. “Gods, I have missed you.”

You stay rooted to the spot. “Valarr, what’s happening?”

Valarr groans at the way you say his name, his cock giving a feeble jerk in his hand. His heart clatters against his sternum too, nearly rendering him breathless.

“I believe,” he starts quietly, eyes roaming across your body. “I have been given a… stimulant of sorts.”

You gape at him, noticing the cup beside him. You sigh then, turning back to the flap and enclosing your fingers around it. Before you can peel it open, Valarr lets out a broken whine behind you.

“No, no, please don’t leave me,” he begs, wobbling to his feet. 

You peer at him over your shoulder as he staggers, hand flying out of his breeches, which sit low on his hips now, a thatch of neat hair—dark but flecked with white—exposed where they fold open. He makes it to the post in the centre of the tent, wrapping an arm around it in support as he gazes at you, desperate and absolutely ragged with desire.

“Wait,” you instruct him, and your husband’s whimpering quietens. 

You poke your head out of the tent then, urging for the nearby kingsguard to draw closer. The day was slipping away now, sky alight with the colours of the setting sun. 

The kingsguard approaches, and you speak to him quietly. “Please ensure no one interrupts us for the rest of the night. My husband is… unwell.”

“Of course, your grace,” the guard says, and you offer him one last smile before dipping back into the tent. 

When you back into the tent, your back collides with a warm, sweat-damp body, and you immediately sink back into the heat as Valarr wraps his arms around you. You quickly tie the tent door shut for good measure as Valarr buries his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling and whining, hips bucking until he can grind his hard cock into the curve of your arse.

“I’m very proud of you, by the way,” you tell him, hands smoothing across his forearms as you shift your head to the side, allowing him to drag his nose along the junction of your neck and shoulder. “That might’ve been your best tilt of the tourney.”

Valarr groans into your shoulder, and then his teeth come down in a bite. It’s not hard, not at all, but he sinks his teeth into your skin just enough to leave little indents. You hum, then muster as much strength as you can to pry his arms away from you. He hiccups around a groan as you turn and step out of his embrace, your back pressing to the tent canvas.

“What have you taken?” You ask, crossing your arms across your chest. The action presses your breasts a little higher in your low-cut dress, and Valarr can’t help the way his eyes follow the movement.

He groans, still looking at the swell of your chest. “A tea…”

You huff and breeze past him. Valarr closes his eyes as your movement shifts the air, and he catches the smell of your perfume: powdery and sweet and enough to make him salivate. But your warmth leaves his personal space and he whimpers at the loss, spinning on his heel so fast he loses his balance. He falls and catches himself on the post in the centre, watching as you cross the tent and pick up the porcelain cup.

You inspect the inside, finding the pinkish sediment gathering at the bottom. Without another thought, you dip your finger and wipe the sediment from the base, lifting your finger and watching the white-pink granules sparkle like sugar.

Valarr leans a shoulder against the centre post, his hand dipping back into his breeches. As he grasps his cock and hisses serpent-like into the heated air of the tent, he watches the way your eyes glisten as you inspect the strange powder.

You look over at him when he whines. His breeches finally fall, slipping down his hips and pooling at his ankles as he strokes his cock. You try your best not to look down, but you can’t help it: his cock hangs heavy between his legs, the tip blushing pink and wet. His lips part as he strokes himself, his brows furrowing.

He looks at you like you’re the prettiest thing in the realm. Well, if you ask him, you are the prettiest thing in the realm. The prettiest woman in the known world.

“Taste it,” Valarr whispers, the vowels broken around a poorly hidden whine as he supports himself against the tent’s post.

You frown at him, but raise your finger anyway. You smell summer berries and jasmine, and you lock eyes with Valarr as you stick your finger in your mouth and suck the granules clean from your skin. The act makes Valarr moan, and you watch as his cock drips as he gives himself another sharp stroke before he’s crossing the tent towards you.

You like the taste. It’s sweet and acidic, and the smell lingers in your sinuses as you place the cup back down.

“I don’t want to know where you got this from,” you say, dancing around your husband as he makes a move to grab you. Your laughter lifts through the room, and Valarr groans, collapsing onto the chaise with a blush heavy on his cheeks. The dresses of your skirts whip around your bare ankles as you stand over him. “But I assume it’s not from our maester.”

Valarr whines, fingers tight at the base of his cock. “No.”

“No? Oh, Valarr.”

“Please,” Valarr pleads, eyes shining like gemstones as he gazes up at you. His long eyelashes flutter as his pupils expand. “M’sorry, m’so sorry, I just—I didn’t think—”

You hold up a hand, and he silences with a whimper. With that same hand, you reach down and cup his cheek. His eyes close and he leans into the contact, his skin burning. You stroke your thumb across his cheekbone, glancing down at where he holds his cock.

“Don’t apologise,” you say gently, and your husband’s eyes open. “We shall discuss it later. For now—” Your hand drags up the side of his face until you can thread your fingers into his damp hair. The sound that leaves his throat is broken as you continue. “—does my champion need some help?”

“Please,” Valarr hurries out, and then groans when your fingers leave his hair. But he waits before complaining, watching instead as you gather your skirts enough to slip your fingers through the ties of your smallclothes. Slowly, you pull them down, your skirts dropping as your smallclothes hit the floor. Valarr gapes as you kick them aside, knowing you were now bare beneath. “Oh, pretty girl—”

“I love watching you compete,” you utter, approaching slowly. Valarr leans back in the chaise as you step between his spread legs. “You’re so strong, and you look so good in your armour.”

“Yeah?” Valarr has stars in his eyes.

His cock aches, the knot in his belly heavy, pressure building along his spine, but he ignores it all to reach for you. Two hands find your hips, but he doesn’t try to pull you to him. Not yet.

“Yeah,” you reply, hands covering his atop your hips. You stroke your fingers across his knuckles, across the bones of his wrists. “That armour… gods, Valarr, you look so good.”

Valarr gapes at you. His cock jerks against his stomach, smearing across the skin.

You gaze down at him, fingers ringing around his forearms now. “I can’t help myself. It makes me so wet watching you like that—”

“Oh, fuck,” Valarr curses, pulling you to him. He buries his face into the mound of your lower stomach, nuzzling you there as a moan rips free of his throat. One of your hands finds his hair again, this time carding through the streak of white, and you feel him shudder where he hides himself against you. “Oh, my sweet girl. My pretty wife.”

“I’ll take you so well,” you purr, delighting in the way your husband squirms in your hold, whining into the thick fabric of your bodice. “I’ll take all of you.”

“I know you will,” Valarr gasps out, lifting his head. 

You finally allow him to pull you, and you find yourself straddling his lap as he sinks back into the chaise. You had long given up arguing about being too heavy to sit in his lap like this, for he simply retorted that you could sit on his face instead if you wish. You slide into his lap, skirts billowing out around you as his mouth finds yours, with the initial contact making him moan down your throat.

The kiss is messy. He’s burning hot against you, and his hands hold you tight as his tongue licks the berry-sweetness from your lips. You make a noise from the back of your throat when his tongue finally bullies inside, finding yours and pulling another little noise from you. He whines in response, one of his hands bundling into your skirts and pushes it up around your hip as you press yourself further into his lap.

As his tongue smooths against yours, you find yourself heating up. Suddenly, the material of your dress is too hot against your chest, your nipples pebbling beneath your chemise and a shiver running down your spine. You pull out of the kiss to suck in a breath, eyes opening and finding the room glowing with previously unseen colour. The lantern suspended overhead blares like a trapped sun, and when your eyes find your husband’s, the lighter one seems to shine.

“Oh, I think I feel…” You lose your train of thought as Valarr hums his acknowledgement, head shifting to suck at your neck. You grind yourself down against his lap, and you finally angle yourself well enough to feel the length of his cock rut against your inner thigh. You moan, “Valarr.”

Valarr’s breathing hard against your throat as his hips rock, a desperate string of “huh–uh–uh” as his cock slides against your bare thigh, velvet skin smoothing back, pre-cum a sticky smear as you shift your legs to draw him in closer.

You throw one of your arms around his shoulders. The other dips down between your bodies, fingers wrapping around the thick of him and giving him a teasing squeeze. His kisses across your throat falter, and his head falls back. He whimpers softly as you stroke him, before lifting your hips slightly to drag the tip of him through the wet split of your pussy.

“Oh, gods, sweet girl, you’re soaked,” he moans, holding you tightly.

His breath comes in quick pants, his chest flushed with sweat. You whine at his words and bend to kiss him again, sucking his lip into your mouth as you run the tip of his cock through your folds again. You swallow his whimpers as you rock the wet heat of your cunt against his length with as much precision as you could offer (considering your body was alight like a pyre).

“Please let me have you,” Valarr whines, angling his head to kiss along the line of your jaw.

You nod, sitting higher in his lap to drag the head of his cock to your hole. You notch it there yourself, running a few tight circles before slowly pushing in, sinking at the same time. The sound that leaves your husband is a garbled mix of whimpers and groans of your name as you take him. You put both hands on his shoulders now, squeezing the strong muscle there.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he mutters, mouthing where your pulse hammers beneath your ear. Your head tips, allowing him to suck and bite, before lifting a hand from your hip to seize your jaw. He forces your mouth to his, teeth clashing, tongues sweet with mulberries. When he pulls away, a thin string of spit connects your mouths. It breaks when he says, “Keep going, sweet girl.”

You listen, finally sinking all the way down until your arse presses to his thighs. Your skirts fan out around you in a pool of black and crimson.

Valarr groans. “Yes, yes, thank you, fuck, thank you.”

“Valarr,” you whisper as you slowly start to rock your hips. 

You lift as well, then slide yourself back down. The movements are slow, calculated, and it takes the strength of all Seven not to simply drop down and take him to the hilt. There’s a fire burning deep within you, clawing up your diaphragm, spreading through your chest as you sink, feeling every velvet ridge against the walls of your pussy. Valarr hisses, one hand holding your hip, the other still on your jaw—not gripping, just holding, as his mismatched eyes watch your face, utterly transfixed.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he breathes as you lift yourself, circling your hips. He groans, thick from his chest, when you lower yourself back down. Your pussy flutters when he hits deep, angling right up towards the plug of your cervix. He groans again. “That’s it, that’s a good girl. My best girl.”

“Valarr,” you whine. Your body is burning hot as you set a rhythm, rocking in his lap and taking him again and again.

Valarr releases your jaw and hooks his fingers into the neckline of your dress. He tugs roughly, and you gasp out when you faintly hear something tear. Your breasts spill free, and the moan that leaves him rips through the tent so loud that you’re certain it pierces the canvas. But it doesn’t worry you—all that concerns you now is the fact that you’re fucking yourself on your husband’s cock and his mouth is taking a wet hold of one of your nipples.

He sucks, and you keen. “Valarr.”

The prince’s hand works around the other, pinching and rolling as he continues to rut himself into you. His eyes flutter closed as he mouths at you, huffing with each upstroke and each squeeze of your cunt around him. Your fingers find his hair then, threading between the soft, dark strands until you find the strip of white. The hair is slightly coarser, the texture different from the rest against the pads of your fingers as you curl it between your knuckles and give it a solid tug. His mouth leaves you with a wet pop, his lips kiss-bruised and parted around a whine when he looks up at you.

“You feel so good,” you mewl, arching your back. Heavy pressure builds at the base as your thighs start to ache, and you tug at his hair again to steady yourself. Your husband groans, burying his face between your tits. He mouths at the soft skin of your sternum, panting like a dog. You pet his white streak as you grind down against him. “You always make me feel so good.”

Valarr kisses the slope of your tits as he gently pulls away, both hands on your hips now as he helps you take him at a steady pace. “Yeah? M’so good to you, aren’t I?”

“So good,” you agree. Your body is on fire, sweat slick where your dress clings to you.

“And you’re proud of me?” Valarr whines out as your fingers card through his hair. His movements begin to quicken, and he thrusts up hard, cock hitting that gummy spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Your head rolls on your shoulders as you whine, your husband continuing as he kisses across your chest. “You’re proud of me winning the tilt? The lists?”

The air of the tent is thick with heat, smelling of arbor gold, ripe mulberries and the musk of sex. 

You shudder as you cry out, then force your reply around a breathy whimper. “Yes, Valarr, yes—gods, m’so proud of you.”

Valarr groans. His hips jerk, and he hits even deeper, the thick of his cock splitting you open as you roll against him. You’re so warm against him, the clutch of your pussy silken and hot, and he whimpers when you drool around him, slick running down his balls as he rucks up.

“Did it for you,” he whines, and you bend to kiss him then. It’s not much of a kiss, the two of you high on the mulberry stimulant that makes the tent glow. It’s more tongue and spit, pathetic little whimpers being exchanged as your lips slide together with no pattern. Valarr’s tongue drags to the corner of your mouth, licking the berry-sweetness from the groove. “I want you to be proud of me. I did it for you, sweet girl.”

Your entire body’s pulling taut now, that pressure in your spine migrating deeper and deeper into your pelvis. You gasp as it settles and Valarr’s cock knocks right up against it. You lift and drop, taking him deep and grinding yourself down until the swollen pearl of your clit catches against his hair. The contact sends you reeling, and you clutch him tightly as your body stretches rigid like a bowstring.

“Always proud of you,” you manage to whisper, knot tight in your belly, pussy fluttering around him. “My prince, always such a good—oh, gods, such a good boy.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Valarr whines into the valley of your tits, arms hugging around you completely now as he holds you to him, rutting like a man driven to the brink.

A breathy whine leaves his throat and you feel his cock jerk before he’s coming deep inside you, hips working himself through it as he chases your pleasure like a hound.

Your orgasm crests then, release taking you hard as the bowstring snaps. Your thighs clench where you straddle him, and the fingers in his hair tighten as you come. His name is a wanton chant from your mouth as something in the depths of your belly clenches and your pussy draws him in tight enough to urge another desperate whimper from his throat. Heat spurs through your veins, bursting like stars as your eyes close, your release hitting you hot and hard.

Valarr moans your name as he continues to spill, seed filling you deep as the rolling of your hips stutters. His heart lurches in his chest as the heat within him begins to dissipate, and he can’t help the satisfied groan that leaves him as his cock finally gives one last weak twitch before it stills inside you.

You pet his hair, resting your head on the crown of his as you fizzle down, embers dying. You feel him dripping out of you as his cock slowly softens, and it feels like you can finally breathe again without igniting the pyre within you.

“Valarr, my sweet boy,” you whisper, kissing the top of his head before withdrawing. He does the same: kissing your sternum one last time before reclining back in the chaise. He gazes at you with those glassy, mismatched eyes you love so much, and you drag your hands to cup his flushed cheeks. “Do you feel better?”

You lean in and kiss him softly on the lips.

He hums, content, eyelids drooping. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” You kiss the tip of his nose, then pull back. You smooth his dark hair away from his forehead, the strands wet with sweat. “Shall I call for a maester to be sure?”

His hands tighten on your hips. “No.”

You give your husband a pointed look, palming the sweat from his forehead as you check his temperature.

He huffs out a lazy laugh. “I’m fine, I promise… and, if I may be honest, I have no intention of letting you leave this tent until the morrow.”

You smile, allowing him to lift his head and capture your mouth in another tender kiss. You cradle his face and return it, trying to hide your smile as you feel his cock twitch heavily inside you.

“Valarr…” You whisper, and your husband just hums, beginning to trail a line of kisses from your mouth, over your jaw, and then down your throat and onto your chest.

“I love you,” he says, mouth over your heart now, kissing the warm skin. “I love you.”

———

i’m a valarr loves giving AND receiving praise truther

tags 🌿

@breakspearz @targlocket @targaryenstar @valarrsgirl @ghostlybfgf @sem-ra @beentainted @pinkdoeweirdo @alaeratrrn @through-the-looking--glass @artemisuns @110-dreams @sun2951 @saint-orment @serduncansdelight @whippedpan