#I don’t know if I could even draw a pie

[zimbits-my-love]

finally doing the reread and look!! at the pie bitty drew!! I’ve never noticed it before

also his handwriting is very neat and his phone case says samwell university

[nereidprinc3ss]

weber's law

in which spencer reid comforts fem!reader when she's having a panic attack at the rossi mansion

fluff warnings/tags: panic attack lol, spencer is really cute and sweet my little perfect cutie pie angel baby, classic spencer info dumps bc they're pretty much his love language, established relationship, cheesy and sweet at the end a/n: this one is for my queens with panic disorders who are triggered by literally nothing and everything i see you have this ilysm

When Spencer had invited you to a small get-together at Rossi’s, you’d imagined a small get-together at Rossi’s. 

And maybe that makes you a complete idiot. 

Or maybe Spencer is just so used to FBI work functions that to him, this really is small.

But now you’re sitting on an expensive couch in a very nice house, and you’re surrounded by FBI agents who are all milling around and talking and laughing, and you’re worried maybe your outfit doesn’t look as nice on you as you’d thought it did, and you keep having very vivid visions of spilling your drink all over a furry throw rug that probably costs more than your rent does. 

Music that could reasonably be considered relaxing or at the very least not objectionable plays over the sound system throughout the whole house and thus is inescapable—not that you’d get up from the couch even if you could, because Spencer is sitting to your right and he has his hand on your thigh and it’s the only thing that has until this point been keeping you from a full blown panic attack.

Maybe that makes you a complete idiot, too.

Regardless, you try to focus on nothing but the weight of his hand as it travels slowly up and down from knee to hip over the jeans you’re not so sure about, and the feeling of your breath coming and going, as slow as you can possibly summon it without passing out. 

Spencer is laughing at something JJ is saying as she stands next to the couch with Will and you really like JJ but her voice seems so loud right now, and nothing is going particularly wrong but everything feels so, so wrong it’s scary. 

All the buzzing tension in your body telling you to run away because you’re unsafe and at the same time locking you into place builds until you have to express it somehow. So you revert to an old habit—bouncing your leg rapidly like a rabbit thumping its foot. It’s not entirely conscious, but it feels better than being completely still. That is, until Spencer’s hand strays inward and cups just above your inner knee, where he begins fanning his thumb back and forth over the fabric. 

“What’s this?” he murmurs, head angled toward you and voice low enough to not draw attention. You force yourself to plant your heel to the ground even though it worsens the feeling of gears crunching in your chest. 

“Nothing. Sorry.”

That gets his attention. 

Because of course it does. He’s always telling you to stop saying sorry so often. 

His tone solidifies, still quiet but committed to this conversation now and no longer the whispery apparition of a quick aside. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

“I don’t know, it wasn’t—it’s nothing.”

You barely avoid apologizing again. 

For a moment he doesn’t speak, just watches you—and you make the mistake of raising your gaze to meet his. He has that curious, analytical look about him, concern tightening his eyes and knitting his brow. He’s doing that annoying mind-reading thing again, and as soon as he actually sees your eyes, he’s figured you out. 

“Do you want to go outside for a minute? Get some air?”

After examining his face for any clues that he’d rather stay in here, (not that you’d really know what to look for), you nod hesitantly. Spencer mirrors your nod and stands, holding out his hand for you to take as you follow suit after setting your drink on a side table (without spilling.)

JJ is now wrapped up in conversation with another agent and the two of you manage to abscond without attracting unwanted attention, which makes you feel slightly better as Spencer leads you deftly through rooms with high-vaulted ceilings and big windows and heavy, expensive looking oak furniture. It seems like you’ve been wandering through a maze when you arrive to a quieter part of the house and he opens a french door for you—which leads out onto an empty patio. 

A cool breeze immediately sinks into your skin, and your nervous system is so hyper-alert that it gives you chills. Spencer notices the way you shiver and steps closer after closing the door behind him, his hand finding the small of your back immediately. 

“You okay?” he asks, intentionally avoiding impeding your view of the sweeping backyard and the trees beyond. Sometimes focusing on something stationary is less overwhelming, but they’re so tall they seem imposing. Threatening, even. 

But then again, everything feels threatening right now. 

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

Spencer seems unconvinced by your monotone—when you glance over at him he’s still watching you like you’re a puzzle to be solved. 

“Are you sure? You can tell me if you’re not.”

“Why are you so convinced something is wrong?” you laugh, but it comes out too manic. You cross your arms. He looks pointedly at the motion. 

“For starters, that. Often times crossing your arms is a subconscious way of comforting yourself when you feel defensive or threatened. And you could say it’s because you’re cold, but—” he pauses, reaching out to touch your cheek. “I can feel how hot your face is, and you shivered when we came outside even though it’s 71 degrees because your nervous system is overreacting to external stimuli. The leg-bouncing is also often indicative of an activated parasympathetic nervous system. Is me touching you okay?”

Again, you nod—unsure how to deflect when he calls you out so efficiently. 

Spencer’s hand slides down to just beneath your jaw, where he rests two fingers. Each second that passes has him looking progressively more worried. You wish you weren’t quite so catatonic—the fairy lights hanging from the pergola shine through his hair and make him glow so appealingly you want to kiss his cheek. 

“Your heart rate is really high, honey.”

That would be due to the sense of impending doom. Thanks for pointing it out.

But you’ve lost your words, and along with them has gone your sense of humor. All you can manage for a 30 second span is a meaningless shake of your head as you avert your eyes, staring at the sprawling carpet of blue-green grass soaked in night as each blade doubles with your tears. 

“I think I’m dying,” you finally croak.

“Technically, we all are. Very slowly.”

Ah. There’s that social tact he’s so well known for. 

“Spencer.”

“Right,” he kisses your cheek as you stare up at him, affronted, and pulls you into his chest. “Sorry. I was actually trying to be helpful. Changes in brain chemistry and hormonal activity associated with panic attacks change your perception of time and make things feel really fast which can contribute to feelings of anxiety. But in reality time is moving just the same as it always is. One second is always one second. Sometimes remembering that helps me to slow down. Not literally, of course. My gravitational pull isn’t great enough to have any discernible effect on the passage of time.”

You sniff, pressing your cheek to his tie. His words make your head spin, seeing as you hadn't been prepared for a lecture in psychophysics—but it spins in the opposite direction than it had been going previously. It's nice.

“Change your perception of time?”

“Weber’s law of perception. Stimulus sensitivity will increase proportionally with increased stimulus intensity. You’re only perceiving time to be going faster because your cortisol and adrenaline levels are making you hyper-vigilant and sensitive to all the markers of time passing.”

“Like what?”

Spencer hums, the bass of it a comforting resonance against your ear, and strokes your hair unhurriedly. 

“Like… your internal clock. Your body measures time with your heartbeat, so when your heart rate increases, time seems to go faster. Also environmental cues, which lead you to understand that the world is not stagnant and thus is not frozen in time. Like the sound of the wind chimes…” he pauses, long enough for you to realize that indeed, you can hear the gentle, sonorous ringing and tinkling of steel chimes bouncing against each other. “And the wind itself, which is coming all the way from the Gulf of Mexico. Some studies actually suggest that wind direction can affect your energy levels and mood.”

It’s a gentle breeze more than it is full-blown wind. It feels cool against your hot skin. 

Spencer’s hand on the back of your head, still rhythmically smoothing your hair, seems to slow down the passage of time as well. You focus on that, and the sound of the wind chimes and the breeze on your skin for a few minutes, until your breathing and your heart rate slow and soon you regain your footing in the temporal dimension, exactly sure of where you stand on Rossi’s patio and in your boyfriend’s arms. 

“You tricked me into doing a grounding exercise,” you mumble into Spencer’s jacket. 

“I did not trick you,” he defends, voice quiet to match yours. “I just wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

You pull away from him and he lets you, watching on as you sniffle and wipe your tears on your sleeves. 

“Yeah, it did. Thank you.”

For a moment, neither of you speak as you gather yourself. He leads you by the hand to a cushioned hanging bench at the end of the patio, taking a seat next to you and gently rocking the swing. 

“Do you know what triggered that?” Spencer asks, over the gentle creaking sound. You shrug, observing the dance of the fireflies in the grass. 

“Nothing. Sometimes I just feel like everything’s wrong and scary but I didn’t want to tell you and ruin your night.”

“Hey,” Spencer murmurs, pulling you into him with an arm around your shoulder. “You are not ruining my night. I don’t want you to worry about that.”

“But all your friends and coworkers are inside, and you’re out here with me.”

He angles his head down toward you and you look up to meet his eyes, even warmer than the sticky summer night. 

“I am. Do you know why?”

“Because I suck,” you sniffle, more hot tears rolling down your cheeks as you attempt to look away. But Spencer’s not having it. He encourages you to sit up again so you can look at him properly, before wiping tears away gently with his thumb. When he speaks, it’s in soft, soothing tones. 

“No. I’m out here because if all my friends were inside having fun, and you were outside having a panic attack, I would choose you every time.”

You manage a laugh through the crying. 

“I don’t know if that’s healthy.”

“Whether or not it’s healthy is an entirely different discussion,” Spencer smiles wryly, before it melts into something softer and more sincere. “All that matters is that it’s true.”

For a while after that, you simply lay your head on his shoulder. Spencer controls the speed of the swing with his much-longer legs, kissing your head and rubbing your arm as you admire the expanse of Rossi’s lush yard bathed in moonlight and the black silhouette of the forest beyond. 

Eventually, Spencer speaks again, likely to make sure you’re not spiraling alone in your head. 

“Can I tell you an extremely classified secret that I've been trying really hard to keep to myself for three days?” he asks, and the mischievous edge to his voice catches your attention. You hum in assent, already wondering what kind of information Spencer would have a hard time keeping to himself. It could be anything. 

“Anderson is sleeping with Childers from Operational Tech.”

“What?”

Despite not working for the FBI yourself, Spencer and Penelope have you so filled in on the drama that you know exactly why that’s shocking. 

You pick your head up to look at him like do not fuck with me right now. 

His eyes sparkle as he nods.

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you tell me Childers was dating that girl in sex crimes?”

Spencer raises his eyebrows. The corner of his mouth twitches. You gasp. 

“No! What? Does Anderson know?”

“I don’t know. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to tell him.”

“Wait—Anderson told you this?”

“Yeah!” He laughs incredulously at your complete disbelief. “People tell me things! I’m an excellent confidant!”

“If you’re relaying all of this information to me then you’re a terrible confidant,” you chuckle, still watery—but feeling light years better. 

Spencer brushes your hair away from your face fondly, leaning a fraction of an inch closer. 

“You don’t count. Telling you secrets is basically the same as keeping them to myself.”

“Basically,” you tease, angling your head up by a few degrees in invitation. Spencer says nothing, does nothing for a long moment—just studies you with soft eyes, continues stroking your cheek. When he takes too long to kiss you, you get impatient. “I’m still kinda anxious, you know.”

He smiles knowingly.  

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nod, looking pointedly at his lips. “You should kiss me better.”

“I think that would take more than just one kiss,” he murmurs through a smile, leaning ever closer until your noses are bumping. “I think I would have to devote several hours to that. Maybe even a whole day.”

“How does tomorrow look for you?” 

He’s laughing as he finally presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet and lingering. 

“For you? It’s wide open.”

[ja3yun]

The Doll House | Park Jongseong

doll!jay x fem!reader warnings: smut (mdni), soft dom!jay, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (m.rec), punishment, pussy slapping, begging, slight choking, pet names (sweetheart, good girl, princess), mentions of fire and other supernatural elements, anything else lmk! wc: 10.3k synopsis: your friend comes to visit you in the mansion after a month but her harsh words towards the dolls brings out a protective side, and jongseong lets you in on some secrets about the house and how they came to be. sunghoon | masterlist | heeseung a/n: hi! with this being the third instalment for this series, it's finally answering some questions while also posing some more! i truly enjoyed writing this chapter and i hope the little word plays and everything get your gears turning with theories! i enjoy hearing your theories so much like i can't even describe it <3 thank you so so so much for the love, i am forever grateful. likes, reblogs, feedback etc are all appreciated!

The doorbell chimes through the air, pulling your attention away from putting away the dishes in the kitchen, and a grin effortlessly spreads across your face. Mia's visit today after a month apart fills you with an immediate sense of joy. Though Jaeyun and Sunghoon are great company to keep, nothing quite compares to the presence of your best friend.

Her absence has been so obvious; her infectious energy seems to breathe life into everywhere she goes, which is a much-missed aura in this mansion; her presence has the power to dispel the shadows and chill that cling to the brick walls.

"Who could that be?" Sunghoon's voice interrupts your thoughts as he strolls around the kitchen island.

"It's Mia, remember? The friend I came here with. I told you she would be coming," you remind him gently, accepting the cup he just dried.

Sunghoon and Jaeyun both offer their assistance with the chores, but their motivations are drastically different. Jaeyun's assistance comes from a place of actually wanting to help and spend quality time with you, whereas Sunghoon is helping because the faster you finish, the sooner he can fuck you in whatever room you wind up in.

Despite your initial concerns, their dynamic surprises you as they seamlessly work in tandem. Rather than competing for your attention, they've embraced the idea of sharing you - an unexpected but pleasant development.

Jaeyun's bright smile at the island warms the room, his anticipation evident, "Will Mia be staying for the last month?" he inquires eagerly.

“Why? Is Y/N not enough?” Sunghoon jabs playfully, his eyebrow arching at his brother's question. His arms encircle your waist, drawing you close so your back is pressed against his chest as he leans his head on your shoulder, "If you'd rather be with Mia, I’m more than happy to have my baby girl all to myself," he murmurs against your neck, planting a gentle kiss on the nape.

Your skin tingles with a mix of excitement and affection as Sunghoon leaves a faint mark, a delighted expression dancing across your face.

“No, no! I was just curious," Jaeyun protests with a pout, his posture relaxing into a slight slouch.  He’s so cute when Sunghoon teases him like that, you’re almost reluctant to stop it. 

But before you can say anything, Sunghoon gently turns you to face him, his expression softening as he meets your gaze, "Remember," he murmurs, his voice tinged with a hint of seriousness, "you can’t tell Mia about us, yeah?”

Of course, you knew that telling her would be disastrous no matter the outcome. She would either think you were crazy and lost your mind, or she would tell the world. Your best friend was never the best at keeping secrets.

“I know, don’t worry,” you offer the simple words as reassurance to him, which paired with the sincerity in your eyes, he gladly accepts.

Leaning in, Sunghoon lands a soft kiss on your lips, his kind gesture relieving any remaining anxieties, "Good. Now, once she's finally fucking gone, come find me in my room," he says with a sly leer, his fingers slithering teasingly over your sides - a familiar trick he uses to make you weak. You should reprimand him for speaking so dismissively about your best friend's arrival, but he just has the power to make you forget.

Sunghoon's demeanour takes a brief shift as he addresses Jaeyun, a hint of authority creeping into his tone, "And you," he gestures towards Jaeyun behind you, his expression momentarily serious, "if you're staying here, you stay absolutely still, got it?"

"Okay, Dad, jeez," Jaeyun retorts, rolling his eyes in mock annoyance at the implication that he needs to be reminded.

You grasp Sunghoon's concern, especially given that you're currently aware of the doll's secret due to Jaeyun's loose lips. However, Sunghoon's tone feels unnecessarily harsh. Jaeyun holds a special place in your heart, and you find yourself fiercely protective of him. It irks you to see Sunghoon address him in such a condescending manner, as if he's incapable of handling himself.

Feeling defensive of Jaeyun, you push against Sunghoon's arm, shooting him a stern look, a firm reminder that he should catch his tongue because both of you know how it affects Jaeyun.

The bell rings again, drawing all three of your attention back to Mia's imminent arrival. Sunghoon excuses himself to his room, and Jaeyun settles comfortably into a chair, leaving you to answer the door with the unspoken reassurance that Mia won’t uncover their secret. But then again, what if you slip up?

It's a nagging worry in the back of your mind as you approach the door. Mia knows everything about you - every hook-up, every situationship, even mundane details like what you had for breakfast each morning. She's your confidante for everything, even the embarrassing stuff like bursting spots on your backside. With her, nothing is off-limits.

You remind yourself to keep your wits about you, to guard your words carefully in Mia's presence. The last thing you need is to accidentally let slip the truth about the dolls and your illicit affairs with them. 

You need to keep your wits about you.

As you swing open the door, greeted by the radiant presence of the angel you call your best friend, every worry and concern fades into the background. Her infectious smile and warm embrace envelop you, dispelling any lingering doubts or anxieties.

"Baby!" you exclaim, unable to contain your excitement as you wrap Mia in a tight embrace, swinging her from side to side. Though it's only been a month since you last saw her, it feels like an eternity.

Mia reciprocates your enthusiasm, squeezing you just as tightly, the warmth of her embrace filling you with a sense of homecoming. Both of you laugh and struggle to breathe amidst the suffocating love you shower upon each other, relishing in the joy of being reunited.

"God, I've missed you. It's so boring back in the city without you," Mia confesses, her words honest as she finally draws back to assess you. Suddenly, she pushes you to arm's length, her hands gripping your shoulders as she scrutinises you with a sceptical expression. With a flick of her finger, she motions for you to turn around, and you oblige, doing a quick twirl to indulge her curiosity.

You give her a quizzical look, tilting your head in silent inquiry as to what she's up to. "You're glowing, like literally, you look fucking amazing," she observes, her eyes scanning you from head to toe.

"Don't I always?" you jest in response.

"Obviously, but you've got that honeymoon glow," Mia insists, walking into the house but not before nudging you with her shoulder. "Is there a hot gardener here that I don't know about, hmm?"

Laughing, you shake your head, dismissing her playful insinuations. You make a conscious effort to maintain the facade, concealing your unconventional relationships with the dolls from Mia, despite her keen observations. 

They must be fucking you good for her to notice a change within a minute of seeing you. 

Mia follows you to the kitchen, her gaze lingering on the various porcelain dolls scattered throughout the hallway, just as she had when you both met Soonyeol for the first time. You sense her unease, evident in the hurried pace of her steps as she tries desperately to evade the watchful eyes of the dolls. 

What she finds unsettling, you've grown to find some comfort in. Each time you clean them, you develop a newfound admiration for their intricate beauty and craftsmanship. Sometimes, Sunghoon will even tell you stories about certain dolls and their origins, adding to the mystique surrounding them.

Entering the kitchen, you find Jaeyun still perched on his seat, his usual joyful smile replaced by a stoic expression as he takes on his doll persona. 

It’s weird to see him like this now, especially because you’ve seen him convey every emotion possible on that beautiful face of his; the solemn look he wears now just feels wrong.

"I brought non-alcoholic wine," Mia announces, reaching into her bag and producing two bottles of white wine. Since she’s driving, she’s bringing you along in her sobriety for the day. If it was easy to get an Uber in these parts, she certainly wouldn’t be settling for 0.05%.

You chuckle at the sight, "Seriously? Gary Barlow wine?" you tease, unable to resist poking fun at her choice.

Mia feigns offence, placing a hand dramatically over her heart, "I'll have you know this is my idea of a very nice day out," she retorts, her voice taking on a mock-serious tone as she quotes his TikTok video, struggling to suppress a giggle. "That, and it was £2 off with my clubcard."

You both burst into laughter, her tension from earlier dissipating as you share a lighthearted moment. Grabbing two large glasses, you place them on the table, inviting Mia to pour some for you both.

"How was the drive?" you inquire, taking a small sip of wine.

"It was fine, although longer than I remember," Mia replies with a huff, sinking into a seat opposite Jaeyun. You notice her discomfort as she eyes him, face contorting in a form of disgust, "How has it been here?" she asks, wishing to know how on earth you’re coping in a mansion with such watchful eyes.

"It's a big house, lots to clean. All in all, it's been good.” You sip your wine, struggling to maintain the facade of normalcy. 

The urge to confide in Mia, to unburden yourself of the secrets weighing heavily on your shoulders, is almost overwhelming. You want to tell her about the dolls, the ominous door that almost blinded you, and the sense of anxiety you feel sometimes when you roam the hallways. But you swallow the truth down, burying it beneath layers of false smiles and empty reassurances. It's a lonely feeling, knowing that you can't share your fears and anxieties with your closest friend. But for now, it's a burden you'll have to bear alone.

Mia accepts your answer with a sceptical expression, her eyes never wavering from Jaeyun's impassive face, "It's so fucking creepy," she murmurs into her glass, her discomfort evident in her tone, "Do you actually have to place them around the house? Can't you keep them locked up or something?"

You glance at Jaeyun, hoping for a flicker of reassurance in his eyes, but they remain devoid of emotion, sending a shiver down your spine. It's unsettling to see him so detached, his usual warmth replaced by an eerie emptiness.

Gathering your resolve, you pick up your glass and move to stand beside Jaeyun, offering him a supportive smile before responding to Mia. "It's part of the job, Mia. Soonyeol entrusted me with the responsibility of caring for them," you explain, your voice tinged with a mixture of obligation and fondness.

Mia scoffs at your explanation, "Girl, you're in a mansion on your own, just clean up on the last day. It's not like she would notice," she suggests, her nose upturned in disdain. You can tell that this whole situation is deeply unsettling for her, a puzzle she can't quite solve without knowing the full truth. She will never understand until she’s in your shoes.

"It's... nice, to look after them like this," you say wistfully, casting a fond glance down at Jaeyun as you speak.

Unable to resist the urge to offer him a comforting touch, you reach out to tuck a loose strand of Jaeyun's hair behind his ear, a small gesture of affection. Jaeyun wants nothing more than to nuzzle himself into your touch but Sunghoon’s words are still ringing in his mind.

Mia observes your interaction with a mixture of curiosity and concern, her eyes flitting between you and Jaeyun as if trying to decipher the unspoken language passing between you. You’ve only ever looked at one other man the way you look at him and it was your high school sweetheart.

The connection you share with Sunghoon and Jaeyun is utterly unlike anything you've ever known. They resonate with your soul in a way that defies rational explanation, leaving you convinced that they must be otherworldly beings. There has to be more to them than just kindred spirits trapped in the shell of these dolls; no mere human soul could evoke such a profound hold over you.

She scoffs and laughs in disbelief at your act of affection, “You’ve lost it, completely lost it. Being in this house alone has driven you to insanity,” she shakes her head, crossing her arms.

You retract your hand from Jaeyun and look at her in wonder, “What do you mean?”

It’s completely lost on you how this could look to her because for you this is normal. Soonyeol was strange in your eyes when you first arrived, Mia also accused the owner of being crazy, but now you understand Soonyeol and her attachment to her dolls.

Mia's incredulous gaze flickers between you and Jaeyun, her words dripping with disdain. "Look at you fixing that stupid doll's hair!" she exclaims, her voice laced with exasperation as if your actions are the epitome of absurdity, "You're going to turn into that creepy bitch who lives here."

Her words cut through the air like a knife, slicing through the fragile peace of the moment. You can’t feel it but you know Jaeyun would be tensing under her words if he had the ability to. Jaeyun doesn’t like it when people talk bad about his owner, especially since the reason Mia finds her so creepy is because of him and his brothers. 

He does understand to an extent that Soonyeol being so young and cooped up with four dolls in a mansion that can only rival the one in Saltburn might be seen as weird, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear about it, considering the passing comment is from someone who knows nothing about her.

You place a calming hand on Jaeyun's shoulder, your protective instincts kicking into high gear. "Listen, if you're going to run your mouth, just fucking go," you retort harshly, your voice fueled by your need to shield Jaeyun from Mia's unnecessary commentary.

Mia's eyes widen in disbelief, her expression a mixture of shock and frustration. "Y/N, listen to yourself," she chides, her voice tinged with a hint of disappointment, “You've gone stark crazy... maybe you should come home-"

"No!" The word bursts from your lips in a panic, cutting off Mia's well-meaning suggestion before she can finish. The thought of leaving sends a wave of fear coursing through you.

Mia recoils at your outburst, taken aback by the intensity of your reaction. "Y/N, I don't think it's good for you here," she pleads, her tone softening as she reaches out to touch your arm.

But you pull away, shaking your head vehemently. "You literally said I was glowing all but 10 minutes ago," you snap back, narrowing your eyes at her, "Just fucking go."

There's a moment of tense silence as Mia processes your words, her expression shifting from concern to anger. She knows there's no reasoning with you when you're in this state, and she can sense the wall you've built around yourself.

"Fine. I'll see you when you screw your head back on," she spits out at you, her voice dripping with ire and disappointment. With one final, venomous glare at Jaeyun, she grabs her bag and storms out of the room, her footsteps echoing through the halls.

You're left standing there, the echoes of her departure ringing in your ears. Despite the sting of her words, you can't bring yourself to regret your decision to kick her out. At the end of the day, this is the dolls’ house and you wouldn’t like it if someone came into your flat and disrespected you or your belongings.

But you can’t help but process her words as you calm down. You know she is just looking out for you, showing her genuine concern because she knows what isolation can do to someone and their mental state, and maybe she is right. You are attached to the dolls way beyond your own comprehension and it’s taken you just now to truly realise it. 

You cussed out your best friend to protect the feelings of a doll. It's a sobering thought, one that fills you with a sense of unease and self-doubt. 

Maybe you should have gone with her, go back to your normal life, and forget about this place.

In the silence of the room, you turn to Jaeyun, and suddenly any wish to leave vanishes. Just like that. His face now upturned to look at you with sorrow. He looks so beautiful in this light that his being is almost angelic.

You cup his face with your hands, using your thumbs to stroke any semblance of comfort into him before speaking, "She doesn't mean it, Jaeyun," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper in the hushed atmosphere of the room, "She just doesn't understand."

Jaeyun nods slowly, knowing that you’re trying to appease his mind but what’s said has already bruised him. 

Kissing Jaeyun's nose, you offer him a tender smile before gently patting his cheeks. With a sigh, you reluctantly release your hold on him, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air, "I'll go check on the others," you murmur softly,  "I'll be back in a bit."

_____

You shake off whatever you’re feeling and head through the mansion to help the other dolls. Admittedly, your task for moving them around has become much easier now that Jaeyun and Sunghoon move freely except for dinner time, which has freed up a good chunk of your time.

Each step you take echoes softly off the aged floorboards, their worn surfaces groaning beneath your weight. Sunlight filters sparingly through the windows, casting long shadows that dance across the dimly lit passages, adding to the eerie yet enchanting atmosphere of the mansion.

Sometimes you wonder about its history and its owner. How did a 20-something obtain such a grand house and why does she live alone? Of course, she has the boys but even then you can’t exactly take them on a night in the town. It’s so strange to see someone your age devoid of the usual life a young person would lead; no mobile, no wi-fi, not even a computer in sight. 

The more you stay here though, you understand her a little bit better. There’s a comfort in the way this mansion takes your superficial worries away, like how many likes you have on your Instagram post or how people perceive you in general. The eyes that follow you here can’t pass judgment on you, which at the beginning was terrifying but now brings you a strange sort of solace.

As you navigate the labyrinthine corridors of the mansion, you can't help but feel a sense of companionship with the dolls scattered throughout. With each step, you offer a soft greeting to your porcelain companions, their frozen expressions seeming to acknowledge your presence in return. If Mia stayed that day, maybe she wouldn’t have felt so threatened by them. 

"Hello there, lovely," you murmur as you pass a doll perched on a velvet chaise longue, her delicate features bathed in the subdued sunlight streaming through the window. You straighten her white-laced dress and smile politely.

Even though the porcelain girl remains silent, you know she’s thankful.

You asked Sunghoon if it was just the four of them who could talk, curious about the dolls that decorate the shelves of the house. He informed you that they aren't sentient beings but each one has a complex past and represents an identity in their own way. Ever since then, you’ve started to view them differently, a new appreciation for them blooming.

While you’re fixing a doll standing regally on the shelf by a towering grandfather clock, her elegant gown billowing around her like a ghostly mist, a faint melody drifts into your ears. It's a common occurrence, though typically happens in the dead of night. Sometimes, in the quiet hours, the strains of a piano tune or the gentle plucking of guitar strings would echo through the halls, adding to the mansion's eerie ambience. 

On your first few nights here, it made you quiver under your bed quilt but now you’ve come to find it a beautiful lullaby.

Following the source of the music, you're drawn to the open doors of the music room, their inviting stance beckoning you inside. Peering around the wall, you catch sight of one of the dolls seated with a guitar, fingers moving across the strings with practised ease.

His head hangs low, a curtain of dark brown hair obscuring half of his face, yet you recognize him instantly. It's Jongseong, his broad shoulders and golden complexion a telltale sign, along with his sharp jawline drawing attention to the almost heart-shaped mark on his neck. 

You can't help but admire the striking beauty that emanates from him, even in this quiet moment of solitude. Sunghoon and Jaeyun's stories about his kindness flood you and memories of his selfless gestures are etched vividly in your brain. 

You recall the time when Jongseong risked getting caught just to offer you a simple plaster for your pricked finger, his compassion shining through despite the potential consequences. And then there are the small, subtle acts of care that he continues to bestow upon you, like the glass of water that mysteriously appears by your bedside table each morning, a silent gesture of his thoughtfulness. 

Then there's the delicate daisy that sometimes rests on your pillow before you go to bed for the night, a token from the front garden that Jongseong must have plucked with care, knowing how much you adore its simple beauty. Every day you go outside and admire the flower as it basks in the summer sun, its life a brightness to contrast the otherwise dreary house.

Jaeyun and Sunghoon both deny any involvement in the sweet actions, leaving Jongseong as the only possible culprit.

“You can come in you know,” his voice suddenly speaks over the gently strum.

Your breath catches at the unexpected sound of his voice, and you freeze in place, startled by his acknowledgement of your presence. For a fleeting moment, you wonder if you imagined it, but the gentle strumming of the guitar persists, a soothing backdrop to his quiet words.

With cautious steps, you inch further into the room, the rhythmic thud of your heart echoing in your ears and adding percussion to his song. Jongseong's gaze remains fixed on the strings of the guitar, his hair casting shadows across his face that do little to mask his smirk.

Now how does he know that you know about him?

Jongseong suddenly screeches the guitar to a halt, his eyes lifting to meet yours with an air of knowingness, "You seem in shock for some reason," he observes, his voice soft yet perceptible in the stillness of the room. With careful precision, he returns the guitar to its glass cabinet.

Your heart skips a beat, torn between maintaining the facade of ignorance and embracing the truth about Jongseong's secret. As his gaze holds yours, uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving your voice hesitant and faltering. "I... I am?" you manage to utter, the words tinged with a hint of doubt.

Wow, so convincing, Y/N, you internally chastise yourself for the lacklustre response, feeling the weight of your indecision bearing down on you. But before you can gather your thoughts and make a quick save for your fumble.

"Jaeyun and Sunghoon are terrible liars," he remarks, his voice calm and composed. "And I saw you just there, comforting Jaeyun because of what your friend said."

His candid admission catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. Just like Sunghoon, Jongseong quickly discerned the truth, his thoughts solidified by Mia's careless words and your instinctive need to shield Jaeyun.

Exhaling slowly, you release the tension that had knotted your muscles, allowing yourself to relax a fraction. "She really doesn’t mean it," you clarify to Jongseong, hoping to ease his mind as you had done with his brother.

"It’s okay, you look fucking crazy, to be fair, fussing over some dolls," he replies, his tone surprisingly nonchalant, much to your relief. Considering Jongseong’s caring nature, you wouldn’t want her words to bruise his kind spirit.

You bristle at his casual reference to them as 'dolls,' unable to bear the thought of diminishing their significance, "You aren’t just 'some dolls,' Jongseong," you protest, your voice laced with compassion.

Rising from his seat, Jongseong offers a faint smile as he approaches you with unthreatening steps. "We know that, but she doesn’t. Don’t be too hard on her," he reassures calmingly, his words like a balm to the part of your brain that had been feuding with Mia, now quieting and subsiding under his simple wisdom.

As his hand gently strokes your hair, you feel a sense of comfort wash over you, his touch soothing the lingering unease in your mind. His fingers then trace down to your chin, his touch tender, "You’re good with him, you know, with Jaeyun," he observes softly, his eyes holding a depth of understanding that draws you in.

"He brings out a protective side of me, I don’t really know why," you admit quietly, your eyes locked with Jongseong's as you speak. His half-smirk in response only deepens the adoration reflected in your widened pupils. He closes his eyes like he knows something you don't.

Jongseong playfully pinches your chin before withdrawing his hand,  "Yeah, Soonyeol has been the same ever since she got him," he remarks.

"Have you been here longer than him?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued as you gesture towards the kitchen where you left Jaeyun.

"I’ve been here for…a long time," Jongseong reveals, his voice tinged with a hint of reminiscence, "Heeseung for 8, Sunghoon for 4, and Jaeyun just over a year.."

The weight of his words swirls in your mind, each year marking a chapter in their shared history within the mansion's walls. You find yourself marvelling at the depth of their experiences, each doll carrying different memories and stories within their hollow frames. It now makes sense why Jaeyun knows so little.

That nugget of information must also mean that Jongseong knows everything there is to know about this place, about each of his brothers, if he has been here for so long. Maybe asking him will unlock the mysteries of this place.

"I'm not trying to pry," you begin tentatively, causing Jongseong to lift his brow in curiosity, "But how can you guys...how are you able to talk?" Your voice trails off slightly as you pose the question, a hint of apprehension colouring your words.

To your surprise, Jongseong chuckles softly and smiles wider in response, "Sunghoon mentioned you were snooping around when you arrived," he remarks, a twinkle of amusement dancing in his eyes. After a moment of silence, he lets out a long breath, contemplating his next actions before continuing, "You won't give up until we tell you, will you?"

His words catch you off guard, a mixture of relief and curiosity flooding through you. Despite your initial hesitation, Jongseong's casual response reassures you, hopefully paving the way for an open and honest conversation that can curb your nosiness.

“Come on and I’ll show you.”

_____

With intertwined fingers, Jongseong leads you into the library, your mind buzzing with anticipation at the possibilities of what he could be showing you. You grip his hand tighter, excitement coursing through your veins as he pulls you towards the far end of the room.

But as you near that god-awful painting of the sheep, a sense of dread washes over you, sending a chill down your spine. Suddenly, you release Jongseong's hand, the realisation of what he's doing hitting you like a ton of bricks.

"Oh, no, no, no," you protest vehemently, shaking your head in refusal, "I am NOT going near that room."

Your mind flashes back to the burning sensation in your eyes, the eerie red light searing into your retinas. Over the past few weeks, you've actively avoided that creepy room, refusing to even glance in its direction. Your curiosity may be insatiable, but you draw the line at risking letting out whatever is in there just in the name of discovering a secret.

Your irises mirror the turmoil within you, reflecting the fear and trepidation that grips your heart. You've made a vow to steer clear of that door and any other painting in this place, focusing your investigations on less ominous artefacts like locked cupboards and hidden pages within books.

Jongseong looks at you with concern, his brows furrowing in disbelief as he processes your words, “You know about this door?" he asks incredulously, wondering how on earth you ever managed to find it.

"Yes, and I am not going near it," you retort defiantly, crossing your arms over your chest like a stubborn child, "It almost blinded me!"

As you stand your ground, refusing to budge an inch, Jongseong's expression softens, his concern evident in the gentle gaze he fixes upon you, "I promise you, Sweetheart, there is nothing in there that can hurt you, not when I'm with you, okay?" he reassures, his hand finding yours once more as he brings it to his lips, kissing away the surge of fear that threatens to engulf you.

You can see the sincerity in his eyes, knowing that he will protect you from whatever dangers may lie beyond that wooden door.

With a hesitant nod, you allow Jongseong to lead you forward, you trust him but you’re still cautious enough to keep your wits about you, trailing two steps behind him.

Reaching the top of the wooden panel that frames the door, he takes the spare key and unlocks the door. It was really in front of you the entire time and you had no clue; you’re no Sherlock Holmes, that’s for sure.

You let out a breath and scrunch your face, being ready for anything as he swings the door open. Yet, you’re met with darkness - no red light, no flickering flames, nothing like what you saw through the keyhole.

But why does that scare you more?

Jongseong pulls you in, his grip on your hand loosening as he flicks on some lanterns. The room, once plunged with darkness now has a soft glow from the lanterns as they gradually illuminate the space, revealing its secrets in flickering shadows.

It's a stark contrast to the rest of the mansion, with its black stone walls absorbing the light rather than reflecting it. The air feels heavy with the weight of something you can’t put your finger on, every corner whispering tales of those you’ll never understand or know.

In the centre of the room stands an altar, its surface weathered with age and a stone bowl resting atop it like an ancient relic. Symbols etched into the stone tell stories that you can’t translate, the old language lost on you.

As you take in the sight before you, a shiver runs down your spine, a mixture of apprehension and curiosity coursing through your veins. Where did the red light come from if everything in here looks like it belongs in the Addams Family house?

"What is all this?" you ask, your curiosity overcoming any sense of apprehension as you creep closer to the altar. It's reminiscent of ones you've seen in movies depicting satanic rituals, yet even with its eerie aura, you can't resist the urge to touch it, your fingers tracing the lines of its rim.

"The office," Jongseong replies casually, as if this were a mundane space for everyday tasks like taxes and emails. He flicks on the last lantern and shuts the door firmly, ensuring privacy and avoiding suspicion from any passersby.

As you stand mesmerised by the ceremonial bowl, Jongseong notices your admiration and smiles, "This is the ceremonial bowl," he begins to explain, his body now behind yours, his presence both comforting and electrifying as he presses slightly against you. His fingers intertwine with yours, guiding your touch along the edge of the bowl, "This is how we were summoned"

"Summoned?" you echo, your voice barely above a whisper as you turn to face Jongseong, your eyes wide with disbelief and intrigue.

“Oh, Sweetheart, to bring a doll to life, you need to give it an entity.”

“An entity as in…”

“Any form of life; angel, demon, human, that sort of thing. Someone calls and we answer”

The revelation sends a chill down your spine, the idea of imbuing a doll with the essence of a supernatural being is both fascinating and terrifying.

As you process this new information, you can't help but wonder about the origins of the dolls in this mansion, and the entities that dwell within them. They all possess such different charms and energies that you can only imagine each of them comes from different channels of spirits.

“So what are you then?” you ask Jongseong, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of trepidation.

“I’ll leave you to guess that one,” he replies cryptically, pressing himself up against you until your back meets the edge of the altar. The cool stone digs into your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

"But you aren’t scared of me, are you, Sweetheart?" he continues, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks. You shake your head, unable to deny the truth, "Then that will give you some clue," he murmurs, his words hanging in the air between you like a tantalizing riddle waiting to be solved.

You stand locked in this intimate embrace, his presence gentle despite the surroundings. 

“What about your bodies?” you inquire, your curiosity getting the better of you even though you're not entirely sure what you're asking. Obviously, they didn’t come from the pits of hell or wherever they're from, but you're curious about how Soonyeol managed to choose four dolls, each so perfectly suited to their personalities.

Jongseong tilts his head slightly, considering your question before responding, "Our bodies are vessels," he explains, his voice tinged with a hint of mystery, “We were crafted by the hands of Soonyeol, infused with the ashes of her loved ones.”

Jongseong's response sends shivers down your arms and legs, his words so compelling that they leave you speechless for a minute, "Infused with the ashes of her loved ones?" you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper, your head whirling, your throat dry as you attempt to swallow your nerves.

But before you can fully process what he said, Jongseong breaks out laughing, the sound reverberating off the walls of the poorly lighted room, "She just ordered them online," he says between laughter, his tone lighthearted. "That part isn't as evil unless you count the CO2 emissions from the planes."

Relief floods through you as you realise he’s just joking. You can't help but join in his laughter, the tension melting away as you shake your head in disbelief.

"Oh, you had me going there for a moment," you admit with a chuckle, feeling foolish for having been momentarily taken in by his playful deception.

Jongseong grins mischievously, his eyes twinkling with mirth, "I can give you the link to the site if you want? I know how much fun you’ve been having with the younger ones," he remarks, his laughter fading into a sly grin.

Your cheeks burn crimson at Jongseong's implication, and you shy away slightly, feeling a familiar wave of embarrassment wash over you. It's the same feeling you experienced when Sunghoon called you out for your rendezvous with Jaeyun, a reminder of the unconventional nature of your relationships with the dolls.

You can't shake the nagging feeling that at the end of the day, you're still fucking dolls, no matter how much Sunghoon and Jaeyun reassure you to embrace it. To be fair, the embarrassment hasn’t stopped you yet.

Seeing your flushed face even in the dim light, Jongseong's expression softens with understanding. He cradles your cheeks in his palms, his touch gentle as he strokes your flushed skin, "I'm not judging you, Princess," he murmurs, his voice tender. "I'm just feeling a little left out." He says playfully, making it hard to tell if he is serious or not.

But still his words catch you off guard and you meet his stare with a mixture of surprise and confusion. At that moment, you realise that Jongseong embodies the best of both worlds - the kindness and empathy of Jaeyun, coupled with the confidence and assurance of Sunghoon, coupled with his charm. It's a combination that draws you to him even more, creating a sense of longing.

Throwing caution to the wind, you act on impulse, letting go of any lingering doubts or hesitations. With a surge of boldness, you lean up and press your lips against Jongseong's, catching him off guard with the suddenness of your actions.

His eyes widen in shock at your sudden boldness, but they quickly darken with unmistakable hunger as he responds eagerly to your advance, smothering your mouth with his.

The kiss is electric, igniting a firestorm of sensations that consume you both, leaving you breathless and craving more. His lips are soft yet demanding against yours, his hands finding purchase on your waist as he pulls you closer, his touch somehow searing hot through your skin.

Jongseong groans as he dances his tongue with yours, the artificial buds on his muscle soaking in your taste. You suck on his tongue softly, eliciting a low snarl from him, his hand coming up to grip your hair roughly, while yours slide up his t-shirt, feeling the bumps of his toned tummy.

Drawing back from his lips, you see his entity burning with desire, his grip on you tightening, “Have you ever been fucked on an altar?” he asks, a smirk obvious on his face even in the dull lighting.

“No,” you breathe out, your chest heaving from the kiss.

“I’ll change that for you…if you’re a good girl,” he teases, the hand wrapped in the strands of your hair pushing your head down until you’re slowly following his guidance, sinking to your knees. From this angle, he looks like a god, a being worth worshipping as his aura glows white.

You know exactly what he wants and you’re willing to give it to him without question.

He undoes his belt with one hand, whipping it off hastily and placing it on the altar. You start to undo his trousers but as you move to assist him, your actions are abruptly halted by a sharp tug on your hair, forcing you back with a gasp.

Tears threaten to well in your eyes as the roots of your hair protest the forceful grip, but Jongseong's touch softens as quickly as it had hurt you, his hand now tenderly soothing the discomfort he caused.

"I need you to be good for me. It’s important to be good," he asserts, his voice commanding yet soft, "Only act when I say so, understood? I don't want to have to punish you, Princess. You don’t want that either, do you?"

His choice of words and gentle warning only add to the dampness in your pants, the material fully sticking to your wet cunt. You swallow hard as every word, every touch from Jongseong ignites your sense of being.

Shaking your head, you wonder if you want to obey him and avoid punishment as part of you wonders how far he could go with it.

Jongseong’s a gentle soul with kindness pouring out of him, you question whether it’s a facade to hide something more demanding underneath. Either way, you trust him, so even if you wanted to get a little bratty, you know he would cause you no real harm.

Both his hands are now on your cheeks, trapping you to look at him, “Words, Princess, use them,” he orders.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, licking your lips as you anticipate his cock laying firm on your tongue. 

“Sweetheart, I’ll let you off this once, yeah? Just make sure you listen from now on,” Jongseong offers you a smile, patting your cheeks lightly before continuing, “If you ever want to stop, or I go too far, you tell me immediately. No amount of my pleasure is worth your discomfort.”

Smiling, you nod and quickly remember his instructions, “I will, Jongseong.”

Jongseong's gaze relaxes further with an accepting nod, and his touch is delicate against your skin, "Good girl," he says, his words a quiet affirmation of your submission.

He gives you the go-ahead to continue undoing his trousers which you eagerly do, your fingers quick to release the silver button and pull down his zip, leaving his trousers pooled at his ankles. You can see his member in the protruding silhouette of his boxers. Out of all the dolls, you’ve been most impressed by Jongseong, his cock is everything a person could dream of; girthy, long, like something off of Love Honey in the best seller’s section. 

You discard his boxers next, leaving his member to spring into action. He is so fucking beautiful, you think to yourself, admiring every part of the craftsmanship that went into making such a wonder. Raising your hand, you go to wrap your hand around him gently but you pause, realising you probably need to be told that you can indulge yourself.

Jongseong notices your hesitation and lets out a chuckle, his smile morphing into a knowing smirk as you meet his gaze with eager anticipation, "You're free to go, Princess" he announces, much to your delight, and you need no further encouragement.

Grabbing the base of his shaft you pump him a few times, the soft feeling of his skin welcomed along your fingertips. You open your mouth, staring at him as you lick the tip of his shaft a few times, each time pulsing in your hand. The mechanics of these cocks is a wonder, how realistic they all are.

He gathers your hair in his hands, brushing the wispy strands from your face adoringly, careful not to be too rough with you just yet. You look beautiful to him right now, your tongue swirling around his head, the saliva trail you’re leaving behind every time you remove your plump lips to gather your breath. Soonyeol is beautiful, but you’re like his dream come true. There’s a pang of guilt as he thinks about it but when you start sucking his cock lightly, every thought goes out the window.

Hollowing your cheeks, you pump his cock and use your tongue to massage his bell in your warm mouth, the sensation of his cold cock in contrast to your warmth adds a new layer to your pleasure, already excited to feel him deep in your heat. 

His size makes it difficult to fully take him in, so you use a combination of hand and mouth technique. You see the small subtleties in Jongseong's expression - the wrinkle of his brow, the tightening hold of his fist that inadvertently tugs at your hair again - and realise he doesn't mind how you are approaching it, he maybe even loves it.

It gives you a flutter in your tummy as you see his jaw slacking and his hips subconsciously twitching with pleasure. You’re an overachiever, have been your whole life, and while this is doing him wonders right now, you know you can do better.

Popping off his cock, you tap him on your outstretched tongue, grinning widely when his eyes meet yours. With his attention on you, you force him back in your throat, gagging slightly but relishing in the burn, your hands gripping his muscular thighs.

He hisses as with each bob, he hits your throat, “Fuck,” he grits out, pushing slightly to test the boundaries, and when you gag loudly, saliva dripping down your chin with a spurt, he instantly retreats, “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he soothes, his hand lifting your chin.

But you liked it, weirdly, the feeling of choking on his cock stirred something inside you, and your thighs become sticky with your arousal that is dripping down - and Jongseong noticed.

“Wait did you like it?” he asks, tightening his hold on your jaw, “You want me to fuck that beautiful throat of yours wide open?” 

God, yes.

With a nod and eyes full of want, you silently express your desire for him to completely ruin you. However, as you resume, a swift smack to your cheek jolts you, rendering a grimace as you look up at him, perplexed.

"Words, Sweetheart, be a good girl," Jongseong prompts, his voice carrying both authority and care. A flicker of understanding crosses his expression as he reaches out to stroke your cheek where his hand had landed moments before. "I'm here to give you what you need," he reassures, his touch tender against your skin, "But you have to tell me."

With a deep breath, you muster the courage to voice your desire, "I want you to fuck my throat," you whisper.

"That wasn’t so hard, was it?" he murmurs, his tone gentle as he encourages your honesty. ain some ways, submitting to a man like this is embarrassing, yet you can’t help but feel completely in control at the same time. He’s giving you the option to have whatever you want, something the other two don’t let you do. Jaeyun lets you take control but it’s all for his pleasure, not for your own, and Sunghoon doesn’t let you do anything on your own at all.

As Jongseong begins to push into your mouth, an upsurge of sensations overwhelms you: the hardness of him filling your mouth, the taste of him combining with your saliva, and the sting of tears welling up in your eyes. Despite this, a pleasure runs through your veins, sparking a burning yearning within you, you want more of him, desperately.

Jongseong's voice cut through the veil of your shared satisfaction, "You're doing so well, Sweetheart," he says, his words a calming symphony contrasting to the burning in your throat.

You respond with a muffled moan, your mouth full as you eagerly take him in, your body responding instinctively to his every touch. 

"I love how you take me," Jongseong whispers, his voice laced with reverence and desire, "You're so good for me. You were born to suck on my cock.”

His words alone are making your clit throb and you can’t take the emptiness, so, you reach down and dip your hand into your panties, circling your clit in rhythm with his thrusts. He continues chanting your praises, so lost in the feeling of your mouth that he hasn’t noticed you seek your own pleasure.

As Jongseong continues to revel in the pleasure of your mouth, a sudden interruption jolts him from his trance-like state. Feeling the subtle shift in your movements, he realises what you’re up to.

With a swift motion, he withdraws from your mouth, his grip firm on your head as he pulls you up to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, a mix of desire and admonition as he takes in the sight of you, flushed and needy, beneath him.

"Sweetheart, what do you think you're doing?" he chides, his voice low but commanding, “I didn’t give you permission to touch yourself, did it?"

“N-no…I just need you so bad, Jongseong.”

Your quivering voice of desperation makes Jongseong’s knees weak, that playful yet needy glint in your eye begging him to take you on the altar. He knows he has to punish you but you look so fucking sweet with your lips plump and drool on either side of your mouth that he’s almost forgiving you. You speak about the power the dolls have, but you have no idea the power you hold over them.  

But he knows he can't let your transgression go unpunished. With a sigh, he reaches out to cup your cheek, his touch gentle but firm. "I understand, Sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice tinged with feigned regret, "But rules are rules, and I can't make exceptions."

You accidentally let out a groan of frustration, rubbing your thighs together, hoping the friction can tide you over until he touches you.

sighing, Jongseong reaches out to caress your trembling thighs, his touch gentle yet possessive, "I know you're desperate," he murmurs into your neck, teasingly hovering over your nape with his lips, “So get on the fucking altar.”

With a whimper of surrender, you comply without hesitation, the anticipation of what's to come heightening your senses as you hoist up on the alter, positioning yourself on the edge. Every nerve in your body hums with anticipation, the need for his touch driving you to the brink of madness.

You’re glad that you wore a sundress today, planning to have a fun girls' day with Mia had its benefits even if it went horribly wrong.

In an instant, he rips off your panties, tossing them in the alter bowl haphazardly and hikes the skirt of your dress to your waist. Your pussy looks so delectable that he thinks prolonging stuffing you with his cock might be a punishment to himself rather than you.

But Jongseong is a man of his word, and if he doesn’t let Soonyeol away with anything, he certainly can’t let you. 

He slaps your thigh sharply, a red mark appearing instantly against your skin, “Move back,” he demands, slapping your thigh once again. His tone is authoritive so you do as you’re told, not wanting to disappoint him anymore.

You spread your legs without direction, hoping your compliance will warrant an early yield in your punishment, whatever it may be. Jongseong licks his lips and smiles triumphantly, falling into your trap.

Yet, just as you begin to feel a glimmer of relief, Jongseong's hand comes down with brutal force, striking your pussy with a harsh slap that echoes through the room. The pain is searing, making you cry out in shock and agony, the sound reverberating off the walls as your body recoils from the impact. Each consecutive smack creates a new wave of pain, coupled with a surge of stimulation that makes you dizzy with sensations.

With each hit, Jongseong's expression regret, yet his actions are a contradiction of brutality, "I'm sorry, Princess," he says between strikes, his voice heavy with sorrow, even as his hand strikes you again, "I know it hurts but every act of defiance deserves punishment," Jongseong whispers, his voice an odd soothing balm, "We’re almost done, just two more, you can handle that right?”

His question, paired with the gentle caress of his fingers against your throbbing pussy, relaxes you, knowing that he meant it when he said he would stop if you wanted him to. Even now, as he looks at you, he's silently permitting you to end this.

But you don't want to. Not yet. The ache between your legs, the desperate need for him, drives you to endure just a little longer, "I can take it, Jongseong," you utter, your voice steady despite the trembling of your body. With a slow exhale, you brace yourself for the final two strikes, determined to prove your endurance and earn the reward awaiting you.

Jongseong's gaze softens with admiration, his hand hovering momentarily before delivering the next blow, "You're so strong, Princess," he murmurs, his voice laced with genuine admiration, "I'm proud of you."

The words, spoken amid your ordeal, fill you with a sense of validation, a reassurance that despite the pain, you're still cherished and valued in his eyes. Even though he warned you this would happen and you disobeyed him, he still gives you praise.

He delivers the last smack with force, putting punctuation on the end of your punishment, hoping that you’ve learned your lesson. And by fuck you have.

Bringing you forward, he sits you up straight, "You've done so well," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead, "Now, let me take care of you."

Without hesitation, he takes his cock and slides himself inside your throbbing pussy, the sensation being both a culmination of need and a reminder of the pain you've endured. 

But as he begins to move within you, the rhythm of his thrusts slow and deliberate, you find yourself surrendering to the pleasure that washes over you. The intensity of the moment is overwhelming as you finally get what you've been craving for.

You moan softly, your hands grasping at his shoulders as you surrender to the intoxicating rhythm of his touch.

But just as you feel yourself on the brink of ecstasy, Jongseong pulls out abruptly, leaving you gasping for more. "Please," you whimper, your voice thick with need.

Jongseong's fingers find their way to your throbbing clit, flicking it with expert precision, "Not yet, Sweetheart," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear, "I want to make this last."

The sensation is electrifying, sending you reeling with desire as Jongseong teases you mercilessly. "Jongseong," you plead, your voice a desperate cry for more but he only chuckles, his touch driving you to the edge of sanity as he pushes you closer and closer to the brink.

And then, just when you think you can't take it any longer, he plunges back inside you, the intensity of his thrusts driving you to the edge of oblivion once more, "Yes!" you cry out, your body arching against his as pleasure consumes you.

Just as you're about to tip over the edge, Jongseong grips your throat gently, his touch both commanding and reassuring, posing no real threat, "You're such a good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and husky as he grabs your attention, "Yet, you've been so bad. Snooping around, looking at things you shouldn't, fucking things that aren't yours." There’s a sly grin on his face as he pulls out again, leaving your hole clenching around nothing, tears threatening to fall as your impending orgasm is ripped away from you again.

Jongseong continues to torment you, his words cutting through the haze of desire, you can't help but feel a sense of vulnerability wash over you, "Was the last punishment enough for everything you've been up to?" he asks, his tone laced with both curiosity and a hint of warning.

Your breath catches in your throat as you meet his stare, the weight of his question hanging heavy in the air. You know that you've pushed the boundaries, looking around the mansion even when you promised Sunghoon you wouldn’t, and indulged in pleasures that were not yours to claim.

With a shaky breath, you nod slowly, your voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, Jongseong," you murmur, your heart pounding in your chest, "I've learned my lesson."

“Oh, yeah?” he smirks, looking at the ceremonial bowl prettily decorated with your frilly underwear, “You sure?”

Your desperation mounts as you chant a series of "Yes's," your pleas echoing in the cold air of the room. Every fibre of your being screams for him, the ache between your legs driving you to the brink of madness.

And just when you think you can't bear the anticipation any longer, Jongseong plunges back into you, his gaze still fixated on your underwear. The intensity of his thrusts sends shivers of pleasure running through your hot veins, yet beneath it all, a nagging curiosity tugs at the edges of your consciousness.

If you were in your right mind, you would question his fascination with the garments adorning the ceremonial bowl. As he picks up the frilly underwear with his middle finger, a spike of anticipation plagues you, mingling with the pulsating waves of pleasure emanating from his touch. And then, his voice cuts through the air, commanding and authoritative.

"Spit on them, Sweetheart," he instructs, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Without hesitation, you comply, summoning every ounce of saliva you can muster before releasing it onto the delicate fabric. The sight of your saliva coating the underwear sends a shiver down your spine, a mix of arousal and confusion swirling within you.

But before you can question his motives, Jongseong's touch intensifies, driving you to the brink of ecstasy once more and rips it away as he tosses the underwear into the bowl once more. 

“No! Please, please, don’t stop fucking me, Jongseong. I promise I won’t snoop around or do anything without you telling me to.”

Your voice is desperate but you don’t care, if he denies you of your orgasm even just once more, you might die on this altar you’re perched on.

Jongseong's eyes light up with expectation, his hand tightening around your throat in a possessive hold while his other lingers over the ceremonial bowl, his muttering casting a dark spell in a foreign language.

Then suddenly, the crimson light floods the room, the same flash of red that almost blinded you. Terror holds you like a vice, pulling at your senses while flames lick hungrily in the air. Instinct urges you to go, to escape the flame that threatens to engulf you, but Jongseong's grip holds you tied to the altar.

There is no escape.

"Shhh, Princess it's okay, it won't hut you. I just need you to beg me," he says, his stare penetrating through the chaos with uncompromising focus, his left hand now sliding to tap on your clit with planned precision, sending waves of thrill surging through your body as he continues, lips hovering yours in a whisper, “Let Hell hear how much you need my cock.”

Hell.

The fire that is burning your skin beside you, that’s what you saw that day through the keyhole, you came face to face with the underworld. And now Jongseong’s opened it up beside you.

Summoning every ounce of courage you possess, you meet his gaze, your voice a trembling whisper as you utter the words he demands. "Please, Jongseong," you beg, the desperation in your tone echoing through the dimly lit chamber, "Fuck me, I need your cock so fucking bad."

His grasp on your throat tightens somewhat, a subtle acceptance of your surrender. With a hungry grin, he moves in closer, his breath hot on your ear, whispering pretty promises, and as his hand continues to work its magic on your clit,  you totally yield to him despite the fear rising inside you.

Kissing you, he fucks back into you, letting go of your throat and focusing all his attention on making you feel good, his hands finding home on your hips. 

The more you moan, the more intense the fire becomes, some of the flicker burning your arm. Jongseong notices your unease and focuses your eyes to look only at him, “It can’t hurt you, I wouldn’t let them,” he whispers, his words causing more confusion but you’re already so far gone, lost in the feeling of his cock punching into your cervix that you can’t question him.

"You're doing fucking amazing, Sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice filled with admiration and desire. "I want you to scream my name, let all those fucks know what a good girl you are, that you’ll never be like them.” His jab at those below you in the underworld makes your skin tingle.

With each thrust, pleasure courses through you like wildfire, igniting every nerve ending and leaving you breathless with ecstasy. And as you surrender to the overwhelming pleasure, you heed Jongseong's command, your screams echoing through the chamber as you give yourself over to him.

The flames in the bowl seem to dance to the rhythm of you and Jongseong’s passionate encounter, with each blow of his cock piercing your open, the more you cry out, and that excited the crimson glow.

As the intensity of your pleasure builds to a crescendo, you feel yourself teetering on the edge, every fibre of your being yearning for release. And with one final, desperate cry, you let go, surrendering yourself completely to the overwhelming waves of ecstasy that wash over you.

Jongseong feels you coming undone and follows suit, his cock twitching inside you and hips pushing him as far as he can reach inside you. 

Once the fires begin to fade, leaving just embers blazing gently in the darkness, you feel yourself returning to reality, your senses gradually returning to you. You notice the air is thick with the odour of burnt cloth and the remains of the fire that previously raged around you.

With a shock, you look down and notice the charred remains of your underwear smouldering in the ceremonial bowl, the flames having eaten them in their fervour. Panic grabs you for a minute, but suddenly Jongseong's voice breaks through the quiet, his words a calming salve.

"I get why the others are obsessed with you, Y/N," he says, his tone filled with admiration and longing, "You belong here, I know you do."

Despite his assuring words and gentle touch as he slips out of you, his hands soothing where he has left marks, lingering questions gnaw at the edges of your mind. "Jongseong," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, "what was that fire? And what did you mean by 'those fucks' down there? Was it hell?"

Jongseong’s expression softens, his fingers gently caressing your thighs, his actions were stupid and selfish in the name of his brothers and Soonyeol. He knows he shouldn’t have done that, but he just had to show you off, let everyone know that you were his at least once, “Y/N," he says softly, his eyes filled with a mixture of fondness and concern, "there are some things you're better off not knowing. Trust me."

His words give you pause but you’re sick of the secrecy now, “Tell me, Jongseong. I will find out one way or another,” you press him, hoping your tone is half as commanding as he was, “Just tell me, what the fuck was that?”

“Go to Heeseung. He can explain it far better than I can and to be honest, I don’t want to see your face when you find out,” he says suddenly, his tone firm but gentle. Confusion flickers in your eyes, but before you can question him further, Jongseong presses a tender kiss to your forehead, “I will warn you though, Sweetheart, he won’t take kindly to being last.”

taglist: @nshmrarki @kgneptun @ui11iane @addictedtohobi @parksunghoonsgf @chaewonshoney @chiiiiiiiiis @lilyuwon @rayofsunshineeee @moon7jay @erehkinnie30 @brownsugarbaybee @minniejenseo @woninluv @jaysluvs @fakeuwus @capri-cuntz @ash024 @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan @vousty @heeseungspookie @alvojake @yorukoshii @haechonly @riftanswhore @belowbun @emi-en @branchrkive @featjunranghae @thejjrl @nyxtwixx @sunghoonnsupremacy @nctislifue @itsnikitty @enhypenlovre

[astrow0rldx]

pac tarot: feelings & admiration for you 💌 (anyone) IN-DEPTH

very straightforward! pick a photo, piles number left to right

Pile One

somebody’s a water sign. their feelings are adaptable & they have a lot of responsibilities in their everyday life. but they balance you out , they are flexible to your presence, company, partnership etc. they may feel stable, grounded & comfortable in their level of feelings with you. your this very comforting, pretty, empathetic, emotional, intuitive, loyal person in their life. they probably are at the planning stage with you & figuring out what they want with you, what they are going to do when it comes to you and are they even going to take action in the first place.

now for some people i’m channeling some negative energy. someone could be having you as an option. or you in their life is conflicting because to much competition, sneaky & 2 faced conflict energy is going on that is hurting someone. this could be them getting away with it, both of you, or how they feel about what you contribute in their life. they are trying to stay strong, confident & brave through this conflict. when they think of you, they are pretty calm. and they feel like they came to a realization & a better understanding of what’s going on.

tbh no matter the business though, i don’t know if it’s small, if it’s them doing the sneaky stuff or y’all just have history and ten toes down. they feel like your where home is, & emotionally fulfilled with you. they want to explore more fun adventures & just be lively and extroverted with you. they feel like they are really smart & head strong when it comes to you and thinks of you strategically. they are scared if their efforts are going to really pay off, they want to invest but are they going to end up winning. they are kind of just taking a risk. idk if your really pretty & popular or something, and get a lot of attention, but they could be scared about your status and or ego/options. but if it’s not that it’s their status & the risks and efforts they are starting on this new beginning with you that they are doubting. this person is not as worried about the future of y’all connection, not in a they don’t care. because they do have a lot of curiosity & lovable feelings for you. but they are just going to see where it flows, they are relaxed and not overthinking it. but they definitely feel like they want to be bonded with you, compatible, and connected. but if they have to leave they will.

💞your late night talks could be very comforting, if you see each other late night or talk on the phone. but any talks, convos & deep talks with you are comforting. they like your mindset, they like your mind, they like when you get to know things about each other. they feel comfortable with the hope & wishes they can have with you and that you make them feel faithful. something that excites them about being with you is your romantic potiential/connection, sex/wanting to have sex with you or if this isn’t romantic probably partying, loosing up having fun, or still sex. you guys mental , mind games that y’all play is exciting to them for some people. the karma someone ends up getting. competition,arguments. but they like talking & learning with you, being prosperous & growing with you on different areas excites them. your such a sweetie pie, they feel like your such a good partner, friend with love to give, they admire that. they admire how when you got a lot going on you may be confused & conflicted you kind of just let loose and forget about it. they admire your ability to rest, take breaks. if your a homebody, they admire that. if you be confused with a lot of anxiety, they even admire that.

for the people i’m talking about that’s asking about a toxic relationship, the toxicity, the emotional highs/lows, risks, sneaky energy is what draws them in. they are really drawn to your mental intelligence, your mind, maybe your mystery. or maybe just your curiosity & open-mind ness. if your spiritual, religious, moral, committed that draws them in to you. your probably a very fun person, exciting, have motion, always on the go, or just a ball full of that with adrenaline. your a seed-planter, you grow things and prosper, you start, you manifest. those are parts of your personality that they see you in that they admire. they definitely respect you!! they respect your ambition, your self discipline, your will power. your money, income, ambition, career, career status. they respect your religion, your spirituality, your morals & traditions.

if your spiritual, emo, hippie, grunge they like that aesthetic on you. when you wear red/black, or when you wear all white. they like your hair, if you have thick textured hair, if you have curly hair, brown hair. if you wear accessories. they like your details. they like your walk.

Listen!! + movie - Waves by Trey Edward Shults

extra signs: water sign. feminine energy, sacral chakra. pregnancy, pregnancy scare. toxic relationships. woman with a lot of money, work schedule, business ideas, in college. curly hair, accesories. friendly, vulnerable female. female who is better than the second option or rest of exes.

Pile Two

their feelings for you is very sexual & freaky. if this is not that type of connection, they want to have fun. but most likely sexual. they like you as their fuck buddy. “i been working all day, i like to run the streets till it’s dark out then come home blow your back out” by Brent faiyaz. might be friends with benefits or one u guys are just independent. your someone they’re holding on to, going through the motion & moving forward with. i hope your not a burden lmao. your someone that might be a co-worker, study partner, student, school friend etc. someone that learns something from them, or they learn something from you. they want you in their life, transform the connection. the connection is transforming, transformative, or is it ending … but they want to work together with you on some matter, your their teammate. awnnn are they looking at the bad side, and sad in their feelings about you being in their life. the relationship you have could be a sexual option for them. i’m getting a specific situation for some people and you might be someone’s school, or work bop or avenue for some sex. but that’s for some, take what resonates. some they still feel very sexual motivated for the relationship you have, and may just have a lot of ideas and wishes when it comes to you. could be up in the clouds about the relationship y’all have & let’s hope not delusional.

they could have been defeated, rejected, let down in some way, victimized basically and trying to get through it & move on. they feel new & fresh with you still when they think of you and want to risk and start something new. i don’t know if they are not motivated enough & bored/dissatisfied. maybe not with you maybe with the situation that’s going on & want something different out of it. maybe feeling missed opportunities & like something didn’t go there way. they feel kind of focused & driven on you, making a lot of decisions and judgements when it come to you. but feel like your fun & a fun time.

their fears about you. do they think your the demon? or they might be the demon. they may be afraid of you having other suitors. they might not want you to see yourself higher than the connection. they don’t want things to be too chaotic, fall apart & a new perspective happens. so this is a very sexual connection, or that’s a lot of his feelings but it seems like he hides this. he hides all his sexual feelings, passion, interest, and how he be horny. he hides the fact that he likes being around you, and celebrates. honestly he feels like the future of the connection is going to be sadd, and fall apart. idk but i don’t think he wants you to let go, someone is going to be attached. & some information is going to be clarified and knowed.

💞what makes them feel secure with you is the hope & faith for y’all connection. the way someone can make something happen, control something. they like the movement & fast paste that goes on. they like how you let go & see things different. oh you look gooddd, idc what you say they believe it. and they were excited about being with you because of this, they thought you was a new lover & loved the love u had to offer. your a queen to them frfr. like they think you sexy asf, and probably freaky. they love that & admire that about you. your sexual, fun, free energy. you in your lilith, empress energy. and your ability to move on to happier waters. i really doubt your their girlfriend, idkk are you?? or is this like a friends with benefits. what draws them is is the excitement you spark, your sexiness. but i think they look at you as independent & free on your own. like a sex buddy. but still what draws them is is your flirty , playful lovely side. your probably not the most intimate, but you definitely show some pretty love & affection that draws them in. they like that part of your personality how you can be so fiery, freaky, sexy, free & fun but also emotional, inner child, comforting. they think your very smart, curious & could be a good student too. but they admire your mystery, your attention that you get or your acheivments. just how you sit on your throne in this mystery. could be intuitive, spiritual, witchy. they like all of that. your ability to just go with the flow, calm & take it slow. juggle things & responsibilities, be flexible & adaptable is something they respect you for.

they like your natural face, hair, body. they like your curves, physique. they like you when your sleeping. they like your around the house wear. they like your height.

Listen!! + movie - Tell Me Lies by Carola Lovering

extra signs: fire or earths signs. friends with benefits, someone that you mess around with, school/work/team partner. someone that comes around every once and while. someone you party with, get drunk with. someone that you have a toxic sexual relationship with for the thrill.

Pile Three

their feelings are very steady & stable. is this a current-ongoing connection? they like you there, want to keep you there. feel committed & invested. your the empress in their life, so someone nurturing, high level, queen, mom energy. your someone who they see from another perspective & is going on a slow paste journey with you, maybe taking it stable and slowly, for a goal or something. wtf who cheating? or being fake they could feel this way about you being in their life, or this could be them being sneaky, argumentative, competitive, putting you with components. but being with you has caused a tower moment in their life & shook everything up but they feel like your this emotional woman, loving & caring. they celebrate the relationship y’all have, and take it softly in the emotional department with puppy love but you could be a burden in some areas or they feel like the relationship needs some hard work.

when they think of you they think your there’s, in the life stably. they be curious about some things. wanting to know some stuff & ask you stuff. they think of the effort & investments they put in or what as been put in between both of y’all that bonded you guys. y’all connection overall. they may think about leaving and moving on from something. y’all might have history, know them from the past. they feel very comfortable & familiar around you in a very good way. they feel like your someone that their lucky to have, your here by fate. could be your family for some people asking. they might feel like whatever tbh and kind of unmotivated. or maybe they feel like they missed out on something and miss you.

theirs fears when it come to you is losing you, definitely someone who’s big on stability in their emotional landscape towards you. idk are they scared of you knowing something, they are scared of someone losing interest. hmm this idea that they would fight for you, hold on to you, commit to you, spoil you & celebrate being with you, they might be keeping it from you … idk they might really think that something is going to end you guys and you will end up being in the past or something but they’re scared of that

💞they feel emotionally secure with the fact that you satisfy them, & they satisfy you. they like the movement & action you guys do, fast progress, maybe traveling. they feel comfortable when you guys surrender to each other, let go & have new perspectives. chilling. what excites them the most about you is the hold they have on you. wheter it’s positive or negative. you may be one of their options of many, great friend, etc. or someone they want to hold on to they can get daydreamy about and have a lot wishes and fantasy’s with you. they are excited about the way y’all can come together and have fun, work together, be a good teammate, celebrate together. y’all quality time. they think your headstrong, smart, mature, logical and excited to go through things and push through it with you. they admire your hard work, patience, mind. they admire your love, emotions, happiness, fulfillment. your personality is so queen stand on business fierce confidence emotionally mature and they admire that.

what makes them respect you is the fact that you have hope & if you don’t feel secure in that hope you work on it, your an ambitious star. they respect your drive, they respect your adrenaline. they respect your fun, free, sexy energy to. physically they like you in dresses, classy clothes that makes you look materially clean, fresh, and rich. they like your physique, you might have an hourglass they like that. they might like your stomach, skin, you when laying down on your back.

Listen!! movie - Trust by David Schwimmer

extra signs: committed relationship/stable connection, girl who’s hard to get, scared of losing you, age gap, ex, childhood friend, internet friend

[retroaria]

｡･:*˚:✧boyfriend bachira･:*˚:✧｡

summary: general dating headcanons for the best boy of all the boys

warnings: umm if you don’t read this and like it I’ll cry, mentions of biting (cuteness aggression), use of pet names

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | enjoy 🤍 - aria

pre!boyfriend bachira who literally tells you straight up that he likes you but does it in such an unserious way that you don’t recognize his true feelings. he’s always touchy and affectionate and often acts that way with his other friends as well so you have a hard time differentiating if he’s being platonic or not.

pre!boyfriend bachira who notices that you DONT notice and gets really upset about it. feels like there’s nothing he can do to get you to see all the love he has literally oozing out of his veins for you.

pre!boyfriend bachira who has already made a great impression on your family and friends. he’s just such a little bundle of joy that everyone loves having around. you’ve also met his mom and she’s so happy meguru has someone who genuinely loves and cares for him.

pre!boyfriend bachira who takes pictures and notes of every thing he sees that reminds him of you. sometimes he shares them with you but often times he’s afraid you’ll think the sheer amount of time he spends thinking about you is weird :(

pre!boyfriend bachira who CANNOT help but engulf you in the most lung suppressing, air tight, vacuum sealed hug of all time every time he sees you. feels this is the closest he can get to you as just friends. (really he wants to plant a thousand kisses on your face and swing you around like a teddy bear in his arms)

pre!boyfriend bachira who doesn’t stop talking about you to all his friends (EVERYONE but you knows that he has feelings for you). He’s spent so much time observing everything about you that he feels like there’s endless things he could mention and if he says one thing but leaves out another they won’t fully understand just how amazing you are.

pre!boyfriend bachira who writes you a love letter with a full declaration of his feelings and a cute little drawing of the two of you playing football together. you go find him immediately after reading it and he’s like “well FINALLY I’ve been trying to tell you for forever silly :D” (you better love this boy or I will hunt you down)

boyfriend bachira who is literally the kisses bandit. will kiss you any chance he gets. passing by you in the hall for literally two seconds? boom! kiss on the cheek. you are never safe (not that you’d ever NOT want this boys sweet little pecks at every chance you can get them). His favorite place to kiss you is everywhere and anywhere he can get to.

boyfriend bachira who finally gets to share all the things that make him think of you. expect to receive texts and voicemails from this boy all day. “I walked past this bakery that smelled just like you!” “This flower I saw is the same color as your eyes!” “I saw the cutest bunny at the park today and it even sat with me for a while, I named it after you! call me back! love you!”

boyfriend bachira who has already curated a list of places he wants to take you. Ranging from his favorite stores and arcades to his favorite parks, under bridges, picnic spots, hidden gems. He’s always out and about finding fun places and his first thought is always how he can’t wait to take you there.

boyfriend bachira who calls you the silliest pet names. pumpkin, bunny, squish, baby face, cutie pie, literally anything that sounds adorable might as well be your middle name in his book.

boyfriend bachira who loves to share everything with you. He’s always giving you one of his earbuds when you walk/sit together, gesturing the straw of his drink over to you, splitting half his food order with you (as long as he gets half of yours :)) I imagine you guys sharing manga, dvds, vinyls, books, anything that’s his that he also wants to be yours. LOVES seeing you in his clothes. His jersey???? Omg he would die.

boyfriend bachira who wants to tell you everything about himself and his life and know everything about you. he’d never push you to speak about something that might be hard to talk about but he wants you to know that you can always be comfortable sharing anything with him. He truly considers you an extension of himself, his other half if you will.

boyfriend bachira who suffers from a terrible case of cuteness aggression!!! he definitely strikes me as a biter/nibbler. he never wants to hurt you and would only do it if you were ok with it but just little love bites on your hands, neck, cheeks, ears, lips anywhere. when you aren’t around and he thinks about how cute you are he has to scream in a pillow or kick his soccer ball really hard lol. Really wants to just squish you so hard you evaporate and become a part of him forever.

boyfriend bachira who if asked what he wants the most in this world would simply say he wants to live a happy vibrant life with you <3

Bachira is probably the loml. I think I would give him the world. I’m finally caught up with the blue lock manga as of last night and I’m literally itching so bad for more I need that new chapter ASAP gotta see goatsagi score that goal 😭

[deakyjoe]

Misfire

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader (afab)

Category: smut, fluff

Summary: After a long day, Copia gets a little too excited at finally seeing you.

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, premature ejaculation, kissing, groping, cum eating, shower sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, f receiving oral, cream pie, established relationship, stressed Copia, needy Copia, hurt/comfort, praise kink, fluff

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Every horny thought I had previously about Copia that had been pushed to the back of my mind with the insistence of “I don’t need to write that” came back in full swing after RHRN and manifested into this. Title comes from the song of the same name by Queen.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

The day had been long and stressful. Like most days were. And there was nothing Copia wanted more than to be back in his room, in bed, with you underneath him or his face buried between your legs. It was the only suitable way to unwind after a difficult day in his opinion. Fucking you.

As soon as his last meeting was done, and he'd managed to convince Sister Imperator that the latest pile of paperwork she'd dumped on his desk could wait for tomorrow, he was out the door and practically running to go and find you. Thankfully, you were exactly where you always were at the end of the day. You were waiting for him back in his rooms, ready to do whatever he needed to feel better.

The door swung open with an unceremonious thwack against the wall, door handle banging into the paint and contributing to the dent that already existed there. It slammed back into its frame behind Copia, all cares about possibly disturbing his neighbours gone. He just needed you.

At the clattering sounds of him appearing, you looked up from the book you were reading and immediately stood to greet him. "Hello, my love. How was your day?"

Copia dismissed your question with a wave of his hand, instead marching towards you with purpose. "No time. Need you."

You didn't have much time to react but the page of the book you were on was forgotten as the item fell to the seat of the chair you were previously situated on, and you prepared yourself to be met with his hands that were already outstretched towards you.

His pace was fast. So fast in fact that when he collided against you, mouth slanting over yours with the slightest clash of teeth, you stumbled back a couple of paces. Luckily, his arms were tightly wound around you in time to steady you and prevent you from falling.

The kiss was messy and desperate, the low whine he let out at the relief of finally touching you telling you everything you needed to know about the state of his day. It obviously hadn't been a good one. But you knew how to solve that.

For Copia, no amount of contact was enough. He was glad that he'd forgone his Cardinal vestments for the day, one less layer between the two of you. One of his hands pushed into the small of your back to draw your body as close as possible to his. The other was on the back of your head to keep your lips firmly pressed against his. On top of that he was leaning forward, almost bending you backwards and making your spine arch in a slightly uncomfortable position, to make sure you didn't leave his embrace for even a second.

His tongue licked hotly and urgently into your mouth and it wasn't long before you could feel him growing hard between you. It didn't take much on days like this. So without breaking away from him, because you knew that would make his day even worse, you slowly started to guide him back towards his bed.

Copia hadn't realised that the two of you were moving, too distracted by the feeling of you, until the backs of his legs hit the wooden frame. He hummed against your mouth in appreciation, you always knew what he needed. Not like it was difficult to tell when he was being like this.

He whimpered when you had to break apart in order to get on the bed, hands not leaving you for a second as you crawled on and collapsed against the pillows and he climbed on top of you. Not a second was wasted as he went back to kissing you, pushing your thighs apart so he could slot himself between them and rest almost the entirety of his body weight on you.

One of his hands roamed you, sliding up underneath the hem of your shirt to gain access to your skin. Even if he couldn't feel it because of his gloves, knowing that the leather was on your bare flesh was enough for him. Your own hands were tangled in his hair, letting the strands run a little looser after being pristine for the day, and pulling him as impossibly closer as you could. You knew he liked it when you showed how you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

It didn't take long before his lustful impulses took over and the friction of your bodies against each other had him pushing his pelvis into yours with a snap of his hips.

"Fuck." He hissed against your mouth, hips rutting forward again. "I'm sorry. I can't- I can't stop, it feels so good."

You slid your hands down to cup his face in your palms, thumbs swiping across his cheeks to calm him down. "Copia, my love, if it feels good then don't stop."

His mouth fell open, a protest dying on his lips when he saw how genuine you were being about the idea, brows scrunching together in pleasure as he let himself rut against you again. After that, all control was lost.

His mouth crashed back over yours, desperate to feel as much of you as possible. He chased the feeling that was steadily building, convinced that he could do this for just a little while longer before he took your clothes off and actually fucked you.

But you knew better.

You could tell he was getting close by the whines he was letting out into your mouth getting higher in both pitch and frequency. His hips were also rutting against you at a much faster rate, almost frantic. Then suddenly he stilled, limbs going rigid and jaw falling open around a long groan of elated satisfaction.

He collapsed on top of you, face buried in the side of your neck and heavy pants tickling your skin. You let your hands slide around to his back, tracing patterns with your finger tips along his clothes.

Copia sighed suddenly, mumbling against your ear. "I'm so sorry. I, eh, I don't know what happened."

"It's okay." You replied, a content smile gracing your lips. He didn't need to apologise, there was nothing you loved more than his happiness. And if that was caused by him coming in his pants just through some dry humping? Then you were all too pleased for him. You let him rest for a couple more minutes, allowing his breathing rate to slow down, before suggesting something that always made him feel better. "Let's go get you cleaned up, hm? Shower?"

The smile in his voice was evident. "Okey dokey."

He slowly pushed himself up, hands running down the lengths of your legs to keep in contact with you as you yourself also sat up. You took his hands in yours as you started to lead him towards his en suite bathroom, letting him wind his arms around your waist and push his face into the side of your neck to keep you close.

When you got to the bathroom, and looked in the mirror, you found that the black paint he applied to his top lip every day was now smeared around your mouth. This was a common occurrence.

You pointed it out to him anyway. "Look, we're matching."

And Copia smiled like he always did. "It suits you."

You rolled your eyes at the same line he always gave you, biting down on your bottom lip to smother the grin it always brought to your face. After switching the shower on, you gave it a minute to warm up as you started to help Copia remove his clothes. He let you do it, a fond smile on his face as he noticed your eyebrows pinch in concentration.

His thighs were sticky from your previous activities and your eyes lit up at the sight. Copia's own eyes practically popped out of his head as he watched you swipe a finger through the mess and then suck it off into your mouth with a pleased hum.

That was all it took for him to start ripping your clothes off and then push you into the shower whilst you giggled at his new found energy.

"Slow down, my love. We have time and you could probably use a minute." You glanced down to where he was hanging soft and pulled him under the hot stream of water with you to start cleaning him off.

Copia's head rested on your shoulder, his hair dripping into his eyes and making his black eye makeup start running, as you lathered him up with soap and got to work gently washing the day's stress away. Once he was spotless you pressed a kiss against his neck to tell him you were done and he stood up straight to look at you.

An adoring smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he cupped your face in a bare palm and ran his thumb over your bottom lip. He kissed you quickly, softly, and then sank down onto his knees. He gazed up at you, mismatched eyes wide and almost vulnerable, black paint cascading from his eyes. You used your thumbs to wipe the mess away before giving him the go ahead with a small nod.

Copia dived in between your thighs, enthusiastically licking at every inch he could reach. His eyes closed in pleasure, moans rumbling through his chest and out of his mouth against you. The fingers of one of your hands threaded through his hair, encouraging him, the other steadying you against the wall to hold yourself up. He was always so keen to please, so desperate to know he was doing well, so that's exactly what you gave him.

"Mhm, just like that." You sighed, meeting his opened eyes. "Good boy."

He whined against you, somehow pushing his face further into you and bumping his nose against your clit. One of his large hands splayed across the plains of your thigh, tips of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh and pushing your leg up to hook your knee over his shoulder. That only gave him better access and a new angle. As much as you wanted to stay composed for him, to keep praising him, the new sensation had a choked cry leaving your mouth and your head dropping backwards in pleasure.

Copia licked and sucked with determination, working towards the goal of getting you to orgasm against his face. He kept a close watch on every reaction you gave, making sure to keep his eyes open now so he didn’t miss a single response you gave to anything he did. Water rained down onto his head, beating against his face and making it harder to see, but he didn’t care. He only cared about making you feel good. Because you always made him feel good. He loved to return the favour.

Your toes curled, thighs clenching around him and drawing him closer against you. Copia knew then that the end goal was arriving soon and this only motivated him further, his rapid motions only picking up further like a man starved. The fingers carded in his hair tightened, tugging on the roots harshly, and Copia groaned loudly, sending vibrations rippling through you. That tipped you over the edge.

A smile spread across his face as you rocked your hips against it, chasing the high that he’d given you. Once it had eased out to a warm glow Copia stood again, wincing as his knees cracked.

“You need to be more careful, my love. Your joints can’t handle positions like those anymore.” You hummed, cupping his face in your hands.

“For you I will bear the pain and get on my knees any day.” He retorted as he leaned in to kiss you.

The proximity alerted you to the fact that he was hard again and you pulled away from him with a startled squeak and looked down to where he was pressing against your stomach.

“Bad days make you like a horny teenager.” You chuckled, not complaining in the slightest.

“No, you make me like a horny teenager.” He countered and kissed you again, tongue lapping into your mouth so you could taste yourself on him.

Steam from the hot shower had clouded the room but neither of you cared as Copia pushed you against the wall and slid into you. You both gasped lowly into each other’s mouths in gratification at the feeling, him lifting one of your legs to give him better access.

He fucked you slowly and lovingly, a strong contrast to the way he’d been rutting against you earlier. But that had been for relief. This was for comfort. He took his time with it, letting the sensation build slowly as to not rush it this time. And you were all too happy to let him have you anyway he wanted you.

Water cascaded between you, causing his body to slip against yours with ease and making it difficult to breathe between kisses. But neither of you cared, not being able to bear being too far away from each other for even a fraction of a second.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your second orgasm, despite the slow pace. And the feeling of you clenching around him meant Copia wasn’t far behind. He stilled as he came inside you, pumping a few more times to make sure he filled you.

After a few more kisses, he slid out of you with a hiss and it was his turn to wash you. He babbled about how much he loved you, a mix of English and Italian and what you thought to be some Latin leaving his mouth in hushed tones. You could only smile back, knowing he knew how much you loved him too.

Once the shower was done, and the steam started to clear, you dried each other off and giggled about meaningless things. You pointed out how much you adored the greys in his hair as you ruffled his head with a towel. He pointed out the bite mark he’d left on your thigh that you hadn’t even noticed he’d given you in the shower as he wiped water droplets off of your skin.

When you returned to the bedroom and started searching for some pyjamas for you to wear, one of his fingers tracing up and down the line of your spine, he informed you that he wanted to sleep naked. To feel you as close to him as possible. You agreed with a simple nod of your head. And when you crawled into bed, you told Copia how much he meant to you. He only blushed and returned the sentiment.

With the lights off, mumbles of affectionate praises, promises of eternal love, and soft kisses were exchanged until the two of you fell into a peaceful sleep wrapped in each other's arms.

A/N: this started out as something meant to be strictly horny and then turned all sweet at the end?? Anyway, hope you enjoyed my first dive into Copia fanfic!

[crushmeeren]

♡ Master List Link

♡ Choso / Fem Reader Drabble

❥ Warnings; cursing, mentions of male masturbation, vaginal sex, dirty talking, cream pie ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

❥ Authors Note; I..think I’m becoming a Choso girlie — I needed to write this.

God — fuck, just imagining Choso who becomes unbearably obsessed with your pussy after he gets his dick wet for the first time. Choso’s never been so horny in his entire goddamn cursed existence.

Sure, he’s had sex once, but it was meaningless. Yeah, he jerks off, but it’s not the same.

It’s just, his slim fingers don’t wrap the right way around his cock. Every time he’s pushing into the tight fist of his hand he wishes he was inside you instead.

Because with you, it’s all new, different. Now he thinks about your pussy 24/7, the phantom sensation really scrambles his brain. He longs to be close to you, to be intimate with you. Choso loves you.

Choso’s adamant that nothing, fucking nothing, compares to the scorching pleasure that washes over him when your slick pussy hugs his cock.

Case in point — a warm shiver is currently slithering up his spine and making his brain fuzzy as he fucks you. He wants to drool like a dog.

He leisurely sits back on his calves, spreading you open with a brutal grip on your thighs. He doesn’t even realize the tips of his fingers are digging dark purple bruises into your skin.

Choso whimpers as he stares, sharp eyes admiring the way the lips of your pussy stretch with his cock when he pulls out. He licks his lips when he notices how shiny his shaft is because of you.

It’s funny, because the man isn’t even aware of how thick his cock is. He’s oblivious to the fact that you’re about to cum until your voice is edging on a sob, or a squeal — or both.

“Choso!” You gasp. “I’m gonna cum!” Your head tilts back into the pillow, nails digging viciously into his biceps. His eyelids flutter briefly before snapping open to admire your face as you cum.

Choso’s jaw drops, his hips faltering in their pace as you fall over the edge.

He gives you a high pitched whine before leaning down to lick the hollow of your neck, moaning at the taste of salt on your skin. He works you through it, eager to draw out your pleasure as long as he’s able.

Sweat drips down his temples, dragging over his jaw and falling onto your chest. He hasn’t stopped rolling his hips, doesn’t think he could stop if he tried.

“I, oh god, I want to cum inside you. Fuck! Baby please, please let me,” Choso begs, muffling the sounds of his needy whining into the side of your neck.

“Let go baby, I’ve got you. You can cum inside of me,” you murmur encouragingly, huffing softly and gripping his hair.

He’s cumming before he even knows what’s happening.

Choso thrusts in quick snaps of his hips. He claws at the sheets beside your head, sinking his teeth into your shoulder as he presses in all the way.

His orgasm rips him apart, making him squeeze his eyes shut as he shivers from the intensity.

With a groan he relaxes his weight onto your chest, limbs loose and pliable as you both catch your breath.

You wiggle underneath him when you start to become uncomfortable. You’re sticky and sweaty and your hips ache. When you clench around him involuntarily you’re abruptly met with the fact he’s still rock hard.

“Seriously Choso?” You tease, baffled that he’s able to stay consistently ready to go. Choso raises his head from your chest and looks at you sheepishly.

“Can we go again princess? You’re addictive and I don’t want to stop yet.” He pushes out his lower lip, leaning down to lick along the seam of your lips playfully.

And in all honest, you don’t wanna stop either. The way he moves his hips is unholy. You never should have taught him how to have sex.

Choso’s blood blisters when you agree, his sexual appetite not even close to satiated. This time however, Choso wants your face in the sheets and ass in the air. The angle allows him to see his cock disappear inside you even better this way.

[buckysegan]

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration - Part Two

Summary: John writes back to his friend from home and we hear from our friend across the way. John x She. Word Count: 1.2k. A/N: we are def rolling with some historical inaccuracies in regards to letters here but sue me. he deserves it. pstttt also should we name her? do you all want to send me random john prompts. my baby isn't ok and i'm not ok. Part one linked here. Part three linked here.

John was sure he wasn't sweating a normal amount as he looked down at the piece of paper that Buck had offered him. It had taken two whole days of questions from the man for Bucky to even decide that he was going to reply. He’d been offered the hope, what more could he ask of her. Could he ask more? There had been a return address on the letter which Buck had insisted was there for a reason and she had opened herself out for a reply from him but the Major couldn’t help but be unsure.

It was an odd feeling for him, before the war he hadn't been unsure of anything and since he’d been here? Well he hadn’t been sober enough to doubt anything that he had done. These days though Bucky felt like he doubted every single thing. The thing was, he wasn't sure that he could afford to doubt this, to look past the life line that had been offered to him. Not when each day he could feel his mind draw a little further toward the edge no matter how much he or Buck tried to keep it in check.

With a sigh he pulled the pen into his hand, eyes locked on the page for a moment before he began to scrawl.

Dear Friend From Home 

You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you. 

I think the first thing I got to say is thank you. I don’t know if the words I can put on paper are ever going to really tell you how much your letter meant to me. See I was a certain type of man that didn’t think much to pen pals. I figured that I’d be ok, you know, that with my boys I’d have what I needed to make it through the hard days but watching the letters for everyone else roll in has been harder than I thought it might. 

There are things that I can’t tell you cause I don’t know who might read these letters, and where I am I can’t get you no picture but I can tell you that my favorite dish is a meat and potato pie, simple I know but really I’m a simple hearty kind of guy. What makes me laugh, you asked? That’s kind of simple for me too, just good company, myself sometimes, Buck, he’s my best friend, he makes me laugh a lot. What makes you laugh? I’d like to know that. 

May I know where you are? I know that might be a big ask but you said I could ask anything I know and if I get out of here…we get some leave, I’d like to know where I need to ask for me leave to be. Then I can show you what I sound and look like and know that in return. 

If this letter doesn’t reach you for a while, know you’ve been with me the whole time. 

With all my gratitude, hope and returned adoration

Major John Egan 

“What if she doesn’t get it?” He found himself questioning quietly to Buck as he handed over the letter to make it out of camp. His best friend settled him with a soft look, one that always made Bucky feel like he had some worldly knowledge the rest of them had missed out on, that assured him everything was going to be alright. “You just gotta have hope she will John, she’ll get it.” 

With a huff Bucky nodded, pulling his hat on as he watched his letter vanish from his view all together. “Alright well I can’t sit here and wonder, I’m off to play baseball or something.”

The letter that Bucky had so carefully handed over changed hands many more times, some fingers as rough as the pilots, some dirtier, some softer, but the last set of fingers to slide the letter from her post box had perfectly manicured fingers. Her flicking of her post was greedy as she looked for the same thing that she had every day since she’d posted her own letter.

At first, her hopes of finding what she was looking for had been unrealistic; she knew that, it hadn’t even been long enough for her letter to be received, let alone for him to get one back to her, then the other girls at the centre, they’d gotten letters back, notes, anything. That was when she had allowed her hope to return, for a moment at least. Days without anything had turned into weeks and then weeks had turned into months. Anything could have happened, that was what she tried to tell herself, he might not have gotten her letter, he might have thought it was weird and had chosen not to reply. That thought was enough to miff her, he could have at least said thank you. When she had decided no one could be that mean, her diminishing hope had turned to worry, what if he hadn't been able to receive her letter.

Flicking through each white envelope today, she almost missed it, how she didn't know because it was clearly different from the rest of them, maybe she hadn't wanted to look. "Not…" Trailing off she flicked back to the second to last letter, her eyes taking in the scrawling of her address, her eyes checking the postage before she was taring inside. "It's here, he wrote it's here." She called through the halls to the other girls that she lived with, all of which had been holding their breath with her. "Oh god I can't read it, what if he's telling me I was weird!" She cried, thrusting the unopened letter into the hands of her eager friend.

"Don't be dramatic, he's going to be throwing down his gratitude at you being a doll, you should have attached a picture with it I told you!" Meg beamed easily back at her, the same sense of reservation missing from her actions as she tore into the letter so that it could be read to the group. "Dear Friend From Home. You’re gunna have to forgive me because I ain’t going to be as good as this as you are. I’ve written so many letters this war you would think that I’d have gotten a handle on it by now but I find myself at a loss when it comes to what to say to you." That was enough, pulling the letter from Megs hands she was quick to scramble away from the group once more, locking herself into her room as re-read the opening line herself, the tears in her eyes only welling even further as she continued.

An ache in her chest formed as she read the words once more, taking in each strike of his pen where he had corrected himself or smudge from whatever he'd had on his fingers. The state of the letter was enough to make her wonder, but at least for now, she knew her friend was ok. He was alive, and he wanted to hear more from her. It couldn't have been normal, to feel this level of emotion for a man that she had never met, but she had found herself here regardless and in the middle of so much uncertainty, she wasn't going to question the pull she felt across the way to England.

Pushing from her bed she moved to her desk, paper pulled from her stationary pot, the quicker she could post this the quicker it could get to him.

"Dear Major Egan,

I'm delighted to hear I'm with you. I hope you know, that you've been with me too…"

[d3adp00ls]

Heyia lovely! Noticed you were taking or rather looking for requests to do with Vanessa from FNAF?

If there still open I was wondering if you were able to a fluffy one, maybe when the reader is related to Mike somehow and she knows he’s struggling with a job so it’s actually her that suggest to Mike to work as a night guard with her, and maybe Mike is overprotective of the reader so when Vanessa turns up he’s like ‘stay away from her’, but their actually a couple, and when Mike just finds out he’s shocked and if your comfortable with it maybe Vanessa giving the reader a kiss or a kiss on the cheek and he like ‘so I’ll see you for date night?’

Overprotective?

Vanessa (fnaf movie) x reader

Summary: basically the request

Contents: fluff, angst (you gotta squint really hard tbh), established relationship, protective Mike, secret relationship

W/c: how about you count for me bbg 😉 (I’m actually so sorry this is so fucking long and idek why)

side note: The only thing I really changed is the fact that you aren't related to Mike and that you're just a childhood friend, I hope that’s okay and enjoy the totally amazing writing that I love so much!! Also, I’m pretty sure this does not fit totally well with the movie's timeline but it does kind of take place during it.

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You started working as a security guard at Freddy’s about three months ago. Although it wasn’t the ideal job and the pay sucked ass, it had its perks. For instance, you enjoyed watching Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica perform for you, and you also found it amusing to watch Foxy try to beat your high score on one of the old arcade games. It was pretty funny to see him struggle with the machines using only one hand, but it was less funny when he got mad and hit the machine with his hook. However, the best thing about the job was Vanessa Shelly, the officer who came every other night. You met her on your third day working at Freddy’s when she came to introduce herself to you, and you both immediately clicked. Now, two months later, you’re together.

Recently, you’ve been feeling lonely at Freddy’s. Vanessa couldn’t visit you all the time due to her job, and as much as you love the animatronics, you can’t have real conversations with them. Half the time, you’re left in your own thoughts while waiting for your watch to read 6 a.m. Vanessa recently told you that they were trying to find another security guard to work at Freddy’s with you. You were excited about the idea until she told you that you both would only have one shift together. Nonetheless, you were still excited about the idea of not being alone every night on the weeks Vanessa couldn’t keep you company. You just wish they would find a person faster. You were becoming more and more impatient as the days passed. It got to the point where you even asked Vanessa if you could look for someone yourself, which you quickly realized was stupid because you didn’t even know anyone who could do night shifts. You had given up hope of having a coworker and accepted the fact that some weeks you would be stuck at the old restaurant alone. However, one of your nights off changed everything. You were babysitting for your best friend Mike Schmidt, who was apparently out trying to get a job because he beat up some kid’s father at his last one. You had been drawing in the living room on the floor with Abby when he came in holding and reading an orange paper. You furrowed your eyes as you stood up and walked to him. “What’s that?” Mike looked up at you as you nodded toward the paper. He looked back down at it before sighing and crumbling it up. “Nothing, don’t worry about it,” he said with a small huff before looking towards the kitchen and seeing a box of pizza with a half-eaten pie on the table. He looked back towards you with furrowed brows. “Did you order dinner?” he asked while walking towards the kitchen and picking up a slice, feeling that it was still warm.

“Nah, my girl….I mean uh… a friend of mine did,” you said with a shrug, clearing your throat when you realized you almost had a slip-up. It’s not like you didn’t trust Mike with knowing that you had a girlfriend. You knew you could trust him, seeing as you had come out to him when you both were 15, and he was more supportive than your own parents could ever be. However, it wasn’t about sexuality with Mike. It was his protectiveness over the one he loved. He has been going through a lot ever since Garret’s death, so you don’t blame him at all for becoming overprotective about you and Abby. But the fact that you don’t blame him doesn’t mean you won’t sometimes wish he would lay off on the protective big brother act. Sometimes it’s the only reason why you haven’t told him about Vanessa. You were scared of how he would react and that he wouldn’t approve. Mike looked at you with a raised brow, and your heart nearly sank at the thought of him hearing your slip-up. But then a smirk started to form on his lips, causing you to raise a brow before he started speaking. “Oh? I didn’t realize people actually liked you enough to consider you a friend.”

You sarcastically laughed at his words before punching him in the arm, causing him to laugh and move away from you with his arms raised in defense. “Very funny, Mike. Tons of people like me, alright?” you say with a roll of your eyes as you walk back to the living room where Abby is still finishing her drawing. “Anyways, how’d it go? Did you get the job?” You ask as you begin to pick up some of the crayons that Abby wasn’t using. You hear Mike groan, causing you to glance up at him. He’s sitting in a chair with a hand covering his face. “That bad, huh?” Mike shakes his head, moving his hand to tap against the arm of the chair. “I don’t even want to talk about it,” he says with another groan before leaning his head back to let out a huff. You hum in return as you finish picking up the rest of the crayons and placing them next to Abby’s drawings on a table with a smile before standing up fully and brushing your pants off. “Well, I should start heading out. I have work tomorrow, and I have to do a ton of other stuff before then, so I want to get some rest before all of that,” you begin walking around to grab your stuff as you speak. Mike seems to perk up at your words, and you notice it as you go to reach for your coat. The way he practically jumps out of his seat and looks at you almost stuns you with how fast he moves towards you. You notice Abby now looking at you both with a confused look, which you shrug at her before Mike stands right in front of you, causing you to take a step back. “Whoa, what’re-” “You have a job, right?” Mike says so quickly you won’t even think he’s speaking English. “Excuse me?” “You’ve got a job, right?” he says a little slower but still slightly fast. “Yeah? Did I not just say that?” “Are you hiring?” He asks, his face showing hope. You give a sad smile in return as you pull your coat on. “Yeah, we are…but you can’t do night shifts, remember?” Mike sighs, looking towards Abby, who is watching the interaction.

He looks at you returning the sad look.

“I don’t think I have much of a choice at this point.”

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You sat in the security office at Freddy’s, humming to yourself as you watched the security camera with a bored expression. It was Thursday, which meant you and Mike had a joint shift. This was the last day of the week for him and the first day of the week for you. You had arrived a little earlier than needed, so you continued to stare mindlessly at the cameras as you waited for him to arrive. Your eyes began to get heavy, and you were just about to dose off when you saw a car pull into the parking lot and park next to your car. You sat up, looking more closely, and saw Mike get out of the car. You smiled a little, but your smile dropped when you noticed him talking to someone. You tried to squint to get a closer look before the door opened, and Abby got out. “What the hell?” you mumbled under your breath before standing up and walking towards the entrance to meet them there.

“Y/n!” You smile when you hear Abby’s voice excitedly yell your name before she jumps into your arms and gives you a tight hug. “Hey, Ab’s!” you answer, hugging her back before putting her down. “What are you doing here?” you ask with an amused tone. When you look towards Mike, he’s already nervous, knowing you will be on his case about this later. “Mike lets me come sometimes!” she says happily, and you raise your eyebrow at her while looking back at Mike. “Sometimes? You’ve been here before?” Abby nods before running off towards the stage where Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica are all standing, seeming to be happy that she’s there. You watch the interaction between the three robots and the little girl before sighing and looking back at Mike. “She’s been here before, Mike?” Your tone now changes from the one you used with Abby to one more serious. “I know what this looks like, but I swear I have a good explanation,” he says. You raise a brow at him as he continues to speak. “You usually babysit for Abby, but today we both had work, so I tried to get someone else, but I couldn’t find anyone to fill in for you.” “What about that girl who would sometimes watch Abby? Max?” you ask while looking back at Abby to see her and Foxy watching the other three perform. “She hasn’t been answering my calls,” Mike states, causing you to look back at him with a confused look. “Since when?” “Since last Thursday when you took the day off because you were sick.” You nod at his answer before letting out a sigh. “Okay…I guess it’s fine that she’s here. Just please keep an eye on her. The animatronics are cool and all, but they can be a little rough sometimes.” He hums and nods, and you smile at him before playfully hitting his arm. “Now, come on, let’s go watch the show.”

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It was 4 am, You and Abby were playing in the arcade with animatronics watched you both and Mike was god knows where.

Abby had just beaten your high score, much to Foxy’s dismay, and she was excitedly jumping around as you watched her while laughing before you got a glimpse of Mike speed walking towards the entrance causing you to furrow your brows but you just shrugged it off and look back at Abby who is now trying to convince foxy he can beat the high scores.

You were about to start a new game for him but then you heard Mike's voice paired with another familiar one causing you to furrow your brows and move away from the arcade game telling the group that you would be right back before you jogged towards the voices.

when you got to the entrance you saw Mike talking to someone at the door causing you to walk closer to get a look but when you stepped closer you were met with Vanessa walking in with a smile on her face.

“Hey y/n,” she says with a smile and you all but jump into her arm and hug her tightly while she laughs.

“Vanessa!” you exclaimed, surprised to see her. “It’s been forever!” She chuckled at your words and hugged you back before pulling away, leaving her hand on your waist. “We literally saw each other on Sunday,” she said as you pulled your arms from her. “Yeah…but it still feels like forever,” you mumbled as she laughed again, causing you to smile and playfully hit her on the arm. You were so caught up in the fact that Vanessa was here that you almost forgot Mike was there until he cleared his throat, causing both of you to look back at him. “I didn’t know you two knew each other,” he said, throwing a very obvious glare at Vanessa when her hand stayed at your waist, but she pulled away while clearing her throat, seeming to notice the tension between them suddenly. “Uh, yeah, I met her on her third day here,” she said, glancing at you with a shy smile, which you returned before looking back at Mike, who still hadn’t taken his glare off of Vanessa. “Anyway, I’m gonna go say hi to Abby,” Vanessa clears her throat , giving you one more smile before walking towards the group to escape the awkward tension. “You two seem close…” he stated dryly, finally taking his eyes off of her and landing them on you. You hummed while looking down at your shoes, not wanting to look him in the eyes if you decided to lie about the relationship. “She kept me company during my first few weeks here. She’s a very nice person,” you said, trying to diffuse the tension. Mike hummed and nodded his head, his gaze going back to Vanessa, who was now playing the arcade game. “I bet she is nice to you,” he said, his tone a little harsh, making you glance up at him with furrowed eyebrows, but he was still looking at Vanessa, making you clear your throat. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked him when he looked back at you. Mike shrugged before beginning to walk away from you and towards the others. “Nothing…forget it. Let’s just go.”

As you watch him walk away, you groan and cover your face with your hands. You slide them down your face and glance over at the group. Vanessa is already looking back at you with a playful smile and motions her head towards the hallway that leads to the security room. You furrow your brows and look away from her towards Mike, who is being distracted by Abby. She’s trying to get him to give Freddy a hug, but he keeps telling her no with what almost looks like a scared expression on his face. The interaction makes you chuckle and shake your head. You look back at Vanessa, who is still staring at you, waiting for you to make a move.

You can't help but break into a smile as you playfully roll your eyes and make your way towards the office. Vanessa announces that she needs to put her coat away and her footsteps quickly jog down the hallway. She grabs your arms and pulls you into the office.

Your gasp is cut short when she kisses you, leaving you momentarily stunned. But you quickly reciprocate, feeling her smile against your lips. She moves her hands to your waist and pushes you into the security chair, closing the door with her foot.

As you try to catch your breath, you look up at her and see her licking her lips. She straddles your legs and you instinctively hold onto her waist. She leans in to kiss your ear, causing you to tilt your head for better access.

"I don't think your little boyfriend approves of me," Vanessa whispers in your ear. You groan and push her back slightly to look at her.

"Don't call him that, he's like a brother to me," you say. Vanessa just smiles and kisses your lips again before moving to your neck.

"Well, your 'brother' definitely looked like he wanted to kill me," she teases. You hum in agreement, closing your eyes as she kisses a sensitive spot on your neck.

"Don't worry about him, he'll come around. He can be a bit overprotective at times," you assure her, gently lifting her head and brushing your thumb against her cheek.

"Have you told him about us yet?" she asks, and you meet her gaze before reluctantly shaking your head.

"I haven't found the right time," you sigh, and she nods in understanding.

"Well, you should figure that out soon," she says, getting up from your lap with a laugh and taking off her police jacket.

"But I don't want to," you whine, standing up and grabbing her arm to turn her back towards you. She smirks at you and shakes her head.

"Babe, I'm not his best friend, you are. You have to handle this on your own. But I'm sure it'll be fine. If he truly cares about you, he'll be happy for us, right?" she reasons, gazing into your eyes. With a heavy sigh, you nod in agreement. Vanessa's soft smile reassures you, and you lean into her touch as she cups your cheek.

"So, are we still on for our date night on Sunday?" you ask, and she leans in closer, her forehead resting against yours.

"Why wouldn't we be?" she teases, a mischievous glint in her eyes. You can't help but look at her lips, and she notices, licking her own before leaning in to kiss you once more.

"We probably should get back to everyone," you mumble between kisses, but you don't make any move to leave her embrace. She hums in response, her lips still pressed against yours.

"We should, but I don't want to leave you," she murmurs, making you laugh softly. You meet her gaze again, and she licks her lips before capturing yours in another passionate kiss.

You were so deep into the kiss that you didnt hear the footsteps coming near the room nor did you hear when the door open.

“The fuck is going on?!”

☆★✰✫✯✵✧✥ ☆★✰✫✯✵✧✥ ☆★✰✫✯✵✧✥

AHHH I FINALLY FINISHED THIS FOR MY GIRL 🤭😋 TOOK FOREVER BUT I THINK IT WAS WORTH IT!!

Anyways please reblog if you liked it 🙏🏾🙏🏾 and have a nice day/night/evening/wtv

☆★✰✫✯✵✧✥ ☆★✰✫✯✵✧✥ ☆★✰✫✯✵✧✥

Tag list - 🌚 ion have one yet

[xob1tchs]

going quietly - ethan landry

a/n; she’s here!!! thanks for waiting, i love u 🫶🏻 also there’s def bound to be spelling errors, and grammar or punctuation mistakes even after reading it a billion times- I wrote on my phone this time 😭

pairing; e2l nongf!ethanxfem!reader

warnings; smut! mentions of stabbing, blood, violence, mentions of killing/death, bickering, stabbing, brief panicked hospital, ghost face attack, smut, kissing, making out, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex (do not try this irl), cream pie, sub ethan undertones

taglist; @elinanova @fanboyluvr @ghswlz @bajadotcom @oscarisdaddy69 @nuhteyam @certifiedpussyeater @lunaoieoie @hotweeb @beautyb1ade @vivianbay @doingurmomma @multishippinghoe @luvmara @lilluna @jaysarchiv3 @iovemoonyy @shaylaaaaa16 @nini123 @bloodyv7mp @inlovewmikewh33ler @karacaroldanvers @nishinoyastoes @zxvcq @luv-4-jj @sluttt444slashersss @fuaq

music

Big round puppy dog eyes are staring down at you, a sense of faux innocence masking the curly headed boy you swear you hate right now. You can’t stand him, really. In all his good boy, golden retriever, dork glory. You don’t believe it for a second.

So why do you have this feeling in your stomach, a warm heat that sparks when he’s this close. When you can smell the cologne on him, and the musky sweat from running all over New York. The dark bags forming beneath his shiny eyes that make him look almost dead, the purple and red bruise on his cheek bone, the dark blue long sleeve that’s far too form fitting. Why do you stare at his biceps, watching the way his long thick fingers run down the side of his pretty face.

He could be a murderer. He could be plotting to kill you at this very moment. Maybe he looks at you that way because he wants to make it hurt. Why do you want him to make it hurt? Why does the thought of him behind a mask you’ve come to hate have heat pooling between your legs? Maybe the lack of sleep, and the inability to escape this killer has finally gotten to your head. Maybe you’re actually going insane.

“Hey! Are you listening?” Sam draws you out of your thoughts. Your eyes land on her, suddenly a pounding in your head, and a pain from your side that has you grimacing. You mutter a ‘what?’ pressing your palm into the stab wound, blood seeping from your side, through the material of your black tank top, running down the cracks of your fingers down your wrist.

She frowns at you, eyes looking at Ethan before they land on you again, as if she’s already regretting what she’s about to say “Ethan should take you to the hospital- you’ll bleed out” she does regret it. Knows that if Ethan is the killer that he’ll leave you to die in alley somewhere, but if he isn’t and he doesn’t take you to the hospital, you could die after getting away a third time. Knows you’d haunt her if she let that happen.

You glare up at Ethan through your lashes, can feel the tears gathering at your lash line, but reach up to grab his shoulder anyway “if you kill me and survive, I’ll haunt you for the remainder of your sad life Jack ass” you threaten, and he hums, slipping his arm round your waist, placing his hand just above yours.

You limp down from the apartment, loosing strength by the minute, forced to lean more into Ethan as he tried for a cab. When one finally pulls to the side you slide in, ethan sliding in a little too close next to you.

“When I save your life, I better get the greatest thanks known to mankind” he mumbles, lifting your shirt a little to asses the damage, “I hope that hurts” he tacks on, whispering it bitterly into your ear.

‧ ⨯ . ⁺ +. ✦ ⸝⸝ ✧ 𓂂 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🪩 ﹅ ੭

When you walk through the ER doors, you’re bombarded with a flock of nurses, ushering you to the nearest bed. Ethan trails behind, lost like a puppy, stumbling after the nurses as they scurry around, asking them what they’re doing or how long it’ll take. You roll your eyes, scoffing at his idiocy. The boy has clearly never even scraped his knee falling off a bike, much less been in an ER with someone who’s been stabbed. It makes you anxious.

“Ethan! Just sit!” You whisper yell, whipping his head as you call his name, his features falling as you scold him. He slumps into the leather chair not far from the bed you’re sat on, cradling his cheek in his palm. He just watches you, eyes fleeting from your wound, to your face, clearly trying to decipher what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling.

You roll your eyes again “Quit staring creep” you press your lips into a flat line, trying not to laugh as the nurse coming closer side eyes him hearing your words, your spin straightens, a hiss escaping your lips as she begins rattling on about what’s going to happen.

You already know of course, the scar on the back of your left shoulder a reminder, you’ll need sedated, an iv drip, stitches, blah blah blah. This time you’ll have to leave earlier, no way you can afford to stay for 48 hours, don’t care how much blood you’ve lost or how weak you are. Ethan can see it in your eyes as the lay you back, what you’re plotting, the way you don’t even flinch when they stick your side with whatever, or when they stitch you up. You do look at him when they cut your shirt off, and he doesn’t look away for once.

When they’re done, eleven stitches later, and you’re laying back in the bed with an IV in your arm the small secluded area becomes flooded with an awkward silence.

“We need to leave” you sigh, eyes glancing to the clock, you’ve only been gone two hours max. Unfortunately you know well enough a lot can happen in two hours.

Ethan sits up stripping in his chair, shaking his head with drawn brows “If something happens we’ll know” he stands, coming to the edge of your bed “you need this though” his fingers thrum against the needle in your arm, the small touch has your skin breaking out in goosebumps, fingers tightening their grip on the sheet beneath you.

“Why are you being so fucking sweet to me” you grimace, face forming a scowl. You sit up just enough so that your eyes are closer to his, but he’s obviously taller than you, leaving you forced to glare up at him. His brows draw together and he crosses his arms over his chest, the muscle of his biceps bulging beneath the dark blue shirt, from the angle he looks less boyish. Dark eyes staring you down, jaw clenched in clear aggravation, lips forming a hard line instead of a cute pout.

“Why are you always such a bitch to me?” He shoots back, voice low so that nobody hears, but loud enough that you can tell he’s clearly angry.

“Maybe I’m just a bitch” you shrug.

“Maybe you’re just a liar” he cocks a brow, shrugging back.

Before you can jest back, the fire alarm rings through the hospital, water spraying down from above, lights dimming down so that the flash from the alarms is evident.

You’re ripping the iv from your arm and slipping on Ethan’s jacket, zipping it up, and yanking him quickly towards the exit before a nurse can even reach you. As you make your way through the panicked crowd, your fingers lace together, tightly wound so you don’t get separated.

The ER of a New York City hospital is hard enough to get in and out as is, fire alarm only added stress and the halls flood and become to crowded to even see the nearest exit. Bodies are pushing against and in between the both of you, shouting and babies crying, water blurring your vision as you try and tunnel a way out.

“Ethan, we need to get out now! There are no coincidences in our movie!” You warn, hoping he gets the message, your spine going rigid when your fingers are forced apart and the start of a reply is muffled as your bodies are pushed apart. You spin on your heel, pushing through bodies, wincing in pain when someone elbows your stitches. A shoe catches your boot, loosing balance you stumble to your feet, people don’t bother helping you up as they pass.

You crawl, the rips in your jeans leaving skin visible to bruise against the wet hard floor, someone steps on your fingers and you yelp out, forcing yourself to your feet with your hand cradled to your chest. Your fingers ache, unbendable, your curse under your breath, squinting as people push past you, trying your best to find Ethan’s face in the crowd.

You fail to see him, ready to give up and call out for him, when you see it. The white mouth, faux mouth smiling menacingly, looking directly at you. They tilt their head, knife waving in the air in front of them, teasing you with a fake stab motion the their chest. You frown, looking to your left and then right, and when you look back they’re gone. Panic sets in, and you bolt to the door on your right, shaky hands twisting and pulling at the knob. Locked. You curse under your breath, looking over your shoulder, before you fall to a squat, walking along the edge of the wall.

Your eyes are frantic, watching the feet you pass for the end of a black cloak, heart wild in your chest. Your palms are sweating, fingers and hands shaking, knees aching as you creep around a corner, escaping the crowd. You slump against the wall, knees pulled tightly to your chest, erratic breathing. The sprinklers have stopped now, but the water makes your mascara run, eyes aching, body now cold, your side aching. You’re alone, Ethan had to have gotten out, but the ghost face is here and you’re alone.

What if the ghost face got to Ethan first? The thought has your stomach twisting, nausea crawling up your throat, you slump forward onto your palms, breakfast spilling all over the floor. Tears have now crept past your lash line, falling down your cheeks to the ground, legs shaking as you stand. You press your palm to your wound, blood seeping through Ethan’s jacket, staining your skin. A stitch must’ve broken.

You peek around the corner, the last of crowd escaping through the exits, and then look the opposite way. Deciding that the ghost face couldn’t have gotten far, you begin jogging towards the exit you’d originally intended leaving out, foot steps heavy against the damp ground.

Before you can even get half way there, a scream echoes through the halls, a guy clearly. The thought of it being Ethan has you stopping in your tracks, spinning around to see where it could’ve come from.

“Ethan! Ethan where are you!” You shout, greeted by the screech of sneakers on the ground, you flinch, head whipping around in the direction of the sound. The bed you’d been at, curtains pulled closed, a figure looming in the distance “shit” you grumble, rolling your eyes as you run in the direction of the figure.

Your hands are shaking, fingers hesitant as you reach to yank the curtains back, and when you do large hand wrap around your shoulders, sending you tumbling backwards. You scream in protest, staring up into the eyes of the mask, one of your hands meets the side of their face, knocking them in the jaw, rolling of of you with a grunt. You scurry to your feet, eyes searching for the knife, failing to see as they stand up far too quickly, gripping the hair at the base of your neck, yanking you backwards into their chest.

You protest “let me go you motherfucker!” you shout, elbowing them, lurching across the bed falling flat onto your face into Ethan’s chest. You gasp, palms flat against his chest, straddling him as his eyes struggle to stay open. Blood touches your fingertips, his shirt open revealing a stab to his shoulder, and then you notice the blood pooling his curly head.

You’re about to say something when his arms wrap around you, your bodies rolling to the right, you look to the left- ghost face mere feet away. You and Ethan are now quick to your feet, him still slowly moving behind you as you start down the hallway, getting closer and closer to a room that hopefully has a lock.

You usher him inside first, slamming the door just as the ghost face spots you, locking it hurriedly, moving the filing cabinet closest to block it.

You look at you me surroundings, assessing the windows, a way out. Then you remember Ethan.

He’s sat slumped against the front of the desk, palm pressed to his wound, grimacing. You fall to your knees, fitting yourself between his, carefully moving his hand away. He flinches when your fingers dance along the wound, unable to tell how deep it is, you grip the tear already made by the knife, pulling with all your strength to rip the shirt off him.

He stays silent, watching as you use the fabric to wrap across his chest and shoulder, hoping it can suffice enough for you to get out of the window and to your apartment.

“We need to leave now.”

‧ ⨯ . ⁺ +. ✦ ⸝⸝ ✧ 𓂂 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🪩 ﹅ ੭

It had taken you longer than expected to reach your apartment m, several weird stares and concerned police officers later, you’re now sat with Ethan on your couch as you dress his wound. Finishing off you lean away with a sigh, tossing your first aid kit onto the coffee table, cradling your head in your palms.

“It hurts doesn’t it?” You mutter, looking at him through the cracks in your fingers, frowning when he quietly nods. His knee knocks against yours, and his fingers wrap around your wrists, tugging your hands away from your face gently.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice quiet and raspy, wavering a little. Your chest stutters, stomach doing that stupid thing, finger tips twitching in his palms. His hair has dried, but it sticks to his face because of sweat, sweat that makes his face glow, lips parted and swollen from biting them. His eyes are wide, a little red from irritation, searching your face, dropping to your mouth, then looking away when he realizes you’re staring back.

It’s slow, silent, as your faces inch closer. You can feel his warm breath on your upper lip, the stubble on his jaw when your fingers slip up his face into his hair, the heat from his hands that are now on your hips like an open flame, searing the feeling of his skin on yours into your body like muscle memory.

Then you’re kissing, lips moving in sync, tongues brushing. It’s messy and inexperience, your teeth even clashing, breathing becoming hurried. He tastes like watermelon chewing gum, and also blood, the coppery taste bitter but no unwelcome at all.

You crawl onto his lap, straddling his thighs, sighing into his mouth as his hands travel up your spine, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. He tugs very slightly, just enough for you to feel it, making your core ache. You start grinding down against his bulge subconsciously, desperate for friction between your legs, your mouth falling open against his when you get it.

“Oh fuck ethan” you whine, brows drawing together as you press down harder, he presses his forehead to your temple. Panting out against your cheek, his hand creeps around your body, down your stomach and to the button of your jeans.

When his fingers slip into your panties, very quickly finding your clit, your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers make circles on the bud, whispering into your ear as he plays with your pussy “Does it feel good?” he asks, and when you can’t seem to respond he worried he’s doing it wrong “Please I want to make you feel good baby” he mutters, switching techniques, flicking your clit side to side.

You squirm, hands digging into the skin of his hips as you pull away to look him in the eyes “I’m gonna cum” you whine, and your jaw goes slack when his fingers suddenly plunge into your heat, stretching you out deliciously.

“You’re so tight, and fucking wet” he coos, fingers thrusting in and out of you quickly, while his thumb abuses your clit. You rock into his touch, open mouth panting against his jaw, eyes rolling back as your orgasm creeps up “You look so pretty, so so pretty cumming on my fingers, Jesus fuck” mumbling the words into your hair has your thighs shaking, cumming dramatically, cursing under your breath. You clench around his fingers, grinding into his touch, wetness ruining your underwear, even soaking through the crotch of your jeans onto his.

“Can you give me another one? Wanna feel you on my cock please?” He whines, slipping his hand out of your pants, bucking his hips up into your core, stiff cock pressing to your core through the layers.

“I don’t know Ethan” you pout, nose knocking against his, a blush covering your cheeks when he pecks your lips. When you look at him, face flushed and sweaty, eyes begging silently, you feel heat between your legs once again, sighing in defeat “Has to be fast, need to get back to sams” you mumble into his mouth, and he nods in agreement.

He’s quickly, almost ripping your pants off, panties as well. When his cock is free, you think you’re actually salivating. He’s big, as to be expected, long and girthy, tip slapping against his belly button; angry and red, leaking with pearly beads of precum. A vein runs up the underside, prominent. You’re staring at his cock, like you’re ready to eat him alive.

“Is something wrong?” He interrupts your gaze.

Your quick to cradle his face in your palms, shaking your head quickly, pressing your mouth against his. You hover above his tip, grabbing him by the base, letting the head gently protrude at your entrance, shuddering at the stretch that already begins to burn as you slowly sink down. He moans into your mouth, and you accidentally bite down on his lip too hard, breaking the soft skin. Once he’s fully inside you find it hard to breathe, completely stuffed full of cock. Full of Ethan’s cock, feeling it twitch and pulsate inside of you, clearly begging you to move.

“So fucking tight” he practically growls, shoulders shuddering when you rise up again, ass slapping against his thighs when you fall back down. He wraps a stepping arm around your waist, carefully avoiding your wound, then begins fucking up into you a a gentle pace.

“Feels so good, love it so fucking much” he whines, eyes wide open as he looks between your bodies, speeding up with no warning “never want to leave, live in this pussy” his babbling has your heart fluttering, a drunk smile taking over your face as you moan out, nodding at his every praise.

He reaches so deep, deeper than any guy before, you’re almost sure he’s in your cervix, literally rearranging your guts. You chuckle at that, recalling threats from six months ago over the phone. When you laugh slightly, you clench around him, and that has him moaning out, head falling against the back of the couch.

The noises he makes are pretty, whiney and shameless, a contrast to the dirty words he’s letting out; and to how he looks, tall and muscular, drilling into you at an inhumane pace.

“I’m gonna cum again baby” you let out, slumping into his chest, spent, letting him fuck into you as he pleases. Your thighs are burning, sweaty everywhere, eyes barely open. The cord in your stomach is winding so tight your cunt aches, seeping wetness around the base of his cock, making obscene wet noises every time the skin of his thighs meets your ass.

He hums “yeah, yeah I’m close” he mumbles into the top of your head, fingers digging into the skin of yours hips so hard you know it’ll bruise “want you to cum on me, but- but can I cum inside?” he babbles, whiney, bordering on begging.

You nods frantically into his chest, heaving out a breathy string of ‘yesyesyesyes’ until you’re cumming around him, your body stilling, clenching around him as he cums as well. It’s the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced, white hot burning through your veins, your eyes rolling so far back you can see your skull, nails digging into his biceps so harshly you make him bleed. The way he pulses, twitching, loading you completely full of himself. It almost feels like it’ll never stop, creaming out around the base of his cock, covering your raw puffy lips in a mix of his seed and your wetness.

As if on cue, pounding comes from your door, making the both of you jump, heads whipping to it in panic “We’ve got serial killers to kill!” Tara’s voice shouts, and the both of you face each other in surprise, bursting out into a fit of laughter.

rebloggers are the best <3

[domxmarvel]

What’s mine

Masterlist

Order: 1 

Large green apple frappuccino with a pie

Malleus x Female!Reader-jealousy @moonmaiden1996

“Malleus,Mal slow d-down” You couldn’t form words without being interrupted,his grip only got tighter around your waist every time you asked him to slow down. You couldn’t even touch him because your hands were bound above your head with his magic. He was normally very gentle with you,knowing he could easily hurt you but now it seemed like he couldn’t care less. He seemed blinded by something,like your word didn’t even reach him. “Malleus” He stopped for a moment to kiss you before quickly pulling away and whispering into your ear.

“Mine” You couldn’t even understand what it was about before he bit down on your neck,his fangs piercing through your skin and drawing a small amount of blood. “Mine! Mine!” He was growling into your ear,his hand on your neck. 

“Malleus” He was back to pouding you before you could say anything more. He licked the blood off your neck,tightening his grip on your thighs. You assumed this was some kind of dragon instinct,being possessive over the one you love but he never displayed any signs of it before. The only thing you could think of was that he was jealous. All proclamations of you being his made you realize you were right,he was jealous. "Mal please" He stopped for a moment waiting for you to continue "I wanna touch you too" Immediately the magic bindings around your wrists disappeared,letting you grab him and pull him down. You kissed him as you flipped him onto his back,he quickly sat up. “You’re cute when you’re jealous”

“I’m not jealous. I just don’t like when people try to take what’s mine”

“What’s yours huh” He scoffed,moving back to your neck and trailing his lips upward.

“Do you doubt me? I’ll show you who you belong to” 

[winchesterwild78]

The Hunter pt 2

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (together), Sam Winchester, Jodie Mills, Bobby Singer x Reader (Uncle/Niece)

Warnings: fluff, oral sex (female receiving), SMUT (protected sex), language, angst, hurt feelings

A/N: I’ve been working on getting some stories out and it’s driving me crazy. I’m turning this one into a series, probably short(ish), not 100% yet. This story came to me after starting Supernatural again. We all know how Dean feels about relationships, but let’s just pretend he finally gave in. 😀 

This is my own work, please do not take it or copy it without my permission. It’s based on characters from Supernatural, but doesn’t follow the timeline completely. I wrote it fast and edited it fast. Please overlook any errors. 

Minors DNI 18+

The three of you made your way back to Bobby’s house. Sam carried the food in as Dean got out of the Impala and walked over to your car. He looked it over and whistled. “Y’all did an amazing job on her sweetheart.” “Thank you. Maybe after we eat I can take you for a drive.” “Yeah, I’d like that. Look, Y/N, I really am sorry for how I acted. I’m not good at this and sometimes I say and do stupid shit.” “I get it. I’m sure it was hard hearing your dad and Bobby say those things about you. We all carry crap with us and deal with it in our own ways.” You stepped closer to him, “I can think of something you could do to make it up to me.” You smirked at him. “What’s that darlin’?” “Kiss me.”

Dean leaned you against the car and pressed his body against yours. He slowly took your head in his hands and placed his lips against yours. You could taste the whiskey he had been drinking. The kiss deepened and you moaned into his mouth. 

“Dean, I need you, I want you.” “Oh sweetheart, I want you too. We just have to be smart about it. I don’t need Bobby or my Dad chopping things off.” You giggled, “No, we definitely don’t need that. Can I come to your room or you come to my room tonight, after everyone else has gone to bed?” Dean leaned his forehead against yours, “Anything for you, birthday girl.” 

“Hey, Y/N, where are you kiddo? Food’s getting cold.” Bobby yelled from the door. “Coming, I was just showing Dean the car.” Dean kissed you again and you smiled, “Later baby. I can’t wait.” 

The two of you walked towards the house and Bobby was standing at the door. He looked at you and then at Dean and shook his head. “So Dean, how’d you like the car?” “She’s beautiful. Y’all did a great job on her, Bobby.” Bobby looked at Dean and then at you, but didn’t say anything. He just let out a little huff. 

All of you sat down to eat dinner and just chat. Bobby told you he had one last gift to give you, and thanks to John he was able to get it for you. “Now, this is something your parents had for years, they lost it on a hunt years ago when you were little. Think of it as a family heirloom. Your father bought it for your mother the day you were born. You smiled and nodded. 

Bobby handed you a small box that was wrapped. Inside the box was a heart shaped locket with a diamond in the middle. Inside was a picture of your mom holding you on one side, and your dad holding you on the other side. Tears fell from your eyes. “Oh Uncle Bobby, this is perfect! Thank you!.” You leaped up and threw your arms around him. “Well it was John and Dean who actually found it, but you’re welcome honey.” You hugged John and Dean next. “Thank you both so much. This means more to me than anything.” You placed a kiss on John’s cheek and on Dean’s. 

Bobby and John knew right then you were smitten with the oldest Winchester brother. They both looked at each other and sighed. Bobby brought out the pie with a candle in it and they all sang “Happy Birthday”. You made a wish and blew out the candle, making eye contact with Dean. You didn’t think Bobby saw it, but he did. 

After the pie was gone, the evening was drawing to a close. You were getting tired, well that’s what you let everyone believe. You thanked everyone again and told everyone good night. Before you went upstairs Bobby pulled you to the side, “Y/N, I see how you’re looking at Dean. I know I could tell you to stay away from him until I’m blue in the face, but I know you’re just as stubborn as I am. So, all I’m going to say is be careful. He’s a great guy, but he has so many walls up and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” You hugged him, “I know Uncle Bobby, Dean definitely has walls up, but we all do. The ones that you’re meant to be with are the ones strong enough to kick those walls down. You, Mom and Dad raised me to be strong, and I think I’m strong enough to kick down his walls. I love you, Uncle Bobby.” “I love you too, sweetpea, and I trust you. Go kick those walls down.” You smiled, nodded and went upstairs.

A few minutes later in your room there was a knock on your door. You opened the door to see Dean standing there in his t-shirt and gray sweatpants. “Hey sweetheart, you mind if I come in?” “Not at all.” You smiled and stepped to the side. As soon as you closed the door, Dean’s lips were on yours. You moaned into his mouth as his hands ran up your body.

You both laid on the bed as his hand continued to explore your body. Goosebumps erupted over your skin and his lips left a trail of fire any place they touched. You felt the slick pooling between your legs and an ache you knew only he could satisfy. Dean pulled his shirt over his head and off his body in one fluid pull. Your hands trailed over his toned chest and across the freckles that scattered across his sun kissed skin. “Dean, should we wait until everyone is asleep?” “Dad and Bobby went to the bar and Sammy is asleep. I’m all yours.” 

Your breath hitched. “Are you okay? We can stop if you want to.” Dean asked. “No, I’m fine, just a little nervous.” “I’ve got you baby, and if at any time you get uncomfortable, we can stop.” You nodded, “Okay, Dean.” 

Dean pulled at your shirt and removed it. Since you were ready for bed you didn’t have a bra on so your perky breasts were exposed when he removed your shirt. “Damn you’re beautiful.” You blushed as Dean’s lips trailed to your breasts. His hands cupping them as his lips peppered kisses on them, and his tongue licked your nipples. You moaned and threw your head back as he licked and sucked. 

Dean kissed down your torso to the hem of your sleep shorts. He looked up at you through his eyelashes and you nodded. He hooked his fingers in the waistband and pulled your shorts and panties down in one pull. His hands gently spread your thighs apart and he kissed up your legs. As he got to your folds he looked up waiting for permission. “Dean, please. I need to feel you. I want you to make me cum.”

Dean took his fingers and softly parted your folds, finding you already dripping wet. He licked a strip up through your folds to your clit. You sucked in air and moaned his name. Dean loved hearing you moan his name. He began to lick and suck your clit and you wiggled under him. He slowly inserted one finger into your dripping wet pussy. You moaned and arched your back. He slowly moved his finger in and out as your breathing became pants and you moaned. Dean inserted another finger and hooked both upwards causing you to moan louder. 

“Shh, we need to stay quiet sweetheart.” He grinned as he continued to pump his fingers and licking your clit. He would lick and suck as he pumped his fingers. Your hands pulled his head deeper into you and you moved your hips. You were fucking his face as he pushed you towards your release. “Dean, I’m gonna cum.” You breathed out. 

Dean lifted his head, “Cum for me baby. Cum all over my fingers.” He pumped and licked until he felt your release. He grabbed your thighs holding you as he kept licking, causing you to moan loudly and your body shake under him. By the time you were coming down from your release, your body was over sensitive. 

You had boyfriends in the past eat you out, but damn it if Dean Winchester wasn’t a gold medalist in it. You had never felt that good after that before. Dean removed his fingers and hovered over your body and kissed your lips. As he leaned over you could feel his arousal on your thigh. 

“Dean, please, I need you.” “Are you sure sweetheart, we don’t have to go any further.” “Yes, Dean. I’m sure. I want you, I need you.” Dean stood up and took off his pants and boxers. His large, hardened cock sprang free. You licked your lips and took in the sight of him. He was much larger than you had ever had, but damn were you excited. 

You felt an ache form between your legs that seemed to beg for him. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You nodded and handed Dean a condom from your side table. He ripped the package with his teeth and you giggled. He pumped himself a few times and slid the condom on. Climbing back on the bed, he positioned himself between your thighs and lined himself up. 

The head of his cock was pushing inside you. You both moaned and gasped as he started to push in. You moaned. It was a little bit of pleasure and a little bit of pain. He was stretching you like you’d never been stretched before. You grabbed his biceps and dug your nails in. “You okay, sweetheart?” You nodded yes. Dean continued to push in slowly. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight. I need you to relax a little bit more sweetheart.” He leaned down and kissed you deeply. He could feel you relaxing more so he kept pushing. “Dean, please just push in, all the way.” “Are you sure?” You nodded yes, and before you could say anything else, Dean bottomed out with one thrust. You screamed in pleasure and Dean buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I need a minute or I’m going to cum right now. You’re so tight.” 

You moved your hips under him and he started to move. His movements were slow. He would slowly pull out and push back in slowly. He didn’t want to hurt you and he wanted to give you time to adjust to his length and girth. When he felt your body relaxing and adjusting more to him, he started to move a little faster. 

“Oh Dean, you feel so good baby.” He kissed your lips. “You feel amazing around me, Y/N. You’re so beautiful.” With each thrust, each kiss, and each touch of his hand your heart filled with so much love for him. You knew you would do whatever it takes to keep him safe and to tear down his walls. He was yours and you were his. In that moment the only people who mattered were you and Dean. 

Dean lifted your legs onto his shoulders and the change in position caused him to hit your g-spot a little more. Sending you closer to your next release. As Dean continued to speed up you felt yourself closer to cumming again. “Dean, I’m gonna cum again.” “Oh baby, just let go, cum around my cock.” He kissed your lips and you felt your release rush through your whole body. As your walls clenched around his cock, he sped up chasing his release. He came with a grunt and spilled his seed in the condom. 

As he finished he pulled out and kissed your lips. “That was amazing, Y/N. Are you okay?” “God, yes Dean. That was incredible.” You kissed him again as he stood up grabbing a tissue and removing the condom. He threw it away in your trash can and crawled in bed beside you. 

He pulled you close to his body and wrapped you in his arms. He kissed your forehead as you laid on his chest. You listened to his heartbeat as your fingers danced over his anti-possession tattoo. “Dean, thank you. That was incredible.” “Oh sweetheart, you don’t have to thank me. That was more than incredible. I’ve never felt like I was going to cum that fast before. You are perfect.” You smiled and kissed his lips. “I could get used to this. Making love to you and then laying in your arms.” You whispered hoping you wouldn't scare him away.

“Me too, Y/N, me too.” “Dean, would you ever consider moving away from your dad and Sam? Like maybe in here with me?” Dean sat up in the bed and looked at you. Panic flooded your brain instantly. “Well, I hadn’t given it much thought, but I don’t know if Bobby would like that too much. But yeah, I’d consider it, if Bobby was okay with it.” You looked shocked, “Really? You’d be willing to move in with me?” 

Dean turned and looked at you, “Of course I would. This (he motioned between the two of you) wasn’t just a one and done thing. I want to be with you. I’ve never wanted to be with anyone ever, but with you I’d give up everything.” “Oh Dean.” Tears filled your eyes as you kissed him. 

When he pulled back his thumb wiped the tears away, “Shh don’t cry sweetheart.” “They are happy tears, Dean. I just can’t believe you’d be willing to stay with me. Of course, I could always go with you too.” Dean’s head spun around, “What?! You’d leave home for me? To go on the road with us?” “Yes, Dean. I’d give up everything for you too.” Dean kissed you again and pulled you back down with him. “Come on sweetheart, let’s get some sleep. We will figure it out tomorrow. Tonight, let’s just be here together.” You nodded in agreement and laid your head on his chest. 

You listened to Dean’s heartbeat until your eyes got too heavy and they finally closed. Dean listened to you as you fell asleep in his arms. He smiled and felt his heart warm when he heard the soft snores coming from you. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was starting to fall for you. It scared him but excited him too. He’d never felt like this about anyone. Could he really leave his dad and Sam to live with you, or could he really let you leave Bobby to go on the road with him? These questions plagued his brain until he finally drifted off to sleep holding you tight. 

Around 3 am the door to your bedroom creaked open. Bobby saw Dean’s bed was empty and knew he’d find him with you. His heart sank when he saw you laying on Dean’s chest and Dean holding you tight. He knew he couldn’t keep you two apart now. At first he was going to wake Dean up and tell him to get the hell out of your bed, but he saw you smiling in your sleep and heard you sigh softly. He saw how Dean’s grip on you tightened when you sighed. He knew, of course he knew. Both of you were falling in love. “Balls!” Bobby said before he closed your door softly. 

He walked downstairs and told John “We’ve got a problem.” “Dean’s with her, isn’t he?” Bobby shook his head yes, “And the problem is they are already falling for each other.” “Damnit Dean! I told that boy to keep it in his pants. Bobby if I would have known this was going to happen I would have told Dean to stay away.” “Hey, John, it's nobody’s fault. They are young and are going to do whatever they want. We just need to figure out where to go from here.” “We will talk to them in the morning. I’m beat. Night John.” “Night Bobby.” 

The next morning you woke up late. It was about 10 am and you felt strong arms wrapped around you. Dean was sleeping next to you, holding you in his arms. You smiled and snuggled closer to him. He started to wake up and pulled you tighter. “Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” “Well, I need to pee, so hopefully the bathroom.” You giggled. “Fine, but come back, please.” You leaned over, kissed him, “I will.”

You grabbed some clothes and threw them on and headed to the bathroom. You walked back towards your bedroom. When you got to your door you saw Dean stretched out on your bed with the blanket draped over his hips. His toned chest exposed to the chill of the room. You bit your lip.

“Like what you see sweetheart?” Dean grinned with his eyes still closed. You closed the door and climbed on the bed, “You know I do.” You placed a soft kiss on his lips. He pulled you down into his arms, eliciting a giggle from your lips. “Dean, we really should get up. Do you want to be the one to explain to Bobby and your Dad why you’re naked in my bed?” “If they don’t know why I’m naked in a beautiful woman’s bed by their age, I don’t know what to tell them.” He smirked. “Dean Winchester! You know what I meant.” 

He laughed and pulled you closer, “Yeah I know, I’m just not ready to leave your side yet.” You sighed and laid your head on his chest. “I know, me either, but if we don’t get up soon they will come up here.” Dean grumbled and you giggled.

There was a knock on your door and you froze. “Hello?” “Hey, sweetpea, you and Dean get dressed and come downstairs, we need to talk.” You looked at Dean with wide eyes and he smirked. “Okay, be down soon.” “Shit! Dean, how did they know?” Dean chuckled, “Guess there’s no need to keep it a secret, huh?” “Dean, it's not funny. Bobby sounded pissed.” “It kinda is, sweetheart.” You playfully slapped his chest, “Dean, you’re terrible, now get up and get dressed.” 

A few minutes later the two of you walked downstairs hand in hand and were met with tense jaws and even tenser stares from Bobby and John. You squeezed Dean’s hand and he pulled you closer to him, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.” 

Bobby stood up and got in Dean’s face. “I thought I told you to stay the fuck away from her, Dean!” You jumped at the sound of his voice. You’d never heard him that angry before. You stepped forward a bit, “Bobby, I’m an adult, I can be with whoever I want.” You seemed so small beside the three towering men. Most people would be intimidated, but you held your own. 

“Sweet pea, it’s not a matter of being an adult, I just don’t want to see you hurt.” “Bobby, I love you, but you can’t protect me for the rest of my life. You’ve always told me what good hunters and men the Winchesters were, now you’re telling me Dean isn’t. So which is it? Is he good or not?” Bobby looked between you and Dean and knew he was fighting a losing battle. Before he could say anything else John stepped up and punched Dean in the face. You gasped and when Dean turned his face back he was bleeding, but didn’t react. Bobby had grabbed John and pulled him back. Dean’s jaw clenched and he looked over at you and saw tears in your eyes. He let go of your hand and stormed out of the house. You looked at Bobby and then over at John. “I can’t believe you two. Dean is an amazing person. He practically raised Sammy because you, John, were too caught up in your own grief and need for revenge to be anything that resembled a good father. He had to be mom and dad to Sam. You owe him so much because he raised himself and his brother FOR YOU! Uncle Bobby, I know you mean well, but I’m an adult. You didn’t have a problem with Alex, and he tried to force me into his car. Dean never once forced anything. I pursued him. Even last night before we had sex he kept asking if I was sure. Now that is the kind of man I want to be with. Sure he’s had a past, but which one of you can say you haven’t. Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to find Dean and check on him.” 

Before they could say anything else you walked away and found Dean standing on the porch. When he saw you he pulled you into a searing kiss. He heard you defend him. He pulled away and looked at you, he cupped your face, “Thank you. Nobody has ever defended me like that. Thank you, sweetheart.” He kissed you again.

“I meant every word of it. I don’t know what this means for us as far as where we are headed to live, but I’ll follow you wherever you go, Dean Winchester.” “Good, because I’m not going to let you go, ever.” He kissed you again and could feel so much love between you two. 

Later that afternoon, you and Dean had decided to go off together. Just the two of you, hunting and living together. He couldn’t bear the thought of being with John after what happened, and he knew Bobby needed space. You were in your room packing a bag when Bobby came to the door, “Sweet pea, you don’t have to leave. We can figure this out.” Bobby’s eyes were pleading with you and it broke your heart. “Uncle Bobby, I’m not leaving for good, Dean and I just want to be together, work on our relationship without having to deal with everyone else’s opinions. I love you and you will always be home. I promise.” You hugged Bobby tightly. He kissed the top of your head.

Dean came to your room to grab your stuff. Bobby turned towards him, “Dean, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. There is no excuse for it. She’s like a daughter to me and it’s my job to protect her. Well, it was. Now it’s your job. I know you’ll protect her no matter what. Keep her safe, bring her home every once in a while, and take care of yourself too. Your father was out of line hitting you like that. I’m sorry son.” He pulled Dean in for a hug. You had tears in your eyes looking at them hugging. 

“Well sweet pea, where are y’all headed?” “Not sure yet, maybe East. I’ll call you whenever we stop and let you know. I love you, Uncle Bobby.” “I love you too, sweet pea. You make him take care of you.” “I will, and he will. I know he will.” You hugged him again and handed Dean your bags.

The three of you walked downstairs and Dean headed out to your car to put the bags in it. Sam was standing there, “Dean, take me with you two. I can’t be with Dad. We’ll kill each other. You know that.” Dean sighed, “Yeah Sammy, I know. Sammy, I want you to apply to school. Get out of this life, go be a lawyer or whatever you want to be. I know you can do it. Meet a girl, get married, have kids. Be normal.” Dean pulled Sam into a hug, “I love you baby brother. Stay with Bobby until you get into that school.” “I love you too, Dean.” 

You stood in the living room and hugged Bobby one last time. John was standing leaned against the doorframe not saying anything. He was just staring. Dean walked in and walked over to Bobby and pulled him in for a hug. “Bobby, I need you to let Sammy stay here and make sure he applies for college. He’s too smart to stay in this life. He deserves a normal life.” Bobby shook his head in agreement. Dean thanked him and started to walk away.

As the two of you approached the door John stepped forward, “Dean, Y/N, wait.” You both stopped and turned around looking at him. “Look, I’m sorry Dean. I shouldn’t have hit you. I was out of line.” Before Dean could say anything you stepped in between them, “John, you were definitely out of line hitting him. I hope you take some time and reflect on yourself about the kind of father, man you want to be. I know Dean loves you, but it’s my job now to protect him and if that means protecting him from you I will. I’m in love with your son, and will spend the rest of my life proving to him what an amazing man he is. A lesser man would have laid your ass out after punching him, but not Dean. You see, that’s the kind of man he is. He knows when to fight and when not to. Hopefully that’s a lesson you learn too. Goodbye John, I wish you nothing but the best.”

You looked up at Dean who was still trying to process you saying you loved him. Smiling softly at him, you kissed his lips, “I’ll be outside.” You knew he needed closure so you left to give him his space to find it. 

Dean stepped towards John, “Dad I forgive you. I just can’t be with you right now. Maybe later down the road the three of us can hunt together, but right now I need to be with her and have space from you. I hope you understand.” He hugged his father and started to walk away. “Dean, for what it’s worth I know you’re a better man than I am. You take care of that little firecracker. She loves you and I can tell you love her. Be safe, and always know I will answer when you call.” Dean nodded and headed outside. 

The two of you climbed into your car and Dean started her up. He took your hand, you looked out your window, waved at Sam and Bobby and Dean drove away. You two had no idea where you were going, but you knew you would be fine as long as you had Dean by your side. 

Part 3

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[andypantsx3]

A few months into your relationship, Shouto catches on to your weird behavior around his apartment.

“I don’t want to ruin anything,” you finally admit when he notes his observation—about how you tiptoe around his living room of designer furnishings, how you never seem to settle comfortably into his couch, how you carry his glassware with all the pomp and ceremony of an Olympic torch.

“They are just things. This is a home,” Shouto says, like that at all negates the fact that you could break a single one of his salad bowls and spend the rest of your life repaying the debt.

“Hella expensive things in a very nice home,” you reply. “I am not falling asleep and accidentally drooling onto your ten bajillion dollar couch, Shouto.”

Only the tiniest of creases between his brows tell you he’s displeased. “I would like you to be comfortable here. I do mean that they are just things.”

You shake your head. Shouto can be as unfussed as he wants, on his pro hero salary with his fat inheritance slapped on top like a dollop of cream on life’s richest slice of pie. But you were raised in a hand-me-down home, furniture and housewares either inherited or thrifted from generations past, and you are not about to play any kind of game that would leave his couch as worn down as your family’s ancient, squashy sofa with the tears hidden on the undersides of the cushions.

“I’m good, Sho,” you say reassuringly. “I’m just going to take my best care of your things.” You pat his couch ever so lightly for emphasis, so gently it almost doesn’t make a sound.

Shouto watches you for a long moment. His eyes pick over you carefully, and he says nothing, until finally his expression shifts. 

You watch with suspicion as his face suddenly goes meticulously blank, and you realize you know that look. It’s the perfectly unreadable poker face that almost always precedes peak little shit behavior.

“Whatever thought you are having is a million percent no from me,” you say quickly, but Shouto’s hand is already closing over your thigh, tugging you closer to him across the luxurious fabric of the very couch you have tried never to crease.

“Shouto, do not fuck with this couch,” you tell him as the material of your pants makes a fwip across the sofa fabric. Shouto arches a perfect brow at you.

“If you will not believe me that I do not care about the state of this couch,” he pronounces evenly, “then I will just have to show you.”

Before you can even demand an explanation, he’s rearranging you to his liking, stretching out over you and pressing you down into the sofa with intent. 

Then it dawns on you exactly what he’s about to do.

“Wait, Sho—the bedroom—” you garble out, as your heart rate picks up into double time under his anchoring weight.

Shouto lowers his face to yours, mismatched eyes glittering like gemstones in the low light. “We’ll get there love,” he says, his low, soft tone shivering right up your spine. “But first, we’ll start here.”

His gaze grows heavier with promise, and a long-fingered hand skims up the side of your shirt. Your breathing stills. 

“I’m going to have you over every single surface in this apartment,” he says. “Again and again, love. Until you understand that there is only one thing in this house that I consider priceless.”

His mouth presses to yours, softly, as he shifts into the cradle of your thighs.

“And that,” he says against your mouth, sounding satisfied at the little shivery exhale this draws out of you, “that one, single priceless thing...is you.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

«Love Me Harder || King Rauru ||

Warning1: Monster fucking { Zonai x Hylian!Reader }here so if you don’t like that then please scroll on by.

Warnings 2: P in V, Knotting, biting / marking, cream pie, a little rough fucking, Rauru has quite a mouth on him, squirting.

A/n: I apologize if this sucks 😩, it’s 2am.

It felt like it’s been ages since you’ve been with your King, and with the matter with Ganon dealt with everyone was celebrating. Your hand grasping your husbands as you pulled him towards the bed room.

A snort left his lips the moment you were out of sight and it seemed your husband had other plans on where he wanted you. A light shiver running running down your spine already imagining his cock pumping into your pussy, you were preset wet he wouldn’t even need to get your ready.

“This is always my second favorite bit.” Rauru murmured against your neck aligning his blunter cock against your dripping entrance.

Feeling your cheeks grow warm you adverted your gaze for a moment, to curious for your own good. You couldn’t help but ask. “W…what is your favorite?”

“Why, it’s watching my Queen lose their fucking mind.”

A cry slipped passed his lips, his hand muffling the the sound of your voice as his cock slid into your warmth. Your eyes squeezing shut as your nails dug into his shoulders, feeling the soft fur. You’re never quite prepared enough not go almost cum the moment he slips inside of you. Your lower back now lifted from the wall.

“Such a good.” Pressing his snort to your neck you were finally able to find your voice. A cry that communicates your needs in a better fashion that you could ever put into words, you cum for the first time just feeling you love slowly slide deeper inside of you. His claws digging into your plump ass as he pressed you against the wall. Chuckling deeply, Rauru sunk his fangs into your neck, sucking at the skin enough to leave a mark. “I think my Queen is enjoying this.”

It was hard not to miss the look on your husbands face as he held your waist with a single hand. “Do not worry my sunshine. You will be happy in the end.”

Closing your eye, you tried to keep your thoughts coherent but it was like he knew what you were thinking. Perhaps it was written on your face right now, you could see it on his even though it was subdued. Every time your spasming cunt squeezes down on him, you can see and feel him pause momentarily, grunting in pleasure, holding back the urge to ravage your cunt.

Rauru always enjoyed teasing you, on his first outstroke you can’t help but groan deeply arching your back off the wall as the pleasure washed over you. The texture of his cock just rubs you in the most amazing way and with how you’re so fucking tightly wrapped around him that it’s impossible not to have the entire inside of your pussy stimulated every time he with draws and pushes in.

He always manages to steal your breath away as he knows it too. With a firm hand on your waist to keep you in place while he continues to pump into you, it does not take more than three strokes for you to come again, your hips bucking into his immovable grip as you cried out his name not caring who might hear as your eyes squeezed shut in the throes of passion as you felt your King quicken the pace.

You scream. You can’t help but cry out his name, your dress was now in tattered around your shapely hips as your legs were raised higher as he thrusted himself balls deep inside of you, feeling him gore harder as he pulled you in for a sloppy kiss.

Plunging inside your wet pussy, the Zonai brings you to another thundering orgasm, light dancing in front of your eyes as you shudder and buck against him. You did your best to keep your legs wrapped around his waist as your back stayed pressed against the wall letting the tidal waves of ecstasy wash over you with every single thrust.

His free hand reaching up to grasp your breast, massaging the nipple with one of his talons and finally after what feels like hours of having him between your legs you sense he is close to cumming, something you are far to used too.

It is the way he grunts deeply, the measures rolling of his powerful hips giving way to desperate savage thrusts. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoing across the castle walls. The closer he gets to his own orgasm the more of a beast he becomes, his speed increasing until you are loudly screaming his name, shaking in his grip.

When Rauru finally cums, both of you give long, loud groans of desperate relief as his thick hot cum begins to gush into your pussy, his knott swelling. A slight soreness hits you and er everything feels so incredibly good. Panting and moaning you slumped against your King, your face nuzzling into his neck as you did your best to catch your breath. “That…was fucking amazing.”

Snorting, Rauru gave the mark on your neck a small lick followed by a kiss to your temple. “It was worth the wait.”

Sighing, you could easily fall asleep like this but knowing Rauru and how long you both waited sleep was going to be for sometime.

“Are you ready for round two Sunlight?”

“Of course I am.”

[awkward-walking-potato]

Apple of His Eye - Part 2

The morning sun had barely started to climb into the sky when you arrived at your bakery, a spring in your step as you prepared for another day of sweet treats and smiles. But the moment you turned the corner and saw the front of your shop, your heart dropped into your stomach.

The large front window of your bakery was shattered, glass littering the sidewalk and your display cases. The once inviting entrance now looked like a crime scene, and the beautiful pastries you’d worked so hard to perfect were now covered in a fine layer of glass dust. You stood there in shock, unable to move as the weight of it all came crashing down on you.

Who would do this? And why?

You sank to your knees, your hands trembling as you tried to piece together what had happened. Thoughts raced through your mind—how were you going to afford to fix this? Could you even open the bakery today? Your customers, your regulars, they all depended on you. And what about Logan? He’d come in expecting his pie, and now you couldn’t even offer him that.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you thought about the costs of repairing the window. You had already poured everything into this little bakery, scraping by to make it a success. The idea of paying for a new window was almost too much to bear.

As you sat there, lost in your despair, you didn’t notice Logan approaching. He had been on his way to the bakery, the promise of a fresh apple pie and your bright smile drawing him like it did every morning. But when he saw the broken window, his heart clenched with a mixture of anger and concern.

“Hey,” Logan’s rough voice broke through your haze, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see him standing there, his brow furrowed, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Logan,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to blink back the tears. “I don’t know what to do…”

He didn’t say anything at first, his gaze sweeping over the shattered glass, the ruined pastries, the look of sheer devastation on your face. His jaw tightened, and you could see the anger simmering just beneath the surface.

“Who did this?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“I-I don’t know,” you stammered, wiping at your eyes. “I just got here and… I can’t afford to fix it. I don’t know what I’m going to do…”

Logan’s expression softened at your words, the anger giving way to something else—something protective. He knelt beside you, reaching out to gently take your hand in his. “You’re not gonna deal with this alone,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a rare show of tenderness. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But Logan—”

“No buts,” he cut you off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You go home, get some rest. I’ll handle it.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the steely resolve there, and despite your anxiety, you felt a small glimmer of hope. Logan had always been a force of nature—unmovable, unstoppable. If anyone could help, it was him.

Reluctantly, you nodded, allowing him to help you to your feet. “Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Logan just grunted, giving your hand a final squeeze before letting it go. “Go on,” he said, his gaze flickering back to the broken window. “I’ll take care of everything.”

You gave him one last grateful look before heading home, the weight of the morning’s events still pressing down on you, but with the faintest sense of relief. Logan was here, and somehow, you knew he’d find a way to make it right.

Later that evening, long after you had gone home, Logan sat at the bar with his “brothers,” the same crew that had teased him mercilessly about his feelings for you. But tonight, there was no joking around. They could tell by the look in Logan’s eyes that this was serious.

“Someone smashed up the bakery,” Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous. “I want it fixed by tomorrow morning.”

The bikers exchanged glances, each one of them nodding in understanding. They might have been a rough bunch, but they looked out for their own—and Logan, despite his gruff exterior, had made it clear that you were important to him.

“We’ll handle it,” one of the bikers said, cracking his knuckles. “We know a guy who can get the glass replaced tonight, no questions asked.”

Logan gave a curt nod. “Good. And find out who did it,” he added, his voice dropping to an even darker tone. “I want to have a word with them.”

The men nodded again, a ripple of agreement passing through the group. Logan didn’t need to say anything more. They knew what he meant, and they weren’t about to let anyone get away with hurting someone he cared about.

As the night went on, the bikers got to work. They called in a favor with a friend who specialized in emergency repairs, and within a few hours, the shattered window was replaced, the broken glass swept up, and the bakery was restored to its former glory. It was as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile, Logan had been tracking down the culprit, following the trail of whispers and rumors that circulated in the darker corners of the city. It didn’t take long to find out who had done it—some local thug trying to extort protection money from small businesses in the area.

Logan found him in a back alley, and what followed was quick and brutal. By the time Logan was done, the thug was left bruised and bloody on the ground, a clear message delivered: No one messed with the people Logan cared about. Ever.

The next morning, you arrived at the bakery, dreading the sight of the shattered window. But when you turned the corner, your breath caught in your throat. The window was fixed. There was no glass on the ground, no sign of the damage that had been there the day before.

You stood there in shock, trying to process what you were seeing. How could this have been fixed so quickly? And by who?

Then, you noticed something else—a familiar scent wafting through the air. You hurried inside, your heart pounding, and saw a single apple pie sitting on the counter, still warm from the oven. Next to it was a small note, written in Logan’s unmistakable scrawl:

“Everything’s taken care of. See you soon.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you clutched the note to your chest. Logan had done this. He had made everything right, just as he had promised.

A few hours later, when Logan walked through the door, you didn’t say anything. Instead, you just smiled at him, the warmth in your gaze saying more than words ever could.

Logan gave you a small nod, his usual gruffness in place, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He took his coffee and his pie, the morning ritual restored, but as he turned to leave, you reached out and gently touched his arm.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice full of emotion.

Logan paused, looking down at you. For a moment, he seemed like he was going to say something, but then he just nodded again, a rare, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Anytime,” he said simply, and with that, he walked out of the bakery, the door jingling behind him.

But as he rode off into the morning, the taste of your apple pie still fresh on his tongue, Logan couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, there was more to life than leather jackets and cold nights on the road. There was warmth here, in your bakery, in the way you looked at him, and he found himself wanting to protect it, no matter what.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Napoleonville [Chapter 6: The House Of Salt And Scales]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, Evangelical Christians, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, (Mis)Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, blood, alligators, ANGST!!!

Word Count: 7.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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“Did you hear that Willis is single again?”

Ugh. “Yes, Mama. I heard. You told me already.” You linger in the doorway with a white bakery box in your hands: your mother’s favorite, grasshopper pie, straight out of the 1960s. She allegedly ate through two a week when she was pregnant with you. Cadi has already dashed inside and made herself at home; she’s probably jamming the movie she got from Blockbuster—Predator, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Amir recommended it—into the VHS player. “You told me, Willis told me, all his deputies told me, Cadi told me, my mailman told me, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly told me, literally every resident of Napoleonville has informed me in no uncertain terms that Willis is single again. And I could not possibly care less.”

Your mother sighs and presses a hand to her forehead, wounded and incredulous, like she’s just watched a 60 Minutes segments about a tsunami or a genocide. “I just don’t understand it. In my day, people married for life.”

You glance back longingly at your Chevy Celebrity. “Yeah. I know they did.”

“When your father, and God rest his soul, when he was young, he was a hellion,” your mother says, as if you don’t remember it, as if you weren’t there. “He’d get his paycheck every Friday and stay out all night with his buddies, sometimes he didn’t come home the whole weekend. I’d lay into him when he finally showed, I’d say, ‘Rene, how on earth am I supposed to put dinner on the table if I don’t have any fish in the icebox?!’ Once he punched a hole in the kitchen wall and I had to cover it up with a picture of President Eisenhower! And I never even thought about leaving. How could I have done that to you? Forcing you to grow up in a broken home? Mothers and fathers living apart, whoever heard of such a thing? It’s unnatural.”

You’re brainstorming recipes to distract yourself. Caramel pretzel cookies. Banana chiffon pie. Cheese Danish cupcakes with diced cherries and a hint of vanilla. “Everyone draws their own lines, Mama.”

“But it’s not just about you,” she implores, her eyes shimmering with sympathy she never had for other women. You remember what she said on the rare occasions you confided in her about your frustrations with Willis: Of course a man isn’t going to want you bothering him with your feelings when he’s had a hard day at work. Of course a man—after you’ve had his baby, after you almost died to do it—is going to be crossing off days on the calendar until you can have sex again. He keeps a roof over your head and he never hits you, what more could you ask for? “What about Cadi? What if she grows up thinking that her marriage vows don’t mean anything? It’s the foundation of society, marriage. If that goes, everything goes.”

It’s the foundation of a lot of coercion and unfairness and misery, that’s for sure. “I wouldn’t want Cadi to stay in a situation that makes her unhappy. Would you?”

Your mother throws her hands up, like you’ve told her you’re converting to communism and catching the next flight to the USSR. “Life isn’t just about happiness, sweetheart! It’s about commitment, it’s about responsibility! If everyone did what they wanted all the time, no one would stay married!”

“Maybe that speaks to the value of marriage as an institution.”

“And morality is already falling apart in this country,” your mother continues, ignoring you. That’s what she does when she can’t refute facts, logic, evidence. “Young people living together, women having babies with two or three different men, people doing drugs, people on Welfare, people shooting and stabbing each other, sex shops everywhere, naughty magazines at gas stations, men wanting to marry other men—”

“Okay, Mama. I really have to go now.”

“Alright, I’ll shut up. I will, I will, I swear.” She makes peace with a brisk kiss to your cheek like a stamp on an envelope. “Enjoy a nice quiet night to yourself. Do you have any plans?”

Well, Mama, I’m trying to resist the temptation to call my engaged dominant oil tycoon not-boyfriend and tell him to come over for kinky adulterous sex. “Not really. I’ll probably take a bubble bath and then watch something Cadi would think is boring, like 20/20.” You hand over the bakery box, and your mother’s face lights up.

“Grasshopper pie?!”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You know it’s hard for me to make it myself anymore. This rheumatoid arthritis, it’s got me all twisted up.” She nods down to where her fingers grip the box, knobby and increasingly useless.

“When’s your next appointment?”

“I’ve got one in…oh…about three weeks, I think. I’d have to check my daybook. All the way over in New Orleans with some specialist that Dr. Cormier recommended.”

“Okay. Want me to go with you?”

“Yes, that’d be fine.” It would be more than fine; she wants you to go, though she won’t say it. You aren’t sure if she doesn’t want to impose or doesn’t want to admit how reliant she’s becoming upon you, like growing up in reverse.

“Mawmaw!” Cadi shouts from inside the house. “Hurry up! I want to watch Predator!”

“You quit your hollering, I’ll be right there!” Then your mother looks to you and offers one last piece of very unsolicited advice. “Just be kind to Willis, alright? Give him a chance. I don’t think he’ll ever find a woman he likes as much as you. That’s what everyone says.”

“Mama, he has no idea who I am.” And he’s not interested either.

“Sure he does. You’re the mother of his child, and you always will be. Maybe you’ll find your way back to each other.”

“I’ll think about it.” You definitely won’t. “Goodnight, Mama.”

“So long.” She shuffles into the house, and once she’s shut the door you hear her muffled voice: “Arcadia, come on over here and help me slice up this pie…”

You drive home with the windows down and blasting St. Elmo’s Fire. There’s still an hour or two of sunlight left; the world is painted in gold and blood orange, the soybeans, the sugarcane, the grass growing tall and wild, the Spanish moss swinging from the trees, the earth ripening as its revolution hurtles towards the apex of summer. Cadi is out of school until August. Amir will be announcing his looming departure to San Francisco. Aemond will be getting married.

The adolescent alligator that Aemond is so afraid of is in the far corner of the front yard, basking in the last of the daylight. You walk into your room, flop down on the bed, lie there staring longingly at the pink phone on your nightstand. You reach to pick it up, then stop yourself. Aemond hasn’t fucked you, hasn’t kissed you, has rarely touched you at all since you found out about Christabel. But he stops by your house and invites you to his; he stitches himself into your life like someone somewhere once sutured his face back together.

I can’t. It’s wrong. He’s engaged.

Aemond doesn’t know you’re home alone. It’s Friday, and usually Cadi would be here with you until tomorrow morning.

Maybe it’s not really cheating until he’s married. I mean, if Aemond and Christabel aren’t sleeping together, if they almost never see each other…is it even a real relationship?

Wistful thinking, yes, denial, yes; but with each passing minute your resolve not to pick up the phone weakens.

We don’t have much longer until the wedding. Our time is slipping away.

He’s a robber baron. He’s arrogant, he’s delusional.

And I want him. I still do, and I can’t stop.

The phone rings. You sit up, startled. It’s not Aemond, you tell yourself so you won’t be disappointed when it isn’t him. But it is.

“Hi,” Aemond says; he sounds out of breath. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”

“No, it’s okay, Cadi is actually having a sleepover with my mom. They’re watching Predator. My mom has no idea what it’s about, she’ll be clutching that Bible she got signed by Jerry Falwell a little extra hard tonight. What’s up?”

“This is going to sound random, but…you haven’t seen Aegon, have you? He hasn’t shown up at your house, he hasn’t called? You don’t know where he is?”

Aegon? Why would I know anything about what Aegon’s doing right now? “Um, no…?”

A long exhale, a lull that’s full of dread.

“Aemond, what’s going on?”

“He and my father got into it a few hours ago. They were screaming at each other, kicking furniture over, which isn’t all that unusual, honestly. But then Aegon ran away.”

“Wait, like, he’s gone…?”

“He stormed out the back door, went down to the lake, and then headed north into the trees. And I assumed he’d be back by now, but it’s getting dark and he’s not here. He never came home. His Porsche is still sitting in the driveway.” There is a pause. “I think he’s out there.”

“Out where?”

“In the woods,” Aemond says, shellshocked, terrified. “In the bayou.”

Your eyes dart to the window; the golden daylight is dwindling. “Aemond, he can’t be alone in the bayou. It’s dangerous. He could die. There aren’t just alligators, there are wild boars, cottonmouths, copperheads, snapping turtles, brown recluses, fire ants, I don’t think there are any black bears this far south but it’s always possible, he could drown, he could get trapped in quicksand, you cannot let Aegon spend the night out there.”

“I don’t know what to do.” You’re not used to hearing this in Aemond’s voice: the panic, the vulnerability. “No one else seems worried. They said he disappears all the time, and that’s true. They’re convinced he’s found his way to a strip club or a Waffle House or something and will drag himself home eventually. No one will listen to me. My father has forbidden me from getting anyone else involved. He doesn’t want gossip getting around town and overshadowing the new rig project or…you know. The wedding thing. My wedding. And I can go over his head, sure, I can make calls, but when investigators show up here to start searching my father is just going to tell them to leave. How is it even possible to find Aegon? At night in a fucking swamp? Is anyone going to be willing to go out there before morning? Do I need people with bloodhounds or a helicopter?”

No way, you think as soon as the idea hits you. But it’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. “I can think of someone who knows their way around the bayou.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s just after 7 p.m. when Willis arrives to pick you up: grinning smugly, mullet fluffed, Plymouth Gran Fury hauling his brand new 20-foot jon boat. He’s dressed for night fishing in boots, camo-colored waders, and a grey hoodie with SHERIFF printed across the front in black letters. You climb into the passenger seat wearing sneakers, denim shorts, and a blue raincoat over your Pepsi t-shirt. You haven’t been fishing since you were married to Willis, and you’ve never missed it. It’s a grisly business: hooks through lips, hooks through eyeballs, hooks swallowed and tangled up in some doomed creature’s guts.

Aemond is waiting at the mouth of the Targaryens’ driveway, just out of sight of the mansion they call The Last Desire. He gets in the back seat and sits there testily with his arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, glaring out the window as an indistinct blur of primeval vegetation passes by outside. He has on his Marlboro jacket, light-wash jeans, and Adidas sneakers. You hope he doesn’t ruin them; although you suppose he can always buy more. He could buy a hundred more, a thousand more, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You can’t fathom what it’s like to live that way. It seems to conflict with all the laws of man and nature.

Aemond speaks grudgingly to Willis, a quick flat statement that invites no conversation. He didn’t call Willis to explain the situation, you did. You’re afraid to leave them alone with each other. You aren’t sure who would be more likely to end up a corpse decomposing in the muddy silt at the bottom of Lake Verret. “Thank you for agreeing to help with this.”

Willis chuckles warmly, either oblivious to Aemond’s prickliness or unbothered by it. “Bien sur! It’s my job, son. We’ll hunt your brother down.” Then he glances over at you, smirking, prying. “So, sugar…how’d you two make each other’s acquaintance?”

“Amir and I baked the cakes for his engagement party.”

“Engagement party, huh?” Willis looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “You gettin’ married?”

Aemond is still staring out the window. “Obviously.”

“So you ain’t single?”

“Legally, I am in fact single until the day the marriage license is signed.”

Willis returns his attention to you. “So he ain’t the petit ami you’ve been so secretive about.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Willis. I really can’t be more clear than that.”

“Oh, I know you got one. I know all your looks, sugar. Some days you come ‘round my office lookin’ lovesick, like you’re just a-floatin’ on a cloud. Other days you’re real mean, like you don’t want me takin’ none of your time, like you got somebody more important to spend it on. And then sometimes you just look…” He smiles, mischievous. “Well, how can I put it? Satisfied. The cat who ate the canary. And I recall exactly what that looks like on you. It’s been a while, sure. But I remember.”

From the back seat, Aemond sighs irritably. You say to Willis: “Can we please focus on finding Aegon?”

“Sois calme, sois calme. That’s why I’m here. We’ll be in the water in ten minutes.”

There is no more discussion; the only sound is the radio, Holding Out For A Hero by Bonnie Tyler. Willis turns onto a winding dirt road that leads to a boat launch about a mile from the Targaryens’ property. He spins his Plymouth Gran Fury around and backs it down the concrete ramp towards the rippling, slow-moving currents of Lake Verret. It’s difficult to see from the driver’s seat—most people would have someone get out to guide them—but Willis knows the way by heart. He’s been on boats since before he could walk; Willis’ daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy did too, all the way back to before the Louisiana Purchase. Your family are newer arrivals (relatively speaking), having only been in Napoleonville for about 100 years and keeping mostly to the town. You remember your 11th grade science teacher saying once that alligators have been around since before the dinosaurs went extinct. Maybe that’s what Willis is: a relic of a distant time and species, afflicted with a cunning ruggedness that won’t allow his kind to go extinct.

When the trailer is mostly underwater, Willis gets out of the car to unhook the straps that keep the boat moored to it. You go outside to help and Aemond follows, though he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never handled a boat this size and it shows; perhaps a yacht would be more his speed. He stands aside and watches, frowning, hands buried in the pockets of his Marlboro jacket. His lack of expertise riles him. He’s not used to being the incapable one. He hates not having control.

Willis already has a tow rope tied to a metal handle at the bow of the jon boat; he lifts it out and gives the free end to Aemond. “Hold onto that, will ya? Don’t let her get away.”

“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously. Willis returns to his Plymouth Gran Fury to finish backing the trailer into the lake until the boat floats. Standing on the shore together, you and Aemond stare at each other, unable to speak honestly, unable to decide what you’d say even if you could.

The jon boat bobs in the water, and you show Aemond how to pull it away from the trailer using the tow rope. Willis drives the trailer back onto dry land, parks his car in a flat area near the boat launch, and then joins you and Aemond by the water’s edge. He walks to where the boat is floating just to the right side of the concrete ramp and, with some difficulty, clambers inside as the boat rocks under his weight. Then he stands in the middle of it and gestures for you to approach. “Let’s get goin’, sugar.”

You take Willis’ hands when he reaches for you and let him help you into the jon boat. When you stumble over a bench seat, he steadies you with a hand on your waist, familiar but in no way erotic; not for you, at least. Still, from where he is standing on the lakeshore with the tow rope, Aemond glowers venomously.

“Your turn, son,” Willis calls to him, winking. “And I promise not to get too sweet with ya.”

But Aemond doesn’t need any assistance to board the vessel. He has long limbs, good balance, and an ironclad determination not to let Willis see him falter. Aemond sits at the bow of the boat. You claim a spot in the middle. Willis takes a seat at the stern, starts the outboard motor, and guides the boat into the treacherous swampland that lurks like a stalking animal at the edges of Lake Verret.

In the bayou, the water is sluggish, currentless, thick with vivid green salvinia and duckweed. Towering bald cypress trees grow out of the opaque depths and are adorned with greyish, anemic bundles of Spanish moss like spiderwebs. Mangrove trees with their myriad of semi-submerged roots are sanctuaries for catfish, turtles, baby alligators. Larger gators—as big as the female that lives in your yard, and some up to seven or eight feet—prowl with only their nostrils and ancient yellow eyes peeking out from under the water. Great blue herons tiptoe along the shallow shoreline and stab at fish that unknowingly flit between their long skeletal legs. Cicadas shriek in the trees so loudly they almost drown out the hum of the boat’s motor. When the last of the daylight vanishes, Willis tells Aemond to turn on the spotlight mounted to the bow, and the water becomes a soupy, greenish, primordial witch’s brew beneath its glow. Aemond lights a cigarette and puffs on it as he ponders this alien corner of the world that he’s found himself in.

Willis has a number of items stowed on the flat aluminum floor of the boat, you notice now: nets, paddles in case the motor fails, bottles of water, ropes, fishing poles, flashlights, hunting knives, a few sturdy wooden walking sticks. He’s wearing his sheriff’s pistol on a belt fastened over his waders. This makes you uneasy, though you can’t recall ever seeing him use it. It seems wrong to be able to end a life with so little effort.

“Aegon!” Aemond shouts from the bow, using a flashlight to look to the sides of the boat where the spotlight’s luminescence doesn’t shine so brightly. You grab your own flashlight to help him search. “Aegon! Where are you?!”

There’s something burning in your nose and throat as you lean over the side of the boat to peer into the shadowy wilderness. Salt, you realize, but that doesn’t make any sense. Lake Verret is a freshwater lake. You turn towards where Willis is steering the boat with the rumbling gas-powered motor. “Do you smell that?”

“Yup. Sure do.”

“But…how…?”

“One of the rigs mighta hit a salt dome while they were drillin’, I figure,” Willis says. “There’s been talk for years that we got salt domes under the lake. But that don’t stop these oil companies.” He stares meaningfully at Aemond. Aemond glances back, rather abashed. “And ya know what that means. If the water turns brackish, most of the fish’ll die. And who’s got to live with that for generations to come? Not the Targaryens or the Rockefellers, that’s for sure.”

Aemond resumes shouting for his wayward eldest brother. A dark snake, perhaps six feet long, slithers down the length of the boat through the murky water. “Aegon! Aegon!”

“What did he and Viserys argue about?” you ask.

Aemond is cagy. “It’s…kind of personal.”

“Personal like he got a stripper pregnant or personal like he murdered someone in a drunken hit-and-run?”

“Neither. But closer to the first option.” Then he roars into the darkness: “Aegon!”

“Maybe the bon a rien already found his way back home,” Willis says. “Maybe—”

And then there is an echo through the bayou, faint but vaguely human, a ghost, a phantom. “Aegon!” Aemond shouts back. “Where are you?!” Willis cuts the boat engine so you can hear the reply.

Faintly, very faintly, his disembodied voice drifts out of the trees. “Over here! Help me! Quickly! Seriously, really really quickly!!”

“Keep talking!” Aemond yells. Willis is listening intently, trying to pinpoint a direction. His thick, dark eyebrows are knit together in concentration that is rare for him.

Barely audible over the screams of the cicadas: “What the fuck am I supposed to say?! Just get over here and save me!”

“We’re trying to figure out where your voice is coming from, so don’t stop talking!”

“Help me! Come help me!! Right now!! My arms are getting tired!!”

“What? What are you doing with your arms?!”

“I got him,” Willis says. He restarts the motor and steers the boat down a narrow corridor of the swamp. The path is only about ten yards wide and bordered by mangrove trees with nests of exposed, labyrinthian roots. The water is probably relatively shallow: five feet, ten feet, just deep enough for secrets. The breeze is cool and wet, almost chilly. On the shore, you spy a snapping turtle the size of a golden retriever. Its long prehistoric claws are coated with mud and green blades of marsh grass. It ogles you as if to say: What are you doing here? You don’t belong here. This is where the dinosaurs that survived the asteroid live.

“Aegon?” Aemond calls.

“Here! Over here! I can see you, I see the lights! Oh my God, I’m not gonna die! Thank you Jesus!”

Aemond laughs in relief. “I didn’t think you two knew each other.”

“Shut up and save me, you muppet!”

And then you see Aegon—the spotlight hits him, he is illuminated in a stark white glow—and your stomach plummets, your blood goes cold. In an alcove of the bayou, right where the water meets the shore, Aegon is up in a bald cypress tree. He’s about five feet off the ground and standing on top of a branch just thick enough to hold his weight. It’s too narrow to balance comfortably on; he is hugging the trunk to ensure he doesn’t fall, and a fall would be catastrophic. Sprawled on the muck surrounding the base of the tree are a plethora of alligators, all approximately ten feet in length. That’s big enough to be lethal humans. That would be big enough to kill a bear, a horse, a shark. When the spotlight shines on them, the gators begin to squirm and hiss, glaring with soulless reptilian wrath at the boat. Willis shuts off the motor, and the boat bobs placidly.

“Oh, fuck,” Aemond says.

“Yeah, exactly!” Aegon pitches back. He’s wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny turquoise blue shorts. He is barefoot. “So what’s the plan?! By the way, hey, cake lady.”

“Hi, Aegon.”

Aemond says: “How the hell did you get up there?”

“I was pissed off about the dad thing and I was walking for a long time, then I realized I was probably in the wrong neighborhood for someone with two legs and no desire to get eaten. I tried to find my way back but then these pig-looking things started chasing me and I freaked out and climbed up here to hide until they left. But as the sun went down, alligators started showing up. And the more time went by, the more alligators there were. And that’s the whole story, can you get me down now?!”

Aemond asks Willis, petrified: “How do we get him down?”

Willis surveys the scene for a moment, thinking. “Alright. Here’s what I reckon. We can toss him one end of a rope and he can tie it to the branch above him, right at the base where it’s real thick. Then we’ll hold the other end of the rope, and he can kinda shimmy on down it into the boat.”

Aegon says: “But what if right before I get to the boat, when I’m like four feet above the water, an alligator jumps out and bites me?”

“They don’t usually do that,” Willis replies.

“Usually?!”

“Look, we don’t have a lot of options,” Aemond tells his brother. “We can do the rope plan now, or we can leave you here, backtrack all the way to the boat launch, get the car, get some help, and hope they magically have a better solution for you. Or you can wait up there until morning to see if the alligators leave. You pick.”

“Isn’t that the hick sheriff guy? Can’t he shoot them?”

“Gators got brains ‘bout the size of a walnut, son,” Willis says. “And if I don’t hit ‘em where it counts, I’m just gonna make them angrier. That ain’t good for any of us.”

“Okay,” Aegon concedes. “Throw me a rope.”

Willis grabs one from the bottom of the jon boat, hands an end to Aemond, and tosses the other to Aegon. It takes the eldest Targaryen boy four attempts to catch it; the rope keeps falling and smacking the hissing alligators in the face before Willis lugs it back to the boat to try again. Once he finally obtains the rope, Aegon knots it—double, triple, quadruple—around where the branch above him, just barely within reach if he stretches as far as he can, meets the massive trunk of the bald cypress tree. Willis tells Aemond: “Now ya gotta hold the rope real tight. No slack at all, or it’ll dip and he’ll end up in a gator’s lap.”

“Yeah, Aemond!” Aegon says, his voice shaky. “No slack!”

“Got it.” Aemond loops his end of the rope around his waist, makes a knot, and then grips it with both hands and tugs it until it forms a straight diagonal line from the tree to the boat.

“Ya sure you wanna do that?” Willia says softly, nodding to Aemond’s waist. “If somethin’ goes wrong and he ends up in the water, you’ll be goin’ in with him.”

“I’m sure.”

“Alrighty.” Willis grabs one of the heavy wooden walking sticks from the aluminum floor of the boat. “If a gator tries to cause a problem, I’ll whack ‘em good. Don’t let ‘em get their jaws ‘round ya, not an arm or a leg or nothin’. If they get ahold of ya, they’ll roll and rip your bones right outta the sockets.”

“Awesome,” Aegon says from the tree. “I’m so glad you told me that. Yeah. Great. Any more super helpful alligator trivia, Sasquatch?”

“Yes sir. If one chomps down on ya, poke it in the eye with your fingers. A whack to the snout or a poke to the eye is the best way outta a gator’s mouth.”

Aegon gulps and clutches the rope, steeling himself.

“What should I do?” you ask Willis. “Should I get a stick too—?”

“Nothin’. You don’t do nothin’. You just sit down right in the middle and keep the boat steady. And if your petit ami starts goin’ overboard, maybe try to snatch him. But don’t ya fall in. Ya don’t want to be in that water. If there are gators above the water, there are gators below too. I guarantee it.”

You sit in the precise middle of the boat, using your weight to reinforce the vessel’s center of gravity as Aemond and Willis stand at opposing ends. Right before Aegon begins his descent, Aemond snags your attention. He makes a motion with one hand, a slicing, a prohibition. Don’t do anything insane, he means. Don’t risk trying to drag me back into the boat if I start going over.

“Whenever ya ready, bon a rien,” Willis says. And no one else but you knows that what he’s calling Aegon is a good-for-nothing.

Aegon begins scurrying down the length of the rope, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the bobbing jon boat. He passes above the hissing gators congregating at the base of the bald cypress tree and then over the water, where there are ripples that multiply out from epicenters and flashes of movement just beneath the surface but no homicidal alligator activity. When Aegon nears the boat, Willis seizes him and helps him into it; and then Aegon ruptures into hysterical giggles.

“I almost died, can you believe that?” he asks Aemond, who is untying the rope from his waist and beaming, the first real smile you’ve seen from him tonight. “Because I ran away from Viserys?! What an idiotic way to go. I’ll never let that bastard convince me to off myself. I gotta outlive him. I gotta do Jello shots on that motherfucker’s grave someday.”

“Yeah, you do,” Aemond agrees, squeezing Aegon’s shoulder.

“Goddammit,” Willis grumbles. He’s using his walking stick to jab at the water near the rear of the boat. “We’re hooked on a mangrove root or something.”

“Do you need help?” Aemond asks, headed towards him.

“Yes sir, if you’d be so kind. I don’t…I can’t see…what the hell is it stuck to?”

“The motor…? The blades of the motor?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re right. Yup. There it is. We musta drifted into it while we were preoccupied. Okay, we gotta push the boat off the root and then we can get movin’ again. Grab a stick, let’s start pushin’.”

“Should I get a stick too?” Aegon says, joining them. “I can hit stuff with sticks. I really want to get out of here…”

There’s a bit of a commotion at the back of the boat as the men try to propel it away from the mangrove tree. Willis is complaining that the water is too deep to touch the bottom with his stick. Aemond’s stick keeps slipping off the mangrove roots when he tries to get leverage. You aren’t sure what Aegon is contributing, if anything. The boat has begun to rock.

You look to the tree where Aegon had been imprisoned. The alligators are fully awake now; they are headed into the water and disappearing there, unseen, unheard, and yet all around you.

“I think we need to go now,” you say, but no one is listening to you. They’re still wrestling with the mangrove root. You rise, taking a few steps to the left to offset the boat’s listing towards the right. “Guys, we need to—”

The boat is freed from its organic jailor and lurches sharply towards the left. As the men cheer triumphantly—completely unaware of what’s happening—you are jolted off your feet and tumble backwards over the side of the boat.

The shock of hitting the water stuns you. It is cold and impossibly dark; when you open your eyes to try to find the surface, the boat, you can’t see anything. You paddle blindly. Something brushes your leg, and you scream bubbles of mute terror. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you are picturing those ten-foot gators slinking into the water that you’re now thrashing wildly through. You swim towards what you think is the surface and strike unyielding metal—the underbelly of the boat—hard enough to put stars in your skull like the flashes of lightning bugs. You get turned around and don’t know where you are again. Something glides past your arm, and you gasp before remembering that there’s no air. Dark water—salt and silt and decomposition—surges into your lungs, your stomach, sinking you like an anchor from within. There is a whirlpool of motion around you and muffled shouting. Then something closes around your wrist.

The eyes! you think frantically. I have to poke out its eyes!

But the vice around your flesh has no teeth. It’s not a reptilian jaw, you realize now, but a human hand. It leads you and you obey.

When you break the surface, you cough bayou water from your throat and blink it out of your eyes. Willis is leaning over the side of the boat and stabbing at gators with his stick, shrieking at them in French. One lunges at him from the water, jaws snapping. Willis whips the pistol off his belt, aims it squarely between the creature’s eyes, and fires. The boom is deafening; the bleeding gator sinks into the water. Aegon is kneeling in the boat and offering his arms to help you climb up.

You look beside you. Aemond is barely keeping his head above water. “Go!” he orders you. “Get in the boat!”

With Aegon’s help, you heave yourself over the side and collapse to the aluminum floor, lungs aching, skull pounding, heart thudding mercilessly, soaked to the skin. Then you force yourself to your hands and knees to see where Aemond is.

“Aemond?!” Aegon is yelling. “Aemond, where are you?!”

He’s gone; you don’t see him in the water. You try to scream for him too, but the water still in your throat strangles you. Your hands close around the edge of the boat, and Willis grabs your raincoat to yank you backwards. “Other side!” says, pointing. “We’re gonna capsize, we need weight on the other side, go there!”

You scramble to the opposite end of the boat, sobbing now, still hacking up muddy water. Where’s Aemond?? Where is he??

Both Willis and Aegon are grasping for something. They’re shouting and stabbing into the water with their walking sticks. And then they’re hauling him into the boat: Aemond, blood pouring down the left side of his face, a gash by his temple, another on his forehead; something bit him or clawed him. He’s wearing only his jeans and a white tank top; he ripped off his Marlboro jacket before diving in after you. You don’t see his Adidas sneakers anywhere. They must have been kicked off in the water. His glass eye has been knocked out and lost in the muck. What’s left in its place is a void, gaping, pink; it’s difficult to look at, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. It has the visceral, gory quality of organs never meant to be seen. His fingertips go to the socket to feel for his prosthetic. When he confirms it isn’t there, he covers his face with his hands and moans.

He saved me. He jumped in after me.

You crawl to him. “Aemond—”

“No!” He pushes you away, and you see that there’s blood and ancient silt from the bayou in his empty eye socket. It will have to be cleaned out. Willis watches, astonished, bewildered. For once, he is at a loss for words.

“Aemond, please…” You’d do anything to help him. You don’t know how to help him.

He saved me.

Aegon reaches for Aemond. “Hey, hey. It’s not that bad. Hey…” He drops to his knees, presses his forehead against Aemond’s, stains himself with his brother’s blood. And when Aemond tries to pull away, Aegon doesn’t let him; he’s got his fingers tangled in Aemond’s wet hair. “Thank you for saving me. I’m always almost getting myself killed and you’re always saving me. What would I do without you, huh? None of us would be okay without you. Thank you, Aemond. You hear me? You’re not gonna get this again anytime soon, so listen up. Thank you. Thank you.”

“I’m just so—”

“I know.”

“I hate that I’m like this.”

“It’s not a big deal. You’ll order a new one.”

“You know what he’s going to say.”

“Fuck him. Why do you care what he thinks? Because you think he’s the one who gets to decide what you’re worth? He isn’t. He’s not qualified.”

Aemond nods, but he doesn’t seem to be convinced. He still doesn’t look at you. He turns so the left side of his face—bloodied, eyeless—is angled towards the water and out of your view. Willis goes to the motor, starts it, and begins guiding the boat back towards the launch where he parked his Plymouth Gran Fury.

Aegon glances over at you. “You okay, cake lady?”

“Yeah.” But your voice shakes. The rest of you is shaking too; now that the adrenaline is wearing off, you can feel that you’re shivering in your wet clothes.

“Put it on,” Aemond says softly, and at first you don’t understand. Then you see that he’s pointing to his Marlboro jacket, left hurriedly flung on the floor of the boat. You unzip your dripping raincoat and don Aemond’s Marlboro jacket instead. It smells like him: smoke, cologne, effort, secrets.

“Thank you,” you tell him, wanting to say more. Aemond doesn’t answer. He stares into the murky water, greenish under the glare of the spotlight, and says nothing to anyone all the way back to the boat launch. Wordlessly, he helps Willis re-hitch the jon boat to the trailer. He remembers the steps. He’s a fast learner. The blood on his face is drying; his right eye won’t allow itself to look at you. The only sound on the drive to the Targaryens’ mansion is the radio of the Plymouth Gran Fury, which Willis turns up to cover the silence: In A Big Country.

At the end of the cobblestone driveway, lights are on in the vast house called The Last Desire. Everyone gets out of the car. Willis shakes a rather puzzled Aegon’s hand, then turns to Aemond, who ignores him. Willis chuckles, more curious than offended.

“So ya are the man who’s been givin’ her that satisfied look. I knew it. Yes, I knew what I saw. What’s your secret, son? Ya must really know your way around a woman if ya got her so mad about ya with a face like that. Ya look like the Rougarou got ahold of ya—”

Aemond grabs Willis by his hoodie, yanks him off his feet, jacks him up against the side of the sheriff’s vehicle. Immediately, you and Aegon are shouting and trying to break them apart.

You plead: “Aemond, don’t!”

“Aemond, he’s got a gun!” Aegon screeches.

Fortunately, Willis isn’t grappling for his pistol. He holds both palms in the air, open and empty, like he’s surrendering; but there’s still a smile on his face. Aemond doesn’t act like he’s heard anyone. He leans in close to Willis, his voice low and dark and snarling, his sole blue eye glinting. “You had so much in your filthy fucking hands and you just threw it away.” Then he slams Willis against the car one more time, tears away from him, and strides up the porch steps and into the house.

Aegon hurries after him, casting you a quick glance and a beckoning wave. It’s an invitation. You coming? Aegon mouths, and then vanishes inside.

Willis peers up at the house: stained glass windows, immense white columns. You don’t see any signs of Vhagar the Great Dane. Willis speaks calmly and without looking at you. “I think he’s in love with you, sugar.”

Improbable. Impossible. If he was, he couldn’t marry someone else. “He’s not.”

Now Willis’ eyes flick to you. “All I’m sayin’ is that I’ve been fishin’ on that lake since as long as I can remember, day, night, sun, storms, and nothin’ on earth would have gotten me to jump into that water. Not even Heather Locklear herself.”

“Just go, Willis,” you say, exhausted, heartsick. “Thank you for what you did tonight. But please go now.”

“How ya gonna get home?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of that, I am incapable,” Willis drawls. Then he climbs into his Plymouth Gran Fury and is gone. You sprint up the porch steps in your soggy sneakers, searching for Aemond.

In the white-and-gold foyer, Viserys is just arriving. He struts across the marble floor until he is close enough to his two oldest sons to embrace them, to hit them, to extract their teeth with his knuckles. The others pour through the doorways—Alicent, Criston, Helaena, Daeron, Otto—but while they gape in horror and fascination, they don’t speak in anything more than murmurs amongst themselves. Viserys steals only a glimpse of Aegon, swift and disinterested, then examines Aemond: wet clothes, no shoes, grime and blood, dazed fury. When his cool, pale gaze reaches Aemond’s empty eye socket, Viserys flinches and looks away.

“So you lost another prosthetic,” is all he says. His face twists into a grimace. And you expect Aemond to do something, to jab back, but he doesn’t. He’s frozen, he’s paralyzed. His right eye is misty. He’s biting his lips so they don’t tremble. And suddenly you hate Viserys Targaryen, you hate him more than you can imagine hating anyone. You think that you could watch his entrails unspooled from his body without feeling a thing. The Targaryen family patriarch hasn’t spoken to you; you don’t register to him at all. You might as well be an oriental vase or a house plant.

“You’re the one who did it, Viserys,” Aegon says, stepping in front of Aemond seething and sharp like a blade. “You remember that part? I do. I remember. The North Sea, 1968. I remember him trotting around after you, always so desperate to prove himself, always doing anything you asked, anything you could dream up, worshipping you like you were God. And where were you when he was getting his eye socket debrided at Moorfields Hospital? In fact, where were you when he got his hands caught in a winch when he was eleven? Where were you when he fell off a pipe deck and broke six ribs because one of your idiot employees forgot to close a safety gate and he couldn’t see it? Where were you then? Where are you now?”

Viserys scowls down at him—revolted, repelled—but he doesn’t reply. He feels no instinct to defend himself. He is unable to internalize shame; it rolls off him like raindrops.

“You’d love me so much if I was dead,” Aegon says, grinning, baring his teeth like an animal. “How sick is that? You can love bones in a box, but not someone standing right in front of you. You love Aemma, a ghost. You love Baelon, and you never even knew him. You’ve got nothing for me. That’s fine, I don’t care, I’ll be alright without you.” He points to Aemond. “But you’ve got nothing for him either, and he’s everything you always wanted. You’re disgusting, you’re broken. You belong in a box too. The part of you that was human is gone. I don’t give a fuck about what’s left.”

Aegon shoves Viserys, hard, and then storms past him. As he crosses into the kitchen, Helaena grabs for his wrist. You can hear her whisper: “What the hell happened?!”

Then Aegon remembers one last thing. He whirls around and bellows at Viserys, his voice reverberating off the vaulted ceilings: “And I’m not getting my vasectomy reversed! You can’t make me! It’s bioethics! I asked the lawyer!” He stomps off and disappears, Helaena in tow.

Alicent shoots Viserys a hateful glare and then flees from the foyer, her long auburn ringlets streaming out behind her. Viserys goes in the opposite direction. Daeron and Otto share an awkward glance and then depart as well. Only you, Criston, and Aemond remain in the room, surrounded by treasures that might as well be handfuls of earth, flour, swamp water, salt.

Cautiously, Criston lays a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, on his right side where he can see it. “Aemond…”

“Don’t touch me,” Aemond says as he wrenches away. He leaves like a hurricane, like a flood, receding until there remains only wreckage and memory.

Criston sighs deeply, and then he asks you: “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t respond. You haven’t decided how to yet. You stare at the place where Aemond stood, a void like a star that died out. Do I follow him upstairs? you think.

Do I?