#but i feel like she wouldn’t perform that alone. WE NEED TO GET HER ON A STAGE WITH THE NATIONAL PLEASEEEE

[titsthedamnseason]

which songs from your surprise song list survived the first U.S. leg (plus mexico city weekend) of the eras tour?

[bueckers]

UNFINISHED BUSINESS ━━━ paige bueckers

i don’t wanna fight, but you got the wrong vibes. let me get you right, it’s how i apologize. ✶

synopsis: she broke it off, but has since had a hard time leaving her alone… especially when having to see her in person.

pairing: paige bueckers x fem oc

warnings: smut with plot, p eating ( p is literally EATING ), fingering, thigh riding, and slight angst.

notes: this is ridiculously long. in honor of her fit here, enjoy.. i loved writing this almost as much as i love the song lol. lmk if i should make a part two or maybe a series!

Nervous, excited, and borderline bald from tugging at my hair—these were all the things I had felt the moment I stepped into the WNBA 2024 All-Star Game.

I would be seeing Paige tonight. Paige would be seeing me tonight. Paige knew I knew she would be seeing me tonight, and I knew Paige knew she would be seeing me tonight.

When Paige and I first started hooking up, it was never supposed to be anything serious. She was sidelined with a torn ACL, and I knew she was in a dark place, struggling with everything that came with being forced off the court. I think that’s why it started, honestly. She needed an escape, something to make her forget for a little while, and I was there.

Paige and I have known of each other for years, though. We both came up in the basketball world at the same time, our names being tossed around in the same circles since high school. We’d cross paths at AAU tournaments and national showcases, always on different teams but always aware of each other.

Back then, our support for each other was more from a distance, and it wasn’t until college that things started to shift. We crossed paths more often, whether it was at games, media events. The rivalry between our schools added a new layer to our interactions, but by then, we had leveled up from distant competitors to something more like casual friends.

Those moments were what led us to where we eventually ended up. The more we talked, the more we realized how much we actually had in common—our experiences, our struggles, the pressure to perform, and the constant scrutiny. It felt natural, easy, to let our guard down with each other, which is why when her injury happened and everything else in her life felt like it was falling apart, I wasn’t surprised when we fell into it.

We had an agreement. Not one that was ever talked about soberly, but the way it happened just fell into place so perfectly that we didn’t need to. We’d meet up when it was needed, no commitments, no expectations. Just two people finding comfort in each other, filling a void that we couldn’t fill on our own. It was convenient, effortless, and most importantly, it worked for the both of us. I guess I figured if I kept things casual, I wouldn’t get caught up in something messy. I didn’t want to be the one to complicate her life even more.

We’d cross paths after games, during off-season, or whenever our schedules aligned, slipping into each other’s lives for a few hours at a time. She knew how to keep me at arm’s length, just close enough to keep me coming back but far enough to never let me in too deep. She knew exactly how to make me feel needed without ever giving too much of herself away. It was maddening, really—how she could be so vulnerable one minute, showing me sides of herself that no one else got to see, and then switch off just as quickly.

The more we hooked up, the more I started to realize I was getting too close. I could see it in the way she’d look at me sometimes, like she knew I was starting to care too much. And the worst part was, she didn’t seem to mind pushing me right to that edge. She’d say something that made my heart race, or she’d touch me in a way that felt like it meant something, only to pull back and remind me of our status. She was always in control, always the one with the upper hand, and I hated how easily I let her have it.

And then it was all done. She cut things off with a cold finality that I still can’t even believe. No explanation, no soft letdown—just a sudden, brutal end. It was like she knew exactly when I’d reached that point and she didn’t hesitate to remind me that it was never supposed to mean anything at all.

“I’m gonna go grab some snacks, alright? Try to look a little more happy for the jumbotron,” JuJu teases, getting up from her seat. I gasped, barely having any time to process her insult as she scooted between me to get to the stadium stairs.

“Very funny,” I muttered, watching her walk away.

Alone now, I focused on the game, doing an extremely good job at hiding the gnawing in my chest. I’d say I have a good poker face, but Paige would agree to disagree. My phone buzzed, jolting me from my thoughts. It was her and she’d finally found you. She was on the other side of the arena, clearly getting a kick out of having you in her view.

you mad at me or just deep in thought?

I rolled my eyes back to the deep depths of hell. Another text from her.

you look good tonight

you too. how’s the game?

As soon as I hit send, I regret it. I should have ignored her. I should have said something snarky.

Her reply comes almost immediately.

could be better. thought about coming over

what stopped you?

You watched her text bubble practically stutter, making you quirk an eyebrow.

juju. i didn’t wanna make it awkward.

lol. okay.

actually, scratch that. leave w me.

I shifted in my seat, my hands suddenly clutching my phone a little tighter.

paige, no.

why not?

I shut off my phone just in time for JuJu’s return, watching as she squeezed through mounds of people to get back to me. She handed me a cherry slurpee, which would however be gone in ten minutes.

“Thanks, sugar,” you teased her, wrapping your lips around the straw and taking a nice, long sip. She shook her head at me as she focused on the game again, nachos in hand. Ping.

Tell her don’t get too comfortable 😂

I could even feel her eyes boring into me from the other side. I could picture the stupid smirk or gummy smile she’d have. I turned my ringer off and silenced Paige’s notifications before slipping my phone into my back pocket and reverting my attention back to the game. It’s almost over.

Fast forward to the final buzzer, and Juju and I made our way down to the court, weaving through the crowd of fans and players. I always loved the energy in a room of women’s basketball players and fans— there were always a million things going on at once. As we reached the court, we spotted Caitlin, who was already deep in conversation with a couple of other players.

“Great game, Cait,” I said, pulling her into a light hug. “Guess nobody busts your butt as good as SC, huh?” I pulled back first, resting my hands on my hips. I could say I’ve known Caitlin as long as I have Paige, but Cait doesn’t know me the way Paige does.

Caitlin laughed, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, yeah, Miss Championship. but don’t get too cocky now.”

Juju laughed alongside me, adding a quick comment about how USC would give her a run for her money next time. The conversation flowed easily, a mix of post-game analysis and friendly banter. I scanned the court for a brief moment, knowing exactly who I was looking for.

Sure enough, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Flau’jae and Paige making their way over. I braced myself, knowing the cameras would be all over this reunion, and the media would have a field day with it. Paige looked as confident as ever, her stride always one that grabbed attention.

“Hey, y’all,” Paige said, her voice smooth, effortless. She exchanged hugs and high-fives with everyone, her presence commanding attention as always. When she reached me, she didn’t hesitate to pull me into a hug, her hand resting on my hip before snaking around to my lower back.

And then I felt it—her hand slipping lower, fingers grazing the fabric of my mini skirt. I could hear the smirk in her voice as she leaned in, her breath warm against my ear. “Good to see you.” Just close enough to keep me coming back.

I pulled back slightly, meeting her eyes. There was that smirk. My heart was pounding, a mix of frustration and something else I didn’t want to acknowledge. “You too,” I managed, keeping my tone as neutral as possible, pulling back with a tight-lipped grin that looked friendly enough to anyone who didn’t know what was going on. Which was everyone.

The group continued chatting, oblivious, obviously. You’d found out the one thing you hated about being around Paige was the overwhelming current of being the only ones in the room who knew how each other was feeling. Paige, ever the actor, kept up her usual easygoing demeanor, but I could feel her gaze on me, like she was waiting for something. I tried to focus on the conversation, but it was impossible with her so close, the warmth of her hand still lingering on my skin.

When the small talk finally wound down, and the others started drifting away, Paige moved closer, her eyes locked on mine. She leaned in again, her voice low, almost a whisper. “C’mon. Meet me,” she coaxed, her breath warm against my ear. Her fingers brushed lightly against my side, tracing a path.

I hesitated, the resolve I’d built up over the past hour crumbling under the weight of her presence. She was testing me, pushing every button she knew she could. And damn it, it was working.

I finally nodded, barely audible. “Okay.”

It was all she needed. A single, one-word confirmation that I wanted her as bad as she does. She took my phone out of my pocket for me, placing it my hand as she said her goodbyes to everyone else, leaving me there. I suppose it was smarter for her to do that anyway.

Shortly after Paige’s departure, I made my way out as well. JuJu wasn’t a tough barrier to get past. I told her to finish up her conversations, and that I’d see her back at the hotel. I wasn’t quite show how long my excuse would suffice, but I hoped she’d find her way to the bar or something after.

I don’t know why I listened. Watched my fingers click on her contact and give the driver her hotel’s address. It was like I was compelled from the moment she’d touched me, and to be honest, I don’t think I’d be surprised if that was the case.

The Uber ride felt interminable, each passing moment only heightening the anticipation and anxiety. I could barely focus on the city lights flashing by outside, my mind consumed with the impending confrontation and whatever would follow.

Finally, I was able to make my way to her room, feeling the cool air of the hallway against my skin as I knocked on the door. When Paige answered, her smile was as infuriatingly charming as ever, and she pulled me inside with a warm, yet testing glint in her eye.

The moment the door clicked shut behind us, Paige’s demeanor shifted. Before I could voice any protest, her lips were on mine, kissing me with an urgency that made my heart race. I barely had time to process the sudden change before she deepened the kiss, her hands roaming possessively over my back.

I tried to pull away, my mind still reeling from the fact that I was even here, but her grip tightened, pulling me closer. “Paige,” I murmured against her lips, trying to catch my breath. “We need to talk—” but as much as I tried to voice it, I knew that isn’t what we both really planned to do.

She silenced me with another intense kiss, her fingers tangling in my hair, guiding my head to tilt for better access. Her touch was relentless, her body pressing against mine with all the need in her body. “I don’t wanna fight,” she whispered between kisses, her breath hot and heavy against my skin. “Jus’ wanna be close to you.” She breathed in my scent, and I melted.

The words were almost lost in the heated moment, but I could feel the sincerity. She pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, her gaze smoldering with an intensity that made me rethink actually standing on business. She waited, trying to see if I was really against this. I licked my lips, glancing at hers.

I didn’t stand a chance.

Her lips found mine again, and the world narrowed to the press of our bodies. Our kisses were feverish and desperate, each touch holding some type of meaning. Paige’s hands roamed over my skin like there were so many options in a candy store and she couldn’t pick just one. In this case, one spot to focus on. Her mouth trailed down my collarbone, leaving a path of pinkish marks.

Our bodies were pressed together and refusing to let go. Paige guided me towards the bed, her hands never leaving my body, her lips continuing their assault on my skin. When she finally lowered me onto the bed, I was needy and breathless and finally feeling a little more realistic.

“P, I’m still mad,” I tried to insist, though my voice wavered as I watched her begin to undress. She unzipped her Nike vest slowly, the sound of the fabric sliding down her body making my pulse quicken. It fell to the floor, and she ripped off her shirt with a sudden, breathless intensity, revealing her sports bra. The sight of her, partially unclothed and vulnerable in front of me again left me speechless.

“I know,” she murmurs, her head slightly tilted as she looked at me all-knowingly. “And ima’ make it up to you, I promise. Just let me get you right.” Her fingers trailed up my bare legs, eliciting a small gasp from my lips. She tugged at the hem of my skirt, pulling the fabric down and grabbing my panties in the process. I watched her do it, in utter disbelief that this was how I was spending my night.

Her fingers graze teasingly against my kneecaps, sending shivers through my body, before she gently but firmly peels my legs apart. I look down at her. “You’re just trying to distract me,” I say, but there’s no heat behind the words.

Paige smirks, a knowing look in her eyes as she falls to her knees, her hands sliding over my thighs. “Maybe,” she admits, her voice dropping into a low, sultry tone as she tucks her lip between her teeth. “But you can’t say you don’t want this too.”

She’s right, and we both know it. The way she’s touching me, the way her eyes are locked onto mine with that look. The same one that knows she’s getting her way tonight. My worries seem so distant now, nothing more than a whisper of irritation in the back of my mind, easily drowned out by the way Paige’s hands are moving.

I begin to say something, but she easily cuts me off by diving into me with no warning, immediately humming against my cunt in satisfaction. Her eyebrows were furrowed as her tongue made some deliberate strokes, seemingly in disbelief of the way I tasted. She looks up at me as she delves in, a sight beautiful enough for the Louvre but way too sinful.

She says something I can’t hear, but I do catch a, “Can’t leave you alone, ever. Fuck.”

“Yeah?” I muster out, my breath a careless whisper.

Paige smiles against me, loving the cocky tone in my voice as she responds with a fast nod, the movement making me gasp. “Yeah.”

From there, every moan and gasp from me seems to fuel her desire, making her work even harder to drive me wild. Her hands grip my hips firmly, keeping me in place as her mouth and tongue continue their relentless assault. In the haze of ecstasy, all I can focus on is the feeling of her between my legs, making good on her promise to get me right, leaving me utterly consumed by the pleasure she’s giving.

I come, loud enough that the neighbors might know Paige’s name, but she keeps going. It becomes too much, enough for me to whine and pull away, scooting a little bit higher on the bed. She isn’t going for it, though, and immediately brings me back to her mouth, wrapping my legs in her thick arms.

“Where you tryna’ go, princess?” she teases. The sensation of her mouth and fingers on me is so intoxicating that I can barely respond before she pulls back entirely, rising to her feet. She begins to peel off her pants, her movements slow, leaving me breathless and frustrated.

“Seriously?” I complain.

“Chill,” she responds with a husky chuckle, towering over me in the sexiest way explainable. It’s like she contemplates something in her head for a moment, leaving me dripping wet and needy before her.

Finally, Paige steps closer, her hands sliding down to her sports bra. With a teasing glance, she pulls it off, revealing her bare chest. My eyes widen as I take in her form, unable to tear my gaze away. She then sits back down, positioning herself comfortably on the edge of the bed. “Want you to get on my thigh, baby, m’kay?” And there was no room for argument.

I crawl toward her, a mixture of urgency and anticipation in my movements. Once I’m seated on her thigh, I start to ride it slowly, the friction sending waves of pleasure through me. I truly can’t believe we haven’t done this before. The way she flexes, the way I can feel her muscle.. it’s all too much.

I roll my head back, needing more. My hands find Paige’s boxers, slipping into them with ease as she watches, her eyes moving more than her actual head. My fingers find their way to her core, exploring.

Paige’s breath hitches, her fingers gripping my hip as she watches me intently. “You like that, don’t you?” she breathes, her voice filled with a mixture of desire and all things Paige. “You’ve got me exactly where you want me.”

I stare at her. My body and arm moving repeatedly, my hair a bit puffy at this rate, and a panting mess. Paige raises her thumb to my plump and parted lips, slipping it in. I moan out, forced to suck around it as I squeeze my eyes shut.

Paige is in a trance, completely focused on the warmth around her thumb and how your small fingers disappear into her. “So, so, so good. Love seeing you above me, baby. So pretty.” I couldn’t understand how she could say things like these, and happen to not mean them, but it was the last thing on my mind.

“Mfmfmm, I’m gonna come. Again.”

Paige’s response is a series of breathy moans, her hands gripping my hips tightly as she keeps me pressed down, every thrust and touch pushing us both closer to the edge.

As she finally shudders, her release crashes over her like a tidal wave, her body trembling violently. The sensation of her coming around my fingers makes my own climax come shortly after. I cry out, my own pleasure peaking as I grind against her, my fingers thrusting in and out.

Our combined releases feel explosive, a storm of heat and passion that has us both gasping and moaning. I feel her tremors against my fingers as I continue to move, riding out the last waves of ecstasy before finally collapsing against her, both of us spent and tangled together in a sated, sweaty mess.

I think I’ll regret this in the morning. But right now? I’ve never been happier.

[adragonprinceswhore]

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)wife

Chapter IV: Never Going Back Again 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: Aemond answers your performance of 'Dreams' by singing yet another newly composed song during rehearsal. This time, you can't contain the rage he elicits within you.

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, smut, hatesex, rough sex, oral (m. receiving), spanking, pussy slapping, fingering, P in V, choking, degradation, manhandling

Word count: 4880 A/N: Thank you always to my love Justine, @theoneeyedprince for helping me by having a look at the edited version 🩵

Bringing Aemond’s old hoodie on tour feels like harbouring a shameful secret.

You’d felt weak enough when you spontaneously brought it with you when you moved out of your shared flat. And when you realised it was the only thing that could make you fall asleep any time anxiety weighed heavy on your chest.

So when you packed your suitcases to tour the Seven Kingdoms, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to leave it behind. But the shame of still needing it; still needing the memory of him, resulted in you storing it away somewhere no one would see it, least of all yourself. 

Until you sought it out. 

You wake up still curled on the side of the large bed, Aemond’s scent encompassing you.

How long will his smell linger on the fabric?

Soon, it’d disappear and you’d have no trace of him left. 

You reach Winterfell the next day. Luckily, you’re allowed a small break before the next performance, leaving you some time to explore the city and rehearse with the band. 

You spend your day sightseeing in the capital of the North; grabbing coffee with Helaena and window shopping around the bustling city centre. 

Despite the quick friendship you had established after joining the band, your relationship with Helaena has become greatly strained following your separation from Aemond. 

You know she hates the tension and the fighting. She has a habit of closing off and retreating whenever she feels uncomfortable, and having two band members in an infected conflict is not something she finds easy to navigate. You still love her like a sister, and you know Aemond holds her dear as well, so you try to spare her from it all, even if your attempts aren’t always successful. 

“We’ll be late for the rehearsal if we don’t leave soon”, you tell her as she’s eyeing a pair of sparkly firefly hair clips. She nods absentmindedly in response and picks up the clips, 

“I know, I know. Let me just get these”, she answers with a smile, heading towards the register.  

Helaena pays for the newest addition to her endless collection of insect trinkets, and you leave for the venue you’ll be performing at in two days; Winterfell Arena. 

This is going to be your biggest show yet. 

When your management booked the arena you were scared of not selling enough tickets to justify such a large space. But you’d been pleasantly surprised by the interest shown in the North. The last tickets had just sold, and it would be your largest audience to date. 

Entering the arena, you’re taken aback by its sheer size. You can’t believe you’ll be performing in a place like this, and to a sold-out crowd. You’re suddenly hit with an overwhelming sense of nauseating anxiety. Will you be able to give them a worthy show? 

Will you be good enough? 

The constant self doubt that plagues your mind had been easier to handle when Aemond was by your side. He’d always been your biggest supporter; chasing away all your inner demons with his reassurance. 

He always made you feel better. 

Now, you were left alone and with nothing but doubt keeping you company. You miss having someone to soothe you by your side. 

Miss having someone to confide in. 

To rely on. 

The stage’s larger than any you’d ever been on before. You try to shake the nerves taking over you, but it’s hard not to get overwhelmed by the size of the hall. It’s intimidatingly large. 

You and Helaena begin to set up and prepare for tonight’s rehearsal, and Jace, Erryk and Aemond drop in one by one to join. You’d expected the latter to have his usual gorgeous companion on his arm, but he surprises you by showing up alone, five minutes after the time you’d all agreed upon and without saying a word. 

It isn’t like him to show up late, and you can feel the stress radiating from him, though he stays quiet. 

You know he’s been working on yet another song for the new album, and today he mentioned in the group chat that he’d like to play it for you during rehearsal. 

He’d sent you the name; ‘Never Going Back Again’. 

Is it about his relationship with his grandfather?

When Aemond told Otto Hightower that he wanted to quit working for him at Oldtown Solicitors in order to fully focus on his music career, his grandfather had nearly cut all ties to him. 

In a particularly weak moment, he’d even given you a call, insinuating that you were a bad influence on his grandson,

“I let him entertain this silly band for the sake of Helaena and Aegon! I even let him do a minor in history at the university I financed. And yet, he meets you and suddenly wants to give that all up to record an album? Talk some sense into him, won’t you?” 

Aemond had been furious when you told him about the call from Otto, making it clear to his grandfather that he’d never go back to working with him or in property law. He’d been prepped and groomed since birth; the perfect heir to carry on the Hightower legacy. Not as flaky or unreliable as his older siblings. Always the dutiful son. 

Aemond moves across the stage to grab his bag, pulls out a water bottle and places a tablet on his tongue.  

You realise he must’ve been late due to the pain of his eye injury flaring up again. Despite his recent awful behaviour, you can’t help but feel bad for him. 

When you first started dating, you’d been scared of asking about his eye. Evidently, it was a sore subject, and you didn't want to pry. Eventually, he told you about the car accident he was in when he was 10. 

He’d been in the backseat of the family's car with his nephews, engaging in a petty fight. As the driver tried to de-escalate the situation in the back, he lost control of the vehicle, crashing it into a large tree by the side of the road. 

The only casualty from the crash was Aemond’s left eye. A piece of metal from the car had come loose during the crash and flung back through the window, creating a scar going from his forehead down to his cheek; robbing him of his vision and permanently causing him pain. 

When you started dating, you made sure to learn his routine and preferences, to make it easier and less unbearable for him when the nerve damage caused intense pain to shoot through his head. 

You still remember. 

He likes the room cool. He always lies on top of the duvet on his back, letting the chill air sooth his aching skin. Unless you’re there. Then he used to lie on his stomach next to you; one armed wrapped around your waist and his head on your chest. You’d thread your fingers through his silky hair with the softest of touches, stroking his head until the pain killers drag him into slumber. 

It had been in one of those moments that he’d first told you he loves you. 

You look over at Aemond as he makes his way towards his guitar, picking it up and experimentally playing a few chords to check the volume. 

Did he manage the pain by himself now? 

Or did he lay his head on Alys’ chest, hugging her? 

Does she run her fingers through his hair? 

Does she let them trace the outlines of the beautiful sharpness of his face? 

Over his cupid's bow, nose bridge, cheekbones?

Does he lay his head on her chest, letting the drum of her heart lull him to sleep? 

Does he allow her to come as close?

You go through the set list, discussing the order of both your older and newer songs. 

Jace, Helaena and Erryk all praise your performance of Dreams, asking you to perform it each night moving forward. 

Helaena, standing next to her brother, leans towards him and mumbles, “Your back-up vocals really make the chorus shine”, while offering him a gentle smile. 

Aemond replies with a hum and moves to stand by one of the microphones with his guitar in hand. His usual stoic yet quietly commanding self returns when he starts to play without any explanation or introduction, fingers plucking the strings with precision. He sings, 

‘She broke down and let me in’ 

During recording, you’d briefly glanced at the words in the recording studio, huffing a laugh at his audacity. They definitely sting more on stage. Your face turns hot and you can’t decipher if it’s from humiliation or anger. Maybe both. 

He really is a dick. 

‘Made me see where I’ve been’

‘Been down one time’

‘Been down two times’ 

‘Never going back again’ 

Any sympathy you’d felt for him; any longing you’d felt for him, vanishes as he sings. Another song about you, this time in the form of the final nail in the coffin that is your marriage. 

And he had the nerve to ask you not to perform Dreams anymore? 

‘You don’t know what it means to win’

‘Come ‘round and see me again’ 

Back at the hotel room, rage makes your entire body feel hot and restless. 

How fucking dare he? 

Never going back again? 

First, he’d sung about how you broke his heart and now, he paints you like you’re the plague; like a sickness to avoid. 

All you want to do is call Alysanne and spew out all the pent up emotions storming inside of you. 

You place your phone on the nightstand and roughly shove the charger inside, fingers tapping furiously to call Alysanne.

She doesn’t answer and you call her again. Still no answer. 

You’re so restless you can’t sit down, irritation making your skin feel hot and hands tingly. 

What if you asked him to not play the song? That’s what he’d asked of you. 

Unable to stay still, you grab your key card and shove your feet into a pair of white hotel slippers, heading down to where you know Aemond’s hotel room is. 

You reach the door and knock on it firmly while your feet shuffle from side to side impatiently. 

You're not sure what you’ll tell him, the rage inside guiding you instead of your senses. 

Aemond opens the door, face unreadable and eyebrows raised in question at your sudden visit. He’s clad in nothing but a pair of green joggers and your gaze briefly flickers down to take in his shirtless stature. 

“Really? Never going back?”, you question and move in closer. The heavy hotel door shut behind you, and suddenly it’s only the two of you, in his room. 

He neither answers nor moves, and you’re standing so close that your clothed chest bumps into his naked one. You crane your neck to look into his eyes. His stern demeanour doesn’t quite reach them, gaze softer than you’d imagined. 

Anger still guides you, and a pathetically spiteful idea prompts you to slowly kneel before him, still standing impossibly close and eyes never straying away from his.

“Not even if I do this?”

Your face is level with his crotch as you look up at him. He’s always loved this sight; you at his mercy. But not now. Now he’s at yours. 

You slowly lean forward and press your lips against the exposed skin of his torso, fleetingly kissing him right by his happy trail, just above the hem of his trousers. 

You’ve missed the soft smoothness of his flesh; a tender veil over the hard muscles hiding underneath. So contradictingly beautiful. 

Aemond stays unmoving, eyes staring at you with a scorching intensity. You know he won’t stop you. If he didn’t want this, he’d have let you know by now. 

So you press another kiss right under his navel, and feel sickly delighted by the barely-there shiver vibrating from him. 

Slowly, and with light kisses to his stomach, you reach for the hem of his joggers, letting your hands softly pull down the fabric and reveal his manhood. He’s already half hard, and you have to bite back a smile. 

Never going back again? Yeah right. 

Your eyes never leave his as your delicate kisses trail downward, towards his cock, yet never making direct contact with it. 

His face still is as impassive as always, but he’s now grown so hard his tip is leaking precum, fuelling your actions. 

You haven’t been this close to him in months and it almost feels intoxicating; his smell encircling you. 

You want to see him lose control; you need to see him lose control. Need to hear him beg for you. 

Plead for you. 

Come for you. 

You squeeze your things together at the thought, arousal making an ache drum between your legs. It’s an addictive thought; imagining him pleading for you. Begging for you. Needing you. 

You want him to want you. 

He still hasn’t moved, or said anything. You take his silence as an invitation to continue. 

Want him to want you. 

Still locking eyes, you slowly graze your lips over his skin until your mouth is by the base of his cock. You know he won’t give you the satisfaction of letting you in on what he’s feeling, but that’s alright. 

You’ll force it out of him. 

Your hand travels up his leg and moves to grip his cock, now so hard it’s aching to be touched. You work in long, firm strokes, just the way he likes. 

The staring contest continues. You know his stoic appearance is meant to frighten you, but you know him too well. You can see the cracks appearing already. 

Eager to push him further, you slowly open your mouth and let your tongue out, gently swiping it over his leaking tip to collect the glistening beads of precum. You feel the proof of his arousal on your tongue, and you see his gaze flicker down to observe it in your mouth as you unhurriedly close your mouth and swallow. 

He stays silent, but you see his jaw twitch. 

He likes it. 

Growing bolder, you move your lips back to the tip of his cock, kissing it in a far too innocent manner before wrapping your lips around him and sucking firmly.

In the briefest of moments, his eyebrows knit together and he closes his eyes.

The satisfaction you feel at his clear arousal goes straight to the thrumming between your legs, and you briefly squeeze your thighs together. You move your mouth lower, placing feather-light kisses down his length before gently swiping your tongue over his balls. 

You can hear the restraint in each laboured breath he huffs through his nose. 

Your soft lips envelop one of his balls, and your hands continue to stroke his length. You know he loves this; loves when you get down on your knees and worship him. 

You let your tongue massage every inch as it rests in your mouth, and when you let out a moan, pure theatrics to make him succumb to you, Aemond’s jaw goes slack and his lips part uncontrollably. 

Just a little further and you’ll break him. 

You’ll win. 

Perhaps the look in your eyes let him in on your scheme. 

Perhaps he’s too close to continue. 

But when he grabs you by the hair and yanks you off of him, it takes you by surprise. 

“About to cum, baby?”, you mockingly ask.  

He clicks his tongue and grabs your forearms to pull you up so you're standing in front of him again. 

Still not saying a word, he tries so hard to appear stoic, but you can see the storm brewing within him. A sudden push to your shoulders causes you to stumble backward and land on Aemond's soft hotel bed. 

“Let’s see how fucking wet you get from sucking off the man you hate”

His voice is both calm and taunting at once. His hands come up to the sides of your leggings, pulling them down with force, taking your underwear with them.

You know you’re wet, but you really don’t want him to know that. 

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

You try to press your legs together, but one of his large hands finds its place on your mound and cups it perfectly as one of his fingers slides down between your folds to meet the silky wetness there. The fact that his hand seems to fit against you perfectly, like two puzzle pieces, amplifies your desire. And rage. 

“Having my balls in your mouth made you that wet, huh? Still so dirty, baby”, he teases, emphasis on the pet name to match your previous mock. 

You let out a yelp as his hand briefly leaves you to land a quick smack on your exposed clit. His cocksure expression flashes by before he grabs your hips again to place you on your stomach, bare ass receiving a smack as well. 

He works quickly, sitting down next to you on the bed and pulling you towards him. He places your middle on his lap, and lets his hand come down to land another smack on your asscheek. 

His hand stays on your soft skin, lingering a bit longer than you’d anticipated, before travelling down between your thighs to meet your neglected centre. 

“You like that too, don’t you?”, he asks as he catches your clit between his fingers and press harshly. 

It stings. 

It feels good. 

You press your lips together to prevent any sounds from escaping, racking your brain for a way to gain back control. 

Aemond’s fingers begin to draw firm circles and your mind starts to feel foggy from want. Without thinking, your hips begin to move in tandem with his fingers. He chuckles. 

“I know you inside out”, he triumphs, but as you move your hips, you can feel how achingly hard he is beneath you. 

You know him too. 

You pull away from his lap, sitting back on your haunches on the bed, and remove your cardigan, then your tank top, and finally your bra. 

You manage to startle Aemond by your sudden move, and you seize your chance at dominance by placing both hands on his shoulders and pushing him down, so he lies on his back on the plush, white sheets of the hotel bed. 

You straddle him, and move one hand down to pull down his sweatpants once again. Revealing his cock, you encircle him softly before placing his length between your folds, dragging your wetness all over him. You bite back a moan as his cock pushes on your clit again and again, hips move back and forward. 

Aemond seems lost for words as well, undoubtedly enjoying you moving against him. 

His seeing eye flickers wildly to take in your naked body, damaged eye not able to keep up with the rapid movements. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are pink. You momentarily feel mesmerised by his beauty. 

The realisation that you’ve missed seeing him like this, missed being with him like this, pierces your heart painfully and your hips still. 

You don’t want to think about the sadness inside. You want to break him. Like he broke you. 

Up until now, it’s been a constant fight for dominance; a never-ending back and forth. But you got him now.

“Beg me to fuck you”, you command, voice slightly out of breath. Aemond’s eyes are fixed on your heaving, naked chest.  

“What?”, he questions, like he doesn’t understand what you’re asking.

“Beg”, you repeat, voice more demanding as your breathing calms, 

“Beg me to fuck you, Aemond”

Though confusion had briefly flashed over his face, it’s now set in fury. 

His eyes narrow.

Without answering you, he places one hand on your shoulder and another on your waist, manhandling your body down on his cock in one swift motion. The sudden intrusion makes you gasp, much to Aemond’s satisfaction. He grins victoriously. 

Fuck, it’s been so long. 

He begins bucking up into you in an instance. The firm hold he has on your body feels bruising, and his fingers dig into your flesh meanly so that you won’t move. 

He angles his hips, and each stroke touches your sweet spot. You bite down on your lip to hinder the moans that are fighting to escape. He’s essentially fucking you on his cock, and it feels so good you can’t think clearly anymore. 

“Come on, I know you can’t keep quiet”

He pushes your body down harder, bucking his hips up faster. You can’t help but move with him, it feels so fucking good. 

You’re still not going to come. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction. He’s gonna come. 

You clench down on his length each time he slides in and you see the tension in his jaw; the vein bulging out at the side of his neck. 

Maybe if you push him just a little bit further? 

“Oh, Aemond”, you moan as you throw your head back, tightening your muscles again, gripping him like a vice. 

He’s always loved getting praised. 

The hand he’d placed on your shoulder moves to your throat, engulfing the entirety of it. His fingers press down on the sides, 

“Shut up” 

His grip tightens. The movement of your hips begin to falter as the restricted blood flow to your head amplifies your pleasure. You bite your lip harder not to moan. 

He knows exactly how to get you. 

He continues to fuck up into your dripping cunt, ignoring your change in pace. Each stroke of his cock within your walls feels like pure ecstasy; like sparks of sheer pleasure shooting through your body. 

His expression is infuriatingly smug and you realise you must look completely blissed out as he uses your body. 

You feel the familiar tightening in your lower stomach, the sign that your peak is approaching rapidly. 

No no no, he can’t win! 

You pull away from the grip he has on you, abruptly getting off him, internally mourning the pleasure you rob yourself of. 

He needs to come. He needs to break first. 

You sit next to where he’s lying on his back, hand moving down so that you can work his length again. 

Aemond catches on to your scheme quickly and uses his strength to push you away, manhandling you so your face’s down in the mattress and ass exposed. 

He pulls on one cheek, admiring your wet and wanting centre. When he shoves back inside with an exaggerated tut, you can’t take it anymore; the pleasure’s just too much.

His touch feels too good, no matter how harsh it is. 

You try to push your face as far as possible into the bed, hoping Aemond can’t hear the moans you can’t contain any longer. 

The loud smacks of his hips against your backside and the lewd, wet sounds coming from your cunt fill the room. 

It’s so aggressively erotic. 

One of his hands finds your clit and as he starts massaging it with vigour, his other hand moves towards your head. 

He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back so you are facing him. The grip hurts; like a thousand little needles assaulting your scalp. 

“You’re gonna come, I know it. Don’t you fucking dare not look me in the eye when you do”

You’re stuck in his painful grip, yet your orgasm’s racing towards you, making you clench down on his length and moan louder and louder, no longer able to hide the effect he has on you. 

The hand in your hair moves down to grab your breast roughly, nipple pinched between his fingers. You find it hard to keep your body up as pleasure makes it feel like you're floating, but Aemond’s arms around you makes it impossible for you to move. His face moves to press against yours; cheek to cheek, 

“When you sing your silly little songs about what a player I am, remember that no one else can make you feel as good as I do”

And you’re gone. The orgasm hits you so hard you almost black out. It makes your entire body jerk uncontrollably, and if Aemond hadn’t been holding you, you’d be on the floor. 

He keeps fucking your through your orgasm, breathing heavily and grunting at the intense way your walls contract around him. 

As the movements of his hips turn sloppy and frantic, you feel his face move to press between your shoulder blades, arms still holding you tightly, like he’s hugging you from behind. 

Or trying to crush you. 

You can’t decide which. 

You stay like that for a few moments. The room is quiet, save for your shared heavy breathing. You’re suddenly aware of the close proximity between the two of you and feel too exposed, regret storming inside you like in icy waves.  

Shit, what have you done?

Aemond loosens his grip around you and lowers you down on the bed much gentler than how he’d touched you before. 

You stay on your stomach, burying your face in the bed as you feel Aemond shuffle behind you, softly tracing a hand down your back before getting up and making his way towards the adjacent bathroom. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

Hearing him turn on the faucet, you quickly get up from the bed. 

You have to get out before he comes back. 

You frantically look for your clothes, scattered all over the hotel room floor. Trying to be as quick as you can be feels impossible when your legs still feel far wobbly, and your mind way too fuzzy, to cooperate.  

You hear Aemond turn off the faucet as you pull on your leggings and underwear. You can’t find your bra, and you don’t even bother looking for it before pulling on your tank top and cardigan hurriedly. 

You just need to get away. 

Away from Aemond. 

You step into your slippers and dart out the front door as you hear him emerge from the bathroom. 

Not patient enough to wait for the elevator, you head towards the emergency exit and climb the two stories up to your room. 

As soon as you're inside, you toss the hotel card key on the desk by the window and throw yourself on the bed, body jolting from the force. 

You want to cry. 

You want to scream. 

You want to go to sleep and realise this was all just a fucked up dream. 

You reach for your phone on the nightstand, now fully charged and with a few messages from Alysanne, asking you how you are and if you’d gone to the cafe she’d recommended by Winterfell Central Station. 

You press her name and the small telephone icon, hoping she’ll pick up. 

“Hi honey, you okay?”, she answers, voice evidently concerned from your sudden call. 

You usually stick to texting, or pre-scheduled face-time dates. 

“I fucked up”, you say, barely above a whisper. You hope that she’ll know what happened without you actually having to say the words. You don’t want to speak it into existence. 

“Did you kill him?”, she jokes and you let out a hollow laugh. 

“Worse”, you say, and Alysanne sighs on the other end.

“Was it good?”, she asks after a long pause, making you let out another snort. 

“What do I do now, Aly? I was just going to push him a little and now-”

“That’s your problem. You always want to get a reaction out of him. What happened to just focusing on yourself?”

Her words feel patronising, like you’re being scolded by your parents. Yet you know she is right. You stay silent and mentally search for a reply; any excuse for your behaviour. 

“Yeah”, you sigh in resignation. 

You know you fucked up; that you’ve acted childish and petty. Still, the satisfied afterglow of experiencing the best orgasm you’ve had in months leaves you feeling a bit less anxious. 

Alysanne tries to distract you by asking about Winterfell, the tour, and what you’re planning on wearing for the big show tomorrow. 

It feels good to talk to a friend without holding anything back. Even if you appreciate Helaena’s company immensely, you know she’s being pulled between you and Aemond, and you’d rather not add to her suffering. 

As Aly tells you about the guy she went on a date with last night, your phone buzzes. 

You briefly glance at your screen, ready to swipe the notification away, when you notice it’s an email from your solicitors office. 

You say a quick goodbye to Aly, open the email and quickly scan through the overly formal text. Your eyes flicker over the screen, taking in what’s written. 

…finalised… 

…shared assets… 

There’s a PDF at the bottom of the email. You click on it, seeing the document you’d left for Aemond in your flat over three months ago. The empty space you’d left next to your hurried signature is now filled in, reading; 

Aemond Targaryen. 

A/N: Thank you for reading 🫶 If you wonder about if he signed the papers right after she left his hotel room; it’s a pdf with his signature, I imagine he actually signed it before leaving for the tour and it just reached her solicitors now.

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 8)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

A burlesquer with a penchant for conning men, you find your latest game interrupted when your next mark saves you from an aggressive fan— by killing him. The chance encounter left you curious, still half convinced you could complete your normal chase. Unbeknownst to you, you were the one being tracked.

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 📍 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds

Part 8 - Trust

Detective Brady is sharper than you initially thought, though Alastor is (seemingly) unfazed by the threat. While you both explore the idea of ‘home’ a familiar face shows up at your apartment.

「Warnings/Tags: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, Detective Brady exists a lot and maybe too much, fingering lol, phone calls, almost our first fight, stress, Disney mom rule, Ruth is pretty alright for now, Brenda」

forgot to tag you in the deleted scene for TRDFAHS

M👻D☠️N👽I😈

Your mother always said ‘Anger is your sword and shield’. So you postured yourself as someone mad. One hip out, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

“Sir I don’t appreciate a man in a lady’s space.”

Brady bit his tongue, wanting to say something sharp.

 I don’t see any ladies here.

 He met the glares of the women behind you. “Ah, well-,”

“Do you really expect her to leave in her robe?”

“Aren’t you the man whose been stalking her?”

“Autumn I’ll go with you.”

“You want her to get into a strange man’s car?”

He felt like a fox about to be pecked to death by the hens.

“Now-! Alright I’m seeing I maybe,” he set your shoes down and slid past you and between the other performers, “got a little eager to speak to you.”

“Does Janet know you like to hang around burlesquers?” Someone said as his back was turned.

Like having ice water poured over his head, his shoulders tensed as did his tone. “I’ll be right out the door.”

You tried to hide the tremble in your hands, but failed. Ruth slid beside you, “What do you need?”

A phone. But the cord wouldn’t reach that far. You wanted to tell Alastor. You needed him to know that detective had you cornered and knew of his existence.

“Could you stay with me? I’m not going anywhere. But I’ll feel safer if I’m not talking to him alone. In case he tries to drag me out. He seems a little off his rocker.” You were genuinely scared he would grab you by the arm and pull you out of the theater if he didn’t think anyone would see. 

She patted your back, the others filing in to continue with their work of getting dressed and undressed. You took your time, trying to plan what you would say.

Brady felt an embarrassed blush take hold as the women moved past him with scowls and tsks. He could feel a little bit of his sanity slip back now that you were in front of him. 

“I have some questions about Tommy. I’ve been trying to talk to you for weeks. We can head down now.”

Oddly, your mother also taught you, ‘You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.’ 

She didn’t always make a lot of sense, contradicting herself daily. 

Time to use the tried and true tactic, “I am sorry, detective. I had some trouble recently and have been keeping to myself… going home as soon as possible. Just trying to keep my nose clean. So to speak.”

Brady watched you look up at him with a face his daughter often gave him when she was in trouble. But you weren’t a child and you surely weren’t his daughter. “That’s no excuse to dodge me.”

Your turn to bite your tongue, “Of course, sir.”

Ruth was… confused. She’d never seen you so obedient. You had more venom in your voice after taking a hit from Tommy knowing a third could be close behind. Why were you being so small?

“Are you ready to go?” He fished in his pocket for his car door keys. 

Ruth felt the need to interject, “She’s not going anywhere.”

Perfect.

You nodded, “I won’t be out at night, sir. You know better than most about the dangers.” Your dangers. Your darling Alastor.

“No, no no,” an unhinged chuckle from the fraying detective, “You’re not slipping away again. I have my car, I’ll take you there and bring you home.”

Ruth looked to you, then back to the detective, “Is she under arrest?”

Brady rolled his eyes, “Of course not.”

“Then? What gives you the right?”

Technically, nothing. He didn’t need to talk to you. His lead still stood. But maybe you’d slip and say something to expedite his search for the radio man. Maybe this would only end with Tommy. But he felt something tickling the back of his skull. An urge to not stop pushing.

“I’ll meet you at the station tomorrow morning. Is it the address on the card you gave me?” Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t. You just needed him gone so you could call Alastor. 

He was shaking his notebook, key looped onto his finger. A nervous habit. “You still have my card?”

A smile, “Of course. In case any news came up. I’d have called but I didn’t realize you were so worked up.”

He scoffed. He wasn’t worked up. He was just annoyed. Maybe a little rougher in demeanor than usual but whose fault was that?

“If you don’t turn up tomorrow-,”

Ruth, taller than most women and some men and wide at the shoulders, leaned in.

Brady’s eyeline adjusted from yours to Ruth’s. Skye Scraper wasn’t just a pun, it was a cruel nickname she took ownership of. “Finish that sentence.”

The conversation ended there, Brady leaving with a huff.

You’d memorized the number the night Alastor gave it to you, too scared to write it down. He warned you though he wouldn’t be the one to answer.

“Is Alastor still there?” You tried to smile so you sounded less panicked. Ruth mouthed his name and pretended to swoon as you held the phone close to your ear. 

“Uhh depends, who is this?” Brenda answered, a voice you’d never heard but a woman Alastor had primed you for. 

“….”, but why hadn’t you thought through this part, what name was safe? Which was recognizable? You didn’t like the idea of this woman knowing your name. “Tell him it’s Autumn.”

“….” 

You laughed at Ruth, waiting still for a reply from Brenda, “Hello?”

“Is this a crank? Autumn like the season? I-,” a commotion, “Hey there! No. I don’t know. Well it’s past hours anywa-.”

Alastor was lying across Brenda’s desk to reach the phone, having wrestled it from the woman’s grip, “I’m here. What’s wrong? I was about to leave.”

“I’ll walk home tonight.” It hurt, physically hurt, to say it.

Alastor tried to keep his face neutral, “Oh.” Nervous fingers twirling the cord, “One second.” 

Harsh whispers, some clicks, and he was back, “I’m in my office. What happened?”

“Yeah Ruth is with me. It’s okay. I’ll call you like normal tomorrow?” 

“Should I swing by your apartment?” He considered doing it regardless of your answer.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t recommend it. I’ll be heading to the police station early tomorrow so I’ll be asleep as soon as I’m flat.” Putting your hand over the receiver, you spoke to Ruth, “Thank you, we got it figured out.”

His heart sank to his stomach, “Did he finally manage to catch you?”

“Yeah. Or—-,” your voice cracked a little, the fear rolling in as soon as Ruth walked away, “Yeah.”

“I’m coming over to the theater.”

Cupping the phone you curved your shoulders in and turned away from the staff milling about, “Don’t, that’s worse.” Tears stung your eyes. You felt like you’d failed him. You had somehow, hadn’t you? The loose thread Brady could grab ahold of was you.

“If you can’t come to the alley I’ll leave after a couple minutes. But I’ll be there in twenty, same time as our normal pick up.”

“Alastor, that’s reckless.”

“Please, dear, I don’t want our first fight to be over my work line.” A calming breath, “You don’t have to meet me, but I’ll be there. Just five minutes, then I’ll be off.”

You decided the safest thing to do was to wait in the alley. If you saw any signs of Brady or anyone coming out, you’d go back inside and just miss the meeting. But the idea of Alastor being just beyond the wall, waiting all alone, was too much.

But how much harder would it be if the wall was of the prison? Or worse, dense earth under your feet? That’s what Brady was wanting. 

You hadn’t realized you’d been chewing your nails until his car turned down the alley from the back and you tore off much of the length of your thumbnail.

Your arms were thrown around him before he was fully out of the car, “Alastor, he knows I have a guy. He wanted me to go down right now but I managed to push it to tomorrow.” Alastor tried to decipher the words as you spoke them into his vest, “What do I do?”

Normally you’d have your own plans in mind but this was too big, this was capable of hurting him more than anyone else. 

He smelled like ink and smoke, a scent you inhaled as you tried to calm your breath.

A large hand patted your head, “Okay. You go tomorrow. It’ll be fine. Don’t stress.” Pulling you off he placed chaste kisses across your face. “Think about what you want to say to him and we can talk it out in the morning. Everything is fine.”

The reality of you standing in a dirty alley crying into the arms of a murderer set in. Then the little detail you were both killers creeped over your chest and took hold of your throat.

He was impressed at the strength of your hands as you gripped at his clothes. Leaning against the car, he offered you his most charming smile.

“Deep breaths, dear. Do I look scared?”

He didn’t. He looked like a magazine ad for French cologne or razor blades that left the softest skin. 

“No.” You shook your head.

“No.” He nodded. “It’ll be okay. If you don’t go, he will hound you worse. If you do go, maybe he’ll realize he’s got a handful of nothing.”

His smile blinded you. Bright grin as he rested against his car, arms open. 

“Do you really think so? A handful of nothing?”

“Did he say my name?”

“No.”

“Did he–” he elongated the word, lips pursed as he searched the sky for his next words, “have Tommy’s body?”

You laughed, morbid but preposterous, “I didn’t pat him down. Coulda.” 

Alastor snapped his fingers, “We’ll have to just assume he didn’t.” A moment of tension. The act of joking barely traversing the space between your bodies let alone reaching the stress under your skin. His hands came to your shoulders; firm, secure. “Did you want to have that fight now? About me coming over here.”

You rolled your eyes, obviously not. “Ala-,” you started and stopped.

“I’ll admit I’m being reckless but I think we can both agree my way is more fun.” Smile sliding into a smirk, he cocked his head and lowered it to get back into your line of sight. When you stuck your tongue out he took a deep breath in, relief. “Are you sure I can’t take you home?”

To which home, you wondered. He used the word so casually and interchangeably…

Face close to yours. Eyes solely on you. Perhaps the stage wasn’t as necessary as you’d once thought. Lips on lips, the feeling of his smile spreading as he returned the kiss. A second of panic as you realized you couldn’t see or hear or sense what else was happening anymore in the alley. Brady could have had you in handcuffs and you wouldn’t be the wiser. Not as long as Alastor’s mouth was moving over yours.

“I’ll call in the morning.” He said into your exhale.

You hadn’t opened your eyes yet. Not ready to return to earth. A pout from you. A chuckle from him. “I’ll be waiting,” You finally said. 

While you did your waiting, shuffling around the theater and later tossing around in bed, Alastor fell into a different kind of purgatory.

One he hadn’t realized he’d made for himself until you weren’t there. 

The house was quiet, almost eerie. Even with music on he found himself nearly uncomfortable. He shifted several times in his chair while reading, not finding any way to settle in. 

His bed was lopsided. Suddenly one side was too light. Multiple times his hand slid under the sheets in search of you out of habit. 

What a terrible feeling; to want someone. To know you could have them but they just… weren’t there.

It didn't make any sense. He knew he’d see you soon, in less than a day's time even. He typically enjoyed his home and its silence. Being alone was predictable and therefore comforting. Well, it had been. Before you. 

The feeling in his chest, akin to a magnet tugging through his sternum toward a distant partner, didn’t abate.

Only when he heard your voice again over the phone did he find a sliver of peace.

“I’ve decided I’ll deny I have a guy. And, I’ll never tell him about you. It’s safer if he never connects us.”

Alastor was listening, honestly, but he wasn’t really processing. His mind was worried about something else. The detective genuinely didn’t bother him but he had to agree, “I suppose that’s best. As long as we can manage it, to not let him know we’re together.”

Together.

You were together with him. An item. How spectacular you must be to be a part of anything with him.

But for how long? With a certain detective breathing down your neck…, “I’m scared. Actually.”

You could hear the smile in Alastor’s breath, it was odd but eased you. 

“He will never have enough to convict us. He’ll drive himself crazy trying. Trust me.” He soothed. 

Did you have any choice? “Okay. You’re right. I trust you.” Unequivocally so. 

He cleared his throat, “Sorry to change the subject…”

“Please.”

“I want you to come over again tonight. What do you think?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course, don’t even need to ask. I’ll always say yes.” All you needed to do was get through Brady and you’d be home.

But for Alastor, well, he wasn’t done asking the question. A moment of panic from a place unrecognized in his brain, fear of losing himself entirely. But what good was a safe harbor if he never ventured out to sea? That’s just a restraint then, isn’t it? 

Maybe you held a place for him even richer in its comforts than his solitude.

So he let himself drift away from familiar shores, no sails and no compass, “I think it’d be smart to bring over a couple sets of clothes. I can keep them washed and always here for you. Would that be alright?” He had wanted to suggest it while together, but Brady was ruining more than his sleep.

Oh.

The same silence from when he first extended the invitation, the deja vu not lost on you. You struggled to decipher the second meaning you were sure was there. Maybe he didn't know what he had asked. 

“I know it’s boring out in the boonies but, you’re welcome to just stay over while I go to work. I can come back and get you for rehearsals… I’ll enjoy the clubs or come back and make something for a late dinner for us, and bring you home when you’re done.”

He said it. He hadn’t really meant to, so he felt the need to clarify, but you also needed him to clarify just as quickly, “I -,”

“Did you me-?”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“No I interrupted you-,”

“Not at all pl-,”

“Alastor for the love of God please don’t make me keep talking right now.” You lightly knocked your head with the phone a few times. Your heart was gasping for an ounce of understanding.

He chuckled, glad you were still very much yourself, “I meant, take you home as in, away from work. So, here. Or, there, if you’d prefer.” His face scrunched up, this wasn’t a conversation he had any practice in, “Anywhere really. I’ll drive you anywhere.”

“Alabama?”

He looked at the phone as if you were in it. Alabama? 

“Like— the first time you asked me over.” You added quickly. A terrible joke, a bad callback that made it painfully obvious you committed everything he said to memory.

Alastor rested his cheek on the dining table, laughing into the wood before bringing the receiver back. You always offered him an out of uncomfortable situations, “Well the offer still stands. I'd be willing to even venture at least halfway across Texas.” 

“The best half of Texas is on our side so that’s a generous offer. But, given our work schedules, I think your house would be much better. Time wise.” 

He let his eyes close as he felt the coldness of the wood, “Is that a yes then? To bringing over a couple of items… for ease.” Was it a mistake? Would he regret it? 

You were worth regrets. He had decided. He wanted you to say yes.

The weight of what he was asking wasn’t lost on you an ounce. You could see your window from the phone booth. You took great pride in your little apartment. It was your space and no one else’s. As a child you struggled to have your own anything, so you valued your home. 

But could you call any place so far from Alastor a home?

It’s just a few items. You weren’t giving up your lease. It’s a baby step. One you could easily walk back if you needed to later. It’s not like you hadn’t spent every night possible already since that first offer.

“Yes.” 

It was a plan that took your mind off cops. Have your interrogation, go home, then go home for a relaxing evening of jazz and drink.

The levity ended though the second you hung up the receiver. An obstacle between you and him still stood. You pulled out your bag but couldn’t find the will to pack it. Your hands were too busy as you chewed on your thumbnail again.

Brady noticed the uneven length when you sat down and set your hands on the table.

“Surprised you showed.” He opened his notebook and readied his pencil. “First things first, what is your legal name?”

A chill. You’d gotten your warning the night before to prepare something to say but ignored it. Your mind was flipping through words and images. Piercing all of it were the white reflective eyes of the deer along the road. You decided to lean into what you knew. 

“Autumn.”

“Really? Never heard the name Autumn before.”

“Me either. Made for an easy stage name.”

“I’ll need to see your birth records, just to be sure.”

You sucked your teeth. “Ah, unfortunately…all that stuff was left behind with my mom when I moved.”

“And where can I find her?

“Corner of North Villere street and Piety.”

“And your address?”

You paused. His eyes rose and met yours. The radiant aqua from the cafe morning was now an icy color. “I don’t give my address out. You know where I work.”

“But you’re fine giving me your mother’s address? That’s cold.”

“Not as cold as she is, I’m sure of that.”

“Fine, I’ll find it in the census records.” He flipped the page, “Tell me about the dates Tommy arranged.” He tapped his notepad on the table like it was the starting bell of a fight.

You wished Alastor was with you, but also wished he would never enter that station. “Apparently many of the dancers agreed, got a cut. I had no idea about it until he,” you remembered the man and his ugly tie, “introduced me to a man who was very forward. I insulted him and ran off. Lost Tommy good money, apparently.”

“And who was that?”

You searched your memory, “S something. Mister Stein? I honestly wasn’t listening much after I realized what was happening.”

Brady nodded, “And then he knocked you around?”

You winced without meaning too, “Yeah. Got me good.”

Brady waited for you to continue talking, but you had learned this game. People know silence is uncomfortable and will use that against you. So you let the silence stay. Let the awkward tension build. You had limited time, he knew that.

He caved first. “And… the next date. Last time anyone saw Tommy. Tell me about that.”

Lying was second nature to you. You had killed for Alastor. You could do this. Deep breaths, slink into yourself. You imagined Alastor choked on the park grounds, wet and unmoving. Imagined him cold to the touch.

“Tommy said he’d kill me if I didn’t go. So I did. Promised me he’d stay with me for protection.” Tears welled. Bloody hands and a large rock. “But as soon as he got his money he left.” 

Brady was writing, “And the man? What was his name.”

“Something foreign. Kerr-something. Or Car?”

He looked up slightly, “You’re pretty terrible at names.”

You wiped away your tears, “I had more pressing concerns at the time than trying to remember that man’s name. I was hoping I’d never need to know it.”

Brady hummed, “Yeah. And what did your beau think of this?”

Did you hide it? The flash of panic that rolled under the flesh of your face, “If I had a beau Tommy wouldn’t have made me do that. He said that himself.”

“Too bad he’s not here to confirm.”

“If he was we wouldn’t be having this conversation, detective.”

“Touché. Clever little lady aren’t you?”

Fuck.

You shifted slightly in your seat, looking downward in an attempt at being bashful. “That’s kind to say.”

“So why did,” he flipped through his book, “Beth say you stopped singin’ on Sundays cuz of your radio boyfriend?”

“Ah,” a weak laugh to hide the way your breath got sucked in with panic. The words ‘radio boyfriend’ punched the air from your lungs. “You must mean the rake. Took me for a ride at a club corner and sent me off in a cab to never see me again. Didn’t know he was in radio though.” 

“Well now you’re lying and I don’t appreciate it one ounce ma’am.“

“What?”

“Beth says he’s been coming to your shows for nearly half a year.”

No acting necessary for this part. “What are you talking about? I met him at a club. We arranged a date and he picked me up at—“

“Beth’s dive.”

“…. Yeah. Well.” He’d been there before? So often? And you never noticed…, “That’s news to me, that he had been there for so long, it’s got its regulars though so...” You shifted again, this time with a clear uncomfortable edge. 

“He stopped coming when you stopped singing.”

“….guess he got what he wanted then. A fun time in the swing hall bathroom.”  Anger. Unreal and unfounded. Trying your best to hide how confused you were.

“Sounds like a stalker, miss. Maybe one who woulda been quite unhappy to hear you were selli-,”

You cut him off, eyes snapping up to meet his, “I really recommend you reconsider your wording.”

Brady laughed with a huff, “A man dizzy with a dame can do some funny stuff. Especially if he hears she’s in a pickle.”

“Well, no knight coming to rescue me. I’ve sworn off men. It’s why I’ve been leaving work early. Getting home, reading, sleeping. He really did a number on my heart and my pride as a woman.”

Brady’s pencil stopped moving. 

“And his name?”

You’d never fucking say it. He could walk in on you moaning ‘Alastor’ and you’d still act like you’d never heard that string of syllables in your life. 

“John.”

Brady laughed and tossed the pencil to the table, “Let me guess, last name Doe?”

You shrugged, “We weren’t on a full name basis. He was handsome, he took me out, we fucked, I never saw him again” You delighted in the way his face screwed up at your unladylike language. 

“So, someone in radio named John. You know I’m going to be at every broadcaster talking to every John, right?” The nervous shaking of his notebook again. 

“When you find him let me know.”

“Oh I will.” He said it so quickly, so sharply you could feel it cut at your cheek as the words flew past you.

You pulled your hands into your lap, eyes firmly locked on Brady’s. “You look tired, sir. I hope my answers will help you. So you can rest.”

“I am tired. Of people jerking me around. You won’t give me your address, you don’t remember anyone’s name, not even your own, and you deny having a man I know you have.”

If you screamed would he have you committed? “I’m terribly sorry,” you leaned over the table and pulled a piece of fuzz off his shoulder, “my friend gave you inaccurate and dated information. I am genuinely trying to help as much as I can.”

Upon closer inspection, his eyes were more than just blue. They were dark and light, deep and shallow. Blue so far down it was nearly black. A blue so bright it was a cousin of white. Eyes you were sure would haunt you. 

“Help me then, Autumn.” Your brows rose at the request. He leaned back and away from you, “Just tell me what happened to Tommy. What your guy did. If he was trying to protect your name then we could find a sympathetic jury.”

Sympathy? Your smile was too wide, stare gone too soft. What sympathy did he have or would anyone have for you? Did he think you wanted the tender hearts of strangers? “Tommy ran off with a bag of money. He was a good man with a bad habit. That’s all I know. I have no partner, man or otherwise.”

A standstill. 

Brady felt a twitch in his hands he wasn’t used to. An itch to move. Unlike him, and a little frightening. 

Maybe he had been running himself ragged. 

Back sliding down slightly in his chair, he laced his fingers and rested them in his lap, “You know I’m gonna find out what happened, right?” His tone had shifted to something serious and calm. He said it like he was telling you a secret. Low but firm. Steady and sure. 

Those eyes. No, worse. What was behind them. You could see it clearly; unflappable determination. He absolutely would. 

“I trust you will.” A moment of silence again as you both felt the conversation die. As you stood, Brady did too.

“I wasn’t bluffing about him going to Beth’s for more than half a year now. I don’t know how you think this is gonna end but it won’t end pretty. Whether it was just your boss or all the others on my desk, end it with him and help us bring Tommy home to his mother.”

You adjusted your purse on your shoulder, “I don’t know how many time-,”

“Autumn. I’ve seen enough make up covered bruises to clock em from across the room. That’s the act of a possessive, immature man. Just think about what I said,” You opened the door in an effort to keep your hands from shooting to your neck. “There’s no white picket fence or church bells for you two. He’s a bad man. I think he may even be an evil man. You’re gonna end up hurt, or dead.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest but you managed to stifle it. With an honest smile you replied, “We’re all gonna end up dead someday, Detective. I’ll call if I have any news. Thanks for your concern and … evident hard work.” You offered a little nod of your head before leaving the room and the station as quickly as you could without running. 

When he set down his notebook after returning to his desk, he couldn’t sit. Energy was buzzing in his limbs. He needed to run or swing or pace.

His desk neighbor watched him immediately pick up the notebook again and grab his hat. A few other men shared a glance as Brady rushed out, an unsettling feeling passed among them. 

“He’s still on that case?” One asked quietly, going back to his papers.

“Not officially….” Answered Freeman, standing at the window and watching Brady flag down a taxi.

“North Villere street and Piety, please.” He told the driver, not noticing his friend in the window.

It wasn’t near the station, nor the dance scene. He wondered if your mother would be any more amiable. What kind of woman would raise such a creature as you?

When the car slowed, Brady clicked back into his surroundings. He looked through every window hoping to see something different.

After a long pause the cabbie asked, “Ya gonna get out?”

His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the seat. “No. Take me back to the station.”

His blood pressure rose so quickly he was sure he would black out as the cab turned around and drove back past the sign; Vincent DePaul cemetery.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Alastor kissed away the worries when he took your bag from you. Every detail of the interview was just hummed away. “Even if he finds me, without a body he has no case.” He reminded you like it was nothing short of fact.

“What if he gets one?”

“Not one of mine, I can assure you. He’d sooner need to kill someone himself and call it my fault.” A pause, was that something the detective would do? He shook off the thought. 

He was so confident that even though you knew it was just skin deep it still gave you a sense of calm. The bodies, where they went after he was done with them in the greenhouse, was the last step he hadn’t shared with you.

There was one thing you didn’t mention about the interrogation. 

You waited until you were a few drinks in, Alastor’s bowtie off and shirt unbuttoned several buttons before bringing it up. Uncharacteristically nervous about how he’d react when you broached the topic, you needed several deep breaths to get up your courage. Normally the idea of offending a man with an honest question wouldn’t ruffle you a bit, but once again there was nothing normal about you and Alastor. He made you so unlike yourself but not necessarily worse. Perhaps some consideration of other’s reactions wasn’t a bad thing. 

“This is awkward to ask.” It was dark already, the sun setting earlier and earlier. The buzz of the kitchen light could be heard through the screen door, the light just enough to let you see each other's features clearly. Leaning back on both hands for support, your legs rested in an unladylike spread down the porch stairs. No shoes. No girdle. No pretense.

Would he be mad? Or maybe offended?

“Brady said you had been going to my Sunday shows for awhile. Months before we actually met. Did you really meet me by coincidence?”

“Or was I stalking you as my next victim?” His head fell to the side, eyes closed and smile wide. “I saw you there, yes. And though you weren’t the best singer, I did enjoy your shows.”

You tried to see him without directly turning your head. 

“But yes, it was a coincidence. I had noticed that brute of a man a couple weeks in a row, staring at you so intensely. Word got around he had made a scene some time ago with a dancer.” 

You listened like someone was telling you your own story. It was an odd feeling, hearing someone recount your days from a different perspective. An unknown one. 

“I was surprised to see you at the theater when I followed him there. Even more so to see you in the alleyway.”

If he had said it wasn’t a coincidence, you genuinely didn’t know what you’d have done. You’d be scared and angry. Another predator lurking just past the tree lines.

Your relief must have been visible. “He really got to you, didn’t he?” Alastor asked, leaning over and letting his shoulder bump into yours. He was still riding the high of putting away your belongings in his closet and drawers. 

“Yeah. He gives me a bad feeling. Like…a brick wall barreling toward me.” You kicked a leaf off the steps, “Or like, when you see a big dark cloud on the horizon. Can’t do anything but wait and hunker down.”

How do you wait out a storm so set on burying you?

“Dear,” his hands rose and palms flipped up in a way that said he wasn’t hiding anything, “We get hurricanes annually. We’ve survived every one thus far. He’s just a drip. A sprinkle of a man.”

People have drowned on land before. A sprinkle could lead to pneumonia and that could lead to a wooden box. 

He tried to change the topic, laughing about Brenda’s reaction to the call and making plans for an evening out when things settled down again. You listened, but it was your turn to be half there. 

You could barely muster concern when you realized you’d forgotten your makeup and hair wrap at home when you were preparing for bed. What you would give for going home barefaced with a ruined hairdo to be the biggest stress of your week. 

The distance in your stare was weighing down his joy, how could he relish in the newest addition to his home when you were so burdened? Even in the moonless night he could see the faintest light reflecting off your eyes as you stared at the ceiling. Did you even feel his stare? 

He couldn’t let Brady poison his bed, and the man was clearly there now. Chasing you in your mind still. 

“Could I offer you a distraction?” Alastor slipped up against you, hand finding your hip. He could see your smile forming. 

“I wouldn’t argue against a distraction…,” you’d beg for one if you didn’t want to feel any lower than you already did. 

“Perfect. This bed isn’t made for three, so let’s eject that little nag, dear.” His hands slipped down your legs, “I want to replace your thoughts with better ones.” He pulled you to him, your back pressed into his broad chest. The way his soft hands smoothed over your silk slip felt like foreplay, so smooth and slick. Frictionless and gentle. Those same hands ran down and between your legs, following the line of your thighs until they found your center. “It seems you forgot something else.” Two fingers caressed your lower lips, barely parting them, “Not that I’m complaining…,” his lips found the back of your neck as his fingers rubbed gently at your core. 

It took so very little to get your body on board, wet and relaxed for his practiced hand. Your own fingers coming down to rub at your clit quickly when you felt your pleasure winding up. 

He sighed directly into the shell of your ear, hands working in tandem with yours under the covers. His back pressed against you, hips rolling into your backside in time with his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about?” Barely above a whisper as he said it into your heated skin.

“Fingers.”

“Whose?” His voice was deeper than his usual speaking tone. A tenor that made you clench around him.

“Yours.”

You’d never been so satisfied with hands before. With breath. With the sounds of a man. Never saw stars while clothed and not under the lights of the stage. Warm and wet kisses to your neck as you came down from your high, you’d never considered sex could be more than a man fucking someone. Nor that a man could find pleasure so readily with his cock still in his pants. But the way he hummed and growled softly into your skin was proof of his good time. 

You’d learned a lot from those progressively chillier nights at Alastor’s over the first week of your constant cohabitation. How much you liked waking up with someone just a reach away. How Alastor woke slowly, incapable of coherent speech for at least the first twenty minutes of his day. He’d stare and smile as his eyes blinked out of sync, rolling back occasionally as he fought the urge to fall back into sleep. Hair disheveled and soft.

When the weekend came, Alastor offered again to take you out. A promise to take you somewhere no detectives would be hiding about. A week without a peep, you were sure he had followed up with your mother and was probably steaming to get at you. But, for some reason or another, he hadn’t appeared again in the crowd of your shows. 

A week of going into work unmade and unkempt, you finally gave in and asked to be taken to your apartment early Friday. You’d grab a few items you needed, take them to work, and be back home that night. 

Your eyes were on Alastor when his car pulled up to your building. When he kissed you, your hand scratched at the shorter hairs at the nape of his neck. Eyes closed, you could smell him and feel him so much clearer. Perhaps when you were old together you wouldn’t have to worry about your sight giving out, you thought. Because you’d always know it was him by the way his skin on yours lit you up. 

“Pack something you’d like to wear out tomorrow night.” He reminded you before you pulled yourself from the car and waved him off. You lingered for a moment as he drove away, wondering if maybe the storm had been pushed off course.

“Oooh, who is he?”

Whipping around, you saw a familiar face sitting on the stoop of your building. An unwelcome one, though. 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Mavis?” Your bag fell from your hands as the strength drained from your limbs.

She patted the dust off her dress before bouncing down the steps.  “The names Ephi now.” A half sister, though perhaps a quarter sister would be best to describe the often absentminded, when not literally absent, sibling. 

“That’s not a name that’s a fucking letter of the alphabet. Mama would smack the color of your cheeks if she heard you.” You were sure you’d not see her ever again, not after she ran off to head north before your mother passed. She scowled, arms crossed as you brushed past her. “I don’t have any money so you wasted a trip. See ya in another decade.”

Ephi grinned up at you as you climbed the stairs, “Looked like he had some money. Mr. Big Shot and his shiny bus.”

“Lotsa people have cars.” Your eyes landed on the suitcase poorly hidden behind the steps. Hand halting its search for the building key as you could feel the stare of your mother looking…down? A weight slipping over your shoulders like a man’s heavy winter coat.

“Well I don’t need money or cars. I need a place to crash.”

Your head fell. You could feel it coming. The gust of wind dragging the clouds slowly towards you. No, the storm wasn’t off course. It was just building momentum.

˖ ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

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[maaarine]

The sexual assault of sleeping women: the hidden, horrifying rape crisis in our bedrooms (Anna Moore, The Guardian, June 15 2021)

"Naming specific acts, rather than using broad – and loaded – terms such as “abuse” or “rape”, her survey asked more than 22,000 women if, for example, they had ever been spat at, or strangled, kicked or bitten.

It also asked respondents if they had ever woken to their male partner having sex with them or performing sex acts on them while they slept.

To this question, 51% answered yes.

This was not randomised sampling – the survey was widely shared online and participants were self-selected. For this reason, it’s hard to extrapolate from the findings.

The results sparked a predictably polarised online response. “This was extremely validating for me after years of thinking, ‘Am I being raped?’ I’m not alone”, tweeted one woman.

“It’s why I now jerk awake if someone even gently brushes against me while I’m sleeping, 13 years later,” wrote another.

Other comments included, “Only chance I get!” and “the other half was OK with it!”

Katie Russell, spokesperson for Rape Crisis, says she was “not massively surprised” by the findings.

“There isn’t a lot of research into the multiple ways women experience violence from known men, but we do know the numbers are so much higher than any official statistics,” she says.

“Rape myths are still incredibly pervasive. It’s commonly believed that if it’s your boyfriend or your spouse, if you’re sharing a bed, if you’re naked, if you consented earlier, then it can’t be rape.

There is a really big difference between gently waking your partner and initiating sexual activity and actually doing something sexual or penetrating someone while they’re still asleep. (…)

In Martha’s case, the rape happened once, but for some men, seeking sex with a sleeping woman is an active preference, a fetish known as somnophilia.

Svein Overland, a Norwegian psychologist, is one of the few to have studied it – his interest sparked partly by his work in prisons, trying to understand the motivations of sex offenders, and also by his work with victims of what Norwegians call “after-party rapes” – attacks on vulnerable women who were either sleeping or drugged.

Overland believes somnophilia is part of the wider growth of what he calls “one-way sex”.

His research into online porn showed a steep rise over the past decade in categories such as “sleeping sex”, as well as other forms of sex that are based on unresponsiveness, on only meeting your own needs.

(“Flexi dolls” is another example – where women pretend to be sex dolls.)

These preferences overlap with porn itself, says Overland. “With one-way sex, with porn, with masturbation, there’s no dance, no seduction, no interaction and no pressure to perform,” he says.

“The more I looked at this area, the more you see that a lot of men are afraid of having sex.

Society is becoming more pornified but, at the same time, many studies show that people are becoming less sexually active. We have young men buying Viagra, unable to keep an erection.”

A sleeping woman is no threat – she’s absent, an object, a receptacle. (…)

“There seems to be a perception that something like this is a ‘lesser crime’ because it might not be at the hands of a stranger but your partner.

But what would feel worse? Being pickpocketed by a stranger or robbed by someone you love and trust?” she asks.

“The idea that you’re asleep so it didn’t require violence is also very dangerous. Penetrating someone’s body without their permission is an inherently violent act.

“Imagine being asleep and waking to find someone going through your personal things,” she continues. “Now imagine it’s your actual body that has been intruded into.” (…)

“When I first left him, I wouldn’t sleep. I’d lie awake all night and have hallucinations – him raping me.

Those flashbacks, that trauma response, was the mind and body trying to piece things together.

Even now, nine years on, I still wake at two every morning. I don’t even need to check the clock.

We know that the body stores memories of trauma – and I think 2am is when it used to happen.” (…)

In February 2020, she told the jury: “There has never been a part of me that has not been profoundly impacted,” and that in the immediate aftermath, she suffered PTSD and had tried to take her own life.

She said she had felt “unsafe everywhere”, frightened to trust anyone, even her parents."

[moonstruckme]

idk if u listen to taylor swift but her song mastermind (which is kinda like maneuvering things around to get together with someone) would be so cool to read with TASM! Peter !! Maybe the reader realizes Peter is Spiderman after recognizing his voice and then tries her hardest to become Peter’s friend in school and kinda puts all the pieces together herself (+ the line ‘to assess the equation of you’ is so peter coded) also I feel like smart reader deserves more rep 😞 like no way she wouldn’t recognize his cocky ass voice

Again this is just like. Me spilling out my random thoughts 🤭 -🍁 (sorry for spam)

Hi lovely! I didn't stick to this very faithfully, but it did inspire an idea that I'd be remiss not to give you credit for! It's established relationship, where reader has figured out Peter is Spiderman (I agree she's not dumb and that needs to be regonized). Thank you <33

cw: a whiff of harassment (more of an attempt really, but if that will upset you please don't read)

tasm!Spiderman x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

It’s hard to feel totally vulnerable walking around the city at night when you know you’re never really by yourself. Peter thinks he’s so stealthy, but he can’t always avoid casting shadows on the street ahead of you; you were bound to catch onto his well-intentioned stalking eventually. You’re not totally sure why he doesn’t just walk you home as himself (you’re coming from his apartment, it’s not like it would have been so difficult to ask), but your boyfriend seems to prefer stepping into his alter-ego when he thinks there’s any possibility for danger. 

It turns out this time, he was right.

It’s not that you don’t see the man walking in the opposite direction of you (you’d have to be blind to miss the slow, performative up-down he gives you) or notice his mouth moving in your periphery, but you’re city-trained; you keep your eyes ahead, hoping he’ll see that you’ve got your earbuds in and leave you alone when he doesn’t get the attention he wants. 

The man passes you, and you’re thinking you’re in the clear when there’s a forceful tug on your elbow. You very nearly pitch forward in your haste to get away from the unwelcome touch, but then the hand is wrenched away, and you turn to find the man stuck to a newspaper dispenser with one wrist covered in a familiar white filmy substance. A second later, and his other hand is webbed to the car behind him. 

You pull out your earbuds just as Spiderman lands in front of you, the tilt of his head indicating that he’s looking you over for damage. 

“Hey, what the fuck!” The man sputters. “I was just trying to pay the bitch a compliment—”

“Alright, thanks for that, pal.” Spiderman webs his mouth shut, and your harasser continues his muffled protests. “Maybe we just have different styles, but most of my compliments don’t start with unsolicited commentary on a stranger’s boobs.” 

You curl your lip, and the man looks like a dog on its leash the way he’s tugging against his restraints. Your rescuer webs his feet in place, stopping their scraping against the sidewalk.

“You know,” he says, turning to you, and he’s not even trying to disguise his voice, “you should really have at least one earbud out if you’re walking by yourself at night. That’s just the first entry in the Pretty Girl Guidebook.” 

You grin at him. “I think the first entry in the Pretty Girl Guidebook would really advocate more for playing damsel in distress to lure charming heroes your way. Walk me home, handsome?” 

You start back on your way, and he follows you like it’s all he knows how to do. He’s quiet, and though you can’t see his expression behind the mask, you wonder if you’ve actually startled Spiderman into silence. If he expects you to be bashful and awestruck, he’s got another thing coming; you’re typically a bit shy around new people, but Peter isn’t new people. 

“Yeah?” he asks after a second, and you wonder if you’d be able to detect the slight pitchiness to his voice if you didn’t know it so well. “So was that the plan all along? Get yourself attacked to get yourself rescued?” 

“No.” You shrug, casting a disdainful glance back toward the man who’d grabbed you. “I don’t go out looking for trouble, but I know that if it finds me,” you say, looking up into the mask with a simpering smile, “I’ve got Brooklyn’s friendly neighborhood hero to protect me.” 

You think he actually gulps. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me, sweetheart, but you really should take some precautionary measures too.” 

“Well, I suppose I could’ve asked my boyfriend to walk home with me,” you muse, “but he seemed like he was eager to have me gone. Better things to do, apparently.”

“What?” It’s a squawk, and then Peter clears his throat from behind the mask. “I’m sure if your boyfriend’s a sensible guy—which, I mean, anyone who managed to snag a girl like you must not be totally airheaded—I’m sure he didn’t mean to rush you off.” 

“I don’t know.” You frown, looking off in front of you contemplatively. “He’s book smart for sure, but he can be kind of dense sometimes.” You can feel your companion’s hesitation like a prickle at your side, his uncertainty of how to go about this conversation with you, and it catches him offguard when you stop to look up at him with coy, wide eyes. “Do you think you’re a sensible guy?”

His voice is strangled. “Me?”

“Mhm,” you hum, slowly moving into his space. 

“I—I like to think so, sure.” 

It’s all you can do not to giggle at how easily his cocky persona has come undone. You’re having too much fun to even feel bad about the torment you’re inflicting upon your boyfriend. “Maybe I should be with you, then,” you say. 

He actually takes a step back. “But—but—uh, listen, you’re really pretty, but didn’t you say you had a boyfriend?” 

“Yeah,” you say softly, batting your eyelashes up at him, “what about him?”

You’ve got your hands on his shoulders, lips so close to his face you can feel the warmth of his breath through the mask, and you actually think he’s going to do it. He’s going to let you kiss him. You shove playfully at his chest, unable to contain your laughter anymore.

“Pete, c’mon,” you say, careful to keep your voice low. “You must think I’m an idiot. You really thought I wouldn’t recognize you?”  

There’s a few moments of wordless sputtering which you can’t really hold against him, and then Peter’s whisking you into an alley, pulling his mask off. 

“Sorry for fucking with you,” you say while he’s still getting his bearings. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes wide. “It was just so easy to flirt back. You made it too much fun for me.” 

“Jesus, babe.” Peter fists a hand in his hair, already fluffy from being handled so much. “When did you figure it out?” 

“I mean, before today, but not very long ago,” you admit. “I knew something was up for a lot longer, but I didn’t put it together until you helped me with that mugger a few weeks ago.” You quirk a playful eyebrow. “You should at least try to distort your voice if you’re going to be Spiderman around people who know you in real life, you know.” 

“Never had to with Flash,” he mutters. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?”

You turn a bit more sheepish, unsure if you should feel guiltier about keeping your realization from him. To be fair, though, he’d kept a whole crime-fighting secret identity from you. “Is there ever a right time?” you ask him with a little shrug. “I guess I eventually wanted you to tell me on your own. I get why you didn’t, but it’s not like you’re exactly choosing to trust me here.” 

“I do,” Peter says immediately. He takes your shoulder in hand, like he needs to keep you steady to make sure you’re hearing him. “I do trust you, honey. It was never about trust.” He passes a hand over his face, shock melding into something more like dread. “It just, it could be dangerous for you, if you’re ever seen with me and it's obvious you know who I am, or something. I didn’t want to drag you into anything. There are…not everyone thinks of me as the friendly neighborhood hero you do.” 

He gives you a little smile, and you return it, stroking his jaw in an attempt at comfort. “I know,” you say softly. 

“We’re going to have to be careful.” 

“I know. Pete?” 

“Yeah?”

“If we’re being careful, you should probably put your mask back on.” 

[harrywavycurly]

Secret Rendezvous Part 19: Good Idea

Masterlist: Here

CW: Language

Tag List: @emma-munson @aol19 @tlclick73 @prestinalove @kailey-firefly @fromasgardandback @therealgothamguardianfr @peaches-roses-sins @hiscrimsonangel @furiousladyking @angelina16torres-blog @sofaritsalrightt @josephquinnsfreckles @starrywhitenight @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @jasminelafleur @ohmeg @comeonatmebruh @missmarch-99 @arthurcerverogf @disassociationdive @123iloveyou456 @perplexing-vex

A/N: This takes place the same day as part 18, and the next part is the last one for this series and I’m sad but I know y’all will love it✨

“Jesus I’ve been looking everywhere for you…why are you out here?” “I was hoping to be alone…what do you need Emerson?” “I need you to tell me why you thought asking her to fucking prom was a good idea when the two of you haven’t talked in-” “Chrissy said I needed to show her I didn’t give a fuck about what other people think about us being together so why wouldn’t I ask her to prom? That’s…what…normal couples do isn’t it? Go to dances and shit?” “Uh yeah Eddie key word there is couples…you two aren’t even friends!” “We are now…we talked about it at lunch today…” “Oh…well that’s….that’s good.” “She hasn’t listened to the tape yet…thinks it was fucking Henry who gave it to her.” “Yeah she’s going to figure it out pretty quickly it wasn’t him…assuming you actually sing the songs right? Or did you just-” “Yes I actually sang the songs I’m not going to half ass this shit…I can’t risk fucking it up again…” “So…you love her don’t you?” “What?” “Oh come on man you asked her to prom with a mixtape of songs you covered yourself…you totally fucking love her.” “Okay…and what if I do?” “Uhm…you should tell her.” “I’ll wait and see how she feels after listening to the tape…did you know she was co Captain of the cheerleading squad?” “Yeah…I saw it on her jacket she wears on game days.” “Oh…I guess I never noticed…” “there’s a lot of shit you don’t notice about her…but If you’re serious about wanting to be in a relationship with her and if you’re in love with her you gotta get better at just…being interested in the things she’s into.” “I know…I uh actually watch her perform sometimes at the games I just don’t sit in the stands.” “That’s not creepy at all…” “fuck off…I just…I’m going to try and be there for more things when…or if…she even wants me there…she could really tell me to go fuck myself and I wouldn’t blame her.” “I doubt she’ll tell you that…but I’m glad you’ve finally come to your senses because it was hard watching you fuck this up so badly…” “yeah?” “Yeah it was like watching a car wreck in slow motion…totally brutal.” “Well you could’ve tried to stop it at any point ya know?” “Uh I did try…but you’re so stubborn you just refused my help…but look at you now man…hiding from the girl you’re in love with outside under the bleachers…” “that’s what some people would call progress.” “Exactly….I’ll uh let you have your alone time now but uhm…really don’t let too much time go by before you tell her how you feel okay?” “Yeah I won’t…don’t worry.” “Oh please…you two manage to get into these weird fucking scenarios and all I can do is worry.” “Emerson…get outta here before I kick your ass…” “Right…leaving now…see you later Eddie.”

[wjhik]

Any More? (Virgil Van Dijk) *Smut*

A/N: we need more big virg writers because this is criminal

based on:

7:40-8:05

Y/N’s POV: 

“So, any more kids on the way?” My aunt asks me. Virgil and I are visiting my family at my mom's house, and, as per usual, my auntie is interrogating me. “Auntie, I just had a baby a year and a half ago. No harm in taking a break.” I say, juggling our youngest daughter in my arms while reaching for her pacifier. “Don’t you want to try for a boy?” I roll my eyes at that comment. Virgil and I are more than happy with our 3 girls. I simply shrug at her, attempting to ignore her old ways. “Wouldn’t you love a boy to carry on your legacy, Virgil?”, referring to his football career. I look at Virgil, waiting for his answer. “Anything my sons could do, my daughters can as well.” He calmly explains, quickly shutting down her bogus remarks. 

↭

“Kids, come on. We have to go.” I say to my two older girls. “No, mama! Can we stay over? Please??” The oldest begs. “Please, mama. Everyone is staying over with Teta (grandma), can we too??” My secondborn says. I look at Virgil, expecting some backup. “Hey, maybe it’s not such a bad idea. The baby is already asleep, why wake her up?” Virgil says. I look over to my lastborn who is asleep on my mom’s couch. I look up in both frustration and contemplation. “Y/N, they’re more than welcome to stay over.” My mom chimes in. I look down at my daughters looking up at me with pleading eyes. I look to my right to see my husband looking down at me, something behind his eyes that I can’t pinpoint. I look to my left to see my mom playing with the other kids. 

“Alright, fine.” I say which is followed by an eruption of screams and cheers from my daughters then followed up by shushing from my husband, pointing to their sleeping younger sister. 

↭

“Bye, babygirls. I love you and be good!” I say as Virgil ushers me out of my childhood home. We walk down the driveway as Virgil goes on about his day, upcoming games, his co-captaincy with Trent, etc as I listen. He opens the car door of his Mercedes and helps me in. 

“So, first night away from the girls. How do you feel?” Virgil asks me, breaking our comfortable silence. “I’m more nervous for my mom, to be fair. You know how tired we get with 3 girls. Imagine what my mom’s going through with 8 of them.” I joke. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. I mean, she raised you.” Virgil replies. “Yeah, but I was the only girl in my family.” I say. “I’m sure you alone were worse than those 8 girls.” I quickly smack Virgil’s chest with the back of my hand, which was previously resting in his, on my lap. “Hey, I’m driving! That’s a hazard.” I roll my eyes at my far too sassy husband.  

↭

“Sweetheart, we’re home.” I hear as I’m shaken awake. “Hmm? Okay, I’m up.” I say groggily. I throw my arms up in a stretch, unknowingly hitting my husband in the face. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, Virg.” I say, laughing as he rubs his eyes. 

“The house feels odd empty and quiet. It’s as if we don’t have 3 ticking time bombs in bed.” I comment, making my way up the stairs with Virgil following close behind. “It’s almost like that’s what it is.” Virgil retorts. I look down at him and stuck my tongue out playfully. I turn my head to look in front before I feel a grab on my ass. I slightly jump as I hear a deep giggle from below me. 

↭

Virgil and I are lying in bed together after performing our nightly routines. Virgil has his head in my lap as I sat up and braid his hair, engrossed in the snobby activities of the Dubai Bling cast (best reality show idgaf). “Can you believe Ebrahem? He’s doing way too much.” I comment. (guys i love this show you dont understand. You should all watch it) “Baby?” I heard Virgil say. “Hmm?” I replied. “Let’s do something fun.” He comments. “Hmm? Oh, yeah sure.” I say absentmindedly, focused on my show. Virgil reaches over for the TV remote and turns it off. “HEY!” Virgil is taken aback by my volume and tone of voice. “Sorry, but what the fuck? It was getting so good.” I say. “Did you hear me?” Virgil says. “What did you say?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine. “I said let’s have some fun.” Virgil says suggestively. He sits up and takes the wine out of my hand. He reaches over to my side table and flicks off the lamp, leaving only the recently installed LEDs in our room on. Virgil leans over me and pulls me into a heated kiss. I lowly moan into my husband’s skilled lips. “Hold on.” He says, pulling away. 

Virgil reaches around for his phone. He quickly connects it to our built-in and extremely overpriced home sound system he insisted we needed and plays our shared sex playlist which, unfortunately, we haven’t been able to use nearly enough, having to keep quiet due to our daughters.  

I look up at my husband who is now on top of me. “Seriously?” I say questioning his choice of music. “What? You like it and you know it.” He says as he leans in to kiss me once again. “Mmh, Virg…” I say in between kisses. “What do you need, mama?” He whispers into my ear. “You.” I whisper back. He gets off me and takes off his shirt and leans back in to kiss me. I run my nails up and down his sides which makes him shiver. Virgil slowly kisses down my chin, onto my neck. He sucks on the sensitive spot behind my ear. “Oh, fuck. Virg…” I mewl, grabbing onto his hair, loosely tied, contrary to his slicked-back look during the day. I feel him release his suction on my neck and give my fresh bruise a light kiss. 

Virgil slides himself down my body to where I need him most. He undoes my house robe to reveal me in my panties. He taps my hips, signaling me to lift them up so he can take off my clothes. He comes back up and starts sucking on my nipple, rolling the other in his hand. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He says into me. “Virgil, please. I need you.” I say, my chest heaving. I sit up underneath him, and he gets off me. I pull him to sit on the bed while I get on the carpeted floor, in between his legs. “Can I?” I ask him, pressing on his hard-on through his sweatpants. He lets out a light laugh at me still asking him every single time, without fail, despite all the years together. “Of course, sweetheart.” With his permission, I pull his trousers and underwear down, enough for his dick to spring out at me. 

I let out a sigh as I looked at my husband's horse-cock. (lol im so funny) Virgil grabs the back of my head gently and looks down at me. “Well, go on then, love.” He says encouragingly. I slowly sink my mouth onto him as he groans. I try to go as deep as I can without gagging, however it is inevitable. My eyes start watering as I’m slobbering over Virgil's dick. He pulls me off him and holds my chin up. He leans down and kisses me before pushing me down on him. I bob my head on his dick and suck on his tip, earning a hearty moan from Virgil. “Fuck, love, you keep going like that we’re gonna be done real soon.” He says, pulling me up. 

I climb up my abnormally big husband and give him a sloppy kiss and move to kiss his neck. He gently grabs my neck and makes me face him. I stare into his eyes, very obviously drunk off his dick. I let out a giggle and kiss him more. He grabs me and places me on the bed and turns me onto my stomach. I hear him ridding himself of his remaining clothes behind me. Before I know it, one of his hands lands on my ass, making me yelp. He laughs and leans down to kiss me. I turn my head back and our lips meet. He pulls away and opens the drawer next to our bed. He pulls out a bottle of lube we often use when having sex and squeezes it in his hand. He strokes his dick with it, getting it wet. Then, squeezes some directly onto me, knowing that I like how it feels against me. I hiss at the feeling. “Mmm, it’s cold…” I say. “I know, baby.” Virgil says, lining himself up with me. 

He pushes into me as I let my head drop into the pillow. “Mmm, Fucckkk…” Virgil moans. “You’re so big, Virgil.” I say, clinging onto my husband’s arm, which is propping him up. “Can I-” I quickly interrupt him. “Yes, please. Please fuck me.” He lets out a laugh. “Always so needy for me.” He starts thrusting in and out at a brutal pace. I let out all sorts of erotic noises before I put my hand over my mouth to silence myself. Virgil quickly notices this. “Hey, I wanna hear all those pretty noises. There’s no girls, you don’t have to be quiet.” He reminds me. I remove my hand from my mouth and let myself feel good. 

“Fuck, Virg- I’m gonna cum..” I say, my voice shaking as he pounds into me. “Hmm, already?” He teases. “Viirrrgg!” I half moan half yell. “I’m just kidding. Cum for me, sweetheart. I wanna feel you around me.” He encourages me through my orgasm. “Fuck, I’m close too, baby.” He says, as he relentlessly fucks me, searching for his high. Just as I feel him beginning to spasm, something hits me. “Wait, Virgil. Pull ou-” But I was too late. Virgil fucked me down from his high. He collapsed into my back. “Virg, get off. I can’t breathe.” I laugh. 

↭

Virgil is resting on my chest after he cleaned us up. “Hey, maybe your aunt is right. Another wouldn’t hurt.” He says. “Oh, so that was your ulterior motive.” I say disappointedly. “Virgil pokes me in my side, knowing I’m not serious. “I’m just kidding. I would love to have another baby with you.” 

A/N: always happy with domestic smuts 😋😋

[ghcstao3]

hi again, hope school isn't being too hard on you :( I figured I'd send a few ideas in & you can answer whenever!

IT'S COLD! so how about the 141 during the summer, doing some of your favorite activities! Or maybe a teeny ramble about what each likes doing the most...?

if it's not triggering...SoapGhost in uni. The class they share is for 1 of their majors & the other's minor (or maybe just for extra credits). The extra credit assignment involves taking a day trip somewhere & they're the only 2 who go.

Soap's 2nd job happens to be helping out his local unicorn community, who have all but gone extinct. He comes across the fabled Simon Riley, the Ghost of Soap's hometown, as the poor guy wanders around after being held captive by fey for decades.

school’s just been busy more than anything thankfully!! it’s a lot of work but certainly not too difficult:)

and ahh it was hard to choose from one of these i might have to return to the others. but honestly writing about them in uni is like therapy

-

Simon and John meet in an upper level English literature course.

Well—Simon never really had much say in the matter, not when John had plopped himself down in the seat beside him on the first day even in spite of all the other empty desks in the small classroom. Apparently it’s what John’s heart had desired, and never having been one for unnecessary confrontation, Simon never says anything of it.

He could never really pinpoint when their friendship began, maybe forged through general interest in the topic and whispered comments and jokes about some of the contents during lectures, or maybe through necessity when they’re not familiar with many others in the class, but either way—John ends up becoming one of the better friends Simon’s made in all his years of university.

The thing is, though, with majors that don’t overlap in the slightest—be it Simon’s English major and John’s own in chemistry—they don’t really see much of each other outside of class, unless it means working on a group project. Simon thinks—believes—they’d both like to be friends outside of the course, but… for whatever reason, they each have difficulty initiating anything.

Simon, personally, would like something more. But he doesn’t need it. Just wants John’s company regardless.

But they have their difficulties throughout the semester, that is, until their professor—a sweet old woman, who endures far too much from the few immature students in her class—announces that she had received funding from the department to take interested students to a professional production of Macbeth in a town an hour over. It’s without hesitation that Simon and John both agree to go.

But since it’s so close to finals season, they end up being the only two to go through with attending.

Not that Simon’s complaining—it just means more time spent with John alone. Sort of.

And not to mention he gets to see how nicely John cleans up for the event.

“I’m so glad you boys still came,” their professor says in greeting. “I was afraid no one wanted to go anymore.”

John smiles that stupidly charming smile at her, and Simon’s really beginning to feel the extent of his growing crush on his friend.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” he says.

“Oh, thank you, John.” She glances between them both, some knowing expression appearing briefly on her face before she ushers them inside the theatre. She hands them their tickets, tells them to go ahead, she has some friends from the local university she wants to meet with before the performance starts.

As they settle into their seats, John leans into Simon’s space—closer than he could ever manage at a desk. Simon hopes the theatre’s dark enough that John can’t see the way his ears burn red.

“Warning you now,” John whispers. “I know fuck all about Shakespeare language, so you’re gonna have a lot of explainin’ to do.”

Simon huffs, trying to dispel some of the heat of his blush. “Maybe you should’ve paid more attention in class, then, Johnny.”

John laughs, knocking his shoulder against Simon’s. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been telling me so many jokes during lectures, Mr. English major.”

Simon rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother retaliating. Instead they fall into meaningless conversation until the play begins, quieting only slightly when their professor arrives and sits on the other side of Simon.

The lights dim in the audience, and the performance starts. Simon watches with rapt attention, but true to his word, John asks him far too many questions.

He doesn’t particularly mind, though, when he can feel John’s knee press against his all the while.

John rambles when it’s over, and despite the interrogation, he seemed to understand and enjoy it as much as Simon and their professor had. Simon’s more than content to listen as their professor bids them goodnight, and they both head to the train station while she heads to her car.

Simon isn’t sure what it is that causes it—but the entire ride back, John seems to encroach in his space more than usual, stuck to Simon like glue. Simon does notice his eyes drooping and his head nodding off every once in a while, so he has the excuse of writing it off as exhaustion.

Particularly when John is resting his head on Simon’s shoulder.

“Don’t wanna walk back to my flat,” John laments once they’re climbing off at their stop. “Too far.”

It’s a fit of impulse that has Simon offering, “You could stay at mine? It’s only five minutes.”

And there’s no hesitation when John accepts with a weary grin.

“You’re a lifesaver, Si,” John sighs. “Could kiss you right now.”

Simon freezes. John doesn’t notice as he ambles further away from the train platform.

“What’d you say?”

John pauses, and his brow furrows. He looks to Simon, simultaneously confused and entirely too casual. “Said I could kiss you,” he repeats. “Why? S’that a problem?”

Simon’s gaze falls to the ground as he quickly shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not—that’s not—“

“Would you like me to kiss you?” John pushes, peeking up at Simon through thick lashes. Simon knows he’d give in immediately, if he were looking into those sapphire-blue eyes.

“I mean—“ Simon shrugs a shoulder. His blush has returned in full force, from the nape of his neck, to his cheeks, to the tips of his ears. “—I wouldn’t say no.”

“Okay,” John hums, like it’s nothing, before grabbing Simon’s face and doing exactly as promised.

It isn’t anything life changing, but it’s still—it’s still everything Simon could hope for, even here as a chill runs through him from the night’s cool temperature, even if their only sources of light are the moon and a flickering streetlamp.

John eventually pulls away first, delivering a hearty pat to Simon’s chest. “Now get me back to your flat and we can do that again, aye? It’s fuckin’ freezing out here.”

Simon can’t help the smile that appears on his face. His face tingles a little less now, though he’s sure it’s still stained a deep pink. “Sure, Johnny.”

And if they hold hands the entire way back—Simon will just claim it was for warmth.

[alyona11]

Ok time for my big Hadestown hot take and that’s that West End Hadestown doesn’t give you a 100% Hadestown experience. It’s still ridiculously good and 100% worth seeing, don’t get me wrong (I used my opportunity and saw it twice and will likely see it again if I’m in London), but it kinda made me realise a couple of things about OBC production that will always be my Roman Empire and make me deeply upset Broadway is too greedy to give us an OBC proshot.

So, here are some of my thoughts and reflections based on seeing Hadestown live on West End + seeing different versions (including London National theatre proshot) in boots. I think you can pretty solidly say that in Hadestown there are 2 main stories: Orpheus/Eurydice and Hades/Persephone. And even though arguably Orphedice is the main most important story, it my opinion it also wins from Hadesphone story being strong. Which works perfectly in OBC due to Amber Gray and Patrick Page delivering a very deep nuanced performances as their characters.

I think part of the success of Hadestown when it works on its fullest is how it creates a very deep emotional journey. And I feel that regardless which pair of Orpheus and Eurydice you have (if we take Broadway/tour/West End take on the characters) it’ll still work! Like you need to try really hard to mess up orphedice the way people wouldn’t root for Orpheus or wouldn’t empathise with Eurydice because they are so relatable and cute. You instantly love them, they are so so lovable. So orphedice part is one thing in Hadestown that imo works if not always then in 99% of the cases.

Hades and Persephone’s part of the story in the contrary is VERY hard to nail on 100%, in my opinion, and this is literally driving me crazy. Maybe seeing Amber Gray and Patrick page in professional recording awoken some feelings in me, I don’t know. I will state straight away that I also do enjoy other actors’ takes on characters and I do see some very interesting character moments there and there. However, I keep returning to the thought that Amber/Patrick’s characterisation works SO WELL for the main narrative. I’ll try to explain why I think so. Consider it my love letter to the OBC.

First and foremost, I feel like Hadesphone story has a very fine dynamic that the actors have to nail, so you would feel that: 1) these two still love each other; 2) these two are buried under their problems and see no way out, only a miracle (aka Orpheus and his song) can save their marriage.

And if the first one usually works at least due to Epic 3, the second one, imo, often (at least partially) falls victim to acting/directing choices which can cause troubles with point 1 as well. I think one big thing I’ve noticed is that often Persephone’s alcoholism gets forgotten in the acting performance. Like yeah sure her choreography includes drinking from a flask but in comparison to Amber you never get a feeling that she is absolutely wasted. Which, is in my opinion something that you should feel when you’re watching the show and something I was constantly forgetting about when I was watching the show on West End. I feel in Amber’s performance you can constantly see that her Persephone’s feel good attitude is a façade of a broken person who knows that her marriage is going to hell in front of her eyes yet she is too passive and hopeless to try to make an active change (well, she does try in Chant and nothing happens), so her only way is to chase the sense of normality that the “medicine” gives her. But when she is alone, if you get to catch a moment when people are not looking at her, you can see a deep sadness under her positive front and her memory of the old days when everything was more simple. Nevertheless, the main point that the lyrics literally say is that Persephone is blinded by the river of wine. And this is crucial to her character and her relationship with Hades because the story states that even though Hades is a problem and he is an active actor in creating more problems, he is not the only failure in this relationship. Persephone needs to be woken up from her apathy almost as much as Hades does and this is something that we see during If It’s True.

From Hades’ side I feel like it’s not a good decision to make him a total villain because when he is irredeemable you don’t feel like the whole “song that will fix the world” has any chance of working long term. I think Patrick nailed a deep antagonist very well. His Hades is weird and lowkey creepy and alien. He does objectively bad things but when you look at him you can’t stop thinking that he doesn’t operate in regular human logic or morality. When I look at him in Chant, it feels to me that his words about building stuff to impress Persephone are absolutely sincere, and I can absolutely see that his Hades doesn’t understand why she is so upset about it when his intentions are so so clear. Maybe it’s my vision but even before Epic 3 when he is so far gone and buried in his projects and messed up ideas I don’t have a single doubt that Persephone is a single motivator and goal of Patrick Hades’ life and that he literally doesn’t need any other being to care about. And tragically this fixation is what makes him blind to all other things he does even if those things ruin Persephone’s life (and other people’s but tbh I don’t think he cares).

I feel like by removing Persephone’s Chant 2 verse Hadestown created more problems for Hades and Persephone part of the story making it a much harder job for the actors to prove to the audience that Hades and Persephone have a chance to make their relationship work. Like I get that maybe it was a necessary things to do (even though I think the show is much better with it) but it made it so much harder to empathise with this particular part of the story unless the actors use the choices that work in the narrative. Because for example when I was watching the show on West End part of me was wondering “what is Persephone’s deal in all of that, what does she win by staying with Hades?” With the verse, and with Broadway Previews or London 2018 in particular this part was clear: Persephone still loves Hades and believes that he has the opportunity to change and become a better man he used to be. Without the verse, however, the actors should give you the same idea during the show which is a hard task considering Hades and Persephone have only 2 big conversations together (Chant and How Long). So apart from those songs there are only subtle mostly silent moments they get together through which the actors have to convey the same thought which is hella difficult and probably hardly will be appreciated by anyone apart from the people who sit closely.

So, maybe because in the actor combo I saw (Zachary and Lauren), I got a feeling that even though they were great separately, I didn’t feel much chemistry between them as a pair. I think, Persephone seemed pissed and tired of Hades all the time until How Long and I didn’t feel that she still believes in his willingness to change. And Zach Hades despite being entertaining, kinda gives the impression of Hades who has other options, he is not into Persephone enough. The only sparkle appears between the two in Epic III which is still cute but I’m not sure if it works just as well if that’s the first time you see the show? Also considering Zach Hades gives more malicious intent in His Kiss, The Riot it seems that he is not even slightly interested in Orpheus having any opportunity to succeed with his quest. Which is not bad, don’t get me wrong! But in comparison to Patrick who is deeply self projecting into Orpheus to the point where you could see that even though he doesn’t want to let him go, part of him does because it would prove he too could succeed in his challenge of waiting for Persephone, this take seems a bit lacking. And overall because of His Kiss, their promise in Wait For Me doesn’t seem as giving much hope that the story won’t repeat itself next Sunday. Which in its turn makes Orpheus’ sacrifice feel a bit… worthless. If on Broadway, when Orpheus turns, but spring comes again you feel like it is the start of something new: hopefully a kinder and softer time. On West End the show also wants you to feel it but when you think about Hades and Persephone you feel…less certainty that this sacrifice will have a long term effect?

I guess the creators wanted to concentrate on Orpheus and Eurydice more and forget about Hades and Persephone by making them more secondary story or maybe there was a lack of director’s involvement to give the cast some hints on how to make this particular part of the story work better, but it feels to me that in its current state the show works in its 85% power which is still great but once you know there is something missing you can’t stop thinking about it and wishing the show would give you those 15% you crave.

[sometimes-men-need-help-too]

Woman ‘dehumanised’ partner and wouldn’t let him go to the toilet

A domineering girlfriend subjected her lover to a campaign of belittlement and humiliation over his weight, hair, sex drive and his breath.

Student nurse Sarah Rigby, 41, forced NHS project manager Gareth Jones to eat salad, wear a hat and swallow tooth paste and mouth wash in the wrongful belief he was fat, bald and had bad breath.

During their abusive six month relationship, Rigby – who has six children from other partners – taunted 40-year old Mr Jones over his sexual performance and dismissed him as ‘the money source’.

She was quoted as saying: ‘If I’m not pregnant this month, I am going to find someone else to have sex with and get pregnant. I need to get pregnant this month. If I don’t, I’ll dump you.’

In other instances, Mr Jones, who moved in with Rigby was thrown out of her house in Winsford, Cheshire whilst dressed only in his underwear, was refused his own door key, and would not be allowed alone in the property whenever she went out.

She wouldn’t let Mr Jones use the toilet in her home either – only at the pub or library.

The victim would be ‘frisked’ by Rigby before leaving the house and was condemned to pound the streets or do his job from their local library, pub or supermarket cafe until she came home.

Mr Jones was also forced to forfeit his £4,000 a month wage, allow her to check his phone on demand, and he even resorted to giving his own mother a ‘duress code’ to indicate when it was safe for them to speak without Rigby listening in.

In one row he was hit in face by a glass candle holder leaving him with a scar across his nose.

When Rigby’s children became the subject of family court proceedings involving her ex-partner, she made Mr Jones pay for a £3,000 expert report and file a false witness statement supporting her plea to get custody.

During one tirade, Rigby told him: ‘I may not control social services, but I can control you and I am loving it.’

At Chester Crown Court, Mr Jones told how he was driven to the brink of suicide by the abuse as Rigby, who admitted coercive behaviour, was given 20 months jail suspended for two years and was banned from contacting the victim for five years under the terms of a restraining order.

He said he was now so haunted by his experiences he kept minimal possessions and would have a ‘grab bag’ with him containing a tooth brush, and washing products and a towel at all times.

He also accused Rigby of showing ‘contempt’ for him by turning up to court appearances flaunting a £400 Marc Jacobs shoulder bag he was ordered to buy her.

Mr Jones told the hearing: ‘After the abuse started, the effect of being constantly belittled and abused made me nervous, feel degraded and worthless.. My image of myself became distorted and I had low self esteem – I still feel like this to a degree.

‘When she used to say things like I had halitosis and forced me to drink half a bottle of Listerine or eat toothpaste, I started to believe that I had things wrong with me.

‘I was forced to wear a hat every time we went out together because she didn’t want to be seen with someone who was receding and kept on that she wanted me to have a hair transplant. l also felt degraded as Sarah used to try and intimidate me and ridicule my manhood regularly.

‘I had regular bruising on my body from when Sarah used to kick, bite, scratch or claw me. I was nervous to consult my GP for fear she would find out and beat me further. As Sarah would not allow me to eat – l was called a “fat, smelly slob” – l became paranoid about food.

‘If she kicked me out and I was able to stay with my parents, I would be afraid to eat with them in case she summonsed me back and would be able to smell food on my breath. She regularly kicked me out, making sure I had no belongings with me and as a result I started hiding a toothbrush, shower gel and a small towel in my work briefcase.’

Mr Jones also said his relationships with friends and family became strained as Rigby isolated him from everyone.

He added: ‘After leaving, I became extremely stressed. I was petrified that she would take reprisals and arrange for someone to come to my parents’ house to damage property or even that she would arrange to have me beaten up or worse.

‘I no longer feel open to having a relationship as I’m still afraid that I’ll be abused again. I do not feel l can trust another woman at present. When I am out in public and I see someone with the same hairstyle and colour of Sarah’s, I become scared. I also feel nervous about telling people what has happened to me due to the stigma behind males not being seen as victims of domestic abuse.’

The court heard the couple met in the summer of 2021 through the Plenty of Fish dating website.

Mr Jones contacted the police in early March 2022 when he went to work out of the house. Police later urged Rigby to return the victim’s possessions including his work computer and sentimental items, but she repeatedly denied she had anything to return.

In interview she falsely claimed Jones had been violent, coercive, controlling and manipulative towards her.

In mitigation defence counsel Miss Jade Tufail said Rigby had been diagnosed with PTSD due to an undisclosed ‘trauma’ she suffered in her childhood.

But the judge Mr Recorder Eric Lamb told Rigby: ‘Your conduct has led to a substantial detrimental effect upon Mr Jones, who even today when speaking of the impact of the relationship upon him was plainly close to tears and in great distress when speaking on where the relationship had left him.

‘There were multiple methods of controlling or coercive behaviour intended to humiliate and degrade him.’

[twice-inamillion]

Twisted Reality

Angst (Sadness, Depression, Grieving)

Chapter 220

1,300 Words

(Sana returns home after having a miscarriage of her first child. She needs to adjust to her new reality and grieve her loss. You and the members try your best to make her feel comfortable during these difficult moments.)

Sana returns home after spending a few days at the clinic. It’s been a rough few days for both of you, especially Sana, who tries to put a happy face for the members back home. 

The door opens, and the both of you are greeted by all night and the babies who waddle to Sana. She squats to greet them and tries to smile, but just looking at them makes her tear up. The idea that she would never see her baby boy in person, like how she is looking at the girls, makes her emotional. She stands up, walks to your arms, and cries on your chest.

Jisoo points and says, “Unnie, cry?”

Jihyo picks up Jisoo and whispers, “Auntie Sana doesn’t feel good. Let’s go and play outside with your sisters and give Auntie some time.” Jisoo nods, grabs Ari and Hina’s hand, and walks with Jihyo to the backyard. 

The rest of the members walk up to Sana, pull her from you, surround her, and hug her. They bring her to the living and listen to her thoughts and emotions during the last few days. 

You, on the other hand, go to your room and take a shower before heading back downstairs. “How are you doing, Oppa?”

“It’s hard, losing a child, but you know, got to stay strong.”

“I feel really bad for Sana. I wouldn’t know what I would do if I lost Da-eun; I think I would die if I lost her.”

“I know you love her with all your heart.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry you and Sana must go through this. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” and hug her.

Meanwhile, the members listen to Sana and what happened in the clinic. She talks about the options that come during a miscarriage and how she can’t do anything physical for about a month. Sana mentions that Oppa suggested that she take a break from the tour, to which the members agreed. “I don’t want to say home; I want to go and perform with all of you.”

“You can’t, Unnie; you need to recover. You can’t stress your body.”

“Please… I want to be with all of you. Don’t leave me here alone,” says Sana with watery eyes.

Jihyo looks at you coming down the stairs and says, “What if Oppa stays with you? You won’t be alone.” Sana turns around to look at you with teary eyes, breaking your heart. “Stay with me, Sana. Let’s go through this together; I’m here for you.”

“Okay, but all of you need to keep in touch with me. I don’t want you all to forget about me.”

“We wouldn’t forget about you. We’ll message and call you every day, I promise.”

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

————-

Twice Twitter and Instagram:

Hello, this is JYP Entertainment.

We would like to announce in regards to Sana’s health condition and status.

Sana is currently struggling with sudden extreme anxiety and insecurity towards performing on stage and being in large crowds. No exact diagnosis has been identified yet. We are consulting with several medical professionals to verify the cause in detail.

After extensive discussion with Sana and the members, we have decided that Sana’s current condition requires additional treatment, professional measures, and sufficient rest. Along with this decision, Sana will not be attending the following schedule:

Twice World Tour 2019 ‘TWICELIGHTS’

The health of our artists is our top priority and most important thing. Thus, we will do everything to provide proper and best medical treatment and sufficient rest for Sana’s recovery.

We sincerely ask for fan’s support so that Sana can get well soon. 

Thank you.

JYP Entertainment 

————— 

The news of Sana’s departure from the tour was sent to all matters of the press and online sources. Many Once were shocked to see her sudden departure from the tour but understood that her wellbeing was the most important thing. Many of them get well posted and wish her a speedy and safe recovery.

This made Sana happy to have Once support her through this rough moment in her life. Even if they would never know the true nature of her departure from the tour, she still knew their wishes for her recovery were sincere.

————

A few days before the member's departure to Singapore, the members try to gather their belongings and meet with their families. Nayeon stays home with Sana, while most members go home to their parents. You go to the office to bring paperwork and your laptop to work remotely from home. 

“Unnie, I’m going to go up and take a bath.”

“Okay, I will be in the kitchen and get dinner ready.”

“Kay.”

Sana goes up to her room and grabs her towel, bath toiletries, and a waterproof speaker. She turns on the hot water and lets it fill up more than halfway. She pours some water oils and some pedals to make it nice and relaxing and dips her foot into the bath. 

“Ahh… this feels nice. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

She takes out her phone, sets up the speaker next to the stand, and plays relaxing music. She closes her eyes and tries to clear her mind and forget…

With her eyes wide, all she hears is the calming music and the sound of water moving in the bathtub. It isn’t until she hears a baby’s cry that she returns to reality.

“Is that Da-eun? She must have woken up from her nap and is probably hungry for breastmilk. Something that I would never be able to do now that my baby is gone.”

Sana grabs her phone and looks at the photos and videos of the best moments of her life, her pregnancy. She scrolls down her gallery and sees the photos of all the baby’s newborn pictures and when they arrived home from the hospital. Pictures of when they took their first bath in the kitchen sink since the tub was too big, the moments the members would breastfeed them when they cried, and them playing with their stuffed animals. 

She looks at the photos of her pregnancy test, the video of her announcing the news to her mother and father and their reaction, and yours. Screenshots of baby clothing from stores that she circled when she did not know its gender and her mirror selfie of her baby bump. She tries her best to hold her tears until she scrolls to the only picture of her baby, her sonogram. She could see his head, feet, arms, and what seemed to be his heart. It is then she can’t hold her tears any longer and breaks down, crying.

“I…I’m sorry, little one. It’s my fault you're dead… Mommy should have been stronger and fought for you. I could have held you in my arms if I had kept you safe for a couple more months. Instead, you’re…” She places her hands on her face, preventing her cries from being heard outside.

“I don’t know if there is a heaven, but please, if there is one, Mommy knows you tried your best.”

She slowly slides herself into the bathtub, the water covering her face. With her eyes and her mouth closed, and holding her breath when a thought came to mind. “Without you in my life, I have no purpose. I don’t want to live in a world where you’re not in it. Mommy will join you soon…” as Sana finishes the last breath of air.

[wolven91]

Aliens Be Thirsty

Peter was just about to close up when the door’s bell jingled. He stopped sweeping the floor and without looking back, moved to get behind the counter again. The pizza shop was popular at the weekends, but during the week, like tonight, usually rendered it rather quiet. 

Despite humanity’s scattering across the stars, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Thankfully they were at least popular wherever they went. Perhaps too popular at times.

Before he was even at the register, he began ‘the spiel’. 

“Welcome to Skinny’s Pizza, how can I-” His words died on his lips as he finally looked up at his new customer. 

A blue Draconid stood on the other side of the counter. This alone wouldn’t cause the human to pause, it was the incredibly, ridiculously so, skimpy outfit that the woman wore that drew the human up short. Her top hung off one shoulder, and whilst draconians had no breasts or nipples, the exposed chest felt lewd, it stopped at her midriff exposing her toned abs with an absence of a belly button. The skirt she wore was barely long enough to cover her hips, but the tiny string of her underwear looped over her hips, above the waist revealing the hint of a bright colours.

“..How can I help you this evening?” He finished resigned to his apparent fate, his exhaustion leaving him numb. Peter was too tired for this. It had been a long day, he’d walked into his shift to a child projectile vomiting into the waiting area and his day just hadn’t gone much better than that. Between his colleagues being useless and customers being horrible, he wasn’t in the mood for one last customer messing with him. 

“Oh, you can help me humie…” She said in a husky tone, leaning forwards against the counter. She seemed to be ‘pressing’ her chest together despite her not having anything to create cleavage. 

“I want your meat… I mean.. Your meat feast pizza…” She asked, rather haltingly. 

Peter blinked slowly before looking down and dutifully ringing her up.

“That’ll be 5 credits please.” 

She made a show of patting herself down, running her hands along her muscled chest, down over her stomach and patted at her rear. She finished her ‘search’ for her money with a sheepish grin and a performative shrug.

“Oh no! I’ve left my wallet at home…”

“That's fine, I can cancel your order now, we haven’t started cooking it yet.”

“Oh no no, I need something to eat, maybe I can give you something in return?”

“If it’s not 5 credits, then no thanks.”

“Oh but I’m in your debt now…”

All the while saying this over and over, she was laying herself more and more onto his recently nice clean counter that he would now need to wipe down. 

Again. 

This was not making his life any easier. 

Peter could feel his eyelid beginning to twitch as he had to resist the urge to just shove her bodily off his, what now was no longer a nice clean counter.

[mrsnancywheeler]

IM SO SORRY THIS ONE IS LONG ILL LEAVE YOU ALONE SOON YOU JUST GIVE ME BRAIN WORMS

I’m back on my Finnick silliness

Finnick who sits by his sweet girl (yes. She was his sweet girl again) while she lays unconscious after her games. The overwhelming feeling of guilt, relief, exhaustion, and mourning.

Relief because his sweet girl (yes his sweet girl, she was finally his sweet girl again) was alive and breathing in front of him. Relief because after 2 years, 2 years that felt like a lifetime, Finnick was finally able to hold his sweet girl again. He was able to hold her hand, kiss her face, give her the adoration and delicacy she deserved.

Exhaustion because seeing her in the arena was probably the most emotionally draining things he’s had to go through. The fear of her getting hurt, or worse, dying ate away at him. The jealousy and silent rage he felt watching her kiss and hold Conway. The fear and anxiety he felt when he realized Conway would kill you. He didn’t sleep a wink, every moment he could he was looking at her. He was getting her sponsors (watching her get hypothermia was probably the worst thing he’s been through, and that’s saying something)

Mourning because he mourns the person she was. He knows she won’t be the same. He knows the fear, anxiety, the depression, the guilt, everything that comes out of the games. He mourned the carefree girl he loved, but that didn’t matter, he needed to be there for his sweet girl.

Yet as she lied there there must have been a subtle anger he began to feel because imagine if he began to hear talks about his sweet girls desirability. How people would have loved to spend just a night with her, or perhaps both him and her if they had the chance.

He probably realized he would be able to hold her once more but soon he wouldn’t be the only one. And that? That is probably what truly broke his heart.

Okay…bye

I MEAN IT WITH MY FULL CHEST WHEN I SAY YOU DON'T HAVE TO LEAVE ME ALONE BC I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THIS STUFF SM LIKE I'M SO GRATEFUL FOR YOU POOKIE

tw trafficking, violence, death

so at the beginning of midnight rain finnick was so prickly and like multiple times reader mentions that he's trying to be too much like a mentor, he's comforting her but it's not the same until after he tells her about what snow does to so-called "desirable" victors because that's him breaking down his walls

and I'm just thinking about what a tumultuous time that was for their relationship because they're so young and have both been through so much trauma and he has his sweet girl back but at what cost

and he feels so responsible that any of this happened to you, so he has to do his best now to mentor you for the press after and the eventual victors tour. he gets to hold you, to kiss you, to be with you, but he has to make sure you know the importance of keeping up performances. so their's a lull where you feel different because of what's happened that compounded with how you feel like he's different too, he's keeping things from you, and is still guarded

like there's 6 years between reader winning her games and the version we see in the lakes and the river, so much more healing and bonding, so much love strengthened. so the finnick who tries to be there for reader after her games and is scared to tell her about her fate learns so much to become the finnick trying to bring reader back in the lakes.

but yes finnick would've been exhausted during your games, he can't eat if you're starving or ill or hurt, or if you're trying to convince conway you love him. he can't sleep when you could die at any time. this man would go through lengths to make sure you had the best sponsors, it didn't matter how many more customers he had to take it it meant you would survive. and then your fate was nearly out of his control when the hypothermia hit. something people can die so quickly of and he feels like he'd truly snap if that happened, he spends every sponsor dollar to get you that blanket, and is so grateful that marlowe knows how to take care of you. because you're his sweet girl, freezing and shivering in the rain. then there's the trauma reader has related too the cold and rain after that, he's so grateful he's always warm because he can end your chills with his touch. but it takes you so long to leave the house in the rain even when warm and you still hate it.

and yes, you've changed so much. there's less impulsivity, less dreams of a life out of your grasp, maybe because you have it now, but you also have no hope for anything but misery. you're more forelorn, there's less walls you put up, you just cry, but you still worry more about him then you to yourself which crushes him. his poor sweet girl, so traumatized, so cold all the time, and so utterly distracted by wanting to help him instead

oh my god, when finnick was doing whatever he could to get you sponsors I can imagine all the people that invested because they saw your interview and wanted you. all the people who'd say, "well if I sponsor her, I'd definitely get my money's worth." with a chuckle to their friends, so disgusting, who laughed back

"those tears would be even prettier in person"

"I would love to see what else they mouth could do"

and finnick's blood is boiling, but he needs the money so his sweet girl can live. he feels so guilty for it when you're with him though, it's one of the reasons he doesn't tell you about it for so long. you'll be safe as long as he keeps you out of reality, which he can't do forever.

and yes people definitely want both you and finnick at some point, I mean the beloved couple from district 4 people can't get enough from and he doesn't know if it's better or worse that way. because then you have to watch each other take the rougher treatment but he can also be there for each other.

especially early on he can clean you up, put you back together if you're both wanted, before the tragedy that it's commonplace hits and you learn to take care of yourself because so often you're alone.

he hates that other people want you that way, that other people will see you that way because he knows that if neither of you were forced to be in a place like this you'd just want each other and just have each other so completely. but his sweet girl is being forced to perform and sold to the highest bitter which will always make him sick and angry. because he just wants to love his sweet girl.

sorry this is kind of all over the place lmao

[quinloki]

Ace/Izou/Marco/Thatch - Semi-Sweet

Requestor: Anonymous Reader Vibes Requested: AFAB she/her CW: references to drowning, time in a coma, maybe more sweet than semi, based it a little off of the kinktober series

Eyes alight with flames, a hand wreathed in fire, a voice booming and desperate - the last things you had seen before your body had hit the ocean waves.

“The rough storm had ripped you off the deck of the Moby, you don’t have a devil fruit, but the ship was massive, and you aren’t. Even with your haki protecting you, you hit the water so hard it had knocked you unconscious.

“Even with the storm raging, members of the crew had dove off the ship to find you. I got held back, but someone like me diving into the water wouldn’t have helped.

“You were in the water… a long time. Thatch couldn’t find a pulse when he surfaced with you, couldn’t get you to breathe. Pops had used his own devil fruit to banish the storm, and the entire crew had turned toward you. Izou had performed CPR until you hacked up half the ocean and started breathing on your own. He cracked three ribs in the process, and no one knew how hurt you were before that.

“Marco didn’t sleep for almost three days. Even with Me an’ Thatch an’ Izou helping him, he couldn’t barely find fitful naps, let alone any useful sleep. He kept abusing his devil fruit to keep himself sharp, until Pops’ laid him out and forced him to rest yesterday.”

A cheerful young man sat beside your bed, clumsily peeling apples for you. When you’d asked him what happened he hadn’t held back. He didn’t look or feel threatening, and the warmth that radiated from him was comfortable.

“Thatch and Izou got some sleep once you were stable, and it was my turn to watch over you, so here we are.” He hands over the plate of apple slices, and you happily begin to nibble on one. You’re pretty sure you shouldn’t eat after four days of being in a coma, but you’re too hungry to let good sense stop you.

“How do you feel?”

“… Sore,” you answer softly, taking another small bite. “Hungry.” Your brow furrows, and you set the apple slice you were working on down. “Confused.”

“Confused about?” He questions, tilting his head.

You are quiet for a long moment, but he gives you plenty of time to sort your thoughts before you reply.

“I don’t… know any of those names.” You admit, frustration on your face. You’re not looking at him, but you can see his body jerk. “I don’t…” Your voice shifts from frustration and becomes small, tears pulling at the corners of your eyes. “Remember you.”

“You - Ah, it’s okay.” He responds. You look up and can tell the smile on his face is strained, but he’s trying to look cheerful. “Marco… um, he’s the ship’s doctor, he said that you might not remember things when you woke up.” He puts a hand to his chest. “I’m Ace, we’re… we’re crew mates, you’re part of the Whitebeard Pirates. You joined before me, so Thatch or Izou or Marco would be able to fill you in better than me.”

“Ace.” You say the name and watch his face twist in an odd emotion. “Thatch pulled me out of the sea, and Izou cracked my ribs.”

“To save you, to save you!” Ace adds quickly. “Izou has amazing control, and Marco was busy getting the sick bay ready in case he needed to do something more complicated to save you.”

“… I caused distress. I’m sorry.” You say it firmly, eyes downcast.

“Bwha- what? No, I mean, yeah, but… er… you don’t hafta apologize for it.” He assures you. “People were worried cause they care.”

“That’s -.”

“Ah, little miss negative is back.” A voice says from the doorway, you and Ace turn and look and Ace nods toward the tall dark-haired man.

“Izou.”

“You helped save me, thank you.” You bow slightly from your position in the bed, wincing against unexpected pain.

“Think nothing of it,” Izou replies, stepping into the room. He moves the apple slices away from you and gently pushes you by your shoulders until you’re laying down again. “If Marco comes in and you’re sitting up and eating, he’ll toss all of us into the sea.”

“I was hungry.”

“She was hungry.”

You and Ace speak up at the same time and Izou gives you a withering look. “Of course she’s hungry, she’s been in a coma for almost four days.” He snaps. “But food on a stomach that empty can come right back up. You don’t have the strength to vomit.

“Ace, go wake up Marco and Thatch. Tell that big oaf to make the best bone stock he can, but you come back with broth from yesterday’s soup. Clear, Ace. Clear broth.” Izou reiterates as the freckled youth takes off.

Izou sits in the chair Ace had been using.

“When you first joined you were like this.” He begins. His voice is full of warmth, like Ace’s, but different. Muted comparatively, but just as comforting. “So was I. Worried about the etiquette of a world that doesn’t matter here. Feeling like a stranger when I was surrounded by a family I never knew I needed.”

He adjusts how he’s sitting a little, the soft shifting of silk almost makes your heart ache. It’s a sound that slips through your body and tightens around your bones. You can’t remember why right now, but the emotion is undeniable.

“You adjusted faster than I did.” He continues on. “Danced right into everyone’s heart so quickly it was almost concerning. Admittedly, you danced more forcefully into some hearts than others, and created a kind of family within the family.”

Silent tears slip down your cheeks and Izou brushes the away with warm and tender fingers.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. You’ll remember. I have faith, pretty flower.” He assures you. “If you don’t, then it will be what it will be, and we’ll be happy that you’re still here.”

A soft knock at the door interrupts your thoughts and Izou speaks up for them to enter. A tall man steps inside, button up shirt open and tattoo on his chest visible. He has blonde hair, and there are deep circles under his eyes, but his entire demeanor brightens when he sees you’re awake.

“There she is.” He says warmly. You look from him to Izou and he points back toward him.

“Marco, our resident doctor.” He clarifies.

“Pineapple.” You say, before covering your mouth and turning away. There’s a moment of silence before the two lose their battle against the laughs bubbling up in them and your mortification changes to an odd embarrassment.

“Progress.” Izou says, stepping out of the way as Marco came to your bedside.

“I’ll take it,” Marco says. “Pardon me, I need to check your vitals.” He explains and you look back toward him and nod.

He checks your pulse, your reaction to a light in your eyes, temperature, listens to your heart, and presses and prods and few places asking if anything hurts. He asks you a few questions, and while you can remember your name, you don’t seem to be able to answer any of the other questions.

The soft smile on his face and the even cadence of his voice don’t change regardless of your answers, and there’s comfort in it. The two of them bring in a couple more chairs, and assure you that if you want to be left alone you only need ask, but if you can deal with them, there are at least four crew members who will want to visit with you while you have some broth.

Marco and Izou get you repositioned so you can sit up easily, and they get a tray for the bed. The two seem content to sit quietly with you for the couple moments it takes for Ace to return. There’s another man with him, tallest of the lot, though not by much, with an impressive pompadour hair style.

Both of them have a bowl of steaming broth in their hands.

“One clear,” the new comer says, “One with finely ground ginger.” He explains to Marco. “Ginger usually helps settle stomachs, so I wanted you to have a choice.”

Marco nods. “A couple spoonfuls won’t hurt, yoi. But mostly clear to be safe.” He decides and they shuffle things around a little before setting a bowl in front of you.

“Clear soup to help clear your head.” The big man says as he hands you a spoon.

“Her head’s already clear, Thatch,” Ace snaps at him. “That’s the problem.”

“Maybe it’s foggy instead you little wretch. The soup will help.” Thatch retorts, irritation on his face even as he’s trying to keep his composure.

“It’s hot meat juice, not medicine.” Ace grumbles.

“Broth is-.” Marco starts, but his eyes catch yours and he pauses. The air in the room freezes and you can feel everyone looking at you, but your caught in your own thoughts.

Spoon in your mouth, warm broth down your throat, something about the conversation has tears running down your face. You’re not upset, but you can’t stop the tears. You move, enough to have another spoonful of broth despite your crying. There’s something about the actions and the taste that compel you.

“It was… terrible.” You mutter, spooning another bit of broth into your mouth as a smile pulled at your lips for the first time since you woke. “I… I tried to make broth and it was awful.” You set the spoon down and wipe away persistent tears that continue to fall despite your efforts.

“Thatch was sick, and I wanted to help.” You continue through your quiet tears. Sniffling softly you smile. “I’d never cooked before, and it was just so bad.”

Thatch flinches as the other three look at him. “I insisted otherwise,” he asserts.

You laugh a little, there’s more mirth and energy in it, and the tears are subsiding. “You did. I had some when I got back to the kitchen and poured the rest of it out. It was,” you start laughing despite yourself. “So bad.”

Looking over at the others you can feel your face heating up. “I confessed after that.”

“To making bad broth?” Ace questions, tilting his head. Marco smacks the back of his head.

You shake your head, and Thatch speaks up for you. “She admitted to likin’ me, but also to likin’,” he makes quotes in the air for the next few words. “A couple other people too, and thought it was wrong to like her crew mates like that.”

“Turned out the other people she liked were already in a relationship with Thatch,” Izou teases, cocky grin on his lips as he brushes his hand across your cheek, wiping away an errant tear. “You remember us, sweet flower?”

You nod. “Magic soup.” You say, which is what Thatch had called the abomination you’d fed him all those years ago.

[munson-blurbs]

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 30: Fame and Fortune

Word Count: 722/Rating: G/Pairing: none/CW: angst, betrayal, Corroded Coffin is famous/Tags: Eddie Munson, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, angst, fortune telling, state fair

Divider credit to @silkholland

“Thank you, Texas!” Eddie shouts into the microphone. He’s met with thunderous applause as the crowd cheers. 

He’s drenched in sweat, his shirt practically stuck to his torso, and he peels it off the moment he gets backstage. 

“Dude,” Jeff grins, “that shit was awesome!”

“Biggest crowd we’ve ever played for,” Grant agrees, wiping his face with a towel. 

Eddie pulls on a fresh shirt and ties his hair back in a bun. The cool air on the back of his neck feels heavenly. Performing was hot enough between the bright stage lights and constant movement. Add in the Texas heat and they were, almost literally, cooked. 

Eddie is more than ready to get back to his air conditioned hotel room, already imagining the mountain of food he’ll order from room service. 

“Wait, guys!” Gareth calls out. “Can we, like, explore the fair while we’re here? Get security to take us around?”

Eddie groans. “I’m exhausted.” Grant and Jeff nod in agreement, but Gareth is relentless. 

“C’mon. Just to get cotton candy or something.”

Jeff considers the idea. “I could go for cotton candy,” he says with a shrug. 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Fine. We’ll get some cotton candy, and then we’re outta here.”

Security pushes through the throngs of people, stopping only when Grant taps one of the guards on the shoulder and asks if he and Jeff can ride the Tilt-a-Whirl. 

“Guess it’s just us, Big Guy.” Gareth claps Eddie on the shoulder and takes a messy bite of cotton candy. “What d’you wanna do?”

“Go back to the bus and sleep,” Eddie grumbles,  but the drummer ignores him, tugging him towards a small purple tent. 

The inside is dim, illuminated only by flickering battery-powered candles. When Eddie’s eyes adjust to the darkness, he realizes that Gareth has pulled him into the fortune teller’s tent. 

An older woman smiles from where she sits, her wrinkled hands on a crystal ball. “I am Madame Yma,” she says. “Are you here for a reading?”

Eddie shakes his head, but Gareth practically shoves him into a chair. “Don’t you wanna see what your future holds?”

“Not particularly.”

Madame Yma heaves an impatient sigh but musters up a smile. “Come, let me see what the universe has planned for you.” She eyes both young men, adding, “for five dollars.”

Gareth slaps a five-dollar bill on the table, and Eddie knows there’s no way out of this now. Fine. He’ll sit here and listen to whatever bullshit tale this woman weaves, and Gareth will be a few bucks poorer. No skin off of his back. 

The fortune teller holds Eddie’s hands, palms up. “It appears that you have a creative personality,” she begins. “And that your headstrong demeanor may cause fractures in your platonic and romantic relationships.”

“She’s got you there,” Gareth says through a mouthful of cotton candy. 

“Speaking of romance…” Something glitters in the woman’s blue-gray eyes. “Your love line shows some conflict in your love life. And your destiny line shows that you will receive help from someone.” She pauses, considering. “You consider yourself an independent person.”

Eddie nods emphatically at this, despite her not formally asking a question. 

Madame Yma clicks her tongue disapprovingly. “You pride yourself too much on your ability to be alone. That will be your downfall. You need to learn how to rely on others, and to appreciate the people around you.” Her gaze briefly lands on Gareth, though her words are aimed at Eddie. “You will have to choose between the people who have consistently been by your side, and the temptation of a stranger. I suggest you choose wisely.”

Eddie’s blood runs cold. How did she know? She couldn’t know; there was no way—

“What?” Gareth barks out a laugh. “Nah, this is ridiculous. Eddie’s not abandoning us, and he wouldn’t be ‘tempted’ by some random person.” He tosses his empty stick in a nearby trash can and turns to Eddie. “C’mon, let’s go see if those guys survived the Tilt-a-Whirl.”

“Y-Yeah.” Eddie books it out of the tent, half-heartedly nodding as Gareth blathers on about a new song he’s been workshopping. 

He tries to focus, but it proves impossible. All he can think about is the contract he hurriedly signed earlier today, already mailed back to his agent. 

A contract for a solo album. 

--