#but the mental image was too amusing not to share

[mariasont]

can you do aaron x wife reader who also works in the bau with him & on a case a police officer openly flirts with aaron in front of the team and reader so she stakes her claim on her husband && the team ( mostly derek & pen ) are teasing the two of them for it ??

Marked Territory - A.H

A/N: AHHHHH thinking ab claiming aaron hotchner as ur man has me giggling & kicking me feet

THANK you sooooo much for requesting angel <3 hope you like it!

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

wk: 1.2k

pairings: aaron hotchner x wife!bau!fem!reader

warnings: heavy makeout, jealously

You stood a few feet away with a watchful gaze, arms locked across your chest. The consultant was laying it on thick, her eyelashes sweeping up and down in a practiced rhythm aimed at Aaron. It made you want to throw up. You couldn't help but let out a soft, almost inaudible scoff. The consultant's laughter pierced the quiet, an exaggerated display that felt out of place. Her hand rested on Aaron's arm a moment too long. Your glare could have set the room on fire, you were sure of it, and it only seemed to intensify when Aaron offered a polite, yet distant smile in return.

"Careful there, sugar," Derek joked, sliding into place beside you as he nudged your side. "You're about two seconds from turning this into a crime scene."

You offered a half-glance towards him, "I suppose I can't fault her taste," you said with a forced lightness, even as a twinge of jealously coiled tightly within you, your attention fixed on the hand that dared to claim familiarity with Aaron. "But good taste doesn't come with good sense, apparently."

Penelope swept in with a gasp that could rival a Greek chorus, her eyes wide with a feigned shock. "Wow, I could practically taste your fury from down the hall! Mrs. Hotchner, are we in strategy mode, or should I grab some popcorn?"

You rolled your eyes with a dismissive wave. "You two are ridiculous. What do you expect me to do? Drag her by her hair? Please, I trust Aaron," you stated firmly, because, well, you did. This, however, didn't stop the tiny spark of irritation that flickered within, unbidden and unwelcome, but you squashed it with a laugh. "Besides, if I started a catfight every time someone flirted with him, I'd need my own filing cabinet for all the assault charges."

A glance was all it took for Garcia and Morgan to share their amusement. "Sure, sure," Garcia drawled, her voice dripping in sarcasm.

Morgan's eyebrow arched in silent agreement as he smiled knowingly. "Of course, you're calm. But we both know if that bubble of anger pops, it's going to be one hell of a show."

You tried to ignore it; you really did. You buried your nose in your work, determined to keep your mind off that infuriating woman. You shuffled papers, dove into your case files, and tapped away at your computer with a vigor that doesn't go unnoticed by the team. Every time you caught a glimpse of Aaron, there she was--the consultant--hovering like a shadow. It's almost comical how she mirrored his every move, but you were not laughing.

You found reasons to be anywhere but where Aaron was, taking your coffee break when he's in the break room, opting for the stairs when he took the elevator. It's a dance of avoidance that has you mentally exhausted, but you're trying to channel your inner zen, and being around that woman is doing you no favors.

The office air is thick with tension, a tangible presence that envelops your desk, your focus splintering with every laugh and hushed conversation that drifts over from Aaron's direction. You're the very image of concentration until you see it--the consultant, her proximity invasive, her hand lingering on his shoulder with a familiarity that sears through your veneer of calm. It's the tripping point, the moment your restraint fractures.

You stand, a fluid motion that betrays her anger that charged the room with an energy that has the whole team's attention snapping to you. They recognize the signs--the firm line of your jaw, the fire in your eyes--a rare display that signals an unstoppable force is about to be set in motion.

"Hotch," the name is a clear, firm declaration across the room, a tone you usually reserved for the field. "Can I speak to you for a second?"

The room falls still, a collective breath held by the team as Aaron excuses himself and follows you into his office. The door closes behind them with a soft click, leaving just the two of you. His gaze meets yours, a furrow of worry creasing his brow as he takes in the tempest swirling in your stance.

"Honey, are you alright?" he asks, the professional facade giving way to a soft undertone of worry, as he takes a deliberate step towards you, his eyes searching yours for signs of distress.

With a swift assurance of privacy, your eyes lock on the drawn blinds, and you waste no time diminishing the space between you, hands clasping up to his neck with an urgency that pulls him down to you. Your lips found his in a fervent collision, coaxing a surprised murmur from him. He softly pulled back, his chuckle deep and knowing, as his hands encircled your waist. 

"Honey--I, we're in the office."

His words may have carried a hint of reprimand, but the gentle exploration of his hands across your back drawing you nearer seemed to contradict him. An innocent smile graced your lips as your fingers wove through his hair, eliciting his head tilting back in contentment. "Just missed you is all."

An eyebrow lifted in amused acknowledgement. "Mm, is that so?"

Gently tugging his head closer, your lips crashed against his with a desperate intensity, your hands gripping him as if he were a lifeline.

With deliberate strokes, you raked your fingers through his hair, creating artful disarray. Your hands glided to his tie, tugging it just enough to break the perfect line, then across his jacket, crumpling the fabric with feigned carelessness. Each touch a strategic step in enhancing his unkempt image.

A gentle exhale escaped you as he pressed you back against the desk's edge, his hands forming a cage around you, both protective and possessive.  Your lips curved into a smirk, your teeth capturing his bottom lip and tugging with a teasing pressure, probably a little harder than you should have, causing him to pull back. "Christ, sweetheart."

Instinctively, your hand rose to trace his bottom lip, smoothing over the swollenness your teeth had caused. A soft smile graced your features as you took in the delightful disarray of his appearance. With a satisfied nod, you left a featherlight kiss on his cheek and glided towards the door. "I love you, Mr. Hotchner."

His eyebrows knit together in loving exasperation as he observed your retreat, his hand absentmindedly caressing his lip. God, you kept life interesting. "I love you more, Mrs. Hotchner."

Emerging from Hotch's office, your hair perfectly disordered, a small smirk etched on your lips. You watch as the consultant's eyes stretch wide, a flush of embarrassment covering her cheeks. With a sly wink tossed her way, you glide towards Penelope and Morgan.

"Well, well, well," Morgan drawled, a sly grin spreading across his face as he watched the scene unfold, arms folded confidently over his chest. "I had a feeling those claws were just waiting for the right moment to strike."

"That's our girl! Showing the world whose boss without breaking a sweat." Penelope chirped. "Well, I mean, maybe a little sweat. I'm seriously striving not to speculate about what you two were doing in there."

A playful smirk dances on your lips as you peer over your shoulder at Hotch's door. "Just wait for it," you tease, fingers poised for the dramatic reveal as you count down. "3, 2, 1.."

Right on cue, Hotch steps out, looking every bit as ruffled as you'd intended. His tie hangs crooked, his suit crumpled, and you didn't miss the dark red tint around his bottom lip. The sound of Morgan and Penelope's laughter filled the air as you offered a nonchalant shrug. 

"It's all in the day's work, besties. A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do."

[lionneee]

Perfect Match

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: masturbation, nudes, kissing, taking of sexual themes, smut.•

Part One -> Part Two -> Part Three -> Part Four

Modern!Aemond x Fem!Reader

When you’re rich, but still a teenager, and too mature for your age, it’s kinda complicated to actually have fun.

Especially if you’re also empty inside.

And if your parents really don’t care about you.

They care about image.

Surely, you were a peach to everyone. The perfect daughter in the perfect family in the perfect house.

Also, be mentally mature doesn’t mean you can’t like childish things.

Your room was something that you were extremely proud of. Everything was just perfect. Baldacchino bed, always with pink feathers and pillows, and giant stuffed animals on it. Walls? Pink. Wardrobe? Pink, with some decorations in a darker shade of pink. Your desk? White, but everything on it is pink.

Obviously, the perfect daughter in the perfect family in the perfect house couldn’t not have a boyfriend.

You tried a few, actually. Lost your virginity with some douche who didn’t even make you come, so he was out pretty fast. The others were too self centered or ended up actually falling for you.

You didn’t feel love.

You never loved anyone.

You just wanted someone who was in the same situation, didn’t look for love either, and was up for a completely fake romantic relationship and a very true sexual relationship.

Good at bed, good looking and… likable.

So when the Targaryen moved a couple of houses from yours, and the three brothers started going to your same private school, you suddenly found it.

Aemond Targaryen.

A bit mysterious, he didn’t talk much, he barely even smiled, if not when forced to for convenience. 

So that was when it rang a bell.

Your heels ticked on the floor, the pink skirt moved at every step, as you held your pink notebook close to your chest, covered by a light pink blouse.

You walked in the private room in the library, the one you knew Aemong booked. You opened the door without knocking, and stepped inside, stopping at the entrance as you let the door close behind you. Aemond looked up at you and raised an eyebrow, annoyed.

“You book these rooms to not get bothered, you know?” He scoffed as he leaned back on the chair, glancing you up and down.

“You know who I am.” You stated. It was impossible not to, everyone loved you. “And I know who you are.” You sat in front of him, leaving your notebook on the table. “But what I care about is how you really are.” You smirked as Aemond looked at you carelessly.

“We are alike. We can work together.” You stated confidently. Aemond almost laughed.

“If you believe you are the different girl that is supposed to make the cold guy fall in love, you’re wrong, honey.” He shook his head, amused by your silly attempt as he turned his eye on the book he was reading.

“Oh, baby…” You looked at him with a pity face.

“Who talked about love?” That made his eye come back to you.

That day, you even realized how sexually compatible you two were. He fucked you on that same table like an animal, and you’ve came hard.

So that’s how the day after, you two walked into the school hand in hand, smiling to one another, with love, puppy eyes.

Such a show you put on.

But everyone loved you as a couple, To them, you were just perfect.

Reality? You liked to fuck together. And that was it.

No cuddling, no silly kisses, no texting.

You had to look in love at school, sneak in some corner to make out like you wanted to devour each other, post photos together on instagram, hang out sometimes with friends, or dates where you knew you would have found people you knew, so everything would have been more believable.

Usually there was a moment when both you and Aemond couldn’t stand your friend’s stupidity and after a shared eye contact, you would make some nauseating excuses about how you needed some time alone because you’re just so in love, and then you would display your make out session. 

Though, considering how Aemond was being so needy today, you guessed he might have something in his mind that made him angry.

You didn’t care what it was, but you really hoped he it would stay in his head until late after high school, when you would to his or your place and fuck.

He kept grabbing the skin of your ass, pulling it as he kept kissing you, biting your lips or pushing his tongue deep in your mouth. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling you down so you didn’t have to stand on your tiptoes despite the heels.

Aemond grabbed your tight, squeezing it tightly in his hand as he bent his legs to be at your level as his hand moved up, enough to slip his hand under your skirt and manage to squeeze your bare ass with a low moan.

“Slow it down, you’ll get too worked up.” You mumbled between a kiss and another.

“Shut up.” He growled back as he rubbed his hips against yours, you felt a hint of herection against you.

There it was.

His long, thick, pale cock. It was a sight, really, veiny with a red tip when it’s full hard.

More to that, he knew how to use it.

That, and his mouth, his fingers, his tongue…

Aemond suddenly pushed you, pressing you against the wall as he kept grinding his hips, panting and moaning slightly as he tried to be as careful as possible to not be seen.

“I told you.” You hissed as you grabbed his cheeks in your hand, squeezing.

“And I said, shut up — Fuck -“ He breathed deeply as he stilled, just pressing hardly against you. I sighed as you felt your panties getting a little wet.

“We’re at school, Aemond. We can’t fuck here.” You rolled your eyes as he leaned his hands on the wall, trying to hide his more than visible tent on his pants.

“You sure, honey?” He chuckled bitterly, frustrated.

“You brought this upon yourself, you’ll fix it yourself.” You glared at him as you picked your pink bag from the floor. 

“Hold on.” He grabbed your arm and tugged you back, smiling sweetly as some student passed by, kissing your forehead. As soon as they went away he looked down at you coldly.

“Send me the picture.” He ordered.

“What are those?” He asked as he caught a glimpse of your phone gallery.

"What are what?"

He took a drag from the cigarette, the smoke leaving his nostrils as he exhaled, before he leaned closer to her, so he could look at her phone properly. "Let me see." He ordered bluntly as he looked at the gallery.

You looked at him, annoyed.

"See what?"

"The nude pictures you have of yourself." He said, his eye still looking at your phone. "Let me see."

"The nudes?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

"Yes, the nudes, I've never seen them, so I'm curious." He took your phone and continued to look at the various photos in your gallery. "Why haven't I seen them, anyway?"

"Because they're on my phone." You answered matter of factly as you gave him your phone

He rolled his eye at your answer, but he started looking through her camera roll and all the photos that you had in there, looking for the pictures that he would never have thought you would have in her gallery.

His eye scanned over the naughty pictures, looking at you in all kinds of positions.

"Well, well... look what l've found." Aemond's voice was low and dark as mumbled to himself, looking at the pictures. His eye roaming over you body, the body he knew all too well, but never like this.

He could feel himself growing stiff just from looking at them.

He looked through the pictures, each one different from the next, as you posed for the camera by yourself. "When did you take these?" He asked in that low and dark tone.

He was starting to get really excited, and it was beginning to show in his jeans, straining against the fabric.

"A couple of days ago." You raised your shoulders

His eye roamed back over the photos, seeing your body in all these positions. He could already feel the growing bulge in his jeans, and it was only growing more as he kept looking.

"And why didn't you send these to me?" He finally asked in a low tone.

"Why should I have?"

"I'm your boyfriend, aren't I?" He said flatly. "I'd expect to get these kinds of photos from you." He put the cigarette between his lips again, as he scrolled through the pictures, choosing a specific one.

"We're not like other couples." You scoffed.

"I know we're not." He said back to her as he looked at the certain picture he had chosen, his eyes running over your body. "But we are still a couple, and that kind of gives me the right to see these, don't you think?" 

"You're seeing them now, aren't you?" You sighed as you got your phone back.

“Send me that one. I want that one.” He pointed at your phone.

“Not happening.” You answered as you turned your phone off. He scoffed and rubbed his hand over his forehead.

“Suck my cock, these jeans are killing me now.” He groaned as he unbuttoned his pants.

“I’ll tell you again, I’m not sending you that picture.” You whispered. He breathed in sharply and grabbed the back of your neck.

“Send me that picture, or I’ll drag you in the bathroom with me and I’ll choke you on my cock.” He growled as he looked in your eyes. The bell rang, signaling the beginning of your class.

“Fine. Get off of me.” You said annoyed as you pushed his hand away. Aemond smiled and kissed your temple as you passed beside him to get to your friends.

Made his way to the bathroom quickly, trying to cover himself as much as possible.

He went into one of the stalls, locking it behind him before he unbuttoned his jeans and undid the zipper, letting the material fall down

He groaned as the pressure on his erection lessened, as he was finally freeing himself from his constricting pants. He closed his eye and leaned his forehead against the

cool metal wall of the stall, letting out another low growl of annoyance at the situation he was in. He hated that he was this turned on by her in an inconvenient place.

He closed his eye and let his mind think about all the ways he was going to ruin her later.

He could feel himself harden even more just thinking about it, his mind running wild.

«Send me the damn picture.» He texted her quickly.

When she sent the photo he quickly opened it, his eye widening slightly as he saw the photo again.

She was on all four, her legs widened, wearing a piece of light pink lingerie that had two straps that rubbed outside her sweet cunt, covering nothing. She was looking back at the camera with a smirk as one of her hands was on her breast.

She was leaking in the photo.

He had to bite his lip, so he wouldn't curse out loud. 

He took a deep breath to try and calm his growing frustration. He took his hand and started to slowly pump himself as his eyes never left her form in the photo.

He had put the phone down on the toilet paper holder, so he could pump himself faster, his mind running wild with thoughts of her as he started to moan softly, not wanting to be too loud. The coolness of the metal wall against his forehead, was a nice contrast against the heat he was feeling now.

He panted softly, his breathing coming out shaky as he continued to work himself furiously. His mind was running wild with thoughts of her, all the things he wanted to do to her, all the ways he was going to make her pay for putting him in this situation.

Her and her hot body.

He could hear another student walk into the bathroom, and he had to bite his lip again to muffle the moan that tried to escape from his lips.

He kept pumping himself, his breathing coming out in gasps, he knew he had to keep quiet. The other student in the next stall peeing, unaware of Aemond’s state, tried to keep his sounds to a minimum, as he felt the coil in his stomach tightening, his breaths coming out shaky and uneven. The other student finished up and left the bathroom again, leaving Aemond alone again. He felt a small sense of relief when he left, so he didn't have to keep quiet for anyone.

He started to pump himself faster, his panting growing louder and louder, his volume raising a bit as he was now the only one in the bathroom. He could still hear voices from outside the bathroom, people walking by and chatting, but he was too far gone to care.

He was getting closer to the end, his eyes closed and his mind completely lost in thoughts of her, the picture on his phone, the sounds of her moaning, her whispering in his ear. He had one hand on himself, the other one on the wall, for support as he was starting to feel his legs getting weaker

He came with a groan, making a mess on the wall and his phone.

“F-fuck!" He panted.

He leaned his forehead back against the cool metal wall, trying to catch his breath, as he tried to come down from his high. His legs were shaking slightly as he tried to keep his balance, feeling weak. He let out another deep breath, closing his eye, as he tried to make sense of his blurry thoughts.

He looked down at his phone, realizing that he had also made a mess on it. "Damn." He muttered, as he looked at the white streaks on the screen, he quickly wiped it with some toilet paper, and threw it away.

Once he was done, he unlocked his phone again and quickly tapped out a text to her.

«Thanks.»

He locked his phone and pulled up his pants again, before leaving the stall and going over to the sink to wash his hands and compose himself.

«That was quick.»

Oh, so funny. Little bitch.

Part Two

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa

[mykoreanlove]

Wanna bet?

Hyunjin hurried back into the practice room looking fully disheveled. His hair was tousled, his clothes messy and his eyes glazed. He barely made it back in time, at least physically. Mentally he was still between your thighs.

„Jesus, what’s gotten into you?“, Han teased. Hyunjin stumbled for words, his brain hadn’t fully recovered from what you had done to him just minutes ago. Images of your plush lips around his hardened cock flooded his mind. „Oh, would you look at how he’s blushing. Were you with her again?“, Changbin chimed in.

Ever since the dating ban had been lifted he was fucking his whole way through Seoul‘s elite, unlike Hyunjin who had only ever fucked you.

But since nobody was allowed to know about that, he had to make up a lie. „Who is Hyunjin‘s mystery girlfriend?“, Seungmin asked curiously. Changbin snorted before answering: „We all know who it’s not. Have you talked to y/n lately? She can’t stand his guts.“

A provocative laugh left Changbin‘s lips which made Hyunjin‘s blood boil. If he only knew, if they only knew how you whimpered for him, how you got on your knees for him, how you declared your love only for him.

You came up with the stupid idea to make up a feud so that nobody would be suspicious.

„Let’s just pretend we hate each other so nobody suspects us, Hyun.“

Oh no, he didn’t like that. At all. You kissed his big pout, little by little, until it dissolved. Hyunjin buried his head into your neck, whining about all of this. „My love, this is not fair. The dating ban is finally over and still I can’t show you openly? Make that make sense?“

He was a big romantic after all, your boyfriend. You smiled sadly and caressed his face. „Precious, you are used to the fame and its perks. But also its downsides. But I’m not. I am a nobody and I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t want to share our love with others, especially not your fans. Can’t we just pretend for a little longer?“

His head shot up as he looked you straight in the eyes. You saw the dissatisfaction in him, but still he showed you the utmost respect and adoration.

„You’re not a nobody y/n. Especially not to me. But I understand. I don’t like it but I understand.“

You kissed the tip of his nose quickly. He let out a chuckle as he grabbed your face and kissed you tenderly. „You know I can’t resist you, my love. Never been able to.“

Seungmin‘s voice brought him back to reality. „You mean manager y/n? Why? Why does she hate him so much?“ Changbin grabbed a cup of water and sat down on the floor. Hyunjin wondered when the others would finally arrive, so he wouldn’t have to listen to this any longer.

„I grabbed lunch with her recently and we actually talked about this. You know one moment we were happily chatting about the newest girl groups’ choreographies and the next minute she got all icy and shot daggers out of her eyes. That’s when I realized she saw Hyunjin.“

Hyunjin listened silently as he recalled that moment in the cafeteria. It was true - you gave him the coldest look, turning his heart into ice. He even heard you badmouth him to Changbin, something about him being too arrogant and stupid. „He’s the leader of paboracha for a reason, right?“, your amused voice echoed in his head. „It’s like he only cares about his looks. No wonder he’s every brand‘s ambassador. But real talent? Not so much.“

Hurt got replaced by anger, so naturally Hyunjin left the cafeteria and ate alone. This was still new to him and he tried to have compassion for your fears but did you have to make your hate towards him that obvious?

Did you mean all that? Did you purposely spawn out his insecurities like that?

Sometimes he couldn’t tell, which left him feeling worse. He always saw you in the best light but apparently you only saw his flaws.

He was pissed, no he was furious.

Until he wasn’t.

Every time you made him angry like that he discovered new sides in both of you.

You felt guilty and remorseful after humiliating him, you desperately needed to make it up to him. You got creative, eager to please. You sent him the naughtiest texts while working, slid the prettiest nudes into his wallet or sucked him off in between meetings. You loved this game of provoking him, acting like he was shit only to beg for his forgiveness later.

And Hyunjin? Weirdly, he got off of it. He could bear the humiliation if that meant he could dominate you later as much as he pleased. He fucked his anger out of him - and right into you. He was rough with you: spitting, spanking, hitting. You insulted his ego and now he punished your pussy, however he pleased.

Was it twisted?

Was it perverse?

Hyunjin had no idea as this was his first real relationship. Was love always accompanied by hate?

„You know I think I might actually ask her out. What do you think? Do I have a shot with manager y/n?“

Changbin grinned from ear to ear.

Hyunjin had no idea how your relationship turned toxic but he was sure of one thing - you were his. He ruminated on using you to get back at his friend. He hesitated - no matter the amount of hate you elicited in him, he still loved you.

But that all changed when he looked into Changbin’s face - he was so sure of winning, so sure of humiliating Hyunjin for once, so he had no chance than to trade you in.

„Why don’t we make a bet?“ Hyunjin spoke up for the first time since entering the practice room.

His hyung snorted out laughing. „A bet? Do you want to compete against me?“

Hyunjin smirked, feeling overly confident. „Sure, why not?“ Changbin‘s eyes widened in shock. „Are you serious right now? She hates your guts. Do you want to lose?“

Hyunjin thought back to you moaning his name every other night. He pictured you walking around in his clothes, only for him to strip you out of them. He saw you looking at him with love and adoration, like no one ever had before. He was sick of hiding his relationship and he was sicker of Changbin‘s bickering. Let him loose drastically, let him learn a lesson.

„Is that a no? Are you afraid?“

Changbin got up from the floor, towering in front of him. „Game on, Hwang.“

Hyunjin flinched, rigorously hating being called by his surname. The voice of rationality chimed in, hoping to dissolve the friction between the two of them. „So let me get this straight. You want to bet on manager y/n? Who will win her over first? Isn’t that kind of…mean?“

Oh it was.

Normally, Hyunjin wouldn’t behave like this but he needed to teach Changbin a lesson. He knew that you wouldn’t get hurt so what was the big deal? Let him woo you some while he sat back and watched. At the end of the day it would be him who was making you faint from pleasure.

Nobody said a word, the older ones were too busy eye-fucking each other.

Changbin spoke first. „What’s the price?“

Hyunjin rolled his eyes as a response. „Her, you moron. What other price do you need?“

Changbin laughed again. „Actually, you’re right. Not only am I going to get her but I will also win against you. And that’s a shameful defeat you’ll have to live with forever. Let’s do this.“

The others entered the practice room as the deal was sealed. Not another word was spoken on that matter. Hyunjin remained silent, deep in his thoughts he wondered: „Did I take it too far this time?“

[masn-mount]

I know we're all melting at Jude with the kids but what about him melting about you with the kids!!! being like I want you to have my babies and you're like??? where did that come from

this is just a little blurb, I hope you enjoy xx (this is rushed and not proofread because I need to sleep and if I don't post it right now I'll just delete it soooo also haven't written in months so yeah, bye)

okay yes, like he would be standing around with his mum and teammates trying to focus on the conversation they were having but he couldn't tear his eyes away from you running around after Lucas Vazques' kids, making them laugh uncontrollably when you caught them or the way you'd help Dani Carvajal's son hold up the trophy, making him smile so big for thinking he was lifting it by himself and as if he wasn't feeling overwhelmed already he swore his heart could have burst when you later went over to him to say bye with one of his teammates not even one year old clutching on to you. Small arms around your neck, her little head resting against your shoulder and you just looked so natural with it and it drives him a little mental and after he's kissed you and you leave he can't get that image out of his head even with the amount of drinks in his system by then. When he gets home hours later he's trying to make as little noise as possible, not wanting to wake you or anyone else in the house up and he's not expecting to walk into your shared bedroom and see you sitting up in bed, phone in hand no doubt scrolling on Tiktok. "You're going to feel beyond terrible tomorrow," is what you say when he falls on the bed, he lays still for a second before he starts moving around so he can lay closer to you, head resting on your stomach. Your fingers go to scratch the back of his head and after a few moments of complete silence you almost think he's fallen asleep until he lifts his head so he can look up at you, eyes so pretty and glossy and you smile at him before running your thumb over his pouted lip. "You okay?"

"I want you, want you to," he kept mumbling the words over and over, you found it a little amusing how he had gone from this overly confident man you had seen all over your X and Tiktok feed hours prior to this shy boy laying next to you.

"Want me to what?"

"Have babies with me." You were unsure on how to respond, it was probably the last thing you'd expect him to say so you just sat back, raised your eyebrows at him, a giggle escaping past your lips at how he was nodding his head while repeatedly mumbling "yes, I want that".

"You do, yeah?"

"So bad."

"Okay, how about we go sleep?"

"No, I've jus-, just keep thinking about you with the kids today and I, I want us to have that," he sounded so sure you could have almost forgotten that he was drunk out of his mind.

"I thought you didn't want kids?" You teased, fingers running over his cheeks, still trying to get used to his completely bare face. Your future together was often a topic of discussion but kids had never been apart of the conversation until this moment and you weren't going to pretend like seeing him be so good with all of his teammates kids hadn't sent your mind in a frenzy.

"I never said I didn't want them with you."

"Okay."

"Yeah? we should try...right now."

"Okay, calm down, silly." You tried to keep your voice down but couldn't hold in your laughter over how fast he was trying to get undressed before laying over you, lips moving over your chest and up your neck. "Hey, don't laugh...trying to love on you, baby," but when you didn't stop, instead hiding your face away from him and in your pillow, unable to take him seriously Jude got the hind and laid back down, content for the moment with just holding your hand.. "I love you...mucho."

"I love you mucho too, Jude," you smiled, leaning up and capturing his lips with yours for a moment before pulling back.

"I get to come home to you, so lucky..so lucky you're going to be the mum to my babies."

"Go to sleep, handsome."

"We'll try tomorrow."

[caitlinsclark]

my brain works faster than i can write, so you guys get another concept i’ll elaborate on soon while i work on 5 other fics LMAOOO:

based on after midnight by Chappell Roan <3

Cause after midnight

I'm feeling kinda freaky, maybe it's the club lights

I kinda wanna kiss your girlfriend if you don't mind

I love a little drama, let's start a bar fight

'Cause everything good happens after midnight

I'm feeling kinda freaky, maybe it's the moonlight

Was it the bass of the music or Caitlin in your close proximity? You couldn’t tell as her features glowed in the blue light of the club. With a glance to your watch, you knew it was getting late. After all, your mom always said nothing good happened after midnight.

But when she grabbed your waist a little too tight and asked with her big brown eyes glistening at you, “You’re staying, right?”

You felt yourself giving in immediately, “Where’s the next round?” She grinned at your enthusiasm, none the wiser about your internal hesitance to continue this night.

The tube top adorning her upper half showed off the building muscle she’d grown over the past season. And you were just a girl at the end of the day, so you indulged in the rare image as much as you could.

The same influence, know as Caitlin’s presence, lead you to recklessly down a row of shots. You were eager to replace the feeling of Caitlin’s hands on your shoulders with something else. If only you knew that the alcohol just intensified the warmth she sparked.

The night escalates when the group decides to play a game. You and Caitlin wind up being selected to go into a side room for 7 minutes.

You directed your words to Connor, “If you don’t mind.” Though it held little value when you didn’t wait for his permission to grab Caitlin’s hand and whisk her up with a twirl.

The two of you entered the side room and she was all over you, the alcohol intensifying every small touch the two of you shared.

Connor opens the door and it’s almost ego boosting the way Caitlin doesn’t even pull away from you. Her hands held you steady, and you thanked her for the control she had.

“What the fuck is going on?” Connor’s voice boomed louder than the music. Not even the red LED lights matched the red of his face as he took in the scene.

“Sorry,” but your tone held no remorse, “I know you usually don’t get to hear a reaction like that from her.” You grimaced playfully, biting your finger tip slyly as you watched him seethe.

His hands ball up into a fist and he looks away from you.

“What, are you gonna fight me?” You raised your eyebrows in amusement at the thought of his punching form, “Remember when I beat you at the hammer game at the Carnival, bro? And the boxing one!” A laugh bubbled out and made you stutter your words.

And you gave yourself a mental point when you saw Caitlin bit her lip to stop a growing smile.

and that’s all you get for now rizz hands - bree

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Chocolates and euphoria

pairing: cpt. John Price x reader (cod mw)

tags/tw: afab!reader, nsfw, food play, p in v, unprotected sex, desperate sex, slight cockwarming, 18+ so minors please DNI

a/n: a late valentines blurb inspired by this post

John Price MASTERLIST

Just imagine John Price not greeting you by the door when you come home from work, and he's returned from deployment while you were away. Instead, he answers your greeting by beckoning you further into your shared flat with an 'In here, love'. 

You drop your things to the floor, more concerned with seeing Price after weeks of him gone than the temporary shucked-off and slipped-out jacket you leave behind in the foyer. 

Your flat is not big, but his voice had been faint enough that you know he must be in the bedroom, probably unpacking his stuff, sorting what needs a wash -more or less everything- from the weapons that needed to be locked into the gun-safe. 

Imagine your shock when pushing the door open to not find him straightening from a bent-over position of his bag on the bed but sprawled in it with only a measly bit of the duvet, the one you changed yesterday just because you knew how much Price likes to come home and feel free from sand and dirt, over his crotch, legs partly intertwined but giving you a tantalising view of his bare thighs down to his shins, hands behind the pillow propping his head up. You stall, freezing in the entrance as you blink, perplexed at the sight you couldn't even imagine finding your Captain. Not even in your wildest dreams.

"Happy Valentine's, love."

His greeting falls on partly deaf ears. You hadn't given it much thought, even if it was hard not to notice the copious amount of red, pink and white hearts or love-shaped everything you'd passed the last few days on your way home from work. But with a heart-shaped box of chocolate square on top of Price's crotch, it clicks in your head that the 14th of February coincided with his return home.

You let out a short laugh because you seriously don't know how to react to what your eyes rove over again and again. 

"Not appreciatin' the welcome-home gift I've got for you?" 

Despite the slight shuffle as he props himself on his elbows and the box of chocolates sliding nearly too much to not tug the duvet down with it, your eyes ascend until they meet Price's. 

There's an evident mirth practically shining in them, crow's feet highlighted in the edge of his eyes as he attempts to fend off his smile. 

With the lack of any and all seriousness concerning the situation, you purse your lips, head ducking into a shake as you can't contain an amused chuckle, moving from your spot.

"Love it", you can barely get the words out. Your feigned straight face crackles as you walk closer, eyebrows scrunching together, chest convulsing from trying to not break into another laugh. "My very own hairy Cupid".

It's Price who breaks the facade with a timbre low chuckle and head craning back as you slow down when reaching the edge of the bed.

"I tried." He gives you a shrug, and you notice the now upward tug of his lips once he looks up at you.

"A very appreciated attempt", you giggle, settling on the side of the bed, leaning to the centre where Price rests. 

He meets you halfway, pulling you closer with one hand clutching the back of your neck, almost dragging you down as well, and you need to catch yourself against the mattress in your now twisted position. You both chuckle into the kiss as the chocolates rattle in their casing after your hasty movement and Price's shuffle to get closer to you.

"God, how did you think of this?" You glance down his body towards the most eye-catching object at the moment, smile ever-present like the silent laughter in your eyes when they return to meet him.

"Gaz showed me a not-so-subtitle photo he thought was funny". You closed your eyes, chuckling at the mental image of the situation.

"Should thank him the next time I see him". Price rolls his eyes when you look at him again.

"You and Kyle bother me as much off duty as them two sergeants do on". He scoffs fondly. 

You cock your head, bottom lip jutted out. "Don't be too hard on them".

"Easier to chew their ear off than your pretty face", he murmurs deeply with a considerable drop in his voice. "C'mere".

Rather than give in to his pull, fall deeper into the closeness he beckons you; you pull away with a giggle and crawl down the bed until you settle between his legs.

He cocks his head, both elbows now planted on the bed again as he stares down at you, eyeing how your kneeling form is hidden beneath your skirt, the fabric flowing out and filling the space he'd unconsciously given you between his legs.

"Not where I imagined you".

You place a hand on Price's abdomen when he goes to sit up, pursuing your lips with a feigned sad furrow between your brows. "Why? Where else would I be able to taste the chocolates you gave me, John?".

What's not hidden in the perfectly innocent face you pull and direct at him is the glint in your eyes and the way you rap your fingers against his stomach rather than pulling your hand back to your side. But Price decides to play into it. 

"Be my guest", he waves his hands towards the box, somehow still balancing enough to keep the small part of Price's covered front hidden. 

Oh, imagine the nearly audible gulp, that delicious heave of his chest you only managed to pull out when catching him off-guard, as your slightly cold hands settle high on his thighs as you bend down, keeping eye contact with those blues intently watching, as your lips slot around one of the chocolates, leaning away only when it's securely clutched between your teeth, only for you to raise a hand and with one finger push it into your mouth.

You hum in content, eyes fluttering as you wiggle a little with a smile, no doubt the taste of chocolate spurring your reaction. But Price's imagination is running rampant, the box of chocolates a plastic shield between where your mouth was and the very place all his blood now is flowing to. The taste he wants to fill your mouth is not that creamy delight that's excited you all in your teasing.

You raise your brows as you lick your lips, watching him. Price blinks out of his stupor when you cock your head, realising you're waiting on something.

"What?" His rough and hastily asked question makes you giggle.

"I asked if you want to taste one?" 

Price nearly misses your question again when you start stroking your hands up and down his upper thighs, fingers brushing over the place where his thigh joins with his hip. But he does notice your vixen-like offer, purred in that innocently-laced voice you like to dip into when you play with him. And, like always, he walks head-first into the allure of sirens. 

"Go on then".

You bite your lower lip in anticipation as you pluck one of the heart-shaped sweets and lean over his body to reach his lips. Price's hands find your waist, stabilising you as he cranes his neck, snagging the chocolates from your fingers, making sure to excessively lick the pad of your fingers in the process. An adorable scrunch of your nose is the reaction he searches for and is rewarded with. 

Price only smirks as he falls down against the pillow as he bites into the chocolate.

"So?" You remain hovering above him, both hands now resting beside his head.

"Good, but not as sweet as you". He squeezes your waist.

"God, you're such a flirt tonight". You chuckle with a roll of your eyes.

"Mhm?" He hums in return, the edge of his lip upturned when you look down at him again

"Mhm", you reply, tongue rolling over your lips before catching it between your teeth, offering a smile in return.

A low sound vibrates deep in his chest, his voice sending shivers down your spine. It's silent for a few seconds as you look at one another before gravitating closer. 

Your lips are soft compared to Price's slightly chapped ones, telling you he continues to vehemently avoid the chapstick you send along with him when he's deployed, but they're equally as sweet, the taste of chocolate fresh as he slips his tongue into your mouth. He groans appreciatively at your willingness, readily intertwining your tongue with his with a slight sigh.

Price wants you flush against him, feel you after weeks away from you, but when his hand travels to the curve of your back, arms about to wrap around you, you pull away, eyes fluttering open.

"They're different kinds?" You light up; this time, it's hard for Price to know if it's genuine curiosity as your attention falls to the box perched on his lap again. But when you hastily sit down on your haunches again, he can't help but chuckle, watching you pick up another chocolate with intrigue. 

Neither of you had anticipated the caramel suddenly pouring out of the half-bitten heart, making you jerk slightly forward. With wide eyes, our gaze falls to the light-brown liquid having dripped onto Price, your eyes flickering between the pooling of fluid in the dip of his hips.

You giggle, and with a quick flicker of your eyes to his and then down again, Price knows what's coming before you move, your intention shining like a beacon in your eyes as you stuff the last bit of chocolate into your mouth and swallow quickly. 

He feels the groan rumbling in his chest even before you lick a broad stripe along the skin not hidden by the box or covers. The press of your tongue so close to where he's throbbing for you makes his eyes flutter but never close fully, hips jumping, disturbing the box somehow still resting on his lap. Far longer than he'd anticipated originally.

"God, women", he groans. "That's 'nough of that", Price finally caves to your teasing, hard as a fucking rock and nearly breaking out in a sweat at the swings between lewd and sweet actions you've put him through the last few minutes. 

He moves the box of chocolates aside, gently enough for none to escape the box, and tugs you forward until you sprawl over his naked chest. You have the nerve to giggle, but it quickly turns to a gasp as he rolls you over, his weight pressing you into the bed.

The flimsy part of the duvet between his crotch and your lower stomach does nothing to hide his hard and heavy girth pressing into your still-clothed. But as he urges you on your front, nothing but your clothes limits his access as he kicks away the duvet altogether, grinding against your backside with heady rolls of his hips.

"Fuck, missed you, love", he would drawl so sickly hot but sweet at the same time into your ear, making you arch against him. Price would it as encouragement, undoing the sip along the small of your back before tugging your skirt form your body, throwing it aside with much less care than the box of chocolates. Your shirt soon met the same fate.

And when you lay in nothing but your undergarments, you would feel something being placed on your spine, but before managing to crane your neck to see what it is, Price's thumb would crush what you quickly realised is a piece of chocolate filled with caramel, smearing it along your back. Your mouth drops open, eyes flittering to meet his gaze rather than down your back. He's grinning, satisfied his payback worked.

Price would keep your gaze as he lowered himself until close enough to your back that you couldn't see him as much as feel his hot tongue collect the mess he made. You would gasp, head jerking forward, face pressing between the pillows and the mattress. Feeling him hum pleasantly at the taste of you combined with the treat coating his tongue would make the hair on your body stand at its end, your back arching like a wave to get as close to Price's tongue as possible. His chest swells from how reactive you're to him, nearly crooning when he grasps at the fleshy part of your hips, digging his fingers into your skin, eliciting a muffled mewl.

He would take your bra off while licking your skin clean of the treat he smeared across your body, rewarding you with a cheeky nip of his teeth as you wiggle out of the fabric he then discards somewhere. 

While Price would pepper kisses all over your back, shoulders and up to the nape of your neck, one hand would slide between your legs, past your panties and graze right over your weeping pussy. A small gasp leaves you as your hips move a fraction, your head now practically going lax at being surrounded by him. 

His fingers do wonders to your clit, and more choked sounds leave you as he plays with your body like he never had left and returned with new callouses on his palms rubbing sinfully against you.

The very patience Price is known for, and the cool-headedness everyone who meets him praises, would snap so quickly you could think all those comments were for a facade he kept up. But seeing you desperate, whimpering, whining, arching and grinding back against his hot cock pressed against your ass would do things to the most stoic man.

He wouldn't even bother taking off your panties. Your more than naked state enough for him to paw and grab at. They would merely be pushed aside, hoked somehow to the side by your thigh and ass as he guides the head of his cock over your heat. Low groans and bordering gruffs would press from his lungs while moans and staggering breaths leave you as he guides his cock over your heat to collect your wetness.

Price would groan in pleasure when he finally pushes all the way into you in one slow push, burying his cock so deep inside, the thick head of it kissing a spot that only he can reach. You always felt tighter, wetter the first time he fucked you with all the pent-up frustration and adrenaline yet to subside from his body after a tour.

His burly body would envelop yours as he fell down to his elbows, holding you close as the slow rock of his hips soon picked up speed, the sound of his hips smacking against your ass filling the room.

Your walls would throb, squeezing tightly around his girthy shaft as he pumps in and out of you, whining into the pillows you'd buried your head into before craning your neck to the side his hot breath fanned from.

The kiss would be uncoordinated, tongues intertwining and lips slipping before remaining open as you panted and moaned against each other. Everything tastes of chocolate and euphoric highs as a particularly lewd mewl escapes your mouth and vibrates against his. Price's beard would scrape against your chin and jaw, the scratchy feeling making you roll it onto your shoulder as it added to your overall pleasure, giving him access to your neck. He would shower the newly offered skin in kisses that wouldn't fade just because his lips left, giving some extra love to the sweet spot below your ear that made you clench so deliciously around him.

Your orgasm would crash over you a second later, body twitching, mouth remaining open, panting against the side of his face as he growled a 'there you fuckin' go, feels so good flutterin' 'round me' straight against the shell of your ear. 

Price doesn't let up, fucking faster and harder into your pussy while your brows would crease against his forehead as he tries to dip his head to taste you again. But he can't, his own open-mouthed groans met by nothing but overstimulated puffs of silence from you. 

And then his thrusts started to get sloppy, bucking every few times until he moaned against your mouth whilst spilling deep inside you, hips rocking and pushing against your ass as if to climb into you.

Price's body weight would press against your back, your arm worming out from beneath your body and around his neck to let him know he could take his time, you didn't mind his heft against you. He would worm his arms around your body, one circling your waist, the other your chest, huffing a sigh of bliss, pleased by your nails raking against the nape of his neck as you caught your breaths.

There was no doubt you'd have to change the sheets again later, either because of the mixed fluids you could feel trickle out of you or the chocolates that, without a doubt, had stained the white duvet.

Taglist: @starlitselkie @melancholyy-hill @redheadonfire20

[sxcret-garden]

ღ NCT Dream Jeno x fem-bodied!reader ღ words: ~2.5k ღ genre: college AU, roommates AU, a bit of humor if you squint, smut ((subby) perv!Jeno, a bit of humiliation, handjob (idol receiving), masturbation, voyeurism, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms) ღ warnings: none ღ prompt: “How many times have you jerked off to me?”

It’s a Thursday afternoon like any other - you arrive at home at around 4pm after the end of your last class, you’re slightly exhausted from having a busy day, and you’re craving nothing more than some alone time with your laptop and some comfort food.

Except that you didn’t expect to hear your roommate moan your name upon entering your shared flat. You think you misheard it at first - maybe you’re more tired than you thought and you’re so out of it that you’re having hallucinations? - but then you hear it a second time. Jeno, most likely in his room, is calling out your name loud and clear, followed by a groan that causes blood to rush to your cheeks. You’re a little embarrassed about it at first, but at the same time you find it strangely amusing. And so, you make the most immoral decision in a while, and you draw closer to his room as quietly as possible to eavesdrop.

“Mmmh… feels so good, Y/N…” you hear him mutter. “Your pussy… so tight…” You raise your eyebrows as you're caught off guard by the dirty things leaving his mouth, but at the same time a huge grin appears on your face. It doesn’t come as a surprise that he’s into you - you’ve known that something’s up for weeks, and even your friends who occasionally come over when you’re both home have noticed that he has a crush on you. He hasn’t made any clear advances on you though, and neither would you for as long as you’re stuck living under the same roof. You don’t mind that he obviously treats you differently than his other friends, that he smiles more to himself when he’s around you and that sometimes he stares at you a little too long when he thinks you’re not looking. However, the thought of attempting to date someone you’re already living with would’ve never crossed your mind either.

And still, here you are now, listening in on Jeno getting himself off to what you assume is a very detailed fantasy about you, and you’re somehow not repulsed by that at all. And so you bite your lip in excitement as you hear him groan your name over and over again, spelling out bits and pieces about the mental image in his head. 

“Ride me… yeah… just like that…” An uncontrolled moan escapes him, making you think he’s about to cum, and you wonder whether you should announce your presence before, after, or not at all. “Ah… your tits… I love your tits bouncing like that…” And then it happens. You crack up. You make a noise. And at the same time he stops making noise altogether. You’ve given yourself away, and in order to spare him the suspense that you imagine is killing him at this very moment, you step through the half open door. Standing in his doorframe now, your gaze finds his huge hand wrapped around his cock in all its pre-orgasmic glory, and then also his wide open eyes, quivering lips, and deep red cheeks. He gapes at you, opening and closing his mouth like a fish under water, and you almost feel a little sorry for him.

“Excuse me, but would you let me in on the fun or am I supposed to keep pretending I’m not here while you’re getting off to my bouncy tits?” Jeno remains speechless. You’d have thought he’d immediately try to hide, try to talk himself out of this situation, but none of the likes. He just keeps sitting there, at the edge of his bed, frozen. 

“What day is it?” That’s the first thing he says when he finally speaks.

“Thursday?”

“Fuck. Sorry. Oh my god. I thought it was Friday. Shit.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you lean against the doorframe. Friday is when you would’ve had an evening class, so it makes sense that he thought he’d be undisturbed for another while. However, this also makes another burning question arise - almost as burning as Jeno’s deep red ears.

“How many times have you jerked off to me?” Jeno looks around the room, obviously in a panic, and somehow his hand is still wrapped around his exposed dick.

“U-uhm… like… today?”

“Lee Jeno, my god. I didn’t think you were such a huge pervert.”

“I… I’m sorry?” Now he grins abashedly, like a five year old boy that has just been caught preparing a prank on someone, which makes quite the contrast to the rest of the position he’s in.

“At least it’s not on my bed…” you comment, and when he seems to run through another circle of internal panic at your words, you immediately brush them off, gesturing wildly. “You know what? No, let’s not talk about this.” Though, if you’re perfectly honest with yourself, on second thought it somehow turns you on to think he’s secretly snuck into your room just to get off on you there.

“I… can I have a minute or two? And then we uh… talk about this?” Your roommate gives you an apologetic yet mischievous grin, and you profusely shake your head.

“No. No, you can not have a minute or two.” And then you push yourself off the doorframe, and you take a few steps to his bed until you’re standing right in front of him. You see him gulp as he looks up at you, and a single drop of sweat makes its way down the side of his face. Perking up an eyebrow, you slip out of your shirt, throwing it to the ground somewhere next to you. 

“So… how many times?” You pose the question once again as you put your hands on his shoulders, and a knee between his legs. 

“T-today it’s… the first time…”

“And overall?” You lean in and you let your lips ghost over his neck. “Be good and tell me the truth.”

“U-uhm…” Jeno stutters, unable to bring himself to answer. You find it kind of cute, and when you nip at the skin below his ear and you let a palm glide down the shirt covering his stomach, he becomes even more flustered. You decide to tease him for a while, running your fingertips back up and raking them into his hair as you take your sweet time scattering kisses all over his neck. He leans his head back a little, allowing you better access, and you have to grin at how needy he is.

“Been close?”

“Huh?”

“Were you close to having an orgasm when I barged in?” you clarify, and you lift your head to get a good look at his face. 

“I-…”

“Just tell me. Maybe I’ll help you out a bit…”

“V-very close…” He’s still embarrassed that you caught him. You can tell by his stammering and by the way his cheeks are still dusted pink, but when you put your hand over his, slowly sliding it towards the tip of his cock in order to take over for him, he relaxes with a sigh.

“Now… how many times?” You stroke him slowly, watching him melt under your touch with a groan.

“F-faster…” he mutters under his breath, and you huff.

“Then answer my question.”

“A few times…?”

“Oh really?” You apply some pressure when going over his tip, and another desperate gasp escapes him.

“M-maybe every Friday… for… some time…”

“You are such a perv,” you say, but at the same time you speed up the movement of your hand. Jeno throws his head into his neck with a groan, digging his fingernails into the bedsheets at his sides.

“I heard you call my name too,” you say. “Wanna let me hear that again? Right in front of me?” If looks could kill you’d be dead by now, but when you cock your head to the side and you stop moving your hand, he’s quick to give in.

“Y/N…” he moans, “keep going. I’m begging you…” You smirk at his request, and you give him what he wants.

“It’s really cute how much control you can have over a guy once you have his dick in your hand.” You say that, not thinking much of it, but it seems to be doing something for him, as he squeezes his eyes shut and moans your name again.

“Y/N… I’m gonna-” His load spills into your hand as he clenches his teeth and a strained groan escapes his throat. You stay like that for a few seconds, drinking up his blissful expression that none other than you is responsible for, and then you get up to grab a tissue from beside his bed to clean yourself up.

“Ugh, I’m so sorry, I-” Jeno gets ready to apologize, pulling his pants back over his softened dick, but you’re quick to cut him off.

“What are you doing?” you ask, unzipping your jeans and slipping out of them. “I’m not doing this for free. Also, I thought you wanted me and my bouncy tits to ride you?” He blushes again at how nonchalantly you say this, but when you also rid yourself of your underwear, now standing completely naked in front of your roommate, he merely gapes at you in disbelief. 

“Get naked,” you prompt. “Or are you telling me you’re gonna miss out on this chance?” Jeno doesn’t think twice, and he hastily slips out of all his clothes as you watch him with a victorious smile on your lips. You let yourself marvel at his toned, well-trained body, and once he sits down on his bed completely naked, you crawl on top of him, pushing him back into the blanket by his shoulders. 

“Now, tell me again what you almost got yourself off to.” Again, he’s shooting daggers at your wicked grin and your words, but you can also see a certain thrill in his stare as he begins to talk.

“You… on top of me… like right now,” he begins to explain reluctantly as you run your hands down his chest and abs. However, the more your palms roam his body, the more confident he becomes. “I was thinking about you riding me… my hands on your hips, like this.” Jeno grabs your hips at once, giving them a squeeze, and then you allow him to guide them to his core. You roll them in his lap once, and you feel your folds grazing his hardening length.

“You’re already getting hard again just at the thought of it?”

“Aren’t you getting wet at the thought too?” he challenges you, and you can’t exactly deny it. Not when you feel the heat rushing to your core so clearly.

“So? What’s next?” You ignore his attempt at teasing you, and instead you keep rocking your hips, feeling him grow against your slick pussy. He sighs at the friction, and you raise an eyebrow, throwing in, “My boobs?”

“Y-yes…” he answers, and suddenly his stare is glued to your chest. He brings one hand up to squeeze your right tit, and you moan at his touch. It fits into his hand just perfectly, and you too find yourself throwing your head back at the way he gropes you. 

“You’re so perverted…” you hum, and then you lift your hips off him for a second. Aligning yourself with his full grown length, you prepare yourself to take him in. And then you let yourself glide down on him, taking in just the tip to tease him, but in that same moment you can clearly feel just the tip isn’t enough for you either.

“Fuck…” you mutter under your breath, hands propped up on his chest.

“Well, you’re the one currently having sex with that perv, so…” Jeno comments. You come back up, having him slide all the way out, before lowering yourself onto him again. You repeat that process a few times, each time taking him in a little deeper, until eventually you both run out of patience, and he takes control with both hands back on your hips. Guiding you all the way down, you gasp at the way he stretches you out, and Jeno gives you a few seconds to adjust to his size. And then, you begin to bounce on top of him, and you find his lustful eyes fixated on your breasts.

“Perv,” you mutter, but that only seems to turn him on more. 

“You’re enjoying it,” he throws back, and you can only moan in response.

“Maybe…” But who could blame you, when he feels so good inside you, and when his hips meet you so perfectly every time you sink down onto him. You feel him pressing his thumb against your clit, and it causes you to groan, becoming more eager in your movements.

“You gonna get off on that perv’s cock, huh?” Jeno teases you, directing his full focus on pleasing you. You whine in response, feeling your high approaching at light speed. Something about this situation makes you unbelievably horny, but you currently don’t have the means to figure out what exactly that is. Instead, you focus on moving your hips in just the right way to maximize your own pleasure.

“Fuck, Y/N… you feel so good…” You moan in appreciation, and through a string of curses falling from your lips, your high crashes down on you. You feel yourself clench around his cock, and your thighs tremble as you keep rocking your hips even past your orgasm. You bring Jeno’s hands up to your boobs, letting him squeeze and play with them as he pleases while an expression of utter bliss appears on his face. 

“Mmhh… this is even better… than I imagined…” he groans through gritted teeth, and now you feel heat rushing to your cheeks as well because of his boldness. You feel him twitch inside you as your hips keep bouncing on top of him, and then eventually he shuts his eyes tightly and grunts your names as he cums inside you.

You crawl off him, knees still shaky, but you do your best not to let him notice. Then, you collect your clothes, tucking them under your arm.

“I’m going shower,” you inform your roommate, who’s following your every move with his eyes. You can tell he’s unsure what to say, and you’re at least as speechless as he is about what you just did, but you’re a bit better at seeming unbothered. You walk out of the room, and just as you’re right in the doorframe, he calls out to you to make you halt.

“We should do that again sometime,” Jeno blurts out, and you fail to suppress a dirty grin.

“Maybe,” you say. “If I catch you getting off to me again I’ll think about it.” You throw him a wink, and before you can fully register the smirk on his face that’s supposed to tell you he’s accepted your challenge, you leave the room for a nice and hot shower.

[marthawrites]

Could you do inexperienced Aemond with an experienced partner

Teaching A Dragon New Tricks

Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 3.2k+

About: You and Prince Aemond have been giving each other eyes for some time now, and he finally makes the first move. After that, you feel comfortable showing him a few things. His drive for knowledge extends beyond books.

Includes: Aemond being a cute noobie (nerd), having an awakening to the magic of women, and explicit sexual content! Featuring male masturbation, vaginal fingering, and fem receiving oral.

Note: Hello lovely reader! My first ever request ahhhhh! This was seriously so much fun to think about and write. It's my first time writing this dynamic. I hope I did your request justice! As always, please enjoy! ♥

-

The first time Aemond kissed you he almost missed your lips. That’s not how any prince in the storybooks acted – they always knew how to make pretty maidens swoon. 

Surely Aemond’s misaim was a jest? Although… you’d never known, or witnessed, him being the jesting type. 

You looked up at him wide-eyed and surprised. You held your breath high in your throat, and Aemond must have too, judging by how his nostrils flared. Blood bloomed beneath his alabaster cheeks. His single eye desperately searched yours.

Had he misunderstood all of your shared experiences? Brief and in passing as some of them might have been? Had Aegon told him to “kiss her, brother. Why haven’t you yet? When you do, make sure to hold her throat like this and move your tongue through her mo–” he’d stopped listening at that point, blinking puzzlingly at the mental image of choking you for a kiss. He couldn’t imagine how that’d be enjoyable.

Yet, now he wondered if he should have done exactly what Aegon said.

“I– I’m sor–,” he started, taking half a step back. Embarrassment burned his pride.

You blinked, then, eyes sparkling with some sort of secret amusement. “Aemond Targaryen… dragon prince and rider of Vhagar…,” you said slyly. “Have you never kissed anyone before?”

If he blushed before, he damn near combusted with the absolute ease in which you read him. “Am I that obvious?”

A giggle answered his nervous question. Light, and airy, the sound full of magic like spring-pink flowers twirling in the wind. Were it anyone else you might have turned away with no intention of seeking a second. But, with Aemond? Since becoming a lady-in-waiting for Helaena you’d been smitten by him. You stepped forward, toe to toe with the tall, lithe, sheepish prince, and placed your hands on his chiseled face. “Let’s try that again, silly prince…,” you said before standing on your tippy toes to press your lips to his in a much more well-aimed kiss.

It was that day, in the soft sunbeams of Helaena’s empty bedchamber, that you showed Aemond the art of kissing until both of your lips were swollen. He learned wickedly fast.

-

After breaking fast it was a ritual for Helaena and her children to spend time in the gardens – rain or shine. Luckily it’d been sunny for a few days and last week’s downpour finally dried from the top soil. During these hours there never seemed to be a dull moment. You were sent off by the kids with nothing but a linen bag and a mission of finding bugs. They were putting together an insectarium and needed any and everything that crawled. It was a fun break. Fresh air and sunshine brought out the natural colors of your hair as it slowly loosened from its careful bun. 

Before you knew it you were away from the main crowds and pathways. Insects buzzed in the air; quiet and secluded. 

Just as you crouched down, a familiar voice called your name right when a jumping spider inspected your palm. “Shouldn’t you be training, my prince?” You asked as you looked over your shoulder to regard Aemond with your little bug friend.

If he cared about the spider he showed no sign of it. He crouched beside you and gently pushed you onto your back, grinning down at you like the trickster you were learning him to be. Sunlight hit his face and softened his otherwise sharp features. “Not with the sword. I’d rather train other things,” he said in a voice much too huskily. His mouth was on yours. With any luck the spider successfully jumped away and not into yours or his hair. “I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you since the last time I did.”

For someone who literally just learned how to do that he was really good at it. A soft moan vibrated your lips against his. Your hands trailed up the front of his chest and neck, pushing away a stray bit of hair that tickled your collarbone. “Greedy prince…,” you giggled against his mouth, daring to nip his bottom lip.

“Perhaps you should have thought twice before showing me such things,” he replied. His free hand lifted to carefully lay over your throat; putting to first use the trick he learned from Aegon. Your reaction – arching beneath him – had his pupil swelling. "You like that?"

You nodded with a breathless smile. "Yeah. Not too hard though. It feels good just there," you purred, thighs pressing together as warmth built and collected in your core. The heavy kissing and exploring nibbles felt as if you were making up for lost time; Aemond One-Eye starved of affection. Muscles in your belly tightened and it took all you had to pull away from him, eyes dreamy and half-lidded. "Aemond… I want you to touch me. Please," your voice rasped. Wanton.

He looked at you curiously. "I am touching you," he answered, dipping to rub the tip of his nose against yours.

You fought another giggle. "No, my prince, I mean really touch me." You bent an elbow to lean up on it and carefully grabbed his hand with your other. In a guided trail, you swept his palm from your neck to your thigh and watched his expression all the while. "Have you ever pleasured a woman before?"

Color rose in his face, and even in the midmorning sun his pupil swelled. The strained tightness in the front of his trousers throbbed against where he leaned against you. "No," he half croaked. "Will… will you teach me like you did the other day with your kiss?" He squeezed your thigh with his question, marveling at the softness.

"Yes," you answered with an inward hiss. Gripping his wrist you added, "not here. Anyone could be around. And I am to be with princess Helaena all day. Tonight?"

"Not tonight. Now," he said. 

“I cannot just leave her and her children behind!”

Some might not believe it, but Prince Aemond had tiny dimples when he smirked. Dimples. He leaned into the crook of your neck and kissed, then bit, and kissed again. Goosebumps tickled his lips when he said, “good thing the princess is my sister and I’m not obliged to her law.” Without giving you a chance to protest he stood and pulled you to your feet. He guided you back to the main path and paid little mind to bystanders.

“Brother, where are you taking her?” Helaena asked once she saw the two of you – his arm wrapped around your back as if for support.

“I found her off the path. She’s fainted. I’m taking her to her room,” he replied swiftly; the dirt on your back making his lie appear genuine.

Once inside the Red Keep, instead of taking you in the direction of your sleeping quarters, he took you to his. You two were able to sneak inside and latch the door without anyone seeing. You'd been in here before, but never under these circumstances. Excitement fluttered in your core and when his mouth found yours again you buzzed with anticipation. "Someone is eager…," you muttered playfully against his lips.

"Says the maiden who's given into the carnal desires of flesh outside of wedlock," he scolded against the side of your neck, nipping. "You unholy creature."

You gasped at the sensation of his teeth. "You might be surprised to know things aren't as strict among the smallfolk as it is with you nobles," you whizzed in response. "I'm quite glad to be born where I was. You royals are so uptight." 

Through the banter Aemond led you towards his bed until the backs of your legs bumped against the edge of it. When you fell backwards with him above you, his silky pale hair like a curtain around your face, you wanted nothing else than to stay there for countless hours. "Are you going to keep babbling or show me how to make you feel good?" His smirk had an edge of darkness and you wondered if he was being entirely honest with you in regard to his experience.

Aemond wasn't lying. Truthfully, he hadn't any experience. That didn't mean he hadn't "accidentally" read about things here and there in sordid library books. And having Aegon as a brother meant he was victim to unsolicited advice and peer pressure often. The books were out of curiosity, whereas Aegon’s taunts were simply annoying. 

He had an idea of how things worked. Though, he never had the opportunity to act upon such things.

"Aemond… if you don't start doing something I think you'll drive me positively insane."

Following the passive command, his hand began slowly trailing up your leg. He pushed your skirts up as he did so, allowing the fabric to bunch up until it barely covered your smallclothes. His gaze shifted from between his hand and your face – eager to see your reaction. "Something like this, right?"

Against your will, you arched beneath him and grinned breathlessly. "Yeah," you replied. The scratch of his skin on yours had your core flexing with a need beyond your control. "A little higher still…," you said, smiling.

Shifting his weight, he laid on his side, now, able to look from your face to the space between your thighs that was becoming more and more exposed. The backs of his fingers brushed along your covered mound and you jolted, narrowly missing crashing your forehead to his chin. "Are you okay?"

Blushing, you squeaked, "yes." 

"Are you sure? You nearly headbutted me."

"Shh.. shut up!" You laughed, embarrassed. "Gods. Keep doing that, there, feels so good," you said as you pulled your skirts higher up your front. Intentional or not, his teasing made you, somehow, want him even more. "Actually… these are just in the way," you added, tugging your own underwear off.

He watched you with surprise in his eye. He'd never seen this side of you – or any woman, in that fact – and with each passing moment the prince felt an undiscovered part of himself roar to life. He liked it. Pulse drummed in his chest and behind his ears, and he had to steady his hand as he lowered it to cup your bare mound. Breath quickly hitched in his throat. "You're so warm," he whispered, shuddering. The pads of his fingers pressed curiously along the outside of your folds and he bit down on his own lower lip to stifle a sound he’d never quite made before. “And slick.”

You allowed the sound he bit back to flow freely from your throat. “Surely you know how it works…,” you teased, thighs opening more than they already were. “Women get wet where men get hard.” His touch was curious and inexperienced, yet something about it was endearing and made your belly tighten. When he grazed your clit you whimpered, melting into the mattress. “Right there,” you whispered thickly. “Is my pearl. It’s very sensitive and the center of a woman’s pleasure,” you added, voice and cheeks sultry alike.

The front of Aemond’s pants had never been tighter. He turned quickly off the bed to kneel at the end of it, pulling your legs until you were right where he wanted. His attention flickered between your face and that needy space between your thighs; glistening and pink with desire. One hand held you open while the thumb of the other grazed all over your parted slit, exploring. Soft wet sounds accentuated your panting. The pressure of his thumb shifted from firm to light, and he tested different types of strokes, tearing his focus from your cunt only to watch your face for your reaction. “Here?” He questioned, sliding over your swollen bud.

Your hands tightened in his bedding. A moan came from your slackened jaw and you nodded down at him, watching him observe you. “Yes.”

He circled it, slid across it, and stroked along it. The sounds you made shot right to his cock and made his head heavy as if he’d drank too much wine. In tandem with some of his motions he saw the way your little opening clenched and relaxed around nothing; arousal seeping out of you lewdly, pleadingly, driving him to the brink of madness. He throbbed in his pants. Without entirely realizing it, he opened the front of them to let his cock free. He sighed at the freeing sensation. He groaned something in High Valyrian, cuntdrunk at the sight of you spread open so prettily.

"Push a finger in. I want to feel you," you said down at him breathlessly, one of your hands moving to gently cup the side of his head. If you thought him roguishly dashing before, seeing him here and now, knelt and learning the ways of your body, made him tenfold. It was all too much. Aemond Targaryen, despite his virginity, might very well bring you to the height of pleasure. 

He did as instructed: thumb slipped easily into you and you both gasped at the same time. He'd never felt anything quite like the sensation of you. Warm – no, hot – slippery, and spongy.

"Oh fuck…," you moaned softly. The hand at the side of his head squeezed into his hair, practically tugging at his ear. "More, my prince, please. Try a different finger and move it around inside me." It was a surprise you could speak so clearly as lust blazed through your entire form.

Aemond slipped his thumb out and replaced it with his index. The moan that elicited from you sent him crazy. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered reading something from somewhere: using one's mouth to get a woman ready for coupling. He hadn't a clue where, or how, or what, but before he could talk himself out of it his mouth was on you. If his touch felt good on your pearl, then surely his tongue might too. 

"Oh my Gods..! No.. you don't have to do that," you blushed, fingernails clawing into his scalp as you stared down at him dumbfounded. In your experience men rarely did this to women, and less enjoyed the act of it.

"Does it feel good?" He asked with sincerity, not wanting to hurt you with his inexperience. 

"Yes!"

He smirked and went back to it. Tongue and lips were tentative and unsure, as was his finger still pressed into you, but it hardly stopped you from finding both amusement and bliss in it. He licked all over your folds with the flat of his tongue; tang and salt and a hint of sweetness overtaking his senses. He hadn't a clue how he'd gone so long without experiencing this. Remembering what you said about moving his finger, he did just that. He swirled it around between your slick velvety walls and reveled in how you felt wrapped around his digit.

"Mmf…!" You panted, gripping tighter into his hair. "Keep doing that. With your tongue on my pearl, too," you simpered, the low muscles in your belly flipping and tightening.

The young prince was eager to listen and learn. He followed your instruction. He even dared to add his middle finger too, slowly moving and curling them around. You were so wet, and warm, and tight around him. If you felt like this around his fingers he could only imagine what you'd feel like around his cock. He moaned at the thought, lapping your clit with more confidence and enthusiasm.

You were trying so hard to keep your legs open and relaxed for him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. For someone who claimed to never have done this before it still felt wonderful. Any time his mouth would begin to stray away from where you wanted him, you pushed him back where he needed to be. The combination of your gently rolling pelvis, pleasured sounds, and hold in his hair, kept him on track. Shifting your legs around a bit, you slung one over his shoulder. The slight change had him finding a spot along your walls that had you seeing stars. "Right there!" You preened, thighs squeezing to lock him in place. 

"Is it too much?" He asked, a little taken back with your sudden reaction to whatever it was he'd been doing. 

When you looked down at him you nearly lost it. Your arousal glossed his mouth and he looked, somehow, innocent and wild alike. "Yes! But no… keep going. Please don't stop," you whined, desperate, using your hand still tangled in his hair to guide him back down to you.

Even with his jaw aching for a break, he obeyed. He kept his fingers right there where you seemed to really like it, curling and massaging along a section that felt a little different than the rest of the area. He stayed on your bundle of nerves, too, flicking and lapping and relishing every single noise his attention pulled from you. His free hand pumped along his cock; aching and rigid and feeling like it could burst at any second. He moaned into you. He wasn't going to last. 

Pleasure peaked and your thighs squeezed around his head again. "Aemond!" You mewled at the top of your climax, the entirety of your womanhood pulsing and shuddering with release. 

He couldn't hold back his own release. Never before had he heard his name said like that or called out like that – never experienced the excitement of a spasming cunt. He spent himself as he groaned into you. The last spills of his seed dribbled down his fist while the earlier, more powerful, ropes already began to soak into his bedding.

Your thighs finally relaxed around him and you gently pushed his head away, too sensitive for more. A sheen of sweat collected on your forehead and you felt heat high in your cheeks. Blushed, panting, and satisfied, you looked down at Aemond with bright sparkling eyes. "I don't believe you. You had to have done all of that before."

Slick coated his mouth and chin. His single eye was black with more emotions than you could read and he looked damn near wicked. "More," be said greedily as he squeezed your thighs; already a man addicted.

What had you awoken in the dragon prince? Your chest rose and fell with labored breaths, eyes communicating more than your mouth was currently capable of.

Just then, a knock on his door broke both of you out of the post-orgasm stupor.

He cleared his throat and said, "what is it?" in only a slightly trembling voice.

"Prince Aemond, you are being summoned to the small council meeting."

Annoyance washed over him and he swallowed it with a sigh. "I will be there shortly."

When no other sound came from the door, he tucked himself away and stood from where he'd been kneeling. "You're lucky, my lady, to be off the hook." He grinned cheekily and self-satisfied. He offered his clean hand to help you up before going to wash the other along with his face.

"There's more I can show you another time, if you'd like," you said as you straightened your garb to return to regular duties – as if Aemond hadn't just given you one of the best, if a bit clumsy, orgasms. "You're a very fast learner."

"We can continue to put that to the test," he said with a dark glimmer behind his eye. His angular features were sly in a way you'd never seen before, and you wondered what sort of things simmered in his mind.

-

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[eirenical]

MLCB fandom, I have to share a little translation tidbit with you, because it's been making me laugh since I saw it and I think you all may find it amusing too.

Many members of our fandom write bilingual posts (generally English and Mandarin), so I've developed the habit of tossing things into Pleco as I go to get a general gist of what I'm missing, because my Mandarin is nowhere close to good enough to read without help.

@difeisheng posted something the other day that included some Mandarin, so I tossed it into Pleco. And in amongst what they'd written were the hanzi for "A-Fei", which I have apparently never tossed into Pleco before.

MY FRIENDS.

HERE IS WHAT PLECO DID WITH THAT. XD

阿飞 (ā fēi) hoodlum; hooligan; young rowdy

...you CANNOT tell me that Li Lianhua (or Li Xiangyi, depending on when this nickname was first bestowed) didn't pick that particular nickname knowing EXACTLY WHAT IT MEANT.

And following that, DI FEISHENG ALLOWED HIM TO USE IT.

Li Lianhua (and now Fang Duobing) are running around the jianghu calling the head of Jinyuanmeng a hooligan and he's just like "today has already been so weird, so this might as well happen" and GOES WITH IT.

...I still don't know what to think about this but it's amusing the hell out of me.

(If anyone with better Mandarin than I have wants to jump in and add anything, please feel free, but I think this is a permanent part of my mental image of these two now. XD)

[cyanogoth]

A nonexistent human being. Or is he? (character analysis of Johan Liebert)

A few months ago I’ve read a book which was recommended by one of the Monster’s fans, - “The Divided Self” by Ronald David Laing. He suggested Laing’s work to everyone who’s confused about Johan’s mindset and motivations, just as I’m sure a lot of us were… It was a GREAT recommendation, so insightful that I wanted to share my thoughts and the interpretation I developed.

Any blockquote in this post is from “The Divided Self”, there will be too many to sign each of them, so just keep that in mind :)

It’s going to be a painfully long read, but hopefully a rewarding one too.

PART 1: DEFINITION OF ONTOLOGICAL INSECURITY, TRUE AND FALSE SELF

Firstly we need to get familiar with a few concepts from Laing’s work which will be important for understanding the rest of the essay. His book describes schizoids and schizophrenics, exploring the mechanisms behind their illness. But it is important to understand that he, although a psychiatrist, acknowledged mental illness primarily as an existential/philosophical problem rather than a purely medical one. He saw more value in understanding the patient's experience of the world rather than endlessly examining and manipulating their body. 

The first term we will need is ontological insecurity. Let's compare how Laing describes someone who is confident in his own reality - and someone who is not.

The individual, then, may experience his own being as real, alive, whole; as differentiated from the rest of the world in ordinary circumstances so clearly that his identity and autonomy are never in question; as a continuum in time; as having an inner consistency, substantiality, genuineness, and worth; as spatially coextensive with the body; and, usually, as having begun in or around birth and liable to extinction with death. He thus has a firm core of ontological security.

<...>

The individual in the ordinary circumstances of living may feel more unreal than real; in a literal sense, more dead than alive; precariously differentiated from the rest of the world, so that his identity and autonomy are always in question. <… > He may feel more insubstantial than substantial, and unable to assume that the stuff he is made of is genuine, good, valuable. And he may feel his self as partially divorced from his body.

If a position of primary ontological security has been reached, the ordinary circumstances of life do not afford a perpetual threat to one's own existence. If such a basis for living has not been reached, the ordinary circumstances of everyday life constitute a continual and deadly threat.

For an individual who’s unsure of his own existence, life becomes a constant struggle to preserve his self. All efforts are made to avoid engulfment, implosion, petrification. Fear of being absorbed is essentially fear of being understood, caught up, seen, loved, "grasped".

To be understood correctly is to be engulfed, to be enclosed, swallowed up, drowned, eaten up, smothered, stifled in or by another person's supposed all-embracing comprehension. It is lonely and painful to be always misunderstood, but there is at least from this point of view a measure of safety in isolation.

The way to deal with this fear is to take one’s true self out of the real world, completely out of reach of other people. A true self withdraws into the depths of the inner world, its connection with an individual’s body is interrupted. That which interacts with the "outside" world and controls actions, movements, words, facial expressions is the false self. A carefully falsified image designed to deflect the gaze of others.

…[he] never allows himself to 'be himself in the presence of anyone else. He avoids social anxiety by never really being with others. He never quite says what he means or means what he says. The part he plays is always not quite himself. He takes care to laugh when he thinks a joke is not funny, and look bored when he is amused. <…> No one, therefore, really knows him, or understands him. He can be himself in safety only in isolation, albeit with a sense of emptiness and unreality. With others, he plays an elaborate game of pretense and equivocation. His social self is felt to be false and futile. - Laing describing his patient

However, another fear, of petrification, or objectification, clashes with the previous one. Fear of being absorbed makes one flee from the gaze of others, but by hiding from it, an individual ceases to be perceived by anyone, which once again puts their substantiality into question. An individual is very much afraid of being perceived by others as an object, as something inanimate, as a machine, as an “it” without subjectivity. It’s as if any potential observer is Medusa, who can instantly turn an individual to stone with a mere gaze. This fear pushes a person to "existential suicide" - he pretends to be "dead", giving up his own autonomy before someone else can deaden him and treat him as an inanimate object. Also, as a way of protecting himself, an individual might turn everyone around him into stone too - because a phantom, hallucination, or an object couldn’t harm him, only real human beings are capable of such.

Fear of implosion is the same as fear of absorbing the real experience of life. An individual is empty, he is a vacuum - but this vacuum he begins to think of as himself. Any substantial relationship with the world and people threatens to "tear" him, so he avoids it, too.

Now let’s clarify what is false self, how it relates to the true one and the world.

If the individual delegates all transactions between himself and the other to a system within his being which is not 'him', then the world is experienced as unreal, and all that belongs to this system is felt to be false, futile, and meaningless.

Here’s an illustration from “The Divided Self” to better visualize what is meant here.

The reality of the world and of the self are mutually potentiated by the direct relationship between self and other. In Figure 2, there is a vicious circle.

the person who does not act in reality and only acts in phantasy becomes himself unreal.

The true self resides in an imaginary, devoid world of phantoms. It becomes unembodied, not represented in the real world. The real world, in return, loses its vitality in the eyes of a schizoid, viewed now as filled with objects.

The false self is a mask, a performance, an imaginary identity with little or nothing to do with the true self of the individual. Laing describes cases in which the false self starts to emerge in childhood and such children are described by their parents as remarkably obedient, compliant, undemanding. They conform perfectly to the expectations of the family and the environment. They begin to mockingly imitate what is desired of them. This is not necessarily an absurdly "good" image; it can also be absurdly evil, if that is what the world wishes the individual to be.

The point of having a false self is to not let any part of the true one slip to the real world, where an individual has no power over what will be done to it. To give something about him away is to rely on others mercy, and it’s a risk a schizoid can't afford.

in reality, in 'the objective element', nothing of 'him' shall exist, and no footprints or fingerprints of the 'self shall have been left.

Now to the interesting part - how all of that correlates to Johan.

PART 2: ROOTS OF JOHAN’S ONTOLOGICAL INSECURITY

Firstly, of course, dressing up as a sister. He probably could sense already that it’s done for a reason, not for the fun of it. The family led “a quiet life”, which is probably difficult to do with two kids. So, my suggestion: the twins grew up with the feeling that they have to hide from some sort of danger and avoid attention. But, Anna didn’t have to hide her real appearance, unlike Johan, for whom pretending to be someone else became an important part of remaining safe.

Did he conceal as someone else, or was he only an imposter for the real human that for sure is present in the world?

Because everyone, besides mother and sister, only knew the sister, the girl, the daughter. She was definitely real. Was he really ever there?

Even the mother couldn’t tell them apart. He became an illusory twin.

The moment their mother hesitated could only solidify Johan’s intrusive thoughts. She had someone in mind, could it be that she hesitated because at that exact moment couldn’t tell where the kid she’d given up?

Did he only stand a chance to live, physically and existentially, only if he concealed as someone else? Because if people could see him for what he truly was, he would not be saved.

My guess is that Johan's perception of himself was so distorted that he no longer thought of himself as the real thing; that the true self worth protecting wasn’t inside of him, it was his sister, and he was fake in his entirety. He was a mere pretender who had to ward off danger from the true self. Johan's saying "I am you, and you are me" and referring to Anna as "my other self" indirectly confirms my assumption - he began to see himself and his sister as an integrated system, where he is nothing more than a facade and his sister is the living, real, substantial, human one.

The mother's hesitance in choosing between the two children added fuel to Johan's already flimsy sense of his own substantiality. What if she was not choosing between the twins, but simply could not at that moment figure out which one was which? Keeping a particular child in mind, she just couldn't tell who was really the kid she was thinking of and who was posing as such? Where is the real child and where is the false one?

The feeling of insecurity, the loneliness, the pain of their mother's abandonment, the sympathy for this sister, and the enormous guilt that the real one of them two had fallen into clutches of monsters. The twins' whole life consisted of constant attempts of intruders to destroy their lives and identities.

The days after Anna’s return prior to being found on Czech-German border mark Johan’s existential death.

Something in him collapsed in that interval of time. When his mother was choosing between them, he was still a normal child (or, at least, nothing described in manga showed us his abnormality) - afraid of being abandoned by his mother, of being handed over to be torn apart by sinister strangers whose intentions were unknown, but from whom he’d been running for as long as he could remember. All these feelings died in him. When and how exactly, we don't know, but a completely different Johan crosses the Czech-German border - detached, horrifyingly tranquil, indifferent to death. In a sense, he no longer has anything to fear, the short chain of events has been so devastating that he unknowingly committed existential suicide. Even if it’s death that’s awaiting them, no one will be able to put their hands on them, no one will be able to twist their souls and minds.

Laing’s patients often described their inner world as a wasteland, devoid of any sign of life. There are quotes from his book in which Laing talks about his patient and cites his words:

The self becomes desiccated and dead. In his dream world James experienced himself as even more alone in a desolate world than in his waking existence, for example:

“.. . I was standing in the middle of a barren landscape. It was absolutely flat. There was no life in sight. The grass was hardly growing. My feet were stuck in mud… ”

“. .. . I was in a lonely place of rocks and sand. I had fled there from something; now I was trying to get back to somewhere but didn't know which way to go… “

Reminds us of something, doesn’t it?

And it’s a precise reflection of Johan's world, the real Johan, where his self ended up imprisoned. However, he was a little luckier than the other schizoids - there was room for one more person in his world.

Mentally, Johan never made it out of that wasteland, only his body was saved. He calls this landscape a scenery of the Doomsday, not only because his body was close to death in that very space, but because it so strongly resembled Johan's inner landscape. It was the last place his soul has seen.

PART 3: KINDERHEIM 511 AND THE LIEBERTS

One’s true self, residing in a world of phantoms, ceases to engage with the real world through the individual's body. What is this body occupied with meanwhile?

Instead of being the core of his true self, the body is felt as the core of a false self, which a detached, disembodied, 'inner', 'true' self looks on at with tenderness, amusement, or hatred as the case may be. <…> The unembodied self, as onlooker at all the body does, engages in nothing directly.

This offers an answer as to why Kinderheim didn’t have the same destructive impact on Johan as it had on other children. His true self was already out of reach, it couldn’t be obtained no matter what they did to him externally.

They could get nothing from him. "They could only beat me up but they could not do me any real harm." That is, any damage to his body could not really hurt him.

In a sad way, the experiments on Johan's psyche were not successful, for he himself, quite unknowingly, subjected himself to all the horrors to which the Kinderheim warders were about to subject him.

You cannot kill what is dead, drain what’s empty, objectify what’s inanimate. That's why they didn't make it.

But Johan, of course, is the result they strived for but couldn’t achieve: a human so terrified and defenseless that is pushed to abandon his sensitivity in order to survive.

Thus, to forgo one's autonomy becomes the means of secretly safeguarding it; to play possum, to feign death, becomes a means of preserving one's aliveness. To turn oneself into a stone becomes a way of not being turned into a stone by someone else.

It seems to me that Johan was ready to settle down and stop running after escaping Kinderheim 511. But he left the orphanage with a critically dangerous revelation - sometimes it’s either you, or everyone else; his actions clearly show that he won’t hesitate to obliterate everything and everyone if it ensures safety. I just don’t think he expected to find himself in a similar position so soon, when he was adopted by Lieberts.

The thing about him is that he played along, he became what the world wanted him to become, yet it wasn’t enough to finally be left alone. The man they ran away from showed up at their doorstep and Johan lost his temper. Nothing helped the twins to escape monsters - living under different names, with different caregivers, in different places, together, separated- NOTHING was ever enough.

Maybe it was around the time his plan to be the last one standing was formed. Wiping out every sparkle of life from the world was the last attempt to gain safety.

Johan doesn’t care much about dying because his existential death has already happened, he already feels a lot more dead and frozen than alive. He already convinced himself that there’s nothing true about him, and out of two of them his sister is the true self. It doesn’t matter if he dies, he was never there from the start. But even after the gunshot he hopes to live through his sister.

Everything that comes after that wretched rainy night is an attempt to secure himself and his sister from the world that was on their tail for as long as they lived. He is ready to be separated from her and let her live under a different name if that’s how the monster finally loses track of her; he’s ready to enter the underworld, to take control of the German economy, to kill people.

It seems to me, because of the confinement of his true self in the realm of insubstantiality, he became unable to perceive people from the real world as alive and autonomous, that’s the sad reason why he could kill so easily. What he saw around were ghosts, objects that were mimicking human beings, not actual humans.

But there were exceptions.

Only Anna and Tenma are shown together with Johan in the wasteland of his inner world, where his true self dwells - them being there with him is a way of telling us, readers, that only these two truly know Johan. And therefore, only they can be spared.

I just want to emphasize: for Johan, “destroying the world” and “be the last one standing” wasn’t something he did for fun, or just because he could. It’s the last endeavor of a tortured child convinced in hostility of all living things to find peace.

PART 4: THE TALE OF THE NAMELESS MONSTER

The self is, however, charged with hatred in its envy of the rich, vivid, abundant life which is always elsewhere; always there, never here. The self, as we said, is empty and dry. One might call it an oral self in so far as it is empty and longs to be and dreads being filled up. But its orality is such that it can never be satiated by any amount of drinking, feeding, eating, chewing, swallowing. It is unable to incorporate anything. It remains a bottomless pit; a gaping maw that can never be filled up.

In the tale of the nameless monster, Johan can be both the monster and the boy who has been possessed by a foreign entity. That depends on how you interpret it.

This tale could be an allegory for what is happening to the twins, which are represented as nameless monsters. Johan could not remain himself, all the time hiding under different "faces'', changing names and identities. However, he couldn’t stay in any of them for long. His nature was bursting out, destroying these masks and whatever and whoever was around in the process. Nina on the other hand, even knowing her past, accepted the truth. Accepted her mother's choice and hardships she had to endure. She no longer tries to appear to be someone else, having chosen to move on with her life.

A second interpretation: Johan-the-Prince and our Johan are both weakened boys on a brink of death. For each of them, letting the Monster in, something scary, unnatural to humans, was a way to survive. So our Johan suppressed his sensitivity and susceptibility by pretending to be a not-quite-human, until traces and even references to his humanity have all but disappeared.

I don't think the fairytale manipulated Johan as a child, messing up his consciousness. What’s truly sinister about this picture book is that it foretold his fate.

As an adult, he picks up this book and sees himself in both the monster, who could not bear the present self and took on another's form, and the boy, who in an attempt to survive has ceased to be human, has destroyed everything around him. All that remains is solitude.

Imageries of the prince and the monster merge into one, and in one thing they are similar - in a fear of losing their lives, they lied primarily to themselves, and that lie destroyed the being of each of them. Neither monster nor prince really saved what they were protecting so desperately.

In addition, the book itself was an object from Johan's distant childhood, now almost forgotten, and served also as a reminder of the times when he was an ordinary, normal child.

Johan was wearing masks all the time, but the greatest of all his deceptions was not to live under the names “Johan Liebert”, “Franz Heinau”, “Erich Springer”, or any other for that matter. The most atrocious lie was to wear a mask of the nameless monster, even convincing himrself that this is who he is, that the emptiness and void is all there is to him. Wearing the guise of the nameless monster for years he had almost lost every memory of being human, and the book in his hands was a painful, violent reminder of his cowardly self-deception, his abandoned humanity, his forgotten self.

PART 5: I AM NOT YOU, AND YOU ARE NOT ME

From the moment the book falls into his hands, Johan probably realizes that his worldview is very much distorted. One of his fundamental beliefs about himself has been undermined, so debunking the rest of his illusions becomes a priority.

He remembers orchestrating the massacre at Kinderheim, but his belief that he was always capable of such things is shaken. He suspects that in his lost memories he will find the answer to the question he didn’t even think of asking. If he wasn’t born a monster, how did he become one?

We are not allowed to listen to the entire contents of the tape from Kinderheim 511. Only his attachment to Anna becomes apparent from it; but maybe he proceeds to talk about the Red Rose Mansion next. During interrogation he could recall his sister's words, which he heard again and again after her return. Her story was told in the first person POV: “I saw <....> I heard <…> I was <...> I ran <...>”. On recording he could repeat verbatim the words of his sister, and then, as an adult listening to it, misunderstand the meaning of those words. After all, he heard himself saying “I was taken <...>, I saw people die <...> , I ran away…” And only on the basis of this would he latch on to the story about the Red Rose Mansion as an explanation for what he had become.

Johan then decides to destroy the place. Although he clearly doesn’t recognize it, it doesn’t ring the bell yet.

Johan at that moment still considers himself a single set of personalities with his sister, and believes that in his mother's eyes they looked the same.

I can only assume that he told Čapek that Nina would kill him because he mistakenly thought that Nina held the same opinion about their connection as he did. If he's willing to kill for her, she'll do the same. Of course, he was wrong: he saw himself as an extension, a shadow of his sister, taking her joy and pain as his own; Nina, as much as she loved her brother, did not see herself and him as one, and clearly drew boundaries between her being and Johan's.

The capacity to experience oneself as autonomous means that one has really come to realize that one is a separate person from everyone else. No matter how deeply I am committed in joy or suffering to someone else, he is not me, and I am not him.

The assumption of being taken away by Bonaparta and being cast aside by his mother was one of the last crutches guarding him from the horrifying truth - he was the one who turned himself into a monster.

He cries when he hears Nina's story. Realizing that they’re not one, and she has never perceived Johan in this way. She is not his true self, and he is not his sister's false self. He sees more and more clearly the outlines of the true self within him, and he does not like the picture emerging before him at all.

All the “saving” he was doing turned out to be a sham that didn’t bring any of the twins the expected result. He experienced the guilt of denying himself existence and grew so enraged that he decided to kill himself. He now saw his true self - destructive, without a good reason. And realized it had to be eradicated, along with the man, the Monster, who made him that way - Franz Bonaparta.

PART 6: RUHENHEIM

The final stage of Johan's collapse, the massacre at Ruhenheim.

When he gets to Bonaparta's old house and finds numerous sketches of him and his sister as children he understands that Bonaparta was not “a monster outside of him”.

He refers to him as such when meeting Čapek, implying that Franz is to blame for him becoming a murderer. Upon seeing these sketches he recognized that Bonaparta's intentions had changed greatly over the years, and both Anna and himself were able to escape their fate because of his suddenly awakened sympathy. Not that this excuses Bonaparta, he was the one who designed the experiment after all. But these sketches were a confirmation of his kind intentions towards the twins, whatever they may have been at the outset.

It turns out that when Bonaparta came to visit the Lieberts, he was no longer a threat to Johan and Anna. Johan now knew that the night he shot the Lieberts had indeed stumbled and made a fatal mistake which tore him apart from Anna and plunged him deeper into the abyss of despair.

The event that finally convinced him of the animosity of the world and the lack of a safe corner anywhere in it was a figment of his mind which was led by fear.

This discovery was the final straw for Johan. Any image he had of himself collapsed for good.

The ending of "Monster" is Johan's realization of the fact that he undoubtedly Is. He exists, he is real, and he is him. And he was among the people who denied him the right to live; he was incapable of standing up for himself and recognizing his right to life, as his sister managed to do. He was so eager to erase any traces of himself from the world that didn’t notice the huge trail of blood dragging behind him, that was solid evidence of his existence, the only thing he had left.

He didn’t need to do horrible things that only left him and Nina traumatised. That left him all alone, miserable, separated from her.

He tried so hard to evade the evil people that he killed his Self before anyone had a chance to lay a hand on it.

When he set out to be nothing, his guilt was not only that he had no right to do all the things that an ordinary person can do, but that he had not the courage to do these things over and against and despite his conscience which sought to tell him that everything he did or could do in this life among other people was wrong. His guilt was in endorsing by his own decision this feeling that he had no right to life, and in denying himself access to the possibilities of this life.

After everything he learned about his past, Johan can’t forgive himself. For throwing himself into oblivion, for locking himself in the darkness. For making himself a monster that he was not born to be, that he had a chance not to become.

He was just as capable and deserving of normal life and real, deep connection with others as any other human being. He just convinced himself that he wasn’t one, and nobody dared to contradict him.

There is a desire in him to preserve not only himself from being consumed, but also those he cares about from himself. He thinks of his love as disastrous - because of it, Anna lost her brother and adoptive parents. Tenma, who saved him, was forced to be on the run for several years after becoming a murder suspect.

If there is anything the schizoid individual is likely to believe in, it is his own destructiveness. He is unable to believe that he can fill his own emptiness without reducing what is there to nothing. He regards his own love and that of others as being as destructive as hatred. To be loved threatens his self; but his love is equally dangerous to anyone else. His isolation is not entirely for his own self's sake. It is also out of concern for others. <…>

…what the schizoid individual feels daily. He says, 'It would not be fair to anyone I might love, to love him.' <…> He descends into a vortex of non-being in order to avoid being, but also to preserve being from himself.

He wishes to die now more than ever - a real death, this time. Not just existential, but total. The true end, as he called it.

Appearing in front of Bonaparta and Tenma, he doesn't aim at Franz, because he no longer blames Bonaparta for what he has become.

Johan said the only thing everyone is equal in is death, and what was behind his words: he says to Tenma that not everyone is worthy of saving, of being loved and forgiven, and Tenma should've finally realized this after meeting him and really knowing him. Because he's a monster, and being cheerful, having hope and light in their life is something that others can have, but he can’t; he's completely out of this human world and the only thing he has in common with everyone else is that they are mortal and so is he.

But even in his death he is mistaken. Once again believing he has no right to exist, he hopes to laugh at the world one last time, and die at the hands of the man who once saved him. After all, he certainly wouldn't have done it, knowing what Johan would grow up to be.

Isn’t that right, Dr. Tenma?…

Nina forgave him and the man who saved his life long time ago doesn’t regret his choice anymore and commits to it. The only people dear to him have recognized his right to live, whatever he may be.

Alas, how this affected him, we don’t know, and all we’re left with is speculation.

As a sentimental person, I want to believe that it meant something to Johan.

But what I really don't doubt is that Johan by the end is a completely different character to the one he used to be. Broken, disarmed, miserable. But it’s finally truly him.

"I think I must have figured out how the show ended. The Magnificent Steiner, he probably, became human again."

PART 7: THE FINAL ESCAPE

A mother plays a huge role in the development of her children's ontological insecurity - sometimes by being outright dismissive, sometimes by simply enjoying the child's undemanding and calm nature.

Here's what you can read about the mother’s impact in “The Divided Self”, those are Laing's reflections and descriptions of several of his patients.

... we suggest that a necessary component in the development of the self is the experience of oneself as a person under the loving eye of the mother.

His own feeling about his birth was that neither his father nor his mother had wanted him and, indeed, that they had never forgiven him for being born. <…> He was treated as though he wasn't there.' For his part, not only did he feel awkward and obvious, he felt guilty simply at 'being in the world in the first place'. His mother had, it seems, eyes only for herself. She was blind to him. He was not seen.

She had a great deal to say about her mother. She was smothering her, she would not let her live, and she had never wanted her.

Johan’s mother's choice was the first one in the long list of his miseries, it also triggered his ontological insecurity. And how could it not arise when the mother herself abandoned one of her children?

However, Johan was unaware that his mother had thought up names for the two of them, even before he and Nina were born. It turns out that the arrival of the second child was not an unpleasant surprise to her, she was looking forward to having them both.

She had always acknowledged the existence of both her children, and in her eyes they certainly weren’t a one big entity divided by chance into two bodies, one of which was never meant to be there.

But Johan looks truly disturbed after listening to Tenma. And this new revelation could also be another beginning to despair.

There is a door that must not be opened. What lays behind it: a paradise, or another monster?

Tenma, by telling him that the mother had given names to both of them, might have brought Johan down to a new hell. Where the mother recognised the reality of both her children and yet seriously chose which of them to keep.

This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life, but since it’s fiction we’re talking about, I think we should pay attention to the fact that Johan wakes up only after hearing Tenma’s words. There is a symbolic meaning of him being stuck between life and death for so long.

It’s like he was resisting to be alive again, refusing to stay awake, choosing to be in a coma rather than walk this Earth again. But yet he didn’t die - a part of Johan was holding onto life despite all the horrors it brought to him.

In his last waking moments, he was miserable after discovering all the truth about himself. He really wanted to die, he thought it was the only thing he was deserving of; but Tenma didn’t shot him, his sister forgave him - and it wasn’t the outcome he expected at all. It started an inner conflict he didn’t have the time to resolve.

Johan as well could see the memory of mother’s choice in a different light. By opening up to Tenma he admitted it as a serious enough cause for him to abandon his humanity, as he really was living in a world full of threats. Hiding and pretending came natural to a child that didn’t know any better. And his mother, however hurtful her choice was and how wrong was the very fact of it, loved both of her children, Johan knows that for sure now. Maybe, he could finally forgive himself for becoming a monster. There was no one left to blame for the way he had turned out, no one to take revenge on - even himself.

(I know it can be confusing, so I’ll clarify, just in case - by “forgiving himself” i don't mean he simply dismissed the damage he did to others. He could only forgive the one he, with his own hands, inflicted upon himself, finally realizing, he had no other choice in his circumstances.)

He had a chance to accept that he had the right to exist all along, from the very beginning.

Finally, I want to get into the last excerpt from Laing's book. These are his patient's words from their conversation.

I could only be good if you saw it in me. It was only when I looked at myself through your eyes that I could see anything good. Otherwise, I only saw myself as a starving, annoying brat whom everyone hated and I hated myself for being that way. I wanted to tear out my stomach for being so hungry. 

<…> Everyone should be able to look back in their memory and be sure he had a mother who loved him, all of him; even his piss and shit. He should be sure his mother loved him just for being himself; not for what he could do. Otherwise he feels he has no right to exist. He feels he should never have been born. No matter what happens to this person in life, no matter how much he gets hurt, he can always look back to this and feel that he is lovable. He can love himself and he cannot be broken. If he can't fall back on this, he can be broken. You can only be broken if you're already in pieces. As long as my baby-self has never been loved then I was in pieces. By loving me as a baby, you made me whole.

<…> It was terribly hard for me to stop being a schizophrenic. I knew I didn't want to be a Smith (patient’s family name), because then I was nothing but old Professor Smith's granddaughter. I couldn't be sure that I could feel as though I were your child, and I wasn't sure of myself. The only thing I was sure of was being a 'catatonic, paranoid and schizophrenic'. I had seen that written on my chart. That at least had substance and gave me an identity and personality. [What led you to change?] When I was sure that you would let me feel like your child and that you would care for me lovingly. If you could like the real me, then I could too. I could allow myself just to be me and didn't need a title.

I walked back to see the hospital recently, and for a moment I could lose myself in the feeling of the past. In there I could be left alone. The world was going by outside, but I had a whole world inside me. Nobody could get at it and disturb it. For a moment I felt a tremendous longing to be back. It has been so safe and quiet. But then I realized that I can have love and fun in the real world and I started to hate the hospital. I hated the four walls and the feeling of being locked in. I hated the memory of never being really satisfied by my fantasies.

The above passage resembles Johan in many ways: the hunger he felt for real life, the doubt of being loved by mother, the bond which he developed with Tenma…. The last has to be special for Johan: the doctor didn’t simply let him off the hook in the end, he actively chose to save his life.

And just as Laing's patient laments how difficult it was for her to give up the label of "crazy, schizophrenic” because it was the only description she felt could be applied to her, Johan couldn’t part with the mask of the nameless monster for the longest time. It was, after all, the only constant in his life. And now he knows that "nameless" part isn’t really true. Or maybe it doesn't matter anymore. He is just him.

It’s up for a debate whether Johan chose life or death in the end. There’s evidence for both and this ambiguity is sure intentional on the author’s part. 

I just want to believe it was a newfound hope that got Johan out of the hospital bed.

[random-thot-generator]

Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 10

(Frenemies/Tenderness AU)

TEN: Let the Sleeper Awake

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FRENEMY FEM READER

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Summary: Simon returns in time for the May Day celebration, wanting to surprise his doll, but watching her perform has him viewing her in a very different light.

Warnings/Tags: Profanity, Spice- just a pinch, Mention of masturbation, Fluff & Feels, Simon checks out doll, Doll checks out Simon, Idiots in love lust, the 141 have a chat sesh, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Beltane (a.k.a. May Eve/May Day) is a fire and... ahem!... fertility festival. So, I thought, what better time for Simon and his doll to finally realize that there's a little more than friendly feelings between them. Let the sleepers awake. 😏)

Word Count: 2.9K

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Chapter 10

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“Beltane magick here we sing

Chant the rune and dance the ring

Joy and blessing shall it bring 

Let the sleeper awake!”

― Doreene Valiente, Beltane Chant

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The village green was a hive of activity, preparations for the May Day celebration in full swing.

Booths, tents and stalls lined the streets, vendors setting up their wares and stocking up for the large crowds expected for the two-day celebration. An abundance of flowers, real and fake, decorated the whole of the village’s heart, garlands and wreaths attached to every available surface, every shop window sporting bright floral displays.

The maypole had been raised at the back of the green, its brightly colored ribbons fluttering in the warm breeze. The volunteers performing this year were gathered off to the side taking a break from their practice, you and Fiona among them.

The two of you had been roped into volunteering, so you both had to learn the performances from scratch. Fi especially was struggling with the interweaving moves, cursing under her breath every time she made a misstep.

“If I’d known it was goin’ t’be this big of a pain in me arse, I would’a hid in the loo when I saw Margie comin’,” she groused, wiping a forearm across her brow. She turned up her bottled water and took a large gulp as she glared at Margie Bartleby, proud owner of the Tea Room and the entertainment director of the festivities this year. “All tha’ woman needs is a bloody whip t’crack over our heads.”

You sniffed in amusement, not bothering to comment. You knew Fi was just venting her frustration and didn’t mean a word of what she said. You and she both adored the older woman, though you had to admit that Margie could be a right task master when she wanted to be.

You sipped at your water as you pulled your cell from your back pocket to check your notifications, drifting under the shade of a tent to see the screen better. You were hoping to see a message from Riley, but you were again disappointed.

He’d been gone since the last week of March, only a week and half after you had moved in with him. There had been no word from him save for a single text around mid-April to tell you if all went according to plan, he might be home by the end of the month. You had really been hoping he would make it back in time for the May Day celebration, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. He always seemed to be deployed during holidays.

“Still no word?” Fi asked, joining you.

You sighed and slipped the phone back in your pocket. “No.”

She nudged your shoulder. “Maybe ye’ll get a May Day miracle an’ he’ll show up dressed like Jack o' the Green.” Her grin turned lewd. “Can’t ya just picture it? Riley wearin’ nothin’ but a patch o’ moss over his dangly bits with oak leaves stuck all in his mask?”

“Fi-ona!” Heat crept up your neck to your cheeks, yet the image she created popped unbidden into your head.

Your face grew hotter as you imagined him dressed as Fi had described, the mental pictures in your head far from chaste. Riley was built like a Norse god, and even with the mask he earned his fair share of appreciative glances. You couldn't help but look, too; you were his friend, but that didn't make you immune to him.

When you heard Fi laughing at you, you blinked out of your daydream and narrowed your eyes. “Shut up,” you hissed at her, but couldn’t hide your wry smirk.

“Come along, lovies! Break's over!” Margie called to the group. “Let’s get back to it. We need to practice the bonfire procession and dance next!”

Fiona groaned, scowling. “God, I’ll be glad when we’re done with this. Never again,” she vowed as the two of you trudged back out to the green together.

-

Simon sat back in his seat, eyes focused out the window of the plane, half-listening to Soap and Gaz arguing about how they were going to spend their first night on leave. His cell phone was in his hand, your last text open. It was an image of the green decorated for May Day.

“Oi, Ghost! Ya should come with us t'night. We’re goin’ to that new pub in Hereford,” Gaz invited.

Simon slanted a glance his way, dark eyes glinting inside his skull mask. “Can’t. Got plans.”

“Ah, c’mon, mate. Readin' in your bunk isn’t plans,” Gaz replied, scoffing.

“Did ye ferget?” Soap spoke up, a mischievous smirk on his face as he bumped the other sergeant's arm. “Ghost has t’get’ home t’see his doll dance. Ain't tha' right, LT?”

Simon scowled at him. The nosy bastard had overheard him tell Price about you performing in the May Day festival, after the captain had asked him how "his doll" was doing. So, of course, Johnny hadn’t shut up about it since, pestering him for intel about his ‘wee doll’.

“Oh, that’s right,” Gaz drawled, his smile spreading wide. “Maybe we should go home with Ghost, then. You can introduce us to your doll.”

“Not happenin',” Simon gruffed. “Ya lot ain’t gettin’ anywhere near ‘er.”

Soap chuckled, puffing out his chest. “Worried I’ll nick yer lass, LT?” He smoothed his hand over his mohawk, flexing his bicep with a cheeky grin. “Canna blame ye. There’s a lot here t’tempt her away,” he teased, making his pecs jump beneath his tight tee. Gaz cackled.

Simon stuck his phone back in his pocket and crossed his arms over his chest, tipping his chin down at the sergeant. “Ain't worried. Dee knows a wanker when she sees one."

"Oh-ho!" Soap crowed. "So, it's Dee, is it? Slipped up an' said her name, LT." He winked at Gaz as Simon muttered a curse. "Dee an' Johnny. Got a nice ring to it, aye?"

“Enough, lads,” Price called from behind his laptop, not even bothering to look up. The two immediately shut their gobs.

As soon as the plane touched down, Simon was up and heading down the ramp as it lowered. Grinning like a devil, Soap was ready to head after him when Price grabbed him by the back of his tac vest and hauled him back. 

“Bloody hell, lad, give it a rest,” he uttered lowly.

Gaz came abreast of them and leaned into whisper, “We just wanna know about her, Cap. I mean— it's Ghost. Kinda hard to imagine him havin' a bird. Has he told ya anything about her? Have ya seen a picture of her?"

Price scrubbed at his beard. “Never met the lass. Ya lads know he likes to keep his personal life private. Now, both of ya, leave it alone.”

“Canna believe yer no' a wee bit curious, sir,” Soap persisted. “Would ye no' like t’meet the lass tha’ caught the Ghost?”

Price wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t curious, but more than anything, he was just glad to see his lieutenant at ease, for a change. He was still a right broody cunt, but his attitude had definitely improved. “Lads, as long as she makes him happy, that’s all I care 'bout. Now, mind yer bloody business an' leave him alone, yeah?”

“Think he’d show us a picture of her if we asked nice?” Soap wondered aloud, undeterred. "I bet she's a right bonnie lass, aye? Have t'be t'get the LT all hot an' bothered." He waggled his eyebrows.

Price dragged a hand over his face and groaned.

-

Simon ended up parking behind the Dog when he finally made into to the village. Coming through the alley, he could see the crowd milling about the green and vendor booths, the smell of fried food and sweets wafting down the ginnel on the breeze. His stomach growled and he cursed himself for not eating something before leaving the base, but he'd been in a hurry to get home.

He usually stayed on base if he wasn't deployed when events like this were going on in Banfield. He hated dealing with the extra traffic and large crowds that descended on the village, but he could suck it up and deal with it just this once, since it was for you.

Apparently, he'd made it back just in time. Most of the crowd had gathered near the back of the green around the maypole, Margie's familiar voice loud and clear over the PA system as she announced that the maypole dance was about to begin.

Simon pressed through the throng of people, ignoring the looks and startled gasps as they shuffled out of his way. His eyes scanned over the dancers, searching for you, his eyes going a little wide when he spotted you standing with your back to him.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but he felt like he'd been poleaxed, his dazed eyes roving over your figure. You were dressed like the other dancers, wearing a pastel satin undress covered in layers of wispy, see-through tulle, but the underdress clung to your breasts and hips, the swell of your bum accentuated by the slippery material. When you shifted your weight to pose in the starting position, a split in the underdress revealed the length of your thigh, the layered tulle separating to expose it.

Simon's mouth fell open under his surgical mask, eyes avid as the music began to play. He watched with rapt attention as you skipped and dipped and twirled, weaving in and out with the other dancers to braid the colored ribbons around the pole. Your hair had been left loose, a crown of flowers on your head, makeup done to give your features an ethereal cast. You looked like a fairy, flitting around, he mused. A really curvaceous, sultry, sexy fairy...

A familiar feeling tingled low in his abdomen and the front of jeans were suddenly too tight. He shook his head, grunting at his base reaction, but now that he'd seen you this way, he knew there was no denying it. You were stunning, the prettiest bird he'd ever seen. His pretty doll. Possessive pride welled up in his chest, straightening his spine and lifting his chin. That was his beautiful doll out there dancing; his.

When the dance ended, all the performers took a bow and then the crowd surrounded them. Simon hung back, waiting, wanting to see your expression when you finally spotted him.

So worth the wait.

It was Fiona that saw him first, nudging your shoulder and whispering at your ear as she pointed him out. The slight frown of confusion on your face transformed into a look of joyous surprise, your smile wide and beaming as you rushed to meet him, crying out, "Oh, my God! Ri!" as you leapt up to wrap your arms around his neck in a tight hug.

It stunned him at first, being greeted that way. Anyone else would have found themselves thrown to the ground with a knee in their back, but you? You he caught up in his arms and held on tight, breathing you in as his hands molded to your back and waist like he had done this a thousand times. It was instinctive and felt so right.

You pulled back to gaze into his eyes, your smile becoming something softer, more intimate. "I'm so glad you made it, Ri. Can't believe you're finally home. I've missed you."

His chest went tight, a pleased flush warming his face. He pressed his forehead to yours. "Missed ya, too, doll. 'S good t'be home."

He had a sudden, intense urge to pull down his mask and kiss you. His fingers twitched on your back, muscles spasming in his arms. He couldn't recall the last time he'd kissed a woman on the lips, but damn if he wasn't gaggin' to bloody do it now. From the soft, hazy look in your eyes, he didn't think you would mind it, either, which only made the temptation worse.

You both turned your heads, startled, when Fiona giggled. She was already lowering her cellphone to look at the pic she had just taken. Simon tensed, his first instinct being to bark at her to delete the photo, but then another idea popped into his head.

He lowered you to the ground, stepping behind you before planting his hands firmly on your hips and pulling you back against his chest. "Take another one, Fi. Want t'send one t'my team."

She dutifully took the picture, smiling as she stepped forward to show you both how well it had turned out. "That one's a keeper."

Simon stared down at the picture, liking the way the two of you looked together. A rush of heat coursed through his veins at the sight of his hands on your hips, your hands covering his. He glanced over at your face as you studied the photo, and he could only describe your expression as incandescent; you were bloody glowing.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you into his side as his eyes met yours. "Yeah," he murmured. "Definitely a keeper."

-

Simon ended up with dozens of photos saved on his phone by the time the festival was over. His favorite was the one Fiona had first taken, the one where he was holding you up in his arms, your heads together. He set that one as his screensaver.

However, the one he viewed the most was the one he took at the bonfire the last night of the festival.

He took it during the bonfire dance, you and the other dancers circling the high flames as you swayed and undulated in a jaw-dropping, frenzied dance that had wrecked his world. His heart had been beating as hard as the drums, his eyes fixated on you with a predatory intensity.

Then you had looked at him.

You had seen him in the crowd, a teasing, open-mouthed smile directed his way as your arms lifted over your head and you rolled your hips in a move that punched the air out of his lungs. He had lifted his phone and snapped the photo, capturing the moment.

He captured your sultry smile, that hooded gaze that was meant just for him. Your body's curves stood out in stark relief against the dark, your silken skin aglow from the flames. Every time he looked at it, he ended up in the loo with his cock in his hand, choking back his groans as he desperately fisted himself to completion.

It was bloody torture watching you disappear into your own bedroom later that night, every cell of his body on fire with the need to follow you. He didn't, but he wanted to. It was the fear of losing you that finally had him shuffling off to his own room, settling for your photo and his calloused hand.

It was on Sunday afternoon that he got a notification that the team was in their private group chat. You and Fi were gone to the shops, and he was sitting on the patio, drinking a Stella and enjoying the garden. Might as well join in, he thought; he had nothing better to do at the moment.

As soon as he entered the chat, Soap and Gaz started asking for details about the festival and, of course, you. Feeling a bit sadistic, the first photos he shared were of the green, the bonfire, the pub.

[SOAP]: Come on LT. U ken what we want! Show us a pic of ur doll. 😏 [GHOST]: No [GAZ]: Pleeeeaaaase!!! 🙏🏿🥺 [PRICE]: Bloody hell. Ignore them, lad. [GAZ]: We just want to see her Cap... [SOAP]: Is she ugly? I bet shes ugly. [PRICE]: SOAP! [GHOST]: Far from it johnny [SOAP]: Ur killn us LT! Just 1 pic pls pls pls!!! [PRICE]: Stand down, Sgts! Jesus Christ!

Simon couldn't help himself. He wanted to show you off. There was a smug smile on his face when he forwarded them the photos of you in a zip file.

There was a minute of inactivity, then the messages began to ping in rapid fire succession.

[GAZ]: That's ur doll?! She's bloody gorgeous, m8! 👍🏿 [SOAP]: sTEAMn fUKnJESUS!!!! [SOAP]: Insta-chub 👀🍆 [PRICE]: Well done, lad! She's a beauty. [SOAP]: Shes ded bonnie. U should introduce me 😈 [GAZ]: When can we meet her??? Is her friend single? 😏 [PRICE]: Behave, lads...

Simon huffed in amusement, feeling rather cocky as he began typing.

[GHOST]: Thx cap. [GHOST]: Her friend is single gaz. [GHOST]: U can suck it johnny. She's MY doll [GAZ]: Yeah. Suck it Soap! 😅 [SOAP]: Fair enough but... [SOAP]: Can I keep the pic of her @ the bonfire? [PRICE]: Christ. I need bloody a drink. Congrats, Simon. *(PRICE has left the chat.) [GHOST]: Hm. Just the one pic? [SOAP]: 🙏🥺 PLS??? [GHOST]: LOL [GHOST]: Hell NO [SOAP]: 😭 [GAZ]: 🤣🤣🤣

-

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@stillinracooncity @cumikering @cutiecusp @deadbranch @ghostlythots @thetiredtoad0-0 @glitterypirateduck @gothgirl6-6-6 @sofasoap @cathnoneofyourbusiness @shuttlelauncher81 @luminousbeings-crudematter @crunchlite @delilah-grimes @bobochacha @igotmajordaddyissues

-

[miredball]

MORE sydcarmy established relationship headcanons:

sydney looves to go out and eat together. it doesn’t matter if it’s a reservation at some uppity five star downtown spot, or her friend’s soft opening, or a shawarma truck in front of one of those too bright and too neon smoke and bong shops (“okayy ‘Mr. Vape’? they got real creative there, like, do you think that name came in dream or?”). she always brings her trusty moleskin and jots down a few notes about the tabbouleh before passing it to carmy, which is a tactic that she says is “to prevent Carmen-related stationery thievery” but really she just likes sharing stuff with him. he writes his own ideas and notes around her scribbles but almost always ends up doodling something small in the corner. he draws a simple smiley face once, pointed an arrow to it and wrote ‘sydney’ and she felt so insane for thinking it kinda looked like her.

one time at the end of a long long shift nat finds both of them passed out in the office. sydney is in the chair her arms folded and head down on the desk. carmy’s on the floor just next to her leaning against the wall and holding onto the exposed skin of her ankle. this image makes nat tear up a little bit. her brother has always been so tired but always alone. nat blames the crying on her new mom hormones and doesn’t ever bring it up

the first time syd and carmy have a back and forth so big and angry at work while they’re living together carmy is like. terrified. they’ve had big arguments before but they could always go home separately and decompress after. but now they go home together and he doesn’t know what’ll happen. she’s doesn’t talk to him on the car ride back to the apartment which fair enough but she also doesn’t speak on the way up to the unit and, cruelly, his brain thinks ah of course the old silent treatment (thanks donna!). he unlocks the door and sets their stuff down floor by the shoe rack prepares himself to be ignored for who the fuck knows how long when he hears sydney ask “you want a grilled cheese?” (she tells him later that she’s pissed at him big time but that doesn’t mean he disappears. he thinks about that for a long time)

the whole team goes out for drinks and in the middle of richie and fak screaming across the table at each other and ebra regaling nat with war stories where he says his mother sent him a parcel with a sandwich from The Beef (which. not true), tina pulls a happy-drunk sydney on stage for karaoke. the girl, bless her heart, is awkward as shit so tina expects her to escape and run away but syd only escapes from tina’s hold to hand carmy her phone and says “dude. watch”. the two of them sing through a wonky duet of some old Brenton Wood because tina keeps laughing. their table cheers when they finish and tina watches as syd makes a beeline for carmy and asks him did you get it?!? and he says yes chef and gives her a kiss on the cheek. tina hears sydney say something about ‘amusement and enjoyment’ before carmy is rolling his eyes with a smile that makes syd laugh in that aha-ha-ha way. tina makes a mental note to have carmy send her that video.

PART ONE here

[eldritch-spouse]

Piggybacking off that one anon:

What happens if we say to each of the TCE staff "you make me so dry"

This is said as Admin

"You make me so dry."

Morell is taken aback, and low-key a bit wounded, but he doesn't let it show too much. He's fucking desolate though. Huh, maybe you're not into shrooms. Doesn't matter, that can change eventually... With enough work.

Gallon snorts. He's a little bit cocky, in the sense that slimes are enjoyed by many people sexually due to their extreme flexibility and molding abilities. Even if you despise him on a personal level, he thinks you're full of shit because he knows he could make you cum your eyes out of your skull without that much effort.

Vinnel wheezes. Okay okay, that one's creative, applause where applause is due. He's quick to start hitting where it hurts however. He makes you dry because he doesn't control every aspect of your life and knead your little brains, right? It's not his fault you've been broken into extremely niche and freakish god-sex drives, go cry him a river over there.

Santi is genuinely fucking offended. But it's also a shit point. Were it not for Krulu's power within you, Santi could have you wet enough you'd slip in your own fucking slick like the slut you are, human. Watch that tongue, he can't hurt you but he will make your life harder if he deems it fair.

Grimbly is also vastly offended. Oh yeah?? Well you make him soft!!! You make him really soft, fuck you- *Sobbing*

Belo doesn't really get it at first. Dry? Are you dehydrated? How come he makes you get dehydrated, that isn't normal- Have you consulted Lord Krulu about this? When he realizes what you meant, he just sort of sulks quietly for a while.

Sybastian squints at you. Why do you feel the need to tell him this? You sound insecure about something. Does it make you feel big? Do you think he's going to throw a tantrum? He also knows it's surprisingly easy to get cute little humans like you wet and open, so if you insist he'll just give you a smug kind of "Oh yeah?" glance.

Patches just kind of goes "Yeah". He knows he doesn't exactly radiate virility. The interaction gives him a degradation boner and he sits in misery, wondering why he is the way that he is while he jerks off to the mental image of your disgusted face.

Nebul is very quick to get in your head about it. What an odd thing to say. Are you hoping he'll erupt into tears? Do you think he needs your validation to feel sexually sure of himself? This is the exact language a brat would throw at him. Really Admin, if you crave a rougher hand, all you had to do was get on your knees for the shopkeeper and ask for it. He thinks it's quite pathetic of your station to resort to petty remarks. Very amusing though.

Fank-e makes a sad face. He then starts flipping through a myriad of attachment catalogues and sharing various links with you. Select some of the components that you believe would make you wet! Then you can try those. <:] It's a bit weird you're saying that without even letting him play with you first, but the robot is willing to let you pick the best parts for the most effective results.

Krulu gives you a blazing look that suggests he could make your entire body catch fire in a millisecond if he so desired. Instead of deigning your blatant disrespect worthy of a reaction, he makes it so your body is forced to orgasm whenever you so much as glance his way, hear him, or think of him for long enough. This goes on until you beg for forgiveness.

[cruisie]

I'VE FINALLY DONE IT.

I MADE A FIC BASED OFF THE GATOR BOYS WINTER HEADCANONS LAST CHRISTMAS.

I pulled an all nighter for this because I got a boatload of inspiration and pushed through outta spite. It's damn near summer butttt I don't really care.

Characters belong to Obsidian lantern, Capital M audios, and Daysprite.

I hope y'all enjoy :>

Cold blooded.

Winter had come down hard on the swamps' denizens that year.

Snow coated the now frozen mud ground in layers and water froze into ice sheets preventing easy travel between homes were only a few of its hardships.

But with the frustration and annoyance that comes with the cold, it is accompanied by its not-so-small joys that make the season one hell of a time.

It wasn't unusual to find the three close friends ducking and diving behind makeshift forts and shields during this time of year, covered head to claw in thick fabric and snow clinging to the old material. Laughter erupts from smiling faces as another snowball whizzes past them. Those smiles turn into a calculated grin as they turn to huck a ball of their own.

But of course, another con about winter was its shortened days, cutting the amount of time the four had to goof around and be active.

The human took notice of something else. The dark falling over the cabin in that short amount of time, paired with the cold (and overexertion on Timmy's part), had the reptiles in a state of perpetual tiredness.

The results being three easily exhausted lizardfolk.

It was almost amusing actually.

When the four companions had entered the house that day after having spent a good amount of time battling one another in the small heaps of snow, Bug observed the half-bloods slowly but surely losing energy moving about the house.

Bodie turned on the stove and lit the fireplace to help warm the rest of the chilled house. It only seemed to speed up the process as each person took residence nearby.

The wind blew from outside the cabin as they settled into their desired spots. Bodie had started on dinner, not wishing to part from the warmth of the stove, Marco standing close to share in its heat too. The older men stood side by side, reminiscing about the day's events with amusement evident in the tone of the conversation as they prepared the food. Dinner would be finished sooner rather than later.

Unfortunately, the joint effort that had been formed in the kitchen had left not enough room for all of them to crowd around the stove.

Shaking off what melted snow he could, Timothy shuddered as he approached the fireplace. Behind him, an equally fridged human trailed, removing the patched sweater lent to them by the large gator to hang off a chair nearby to dry.

They shivered as they scanned the room, looking for the blessing that was a warm blanket, noting the boy hovering over the fire, rubbing his hands furiously together to generate as much heat as he could.

‘He’s gonna get himself sick…’

Bug mused to themself as they turned about the room. With the image of the cold lizard fresh in their mind, the human resumes their way further into the cabin.

‘Blankets…Blankets…Didn't Bodie say they were in the cupboard…’

A chattering sigh escapes their lips as they briskly pad down the short hallway, eyes shooting towards their goal. A somewhat worn-looking drawer with a small door on the bottom stands at the end. An excited noise exits the former hunter, happily throwing open the door, stopping short when they take another look at its contents, their previously growing smile falling into a mix of hesitation and disappointment.

Neatly folded on the inner shelf of the cupboard, was a single grayish green blanket.

They blinked once. Then twice.

Pulling the fabric from its home They inspected it. Feeling it's slightly rougher than normal texture and mentally sighing. The human stood up shaking their head as they held the item to their chest.

‘Looks like I gotta deal.’

Laughter from the older men in the kitchen sounded into the living area as Bug strode back into the room. A tired smile fell on their lips hearing the sound. Their eyes looked forward to see Timmy, still crouched and shivering in front of the open fireplace. To say he looked a bit rough was an understatement as he shook in an almost violent manner.

Their hand flew to their mouth, doing a poor job at hiding a chuckle as they tried to silently sneak behind the gator, the urge to surprise the boy winning.

The closer they got, the wider their smile grew as they thought of what to do, inching their way forward. Closer and closer they got, raising the blanket in hand, an idea blooming. Unfortunately, a creak of the floorboard and a quiet snicker was their undoing. The scaled boy whirled around with a large cheeky grin, arms up and ready.

“Ha!!! I knew you were tryna’ pull somethin’ you little-”

The triumphant tone was silenced as a muffled ‘oomf’ was heard throughout the cabin, the boy barely catching the covering now against his face.

“Still got you Tim-Tim.”

Bug spoke in a teasing manner as they held a cheeky grin on their lips.

Timmy huffed, begrudgingly moving to the side as the human crouched to sit next to him.

“Not you too…”

He mumbled, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinted as he moved to settle onto the floor.

Bug stifles a snicker when they look at him again.

The two sat in front of that fireplace in silence for a second. The only noises are grunts and hisses from Timmy as he tries to pull the thrown item off his scales and Bugs attempts to keep from laughing.

When he finally manages to pull it off of his pointed scales, he moves to wrap it around his arms. He paused though, his attention caught by Bug.

“Wait, where's yours?”

He asked, confusion becoming evident when they replied.

“Oh, there was only one in the cabinet. I thought you might need it more.”

“And what do you mean by that, exactly?”

Timmy questioned back, raising an eyebrow as Bug made a wide gesture towards the boy.

He looks down, following their movements to see the still dripping water falling off his shirt.

“You may be faster than me, but Marco sure did a number on you.”

The gator let out a grumble, eyes shifting to glare at the teasing human as shuffled. He places the blanket off to his side. He stands up from his spot and treads off to the back of the cabin, mumbling quietly to himself, a trail of water droplets falling behind him.

The human let out a mischievous ‘hehe’ as Timmy disappeared. A moment later the abandoned blanket was wrapped tightly around their shoulders. They gripped the edge tighter, pressing closer to warm their hands and still-frozen face.

It hadn't taken long, the rising air soothing the chill that had held them quickly. They rested there for a moment, breathing in and exhaling gently as their eyes closed.

It felt so good to finally rest.

The day had started hectic. Timmy was the one that woke everyone up, surprisingly. He was adamant that they needed to look outside immediately, a grin stretched across his cheeks as they peered out the window to see the swamp coated in a decent amount of snow.

And it hadn't taken long after breakfast was eaten before they had taken to that snow.

At first, they were just mucking about. Trying to catch the few snowflakes that were still falling and building small snowmen, dubbed ‘snow gators’ by Bodie. Even Maria had claimed one of the small structures, having perched on top to observe the four beings as they meddled about.

They couldn't remember who threw that first snowball. All they knew was that it was a battle zone with Marco and Timmy zipping about and Bodie and Bug nestled behind a makeshift shield of snow.

It took the near decapitation of their snowmen to finally settle down, realizing that they had been messing around almost all day.

It had gotten quite a bit dim outside when they went back in. Now having settled, Bugs' eyes opened to look out the window. It was near dark now.

‘Damn winter days. Too short…’

A clawed hand cuts the thought short as it comes to rest against the crown of the human's head.

“Well, aren't you nice and comfortable?"

The voice is close. Startled, they turned to be met face to scaled face with Timmy, a cheeky sharp toothed grin growing when they jumped.

“I…uh…I was…”

The gator boy let out a single cackle as they stumbled for words to explain themselves.

“Ah, don't worry ‘bout it, Bug, I don't blame ya.”

Bug watched him as he moved downward, crossing his legs to sit next to them whilst grinning wide, nudging them slightly as he moved. They smiled sheepishly as he continued.

“Besides, you’re lookin’ all snug as a Bug so I wouldn't wanna mess with ya too much.”

The warm-blooded being rolled their eyes as they did a small jump sideways to make room for the smug looking boy.

Bug lets out a quiet humph, shuffling in place and looking over at the half-blood, staring for a moment. He had begun to move his hands together furiously once more, pausing every so often to blow warm air against them.

A pang of guilt hit them as they continued to look. He had an almost unnoticeable shake to him. His jaw was closed tight and his torso was practically over the fire when he spoke again, giving a half-hearted glance over his shoulder.

“Did Bodie say anything about dinner yet? I'm starvin’.”

“No, not yet. Sure smells good though.”

Bug said, head turning to look over at the open kitchen.

“Can you believe we skipped lunch?”

“Psh, no. Feels like the day went by too dang fast.”

A soft hum of agreement was made in response by the human, Bugs' eyes drifting to Timmy's still quaking form. They stop their reply, pondering their next action carefully.

It was a comfortable silence for a short time. The fire cracking every so often, Bodies and Marcos conversation muffled from the other room.

“Hey, Tim? If you want, you can have the blanket now. I think I've warmed up enough to share.”

Timmy leans back haphazardly, head rolling backward and arms holding his torso up to regard his companion with a shake of his head and a chuckle.

“Nah, I'm fine, Bug. See? I don't get cold that easily.”

He answers, waving his hand as if that would convince them he wasn't holding back his shivers. The bed bug silently raised a brow at the half-lizard.

His jaw was still clenched.

‘I bet everything he's trying to stop from chattering too.’

“Really? Cause you look like you're about to start shaking like a leaf.”

“I mean, yeah. Maybe you're right, but then you'd get just as cold and I…WE don't you gettin’ sick…again. Especially during this time of year, ya know?”

The half-blood continued his excuse, rapidly correcting his words before ending with a nervous laugh and a half smile.

Bug looked over the halfie, studying his words and actions, noiselessly observing him with narrowed eyes.

Timmy could see it clearly as their face changed from an almost intimidating stare to a soft smiling reaction.

They had an idea.

“Aw. Thanks, Tim. But I don't want you to get sick either.”

The half-reptile looked forward as Bug replied tentatively, turning his head somewhat to the side to hide a small smile, looking at the wooden ceiling, searching for nothing in particular.

“Heh, thanks, sugar bug. That's uhh…sweet of ya’. But I promise, I'll be perfectly fine-”

The words were cut short before he could finish, a warmth suddenly being wrapped around his arms. Specifically, his left side was being engulfed in a welcoming heat.

Before he realized it, Timmy was leaning closer. He jerked his head quietly, shock flooding his face when he saw the human directly next to him, blanket still around their shoulder as they looked at him, with a playful expression, not to close just yet.

“Now neither of us will get sick! If you don't…mind sharing?”

The brackish blood felt as if he was about to catch fire with how hot his face flushed, the feeling of the cold air seemed to vanish as he nodded, trying his best to appear nonchalant as he spoke

“I guess this…uh…works. Um…H-Here lemme…just…”

Timmy shifts slowly, lifting his arm over the human head and resting it behind them, carefully planting his palm against the hardwood floor to brace himself.

“And there. Now, you can rest against me without getting stuck…by uh…my scales. They're…a bit pointy, ya know?”

“Thank you. Is this ok or…”

Bug asked in a hushed voice, holding a polite smile to the boy, shuffling closer. A fast nod and a ‘mhm’ was the response.

If they were being honest, they were afraid of speaking any louder than a whisper for fear that it would crack.

It was a bit tense at first. The two flustered beings adjust every so often to find a more comfortable spot. After a while of Bugs' head accidentally bumping Timmy's chin and a stray spikey scale jabbing into their side, the blanket heap soon started to laugh.

It was nearly uncontrollable the more they held in their laughter. Hands clasped over their mouths as the pair snickered, shy glances were shared between them that only fueled even more giggles from them both. It was just so amusing and unbelievable that they were this close. So close and yet it felt…nice.

After what felt like ages, silence finally reigned in the house. Save for the occasional clank of pots in the kitchen, the billowing wind that whistled across the window sill every so often and the low roar of the fireplace that soothed the duo from their incessant laughter.

__________________________________

In the kitchen, the croc sat, flipping through the yellow parchment of his sketchbook, looking over his drawings and small doodles idly.

After reaching the end of the not-so-numerous pages of art, he lets out a deep sigh. He tiredly leaned his head to the side, spying on the older man as he continuously stirred the simmering pot.

He sniffs.

“Ay Bo, How much time we got left on the gumbo?”

Bodie sets down the wooden ladle, shutting the pot and grabs a rag, wiping his hands and throwing a bright smile towards the crocodilian.

“It's just ‘bout done now. You think you can grab Tim-Tim and the water bug while I plate ‘dis?”

Marco nodded, a small ‘yup’ being heard as he slowly raised his arms in the process, letting out a heavy yawn and smiled a lazy smile. Rising from his chair, he sets his sketch on the table and strides towards the living room, looking over his shoulder to look at Bodie, snickers heard in his voice.

“You think they're still awake? I wouldn't be surprised if they're out cold already.”

“Even still, they need to eat. I'm sure they'll come runnin’.”

By the time Bodie finished his reply, Marco had already reached the entrance to the living area, pausing for a moment at the lack of noise coming from the room.

His interest grew exponentially as he peered into the area, seeing an odd lump on the wooden floor, leaning against one of the nearby chairs and seemingly…snoring?

The curiosity that had grown soon turned into a cheeky grin as he got closer, finally discovering what exactly had happened.

Marco allowed a gentle chuckle out as Timmy moved, watching as the boy moved to press further into the warmer human, Bug reciprocating the action and exhaling gently.

“What y'all doin’ in here? Foods ready and it's gon’ start gettin' cold if y'all waste anymore ti-”

A quick hand slaps onto Bodie's mouth before he can finish the sentence, Marco crossed the room in the blink of an eye to do so, eyes widened and a smirk plastered on his face as he makes a motion with his head towards the sleeping floor pile.

Bodie doesn't stay puzzled for long, eyes following the younger man’s movement. The grin that breaks free from Marcos's grip is beaming as he looks at the pair. The skinny man lets out a gentle laugh at the expression on his friends face, holding back his first instinct to wake the spikey lizard by yanking the blanket off him.

“Now what, bog boss? Wanna wake em’ up?”

Bodie shook his head softly, still staring at the sleeping boy and his water bug, a small sense of pride exploding in his chest.

“Nah, give im’ a couple more minutes. They look all comfy and cozy, so we'll just…warm up their food later.”

The gator man turns back into the light of the kitchen, grabbing his bowl and starts in on his dinner, Marco following close behind as he lets himself take another look, trying to commit the scene to memory as he finds his sketch once more and jots down something in a hurry.

He couldn't wait until the two finally woke up as he happily ate his food, keeping an ear out for when they woke up and realized the position they were in.

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Soooooo yeah what y'all think?

Wanna take a guess on who my favorite character is???

I had no idea on where to post this so I'm choosing my Tumblr until I get the gumption to share the doc.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

Semantic Error | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter 5

Based off of Semantic Error (bl) by J Soori Summary: Jungkook begs to be the designer again. Pairing: Techie inexperienced fem!reader x Artist fuck boy Jungkook Work Count: 958 (something small since I haven't updated in a while) Warnings: Nothing really just some teasing but that shouldn't be surprising at this point lol a/n: Just wanted to put something out even if it's small since you guys really seem to be liking this story <3 I'll hopefully be coming back with a new chapter soon. You guys are gonna love the next one ;) Read from the beginning

After a long and arduous conversation that Jungkook had clearly planned to have from the beginning disguised by his intention to just "spend time with me" we've finally come to an agreement. 

"So you lured me in here just to ask if you could be my designer for the game again? You could've just asked and not made me feel awkward by your strange request" I say walking out of the library with him following wherever I go. "Well yes, but I also just wanted to spend time with my new friend" he says and puts his arm around my shoulders. "Don't touch me" I say in a monotonous tone that seems to throw him for a loop as he quickly lets go.

"Last time I checked we weren't friends" I say looking down at my clock to see how much time I have left until my last class. "Oh you hurt me with your words babe" he says dramatically placing his hand over his chest. "Also can you quit it with the pet names? They make me feel uncomfortable" I say still looking down at my watch, trying to hide the blush that is most likely starting to form on my cheeks. "Uncomfortable...or flustered?" he says tilting his head down trying to catch my glance. 

"I'm leaving" I say quickly turning towards the building that holds my next class. "Let me walk you to class" he says following me and falling in step when he catches up. "If I let you walk me to class will you stop calling me that?" I ask, keeping my eyes trained on my destination which isn't too far from where we are. "Maybe...but no promises" he says clearly amused with the pout that forms on my lip at his answer. "Whatever" I say under my breath realizing it's probably a lost cause anyway.

"Oh I forgot to ask! Since we're working on the game again I was thinking that maybe we could work on it in my studio" he says clearly hoping I say yes. "Why would we need to work together? You can just send me the files by the deadline agreed upon and do it on our own" I say going to grab the door handle when we finally reach the building but failing as he jumps in to open it for me but I walk in ignoring the gesture. 

"Wouldn't it be more efficient if you were to give me your feedback while you're sitting next to me so we won't have to worry about going back and changing everything later because it didn't meet your standards? I promise it's really nice and it's only a few streets down from campus. I share it with another girl but she keeps to herself for the most part so you won't have to worry about her" he says trying his absolute best to convince me which really makes me question his motives but not enough to care. 

"She's lesbian by the way so you don't have to worry about any of that" he says making excuses that he really shouldn't feel obligated to. "Okay? Not sure why that would concern me" I say and continue on, getting closer to my destination. "I'll think about it. It would be a lot more efficient like you had said but I'm not sure if the setup would prove to be productive for us" I say processing a little out loud. 

"Just swing by after class. I promise I'll have the place sparking clean and you can feel free to rearrange anything you'd like so it'll work out well for the both of us" he says practically begging at this point. I wouldn't be surprised if he would resort to getting down on his knees for me...no! I mean, what? Why would I ever think about something like that? 

Flustered by the mental image that thought had provided me I blurt out the first thing that would pacify the situation. "Yeah...I guess I could stop by" I say after clearing my throat getting rid of any awkwardness in my tone. "Cool, I'll come back after your class and we can go together" he says walking away leaving me chasing after him before he goes. 

"Wait" I say taking hold of his sleeve and making him stop in his tracks. Once I've realized what I've done I quickly let go and look down the hallway back towards my class to make an excuse not to make eye contact. "Just text me the address and I'll meet you there" I say quickly and start to walk back before he grabs my wrist pulling me back leaving me unable to protest since I had done the same to him.

"Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?" he asks and brings his hand up to my jaw, guiding my eyes back over to his. "I'm not embarrassed I would just prefer to go on my own that's all. Plus you've wasted so much time on me today so you should just go do something productive. My class doesn't end until 8:30 so I'll come over right after" I say trying to convince him to just let me go on my own. 

He searches my eyes for a while before caressing my cheek and I jump at the feeling not realizing he hadn't moved his hand yet. "See you then pretty" he says leaning in to say it so I'm the only one that can hear. I pull away from him and make my way back over to class quickly before he can see the blush that's flooded my cheeks immediately and I hear him chuckle behind me, happy he got the reaction he wanted. 

What is he doing to me?  

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[behindthesoul]

Be Silent, Sorcerer

Shang Tsung x Quan Chi

Masterlist

Summary - In the garden of Shang Tsung’s soul, where betrayal sews thorns, a delicate bud emerges. Its unexpected bloom opens a new door for his relationship with Quan Chi.

Word Count - 1,828

Warnings - mental breakdowns

A/N - Takes place after Shang Tsung and Quan Chi find out Damashi’s true identity. Also, thanks to my beta reader Eevee :)

“You are the victim of deceit, sorcerer.”

Even after an hour or so, the words keep ringing in his ears. Each time they repeat, they sting just a bit more. Shang sits in the remnants of his laboratory, a place that once represented his wit and cunning, now a burning reminder of his foolishness. Shang’s eyes are dull, his chest tight. His hands reach up to run through his hair, but only add to the frustration when they get caught in tangles. They then fall down, letting out a sound when they collide with his torso.

Shang had to hold his composure as best as he could. He wouldn’t dare to let Liu Kang and his minions witness a moment of weakness. Why give them more leverage than they already had? As soon as there was a moment of downtime, Shang ignored the faces that looked at him with disgust and ran to his lab. Its smell of death and despair was intense, the cries of prisoners enough to rupture the eardrum; neither managed to register in Shang’s mind.

He storms around the lab, finding himself unable to stay in one place. His mind is scattered across the room; attempts to find it are futile. Shang continues to race around the lab to find the last thing that keeps him together. Quills, scrolls, small miscellaneous items are thrown across the room during his search; no dice. The small items are followed by a chair, a lamp, even one of his examination tables. Shang’s face reddens as his hands tremble in grief and exertion. He inhales, exhales, but his breaths are too shaky to calm the frustration that begins to rise in his body.

A small light reflects in the corner of his eye. It’s one of the many beakers used in his tarkat experiments. Many restless nights were spent slaving over his desk, desperate to find a cure. Shang huffs in bitter amusement at the fact he stressed over this disease for, ultimately, no purpose. If only he could go back in time and tell his past self that he was being played. An invisible magnet draws him over to the object, and he gently picks it up. It’s chipped at the rim, presumably from being thrown to the ground. Dainty fingers spread across the beaker, cold and uncaring; they press against it as if he intended to bring harm. Shang’s breath hitches as his eyes close, imagining that his hands were wrapped around the throats of everyone who dared to conspire against him.

Shang is almost deafened by the sudden footsteps he hears. They aren’t too loud, but the reverb of his laboratory heightens his hearing. There is no need to turn and see who dared to interrupt him. He listens as the familiar legs clack against the ground until they stop in front of him.

“Quan Chi,” he simply states, voice laced with ire. Anger they both shared.

Quan Chi hums, seemingly pleased that he was recognised without Shang Tsung having to open his eyes. “I seek peace, solace from today’s events.”

“And you thought to find respite here,” Shang adds.

“Correct.”

Shang finally opens his eyes to fully drink in the image of his friend. Quan Chi stands tall, a few inches above him, and looks relaxed with his arms behind his back. Shang opens his mouth to say something, but the words are lost on him. He decides to not pollute the air with pointless rambling so the two could share a comfortable silence. Shang watches as Quan Chi walks over to a chair he threw earlier. The sorcerer picks it up and sets it upright before sitting down, sighing in relief after being on his feet all day. Shang takes a few steps back, the added distance giving him the courage to speak.

“I pride myself on my keen foresight, yet I was unable to realize we were just pawns.” Shang’s face twists into a disgusting scowl. It’s an expression that is foreign to his normally smug face.

“The wool was pulled over both our eyes, Shang Tsung.”

Shang shakes his head in anger, the emotions from earlier seeping out of his body. His fists clench and he takes a deep breath.

“Liu Kang will pay for the life he cursed me with. He will regret blessing me with mercy.”

Shang looks over at Quan Chi. His friend’s eyes are laced with an unknown emotion. He silently pleads for a response that would give context to Quan Chi’s facial expression but receives nothing. The two men continue to stare at each other, and Shang can only understand the emotion as pity. Whether Quan Chi truly pities him or not is unknown, but it’s the answer Shang decides to create.

One could almost feel the heat rising from Shang’s shoulders. Its smoke pollutes the air, making it thick and hazy. It suffocates, but Quan Chi is used to poor conditions like this; he doesn’t move at all.

“Shang Tsung,” Quan Chi begins. Shang doesn’t react at all – his eyes are too busy burning holes in the ground in front of him.

No response. The air gets thicker and thicker; it would surely kill anyone who walked in. Quan Chi can see Shang’s nails dyed with blood, a result of digging his nails into his palms. Quan Chi stands and eventually makes his way toward his friend. His efforts to grasp Shang’s attention are in vain, it appears as though there is a compelling force redirecting his attention away from Quan Chi.

Curious, Quan Chi grabs Shang’s chin and forces eye contact.

“Not once have I seen you lose control of yourself,” Quan Chi didn’t mean to offend with his observation, but Shang’s jaw tightens as he feels insulted.

“We were promised the world; instead we received humiliation.” Shang’s voice, once strong and confident, sounds weak and sad. “My wish was to share them with you; rule them as one.”

“And I, you,” comes Quan Chi's soft voice, comforting his companion immediately. Whatever emotion Shang felt in Quan Chi’s eyes is gone; it’s replaced with kinder, softer ones. “We – you deserve much more, Shang Tsung.”

Shang tries to look down but a strong hand keeps his head tilted up. Emotions begin to flood the damaged well of his heart. If Quan Chi wasn’t paying attention, he’d miss the signs of the tears’ arrival: fingers gently shaking, blotches of red attacking his pale cheeks, and torment clawing its way out of his chest. Quan Chi doesn’t know what to do, there’s not much he can do; emotions were never his strong suit. Shang pulls away and starts to pace the room. His hands shake more, and eventually a vase that survived his earlier breakdown is thrown against the wall, breaking and falling in sync with fresh tears. Shang chokes back violent sobs as a table is flipped, a window is broken, and a wall is punched. His poised self is well out the broken window, replaced by a man whose eyes are so bloodshot he looks like a beast.

Quan Chi is silent once again. He doesn’t know if he should calm the man who is now pulling at his hair, or allow him to feel his emotions. Shang’s breathing is rapid; one could almost hear his heart beating out of his chest. Quan Chi didn’t think it possible for Shang to hurt this much. He slowly extends his arms out for a hug, not knowing what else to do. Shang rushes over to Quan Chi and collapses in his arms, the sheer force of his weight knocking them both to the ground. He sobs, almost screams into Quan Chi’s shoulder. Shang’s arms hold the man tight; his fingers digging into his companion’s skin. Both are sure that Shang drew blood, but neither cared.

“I am not sure what to do next,” Shang chokes out, burying his face in his friend’s neck. He feels his stomach twisting. He brushes it off as a symptom of his overwhelming emotions, but knows it’s due to being in such close proximity to Quan Chi. He felt his feelings grow for his fellow sorcerer over the last few months but was quick to bury them. It only makes sense that his desire for the man would return with the rest of his emotions.

Quan Chi lets out a deep sigh of agreement. “Neither do I, my friend.” Friend, that word burns Shang’s chest. “But, hear me, Shang Tsung, when I say I shall face any adversary at your side. Forever.”

Shang slowly raises his head to look at Quan Chi. Shang’s face is wet, but the tears are slowing to a stop. Quan Chi’s hand moves to dry his face and huffs in amusement when Shang replaces the tears he dried with fresh ones. The air becomes charged with an unspoken tension as the two find themselves relaxing in each other’s presence. Their breathing, unbeknownst to them, slowly syncs, creating a harmonious rhythm that resonates with the quiet intensity of the moment. There wasn’t much either man could do other than stare into each other’s eyes. They had always been masters of restraint, keeping their feelings guarded like closely held secrets. Tonight, however, something was different.

As they sit in the laboratory, the echoes of Shang’s anger from earlier in the day linger in the air. The conversation since had flowed effortlessly, each word a bridge leading them closer to a place neither had ventured before. Shang can feel his heart beating a little faster, his palms slightly damp as he tries to navigate the uncharted territory of vulnerability.

Quan Chi, usually composed and self-assured, seems equally affected. His eyes start to hold longing, mirroring the emotions Shang had been suppressing for far too long. The unspoken tension simmers beneath the surface, the magnetic pull between them growing stronger with every passing moment.

A gentle breeze sweeps through a broken window, carrying with it a subtle scent of blooming flowers and the promise of change. The atmosphere seems to conspire, urging them to break free from the shackles of their own inhibitions. The ambient noise of the laboratory fades away as they move closer, the space between them diminishing with each heartbeat. Quan Chi could smell a faint hint of sweat on Shang’s body.

His hand stays on Shang’s face, guiding Quan Chi as he goes in to kiss Shang, the latter slightly gasping in surprise at the movement. The kiss was nothing special; clumsy, unsure lips moving against each other, showing that neither man had much experience in the love department. Their sloppy rhythm slows to a stop as they both pull away. Shang feels dazed. The feeling is welcomed after an hour of rage.

“A friend,” he starts, and Quan Chi listens intently. “You call me a friend, but your actions say otherwise.” Shang grins, “I fear you do not understand what a friendship is.”

“Be silent, sorcerer.”