#i sometimes wonder if god is watching and if he afraid

[judeschapstick]

Just like me fr

[cherrieflavouredheadcanons]

Hi can we please have fluff w Aventurine where reader and him reunite after 2. 1 and just fucking elope start a new life etc? Please I need it.

God yes. This is what we all need after 2.1. I'm aware he is in a coma-like state technically now but for the sake of fluff and this headcanon he is awake from that coma and is now reuniting with you. CW: Spoilers for 2.1 and Aventurines actual name, starts angsty but then turns fluffy, Gn reader, pre established relationship hurt/comfort

I am still accepting requests (especially for aven) btw so if you wanna see something send it in!

Back in your arms

You had lost track of how long it was since Aventurine left for his mission in Penacony. Has it been 2 months? No, probably more. It had been months since you last had been able to make contact with him. Your messages no longer went through, unable to be sent.

Looking at your textlog and scrolling up, you came across the last message he had sent you. It had come in while you were asleep, and it simply read “I love you”.

Waking up to that message would have been a sweet message for most people, but for you it had made you immensely worried.

 Aventurine was never someone who professed his love openly, so such messages were quite rare. Receiving such a message, especially unprompted, made you send him a barricade of texts, none of which went through and even now months later none were able to be sent.

If you were honest you were starting to lose hope of ever seeing him again, who knows what happened in Penacony after all? He could be…dead for all you knew, you had no way to verify whether that was true or not after all. 

You tried continuing your life on as you would normally, what else could you do? It was hard though, everyday you missed him more and more. Sometimes you imagined his face in a crowd somewhere but whenever you would take a closer look he would vanish.

Sighing you closed your phone and looked around your apartment, it felt so liveless ever since Aventurine was gone. Tears were falling down your eyes as you wondered how much longer you had to live with the uncertainty of where he was and if he was even alive.

Exhaustion was taking over as you began falling asleep. A common occurrence nowadays, since at night you were restless, unable to fall asleep as you worried. Just as you were beginning to fully doze off, you heard the door to your apartment open, immediately waking up.

No one but you and Aventurine had the key, and with him being absent panic coursed through you thinking someone was breaking and entering. You grabbed the nearest heavy thing to defend yourself with.

“For fucks sake…” You muttered as you made your way to where the noises were coming from. Cursing every entity out there for piling even more shit onto you as if your significant other being possibly dead wasn’t enough.

Readying your weapon (probably a heavy book) you stepped foot into the room where the noise was coming from ready to attack and hit the intruder. But once you saw who it was that was in your appartment, you dropped your makeshift weapon, a sob escaping your mouth.

Before you stood Aventurine, alive and breathing. You rubbed your eyes, making sure that this wasn’t your mind playing a cruel trick on you again. Aventurine watched you with a smirk on his, albeit very exhausted looking, face and his eyes held a new found softness you had never seen before.

You fell into his arms immediately, holding him tightly against your body, feeling his warmth. Desperately you grabbed at his clothes as you held on to him, scared this was all just a dream and you would wake up all alone once again. Tears were falling from your eyes, unable to hold them back, the relief washing over you making you let out all of your emotions.

“Wow you missed me that much?” He asked, in his usual teasing tone. Though there was something in his voice that usually wasn’t there. Desperation and a bit of fear. Was he afraid you wouldn’t have missed him? Or was there a deeper reason for it?

Moving away from the hug you grabbed his face in your hands, the tears still falling from your eyes as you took a good look at him. His face had fallen in, and he seemed exhausted. But there was also something in his eyes, his beautiful eyes you were so sure you would never see again, that you couldn’t recognize, having never seen it on him before.

Before you spoke your first words to him, you pulled his face closer and gently kissed him. The feeling of his lips on yours felt like you were floating in heaven. They may have been more chapped than usual, but fuck was it nice to feel him again.  Breaking the kiss you finally were able to muster up your first words to him.

“Fuck…I was so worried about you…I…When my messages stopped being able to sent I was…so sure you…Please…never worry me like that again Aventurine…”

You leaned your forehead against his, your words jumbled together from the adrenaline coursing through you.

He took in a deep breath, and held it for a moment before letting it out. A gesture you saw in many people before they needed to say something important and heavy, but one you never saw in your lover.

“...Kakavasha…” His voice seemed unsure and meek as he spoke. 

You, of course, had no idea what he was saying, so you looked into his eyes confused.

“Wha-”

“Kakavasha…it is…my given name. The one my mother gave me” He inhaled deeply before he continued.

“It is a long story but the short version is…I am no longer affiliated with the IPC, they probably think I died or something. So I no longer go by Aventurine, and…with how close we are and how much you mean to me. I felt like it was appropriate for you to know my true name...”

His eyes refused to look at you, flickering about unsurely as he spoke. Though he tried to sound confident, his voice wavered, scared that you would not accept him for who he truly was and reject his true self.

You looked at him gently and with all the love you had for him, gently pulling him close again and kissing his nose.

“Well then…It is nice to meet you Kakavasha…” You smiled brightly at him, showing him you accepted him as he was.

He felt relief course through his body and could not help himself but pull you into a passionate kiss. He kissed you like you were the oxygen he needed to stay alive. As if he would die without you.

Breaking the kiss he whispered “Marry me.” It wasn’t a question but a request. One that you were too stunned to answer to, looking at him with wide eyes.

“I mean it. Let’s get married, run away from everything and start a new life just you and me.”

His eyes were pleading with you to agree. He knew that he wanted to start over, but he knew he needed you with him.

“...yes!!” You once again fell into his arms and kissed him. The two of you holding each other so closely it was as if you were one.

Kakavasha knew that he would need to tell you everything that happened in Penacony at one point, even the part where he tried to end his life. But he knew that if he explained everything to you, you would still stay by his side and be with him. 

You were his family after all.

[nebulaafterdark]

The Iron Throne

Summary: Y/N is afraid that the Iron Throne will spurn her due to her parentage, Aegon disagrees. Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, Smut, Oral (F receiveing)

Y/N and Aegon speak freely when they are alone, about the weight of her duties and what he, as her husband, might do to help shoulder them. Lately the topic has been a simpler one, Y/N’s fear of the Iron Throne and how she dreads the day she must eventually sit it.

“What of it frightens you, sweet girl?” Aegon wonders, watching her pace at the foot of their bed.

“That it will spurn me, because I am unworthy.” Y/N admits.

Aegon hums. “You are worthy. Come, I will show you.”

“Now?” Y/N chokes out.

“Yes, my love there is no one there.” Not in the middle of the night.

She hesitates, wringing her hands. “You know what I am.”

“My wife,” Aegon reminds her, “my future Queen.”

Y/N sighs, holding out a hand. Allowing him to lead her down to the empty throne room, demanding the guards provide no one entrance until they are finished.

The throne looms, like a dark omen over the room. Though Aegon does not seem to notice, walking his wife towards it and turning her to face him.

“Gods, you are beautiful.” He remarks, brushing dark hair over her shoulders. “Made to be worshipped, made to be Queen.”

Y/N smiles, pressing a kiss to his lips, “you’re one to talk.”

Aegon rests a hand against the tiny swell of the abdomen. “That’s how we got here a fifth time, hmmm?”

“It’ll be an even six, no doubt.”

“Or seven,” Aegon’s eyes come alight with mischief. “Then of course, it’d have to be eight.”

“Why stop at eight when we could have ten?”

“You’re stalling,” Aegon wags a finger at her. “Sit down for me, nice and slow.”

Y/N stops breathing all together as she takes her place on the throne.

“Good girl,” he coos.

Y/N inhales, sharply.

“Just as I said, nothing has happened.”

“I want to get off now.”

“Not until you’re comfortable.”

“Please, Aegon.” She whines.

“I will never let anything or anyone hurt you,” Aegon leans forward, pressing a kiss to her lips. “I’m going to help you get over your fear of this silly chair.”

“How?” Y/N wonders.

“By feasting on your pretty cunt as you sit upon it, and each time you take to this throne, you will think of my mouth.”

She catches his face in her hands, “you cannot.”

“I must, my dearest love.” Aegon hushes her, “what kind of husband would I be if I allow you to walk around with such fear?”

Y/N swallows.

“Be good.” He affords her a reassuring smile before kneeling at her feet. Pressing a sweet kiss to the swell of her belly, the child has finally made their presence known. “Lift your hips for me.”

Y/N obeys, allowing him to slide her small clothes down to her ankles.

Her nightgown remains perfectly placed, with Aegon sliding up beneath her skirts. Applying gentle pressure to her knees until they part.

He groans, inhaling the familiar scent of her. “You are heavenly.” His tongue flicks over her cunt in practiced strokes.

His hair is hidden beneath her dress, nothing for her to cling to and the distance between them becomes too much to bear.

“I want your hand,” she chokes out.

“Yes, my Queen.” Aegon purrs, slightly muffled beneath the fabric. He slides one hand away from her trembling thigh to find hers, lacing their fingers together. “I live only to serve you.”

Her free hand curls around the arm rest, of its own volition. Her skin pristine and unscathed by the metal.

By then she’s relaxed enough that Aegon eases her legs farther apart, bending them up and over the arms of the chair. Slipping two fingers into her slick cunt.

“Aegon.”

He hums, in acknowledgement. Sometimes his sweet girl wishes to say his name just because she loves him. Because he’s pleasing her so well.

Lost in her passion, she scarcely notices the way her body is draped over the throne of swords with abandon. She is safe and loved…all she’s ever hoped to be.

Aegon redoubles his efforts, bringing her to peak. Covering his tongue and fingers with her slick, meeting her pearl with little kitten licks, until she squirms. Pushing against his head in protest, with one final kiss to her pulsing cunt, he pulls his mouth away. Curling his fingers against the spongy part of her inner walls as he stands, looming over her.

Her perfect lips agape, dark brows pulled together. “Fuck.”

“If you could see yourself now, my dearest love.” Aegon groans, “the smallfolk would line up at the foot of this throne, by the thousands for a chance to please you.”

“I only want you.”

Aegon’s eyes soften. He’s allowed one man to fuck her, so could hold her face in his hands and watch her features contort without distraction.

She took his cock well, for which Aegon praised her, though she could not find release until Aegon’s own fingers brushed her pearl. The same way he can cum for his ladies, but never as long or hard as he does for her.

Fucking is nice, something to do whilst he’s bored and craving excitement. Love making is more than that, something he only ever had the desire to do with her.

“How do you want me?”

“Inside me,” Y/N pants.

Aegon chuckles, “I meant to ask if you are comfortable? Or shall I bend you over the throne?”

“Over the throne,” she nods. “Or you could sit and I could ride your cock.”

Aegon mulls it over, “as much as I’d love you to sink down on me, I have no fear of this chair. You do, so up you go, turn around for me.” He withdraws his fingers, sucking them clean.

To his surprise she kneels, resting her cheek against the seat of the throne, with her arms folded over her head.

“I thought we might stand, my darling.”

“I cannot stand.” She whimpers, “I need your cock.”

“Needy thing.” Aegon kneels behind her, lifting her skirts once more and freeing himself from his sleep clothes. He slides into her with ease, he was made to be there. Leaning forward to place his arms beneath her, allowing her sweet face to rest against his skin rather than the cool metal swords. “I love you endlessly.”

She nods, “I love you.”

“You are worthy of this throne, you are worthy of the crown, and to rule.” Aegon feels her cunt flutter with the beginnings of her peak. “Y/N Targaryen, first of her name. Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

not so different

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt ‘graduation’

rated t | 994 words | cw: mention of past character death, mention of alcohol, language | tags: childhood friends, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, good uncle Wayne Munson

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington didn’t cry, not even when he fell off the slide at the playground and his knee bled for 15 minutes and his nanny had to call his mom.

But this was a special instance where he was allowed to be sad. His nanny even said so. He watched all the kids in his kindergarten class taking pictures with their moms and dads, uncles and aunts, grandpas and grandmas, and wondered why he didn’t have anyone here for him.

He found an empty classroom in the big kid hall as soon as the ceremony was done, sat behind the teacher’s desk, and cried into his knees.

“Did your daddy not show up either?” A voice asked from in front of him.

He lifted his head, vision blurry and face wet, to see Eddie.

Eddie had already done kindergarten once, but he had trouble with his phonics, so they kept him behind. He was the first kid to talk to Steve in class, but within a few days, Tommy and Carol and Heather had scared him away from Steve entirely.

“Um, no.”

“What about your mama?”

“She’s with my dad.”

“My mama is with God. Or that’s what a lot of people say. I dunno if she was friends with him or not, though. I think she just got buried in the ground and people are scared to tell me,” Eddie was sitting next to Steve now, his leg knocking against Steve’s.

Eddie didn’t sit still very well, and the teacher always said he had ants in his pants. Steve hoped he didn’t have them in there now; he didn’t want any ants on him.

“Where’s your dad?”

“He’s probably getting ‘rested again. He showed up being silly and my Uncle Wayne had to take him outside,” Eddie shrugged.

“Is he tired?” Steve asked, sniffling and leaning more against Eddie.

“No. Uncle Wayne says sometimes he has too much of the drinks in the bottles I’m not allowed to touch and it makes him act like he don’t got a brain,” Eddie didn’t sound that sad, but Steve still wanted to hug him. “So your daddy isn’t here?”

“No. I think he forgot.”

“Sorry he forgot. My Uncle Wayne never forgets. He even came to the lunch room for my birthday. He brought me a piece of pizza!” Eddie always sounded more excited than anyone else. Most of the kids in the class thought it was stupid, but Steve kind of liked the way his eyes got wide and his smile got so big it took up most of his face. “Maybe he can bring you a piece for your birthday next year.”

“He doesn’t even know me.”

“You can come meet him!”

The classroom door opened just as Eddie started to stand and reach for Steve’s hands to pull him up.

“There ya are, Ed! Been lookin’ everywhere. You want some ice cream?” An older man stood by the door, button up plaid shirt only half-tucked into his jeans.

“Can we bring Steve? He’s my friend.”

Steve’s head turned, shocked that Eddie would say that.

“We gotta ask his parents first, Ed.”

“His parents didn’t come.”

“Oh.” The man looked Steve up and down before seemingly settling on something. He gave a small smile and gestured for him to come closer. “What’s your favorite flavor, then?”

“I dunno. Never had anything except vanilla,” Steve admitted, afraid to look at the man who had to be Eddie’s Uncle Wayne.

“Well, that just won’t do, will it? Let’s go try every flavor at the diner. Benny just added a few new ones. Think there’s even a bubblegum one.”

Eddie clapped his hands and dragged Steve out the door by his arm.

“I bet you’ll like mint chip,” he said as Wayne followed behind them, fond smile on his face.

🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦

Steve Harrington had only cried a few times in his life, but this was the second time it was happening in front of Eddie.

Eddie wasn’t conscious this time, though.

“If you wake up, I’ll take you to the diner and we can have ice cream. They’ve got a new raspberry white chocolate flavor that you’d like. I could use some mint chip right now,” Steve said around the tears.

Wayne had left the hospital an hour ago to freshen up and grab one of his crossword puzzle books. Steve had been crying for most of that hour, holding Eddie’s hand and quietly begging him to wake up.

Two days without hearing his voice or watching his smile light up the room was too long, especially after having it for the last 13 years.

“How’re you gonna walk at graduation if you’re still asleep here, huh?” Steve closed his eyes and wiped at his cheeks.

“You can walk with me.”

Steve’s head shot up at Eddie’s quiet, but surprisingly strong voice.

“Eddie!”

“Hey, Stevie. Heard you’re takin’ me for ice cream,” Eddie’s smile was crooked, the bandage on his cheek covering one of his dimples.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for Eddie being awake, being alive, being okay.

“Yeah, Eds. Every day if you want,” Steve wanted to crawl into the bed with him, hold him close and feel him breathing and listen to his heartbeat, be sure he was there.

“Gonna hold you to that.”

“Soon as you can leave, that’ll be our first stop. Promise.”

Eddie closed his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. “You slept?”

“A bit.”

“So no.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “A bit.”

“C’mere.”

“Honey, you’re hurt-“

“Come here.”

Steve got in bed slowly, making sure he kept space between himself and Eddie’s injuries.

“Think I’ll graduate?”

Steve snorted. “They’d be stupid to hold you back after you saved everyone.”

“Yeah. ‘M a hero. Fuck Hawkins High.”

Steve could feel more tears trickle down his cheeks, but these were different.

These were relieved tears, happy tears.

“Yeah, honey. Fuck them.”

“Love you, though.”

“Love you so much.”

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | let’s get kinky

♡ fandoms; Halloween, Texas Chainsaw Massacre (original + 2006), House of Wax, The Boy, Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Micheal Myers, Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Sawyer, Vincent Sinclair, Brahms Heelshire

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡cw; graphic sexual content, kink content

♡notes; pretty much just kink lists babey

oh boy i hope this doesn’t reveal anything about me

also happy easter lol

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Micheal Myers

> Knifeplay and breathplay are a given with this one

> He likes to be in complete control

> And a hand around the throat or a blade ghosting the skin definitely help him achieve that

> He also loves both tying you up and being tied up, surprisingly

> Letting you ride him while he’s tied to the bed is just about the only way you’ll get the man to relinquish any of that control

> And even then he makes sure you know he’s still the boss- if you’re too much of a brat he’s slipping the restraints and fucking you so hard you walk funny after

> He loves marking you up, mostly through biting

> And he likes to keep the mask on- even if he’s at a point where he rarely wears it around you

> He’ll quietly degrade you if you’re into that- you have to earn praise though

> But if you praise him you may actually be able to fluster him for once

Thomas Hewitt

> Breeding kink breeding kink breeding kink you can’t convince me otherwise

> He loves pinning you down into a mating press and watching your face as he fills you

> He’s so rough and overwhelming

> He likes to lick away your tears when it’s just too much

>And sometimes he’ll keep you pinned there well after, keeping himself inside.

> He’d let you call him daddy- and god does he get into it, but he’d be too shy to suggest anything like that himself

> He loves praise and he loves letting you know how good you feel

> Not usually verbally, but he’ll growl and moan and purr shamelessly

> He’s the king of oral, he’s like a man starved and you’ll end up overstimulated 9 out of 10 times

> And he loves when you reciprocate, especially if you don’t mind him fucking your mouth

Bubba Sawyer

> He’s a bit vanilla, not having much experience or knowledge beyond sex for procreation.

> Insert Drayton’s “sex or the saw” quote here lol

> But he’ll try anything for you at least once, he’s so eager to please.

> Most notably he makes a wonderful little submissive

> Whether you want him to bottom or just power bottom yourself, he loves being used to make you feel good

> He enjoys any and all praise

> He’s rather insecure, so he loves compliments on his appearance especially

> If you call him a pretty boy he melts

> 100 percent would love if you called yourself mommy/daddy/any other dom titles

> He loves when you sit on his face more than anything else

Vincent Sinclair

> The softest dom. He wants to take care of you around the clock, but especially in bed

> He’s a service top- it’s all for you. So much more concerned with you getting off than even being touched.

> He’s into wax play (Because it’s funny but also bc it’s underrated)

> And he likes to restrain you so he can worship you completely uninterrupted

> He’s not afraid of using toys, especially when you’re all tied up and at his mercy

> He loves taking pictures of you as well

> At first he claims it’s for reference but you know better, baby has a documentation kink

> He loves just watching too

> Trying to keep control while you touch yourself and moan his name is his favorite pastime

Brahms Heelshire

> Huge brat in need of taming

> Only a switch in the technical sense- he’ll top if you beg/bribe/pester him enough. He’s just lazy tbh

> Love love loves being both degraded and praised

> “filthy little boy” “pretty little slut” etc

> Prefers calling you mommy/daddy but can work with master

> And he’ll be your puppy if you want him to be

> He wears a cute collar and leash and lets you yank on it while you make him fuck you

> He loves when you edge him too

> Until he’s nearly in tears and whining and begging you to let him cum

> If you have boobs he’s obsessed with them

> And even if you don’t he’ll give the area lots of attention

[cryobabyy]

Cooper Adams x Fem!Reader

PART(2/5)

He was peculiarly clean— too clean to be at a hardware store past midnight. No dirt on his jeans, or janitor's name patch, or construction vest. He smelt like most men— Irish spring, sandalwood, musk, bergamot, etc. In daylight hours, you wouldn't have thought anything about his tight and fawning smile, the gallon of industrial cleaning solution, and the seven yards of vinyl tarp he slides across the counter at the end of the month. He always smiles when he pays. You smile back despite your intuition advising against it. Something about the interaction feels cold. God, you sound like your fucking father.

OR

You work the graveyard shift at a hardware store with extended hours to put you through pre-med. You meet a DILF who is definitely not The Butcher.

A pack of deer used to linger in your backyard, towards the thicket of rural Pennsylvania forest behind your childhood home. The biggest of them, a buck with massive velvety antlers and black glossy eyes, was the least afraid of you. You left a paper plate of goldfish and a pail of water out for him every afternoon, hoping that one day he’d trust you enough to eat from your palm. After weeks of looking after the wild animal, he began to inch closer and closer to you. You could make out the finer details; white eyelashes, wet snout, twitching ears. The last time you saw him was the day your father caught you with an outstretched palm full of crackers. The sound of your name cracking through the air like a whip was enough to send the startled animal back towards the brush.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous those things are?! What kind of diseases they carry?! Warts, ticks, plague, mad cow disease-”

“But they’re deer, Daddy. Not cows.”

“-And quit fuckin’ feedin’ it! You keep feedin’ it like that and he’ll come back and stick those antlers right through your chest once you stop givin’ him food. You’ll be sorry you ever gave that beast any attention! You understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Come play in the front yard where I can see you.”

It wasn’t long until he began to suspect that somewhere, behind the dense line of trees, the deer was watching the two of you, waiting to spear his mighty antlers through your thin chests.

In the span of a couple of months, the lush green trees had soured to a dull brown, thick summer air had turned thin, and you learned a lot more about Cooper Adams than necessary. His supply runs became more frequent, and with every purchase came a morsel of information about his homely little life that you never asked for. He works graveyard hours at the firehouse Monday through Saturday, his wife hates it, and he’s building her a gardening shed to get on her good side. Above all else, Cooper Adams was fucking bored- so bored that your one-minute interactions stretched into five and eventually ten. 

He played football in college. His favorite band is Smashing Pumpkins. He takes his coffee black. He divulged details freely and without hesitation. The itch in the back of your mind wondered how much of it was true. 

It didn’t matter though. Your skepticism shriveled up every time he came walking in a quarter past 1am; nonchalant, neighborly, and hot. His purchases stay consistent. Tarp, staples, cleaner, light bulbs, and sometimes nails. He sets it down on the counter with a smile. 

“You again?” He cocks his head playfully.

“In the flesh.”

“Anything exciting happening tonight?”

“Nope. You?”

“Depends on how exciting you think paperwork is. I’m only fighting fires five percent of the time. The other ninety-five percent is paperwork and cats stuck in trees.” Cooper puts his big hands flat on the counter and leans forward, his wedding band clinking against the wood. You meet his gaze, the crinkle of his crow’s feet reminding you of his age. 

Your father’s mental instability held you back in more ways than one. You put off school to take care of him in his last years, you didn’t get out much, let alone have time to date. Despite your inexperience, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Cooper Adams– a man with a wife, kids, and a mortgage– was lightly flirting with you. Even worse- you didn’t hate it. It was a relief to be spoken to like a friendly acquaintance and not like the girl who grew up in the hoarder house at the dead end of Bleaker Ave. The girl whose dad sealed up his CO2 detectors and cranked his gas stove because his sickness convinced him it was the only way to prevent the government from reading his mind. 

Cooper didn’t seem to be aware of the rot in you that others could sense. If he was, he didn’t care.

“Yeah, well I’m sure your kids still think you’re a saint. Your wife too.” You assure him. He pauses, holding you prisoner with eye contact. An earnest smile slowly creeps on his face.

“Thank you. That’s a very sweet thing to say.”

Your face felt hot all of a sudden. You take the opportunity to scan his items, but it doesn’t stop him from continuing the conversation.

“Pre-med, huh?” He nods to your textbook amongst the pile of your stuff on the back counter. “Smart girl. Don’t tell me– Pediatrics? Family medicine? Am I close?” 

3 months of acquaintanceship and you never once revealed anything overtly personal to Cooper. Your father ingrained rigid rules for interacting with strangers; No last names, no addresses, no phone numbers, and everyone has bad intentions until proven otherwise. He fishes his wallet out of his back pocket, flipping it open to hand you his card. You catch a glimpse of the picture of his kids, and before you can pay mind to your own paranoia, you’re answering him.

“Psychiatry, actually. I want to be a psychiatrist.”

“Shit. Wow. That’s…That’s awesome. I wouldn’t have guessed-”

You cut him off, the words coming up like vomit.

“My dad, uh, he struggled a lot. I took care of him until the end, so It kinda felt right, Y’know?”

Feeling relieved, nauseous, and stupid, you quickly run his card. The printer loudly spits out the receipt. You try to pin down what possessed you to overshare so willingly, but come to no conclusion. Maybe it was his face, soft eyes, and a masculine jaw. The disarming affectation of a competent father, someone trustworthy and inherently good. Or was he truly all those things? You slide his receipt and card towards him, eyes darting around awkwardly, desperate to avoid direct contact.

“Sorry. That might have been too much too soon.” Suddenly, warmth envelopes your fingers. You look down to see Cooper’s hand over yours, and then up to see a softened expression.

“I went through something similar with my mother. You don’t have to be sorry.” He says quietly, offering a reassuring nod. When he slides his receipt and card out from under your hand, you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “It takes a certain kind of person to choose to be a solution to a problem they’ve been victimized by. The world needs more people like you.”

A couple of months ago, you were sure Cooper’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Now, thought you could see something lurking behind them– you weren’t sure what, but it made your pulse thrum uncomfortably against your neck. 

“But sure, I’m the saint for saving cats from trees and building my wife a shed so she doesn’t hate me. That checks out.” He chuckles, shaking his head incredulously. You stand there watching him throw his purchases back into the cart, blindsided by the sincerity of the fleeting moment.

“You stay safe, alright? Don’t talk to too many strangers.” He points to you with a half-serious look, snapping you out of your daze. 

“Same goes for you.”

He stops halfway out the automatic doors to mutter a curse under his breath, rummaging through his windbreaker pocket to retrieve something.

“Almost forgot, I got you a little something- Think Fast!” He tosses it to you, and you reflexively catch it.

You huff out a shocked laugh when you realize it’s a small container of mace.

“Cooper, you can’t be fucking serious.” You look up to see his satisfied smile.

“Afraid I am. Sorry, but it freaks me out that you’re still here by yourself so late when there’s a maniac on the loose out there. It’s the dad in me.” He shrugs.

You don't watch the news often, but the mention of a maniac rings a bell. You've heard whispers of scattered remains around campus and seen a headline or two.

“What are they calling him now?”

“The Butcher.”

You scoff, ignoring the fear pooling in your stomach.

“Oh, lovely. This will totally stop him from butchering me. Thanks.” 

He gives you a wink and a thumbs-up before disappearing into the parking lot. You stare at the small blue container of mace in your palm, realizing there's something written in permanent marker on the side. 

Cooper Adams

215-238-6667

Just in case

AO3

Previous chapter

AN: Hi, hope youre enjoying my unnecessary character study fic. The next chapter will have explicit content and minor violence. Just a forewarning. If you see grammar, spelling, or syntax errors no you didn't. I proofread this with 4am eyes, will proofread again in the morning lol. Enjoy, freaks! <3

[triptuckers]

heyy i just read your headcanons for percy x child of zeus and it was so good!! i was wondering if you can write headcanons percy x child of hades??

omg I was literally on a rant today about how hades is one of the most decent gods out of all of them I love him YES I can do that !!

I feel like people would be even more hesitant and afraid of a child of hades than a child of zeus

because, you know, he's god of the dead and all that

you have to constantly remind people that he's god of the dead and not death

"no that's thanatos you don't want to cross paths with him he's not very fond of demi-gods, but hades is a pretty reasonable guy actually"

but there have been so many stories about hades people don't really believe he's not that bad

so at some point you stop talking to people about him

or at all

you pretty much keep to yourself

it's nice given that you have the cabin mostly to yourself

(nico isn't at camp that often)

but it can also be lonely

percy noticed it one day when you were having breakfast by yourself at the hades table, not talking to anyone

so he got up from his own table and joined you for breakfast

(dionysus did not approve but percy doesn't care lol)

and after that you always have breakfast together

and lunch

and dinner

percy is very sweet to you and makes sure everyone always includes you

during capture the flag one day you pulled some pretty cool moves which earned you the other team's flag

that's when people really started to see you as just another camper

they talked more with you and helped you with developing new skills

the apollo kids taught you archery (even though you aren't that good at it)

you played strategic games with the athena kids to develop "critical thinking skills" as annabeth called it

whenever you were doing something with one of the cabins percy was always around

he was secretly a bit proud to finally see you interact with the other campers

and he would still eat most of the meals with you at your table

sometimes nico joined you as well if he was at camp

if nico was there he was most likely to be joined by will

which then attracted some of the other apollo kids

it usually ended with a bunch of different campers sitting at your table

you always sat next to percy

you liked spending time with percy outside of the meals as well

the two of you often stayed at your cabin or percy's

or you'd watch percy in the lake

you team up during capture the flag (and always win when you do)

during campfire nights you always sit next to each other

percy loves it when you lean against him if you're tired

even though you're tired you'd stay there after most of the others had gone to bed already

it reminds you of the time no one really talked to you and percy was the first person to share a meal with you :')

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 8: Demeter, Goddess Of The Harvest]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 6.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Is it a story worth telling? I think so. It’s better than nothing. It’s better than watching raindrops slither down the cracked concrete walls until the prison guards come back to bloody us again.

Today I’m sending John McCain taps in the shape of the tale of Io. John has a hard time tapping back—they’re doing something to his shoulders, they’re destroying him—but he likes to listen. He’s getting it a lot worse than I am; perhaps even the North Vietnamese fear Aemond’s retribution if I die here. They should be afraid of him. He thinks he owns everything he touches, and he’ll snap bones to keep it.

So anyway, Io was a king’s daughter, a mortal who Zeus saw and wanted and took when her father kicked her out to avoid the god’s wrath. That’s easily half of Greek mythology, right? Zeus appears, irrevocably fucks up someone’s life, vanishes in a plume of clouds and thunder. He leaves human rubble behind him: ribs, nerves, disembodied hearts that leak blood from torn ventricles, minds broken in two. Zeus impregnated Io and then turned her into a cow to hide her from his wife Hera, ever-watchful, ever-vengeful, an aspiring mass murderess. When this disguise failed, Hera condemned Io to wander ceaselessly through the wilderness, tormented by the constant stinging of a gadfly. Eventually, Zeus returns Io to human form and she pops out a few bastard kids, as if Zeus needs any more of those. Then he ditches her and she marries some Egyptian dude. There are other details that I’ve forgotten. I don’t think John McCain will know the difference.

I’m sure you’re wondering how I acquired all this fabled trivia. I don’t seem like the type to lie around under trees reading folklore from religions that died thousands of years ago. You’re right, I’m not. But Aemond is. He would tell the stories, and Helaena would embroider scenes on quilts for us to burrow under in the winter, and I would dramatically act out the best parts (mostly murders), and Aegon would scribble comics in jagged black pen strokes. He has all these notebooks down in the basement filled with his new versions of ancient myths: Poseidon as a horny dolphin, Aphrodite as Marilyn Monroe.

Wait, I remember what I skipped. While Io was roaming across the globe, she bumped into Prometheus—chained to a rock for giving humans the gift of fire—and he cheered her up somehow. I guess meeting a guy who gets his liver continuously chewed out by a giant eagle would make me more appreciative of my circumstances too.

I have a lot of time to myself here in solitary confinement. My social circle is microscopic. I tap to John through the wall, I have dinner dates with Tessarion the rat. And I think about my family. They’re fucked up, but I miss them. I miss going to Monmouth Park with Fosco to bet on horse races, I miss getting hammered with Aegon while he sings Johnny Cash or Beatles songs. I miss my mother and Helaena and Criston. I even miss Aemond’s wife, though I only met her a few times before I deployed. She’s sharp, she’s hilarious. She’s mean as hell to Aegon, and sometimes he deserves it.

At first I wondered why Aemond hasn’t gotten me out yet, but I understand now. It sounds a lot better to have a brother being tortured as a prisoner of war than one who received a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It’s the kind of thing Aemond would consider. He understands which stories are worth telling.

I feel kind of bad for her. Aemond’s wife, I mean.

I don’t think she knows about Alys.

~~~~~~~~~~

On a chilly mid-September morning cloaked in fog, Mimi is laid to rest in the Targaryen family mausoleum at Saint George Greek Orthodox Cemetery in Asbury Park, New Jersey. Most of the golden plaques already have names chiseled into them: Viserys and Alicent, Fosco and Helaena. Aegon will one day be interred beside his wife. You have a spot reserved next to Aemond. All of you have already lived and died and been entombed; all of this was predestined by the stars eons before you had blood or bones.

Ari’s vault—an unnaturally tiny drawer, less than half the size of anyone else’s—is located just above yours. You can’t stop staring at it. You can’t hear anything the bearded priest in his black robes is chanting. Then Cosmo squeezes your hand and you look down at him. Mimi’s other children are somber but seem to be coping well enough—they are used to being raised by consensus, they would probably be more affected if one of the nannies died—but Cosmo always wants to be near you. He gazes up with those vast, wet, murky blue eyes, so much like Aegon’s, and you offer him a sad, reassuring smile. Cosmo smiles back. And you think: Life goes on.

Alicent is sniffling noisily; it echoes off the walls of the mausoleum. Criston—a man with no plaque assigned to him—is trying to console her. Aegon is watching you from across the cold granite chamber, grim and red-eyed in his black suit, the first time you can remember seeing him in one since your wedding. He wears no small gold hoops, only a row of stitches in his right ear. He wants to say something, to do something, but he can’t. Aemond is beside you, a hand heavy on your waist but muttering something to Otto. Back in Omaha, Otto had spent a few hours alone with the medical examiner, and when the death certificate was issued it revealed that Mimi died of a heart defect, a perfectly blameless sort of misfortune, an innate impending disaster. And so that’s what the newspapers printed, and any gossip to the contrary is confined to salacious rumors, untrustworthy and unproven.

When the ceremony is over, journalists are waiting to scavenge for photos and quotes under the guise of expressing their sympathies. It’s a shameless display, though they at least have the decency to wait by the cemetery gates. Aemond and Otto go to meet them. Alicent, Criston, Helaena, and Fosco, protective of the children, keep them far away from the feeding frenzy, hungry-eyed reporters like sharks without fins. Ludwika is reapplying her lipstick. Aegon is smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to his oldest son, Orion, a stilted exchange that holds the promise of turning warm with time.

You sit on a stone bench and Cosmo curls up beside you, rests his head in your lap, dozes off as you thread your fingers through his wavy blonde hair. In the mist there are shadows of gravestones and trees that turn skeletal as they shed their leaves.

“He is okay?” Fosco says as he ambles over, meaning Cosmo. He has his hands in the pockets of his slim black trousers that stop at his ankles. His suit is velvet, his eyeglasses speckled with drizzle from the slate-grey sky.

“He’s alright. He’s resting. Are you okay?”

“Oh,” Fosco sighs mournfully. “I keep thinking someone is missing. We came into this family together, Mimi and I. We got married six months apart. I have never had to do this without her. And I know she had her problems, but she was different when she was younger. She always liked a party, that’s why she and Aegon got along so well at first. But she was so loud and so funny, always telling these long stories, and everyone in the room would be grinning as they waited for the good part. Viserys loved her. Otto loved her. And then she had all those children one after the other, and that was hard, and Aegon self-destructed when he was the mayor of Trenton, and that was worse, and she was supposed to fix him and she couldn’t, the harder she tried the farther he ran from her. She started drinking her Gimlets before dinner, and then after lunch, and by the time you showed up it was never ending. But that wasn’t who she really was. She was like a moon that got smaller and smaller until the only thing left was a sliver.”

This family breaks people. This family kills people. “We’ll make ossi dei morti for Mimi tonight. I’ll help you, and we can teach the kids.”

Fosco smiles, swipes a tear from beneath his glasses, squeezes your shoulder with one wiry hand. “I am very glad you are still here.”

“I’m not trying to race you to that mausoleum.”

Fosco laughs. And then he says as he spies Aegon approaching: “Um…I will go avoid the paparazzi somewhere else.”

“You don’t have to leave, Fosco.”

“It is no trouble. And I suspect you enjoy your very rare privacy.” Fosco gives you a knowing glace and then heads back to where Helaena, Alicent, and Criston are lingering with the rest of the children. Now Ludwika is fluffing her blonde curls with her French tips, a smoldering Camel cigarette tucked between two fingers.

Aegon comes to you through the mist, plops onto the bench, and looks fondly down at Cosmo—now fast asleep, his face smooth and peaceful—before he speaks. “I can’t grasp that she’s really gone. We barely spoke for years, but she was always there, you know? Christ, she deserved better than this. She could have been happy somewhere else.”

“Your children need you.” It’s not the first time you’ve said it, but it’s the first time he believes you. He nods, staring out into the fog. “They have to get away from this whole circus for a while. And you have to learn how to be a real parent.”

“I’ll have time to work on it. I’m staying here. I’ve already been informed.”

You are alarmed. “What? By who?”

“Aemond and Otto.” Aegon says. “When the rest of you fly west, my kids and I will be at Asteria.”

“They’re getting you off the campaign trail,” you realize.

“They’re putting me on house arrest.”

Not seeing Aegon, not being near him? How long can I stand that? “I’m sure you’re relieved. You hate the grandstanding and the media.”

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I have Fosco and Ludwika.”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“About what?”

“About the fact that they need to look out for you.”

“Aegon, I’ve been doing the political wife thing for over two years.”

“But it’s different now.”

He’s right, it is.

“You’ll call, won’t you?” he asks. “You’ll let me know how the trip is going, you’ll tell me if anything bad happens? Because I can always get on a plane and meet you wherever you are. Otto might pay someone to murder me, but I’d risk it.”

“Of course I’ll call.”

“Hey.” Gently, he turns your face so you can’t hide from him. “Will you be okay without me?”

I have to be. I don’t have a choice. Instead you reply: “I’ll miss the weed.”

The tension breaks and Aegon smiles, and then he pats your cheek twice with his open palm. “Behave yourself.” He waves Ludwika over, interrupting her meditative chain smoking.

“What, what?” Ludwika says. “Are we leaving soon? Yes, it is so sad what happened to Mimi, but us standing around in the rain won’t resurrect her. And I look terrible in black.”

“I can’t be there for the last leg of the campaign.” Aegon points to you. “I need you to pay attention and check in with her at least a few times a day.”

“This is a common request. I should get a degree in it so I can charge people.”

Aegon furrows his brow at her. “What are you talking about?”

Ludwika smirks as she puffs on her Camel. “You are not the first person to ask me to keep an eye on her.” She nods subtly towards Aemond, then sashays off to give a quote to the journalists.

~~~~~~~~~~

In San Diego, Aemond meets with residents of a new public housing complex to hear their concerns about neighborhood jobs and infrastructure. In San Jose, he visits labor activist Caesar Chavez—being treated for debilitating back pain at O’Connor Hospital—and expresses support for the ongoing boycott of all grapes produced in the state. In Sacramento, he attends a Jimi Hendrix concert and receives a standing ovation from the audience; the next day he joins high school students protesting for a more inclusive curriculum. In Oregon, he makes a speech at Portland State University acknowledging the tremendous cost of the Vietnam War—in money, in time, in blood—and pledges to begin dismantling U.S. involvement as soon as he is sworn into office in January. Aemond talks about hope and despair, the bleak reality and the American Dream, and he is so overwhelmed by the crowd that he doesn’t even notice when someone takes his cufflinks as souvenirs. His lack of concern for his own safety exasperates Criston, but Aemond can’t be convinced to increase his security or his distance. If he expects the disaffected masses to carry him to the White House, he has to be real to them.

“What if another Wallace supporter tries to shoot you?” Criston demands. “What if a Nixon stooge stabs you or a crowd tramples you?”

“No one can kill me,” Aemond says, grinning wryly. “I’m not supposed to die yet. I’m supposed to be the president. It is God’s will.” And how can anybody disagree when that appears to be so true?

The earth dies as you drive north, summer withering into autumn. That familiar brisk cuttingness reappears in the air. You shake thousands of hands, smile for countless photographs. Mothers and wives of dead soldiers sob into your shoulder as you embrace them; teenage girls ask how they can get a good man like Aemond. Only one thing is missing from his glorious pilgrimage: something he wants desperately, something he cannot have (though he’ll never know why), you conceiving his child in time to announce it before Election Day. Each morning you sneak a pill and every night you bite the bullet. As often as you can, you duck into Dairy Queens to order lemon-lime Mr. Mistys.

George Wallace is in the South, galvanizing segregationists and accepting the endorsement of the Ku Klux Klan. Richard Nixon is working his way across the Midwest. He has chosen a politically moderate Greek as a running mate, Spiro Agnew; this does not strike you as a coincidence. He even shares a name with Aegon’s second son.

Nixon promises “peace with honor” in Vietnam, which means no immediate end to the draft. He makes speeches about “states’ rights” and “law and order,” ambiguous euphemisms designed to attract Wallace’s white supremacists without alienating too many suburban moderates. He commiserates with those lamenting the proliferation of sex, drugs, and divorce. He says he will return the nation to a more moral time. You wonder what he means. You can’t think of any such refuge in the bloodletting, spine-crushing history of mankind.

A kindergarten teacher tells you in Olympia, Washington, her eyes alight with reverence usually reserved for heroes, saints, gods: “People are voting for Aemond, but they’re voting for you too.”

And you find yourself thinking as a thousand miles roll by beyond the glass of limousine windows: How many people will I condemn if I don’t help Aemond win? How many lives is mine worth?

~~~~~~~~~~

The Hotel Sorrento in Seattle insists on giving you and Aemond the honeymoon suite: a retreat from the breakneck campaign, a romantic oasis for the future president and first lady…according to half the country, anyway. You are in the impractically large pink bathtub, surrounded by snowy dunes of bubbles. The wall to your right is a mirror, foggy around the edges; just a few yards to your left is the king-sized bed. In the top drawer of your nightstand is the card Aegon gave you in July. You aren’t sure where Aemond is, and you don’t especially care. You are relieved to be alone.

There’s a passion-red phone built into the rim of the tub, conveniently located for sudden room service revelations, champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries, steak and lobster. You have a different idea. It’s 7:15 p.m. here, so after 10 on the East Coast. On the steam-slick keypad, you dial the number for the main house at Asteria.

Eudoxia picks up and demands gruffly: “Geiá sou? Ti?”

“Hi, Doxie. Is Aegon around?”

“Where else would he be? Making himself useful somehow? Killing communists, driving a rocket to the moon? No. He is a burden as always.”

“Please be nice to him. His wife just died.”

“And so he cannot put his empty cups in the sink?” Without waiting for a reply, she sets the handset down on the kitchen counter with a clunk. There is distant, muffled shouting in Greek; she seems to back and forth with somebody. Then Eudoxia returns. “Antio sas,” she says, and hangs up just as a phone elsewhere in the house is lifted from its cradle.

Aegon answers with something halfway between a groan and a yawn. “Yeah?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey!” You can hear it riding the wire like electricity: a rustling as he sits up, a fresh clarity in his skull. His voice is deep, hushed, still husky with sleep. “What’s up, little Io? Any interesting happenings to report from your neighborhood of the solar system?”

“I just left a riveting tea party. Apple cinnamon scones and smoked salmon sandwiches. We talked about what kind of couches I should get for the White House and I wanted to kill myself. Are the kids okay?”

He’s smiling; you can tell. “They’re alright. I could have used you this afternoon. I was trying to help Spiro with his math homework. Trying, not succeeding.”

“Well he’s in middle school and thus beyond your skill.”

“How’s Jupiter?”

You know who he means. “I don’t want to talk about Aemond.”

“Okay.” Aegon says, curious. “So what should we talk about?”

A few seconds tick by, silent and perilous. “Where are you right now?”

“In my lair. Like a beast.”

“Alone?”

A transitory pause. “At the moment.”

“On the shag carpet or your futon?”

Now he’s very intrigued. “Futon. Why?”

“I just want a visual.” Beneath the water, your free hand is resting on the velvety inside of your thigh.

“Where are you?” Aegon asks.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“Maybe I want a visual too.”

You chuckle, peeking over at yourself in the mirror. Your skin is dewy with steam; stray wisps of hair stick to your face. “I’m in a gigantic pink bathtub. It’s ridiculous, it’s shaped like a heart and everything. They have a phone installed right here in case I find myself in desperate need of filet mignon.”

“Oh.” And then he hesitates, like he’s afraid to say the wrong thing. “Big enough for two?”

“More like five. You should get a tub like this for your basement, it would delight the campaign staffers.”

“My basement’s been pretty empty recently.”

Softly, vulnerably, glass offered for him to shatter: “You aren’t seeing other girls?”

“Nah, babe. I want something they can’t give me.”

You picture him, messy hair falling over his forehead, drowsy eyes that gleam with clandestine wisdom. You can smell the smoke and rum that bleeds from his skin. “I wish you were here.”

“In Seattle?”

“No. Right here.”

Aegon exhales shakily, swallows, takes a few seconds to collect himself. “How’s the water?”

“Extremely hot and full of bubbles.”

“So I wouldn’t be able to see you.”

“No,” you say, baiting him.

“But I could touch you.”

“You already have.”

“Not enough,” he murmurs. “Nowhere close to enough.”

“Do you remember what I felt like?”

“Oh God,” he whispers, and you envision him closing his eyes, rubbing his face with the open palm of his left hand. “Yeah. Of course I do. I can’t get it out of my head. But I’ve been trying not to…you know…it felt wrong to think about you that way unless you were cool with it. Like I was betraying your trust or taking advantage of you or something.”

“No, I want you to think about me.”

You can hear Aegon moving around on the green futon, repositioning himself, yanking down a zipper. When he speaks again, his breathing is quick and jagged. “Where’s your other hand, huh?”

“Under the water,” you reply coyly.

“You bitch,” he says, laughing. “I miss you so fucking much. The house isn’t right without you in it. You belong here, you belong where I am.”

Beneath the veil of bubbles and steam, there is no scar on your belly, no infidelity, no campaign, no distance of almost 3,000 miles separating you and Aegon. Your fingers slip between your legs, finding slickness the water can’t wash away. It’s a familiar sensation, though you haven’t felt it in a while: rising steadily until you hit a plateau like a jet reaching cruising altitude. From here, it will either glide along smoothly until it dies out, or eventually turn sharp and painful. “Tell me about you,” you pant.

He can hear it in your voice, a needful surrender that sets him on fire. He can’t believe this is happening; he never wants it to end. “I mean, I’m…I’m insanely hard.”

“Stroke yourself, imagine it’s me. I wish it could be me.”

“Oh fuck,” Aegon whimpers. “Okay, okay…I want you. I want you with my fingers, I want you with my tongue, I want you to beg for it, and then…”

Impossibly, incomparably, your own pleasure is climbing faster than you can reconcile yourself to it, no longer a hunger but a violent aching, a crushing gravity you can’t fight against, a ship being dragged to the floor of the ocean. What’s happening? When will it end? You moan into the phone, amazed yet petrified. You can’t get enough air; it feels like drowning, like dying.

“I need to see you,” Aegon says. He’s close to the climax that you know men experience, he has to be; he’s gasping. “I need to be with you, let me give you what you want.”

“I want you to finish inside me.”

“Io…babe…oh my God, you’re gonna kill me…”

There are sounds out in the front room of the suite: a lock clicking, footsteps, keys and a wallet tossed onto the kitchenette counter. You’re so consumed you almost don’t notice. Aemond is back. Aemond is back!! And every ion of your ascending euphoria evaporates. “Gotta go, bye.”

“Wait—!”

You hang up just as Aemond is opening the bedroom door. He walks in—immaculately tailored dark blue suit, polished black leather shoes trampling soft pink carpet—and turns to you. He has already taken his glass eye out and put on his eyepatch. Vaguely, fleetingly, you wonder where he’s been. His gaze darts to the red phone, your fingerprints in the condensation. “Who were you talking to?”

“My parents.”

If Aemond doubts this, he doesn’t show it. He crosses the room, sits on the edge of the bathtub, peers down at you with an omniscient metallic glint in his eye. He’s always been less a man than a force of nature. “I know this year has been hell.”

You envision Persephone being stolen by Hades, Orpheus searching for his dead wife Eurydice, Charon ferrying souls across the River Styx. “You haven’t made it easier.”

There’s a flash of something in his scarred face, blazing and instantaneous like lightning, and then it fades. He reaches out to touch your hair, swept up and neatly bound with clips and pins. “We can’t forget everything we’ve accomplished together,” Aemond says. “I still need you. You’re my Aphrodite.”

He’s going to tell you to get out of the tub, to lie down on the bed, to open yourself so he can fill you. You distract him, forestalling the inevitable. Each morning Prometheus dreads the return of the eagle that pecks out his liver; as every summer ends Demeter mourns the loss of Persephone. “Any luck with Nixon?”

Aemond sighs, furious, brooding. “He still won’t agree to a debate. Wallace is onboard, he’s rabid for it, he’d show up if we held it in the fucking asteroid belt, any opportunity to spew his idiocy. But not Nixon.”

“Because he knows standing on the same stage as you can only hurt him. People thought he looked bad in 1960, can you imagine now? Television has gotten so much clearer. They’ll be able to count his sweat drops from their living room couches.”

“So how do I get him to do it?”

You look up at Aemond. It’s not a hypothetical question; he’s really asking for advice.

“I have to debate Nixon,” Aemond insists. “It’s close in the polls, which means it will be even closer on Election Day. I’ll underperform whatever is projected, my coalition is less likely to show up when it counts. College kids, hippies, transients. That’s just a fact. But the old people vote. The suburban housewives vote. Nixon’s resting on his political experience and accusations that I’m a communist, an agent of chaos. But I could slaughter him in an hour on ABC.”

You think of the mutilated Vietnam veterans waving their signs and screaming at LBJ from the other side of the wrought-iron gates of the White House. “Challenge him in public. Say that the American people deserve to see the candidates debate, and do it where everyone can hear you.”

“What if Nixon still refuses?”

“Then you call him a coward. You say he must have something to hide. You ask how he’s supposed to square up with the Russians and the Chinese if he can’t even face you.”

Aemond grins admiringly. “You’re vicious.” And he lifts your hand from the rim of the tub so he can kiss your knuckles. Once you licked up drops of his approval like Tantalus, cursed with eternal thirst. Now it is poison that turns your veins black.

“If there’s a debate, everyone should go,” you say, seized by sudden inspiration. “We should have a united front, including Aegon. It can be his return to the public eye. A month will have passed since the funeral, the timing is right. He can pose for a few photos with the kids to show the nation that they’re doing well and distract from any lingering rumors about Mimi.”

Aemond isn’t grinning anymore. He’s studying you with his cold blue gaze; no, he’s trying to intimidate you, to overpower you. “Otto and I will decide what to do with him.”

“He’s a Targaryen. He should be with the rest of us.”

Aemond stands and motions for you to follow, a snap of his wrist like a man calling a dog. “It’s late. Let’s go to bed.”

Panic, tension, an iron sinking in your belly. The water is only lukewarm now, but you don’t want to leave it. “I’m not done yet.”

“Yes you are.”

There’s nothing else to say. Legally, a wife’s flesh is one with her husband’s. You slip as you step out of the bathtub, and Aemond grabs your forearm. Not like he’s helping you; like you’re something he owns.

~~~~~~~~~~

Two knocks, swift and forceful. “Hey, it’s me. You ready? Everyone else is downstairs in the lobby waiting for the limos.”

You hurry to open the door, almost twisting your ankle as you stumble in your heels. They’re an inch higher than what you’re used to. Aemond chose them, and your dress too, and your sapphire teardrop earrings, and the silver chains around your wrist and throat, and your future and your past, and your life itself. It’s mid-October, and the night of what will almost certainly be the sole presidential debate of 1968. Aemond’s retinue is staying at the Hotel Saint Louis. It’s harvest time, the fields beyond the city being reaped of their soybeans, wheat, corn, cotton, and rice, the beef cattle culled in mechanical underworlds. Aegon’s flight must have just landed.

As soon as he sees you his eyes drop, wide and bewitched, ensnared everywhere except your face. You say: “Can you help me zip this, please?”

He blinks a few times, then shakes it off. “Sorry, what?”

“The zipper’s stuck. I need you to get it.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He steps into the suite and stands behind you. The gown is a vivid blue like the Greek flag, gorgeous and shimmering but a size too small. It wasn’t tight a week ago, but now it is, and you aren’t pregnant just always gaining and losing weight in new places, first the baby and then the pill, and it wouldn’t bother you if Aemond didn’t seem so confounded by it. Aegon says as he tugs at the zipper: “I don’t think it’s gonna fit, babe.”

“It has to fit.”

“Even if I miraculously get this closed, you won’t be able to breathe.”

“Do whatever you have to. Just…just…” You push every last molecule of air out of your lungs, suck in your belly, and you hear the triumphant squeal of the zipper. “Yes!” Oh, but Aegon was right: you really can’t breathe. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“You’re not gonna last the whole debate in that. You’ll be sweating more than Nixon.”

“I’m fine.”

“Io…”

“I’m fine. Come on.” You snatch your matching purse off the coffee table by the couch, check your makeup one last time, and hobble in your heels as you walk with Aegon out into the hallway.

At the Kiel Auditorium a few blocks away, the Targaryen children—Aegon’s five and Helaena’s three—are presented for photographs before being escorted back to the hotel by the nannies. And even in the few weeks that have passed since you last saw Aegon’s kids, there have been extraordinary changes. They talk to their father, and he talks back, and he ruffles their hair and rests his hands on their shoulders and asks them about what they’re learning from their private tutors. Cosmo tackles you before he leaves—a powerful bear hug, though he can only reach your legs—and he says he hopes you’re coming home to Asteria soon.

“Me too, kiddo,” Aegon tells him, and then smiles at you; but above his gleam of teeth his cloudy blue eyes, like the Atlantic in a storm, are gloomy and troubled.

As the audience takes their seats and the journalists are poised to capture the best images and quotes of the night, the three candidates and their wives (minus Wallace’s dear departed Lurleen) meet briefly backstage to exchange the perfunctory well-wishes. Pat Nixon is introverted and bookish, though she tries to hide it; but Aemond reels her in like swordfish until her eyes are filled with him. George Wallace gets one glimpse of your venomous glare and escapes, claiming to need one last trip to the restroom before the debate begins. But Richard Nixon beckons you to accompany him to a quiet, discrete corner of the room.

“I tried to call,” he says. He’s a remarkably normal man: medium height, receding dark hair, rough voice, weathered skin, not a god but a mortal, and—you have the impression—more aware of his flaws than his fiercest critics will ever be. “But no one at that damned beach house would ever put me through to you.”

You aren’t sure what he means. “Oh?”

“I never got the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was for your loss in July, Mrs. Targaryen,” Nixon says with unglamorous, plain, genuine compassion. “Pat and I, when we heard, we wept for you. We truly did. And for your husband to be clear across the country…I can’t even imagine. It must have been awful for you. A parent never gets over something like that. It stays with you like a scar.”

“It does,” you say softly.

“I lost two brothers. Arthur died when he was seven, tuberculosis killed Harold in his twenties. God, it just about destroyed my mother. You’re a remarkable woman. You’re lightning in a bottle for Aemond, do you know that? You’re like one of those Kennedy gals, but even better. More personable than Jackie. More intelligent than Ethel…although, to be frank, who wouldn’t be? And you’re not afflicted with any ghastly vices like Ted’s wife Joan. What would Aemond do without you? He’d lose, that’s what he’d do.”

Nixon’s smart, but he’s wounded. He’s capable, but he’s so desperate to prove it. Power could ruin a man like this. “You’re very kind, sir. You did some great work under Eisenhower. Self-made like my father was, a devotee of the American Dream. I believe you have an important role to play in this country…” You smirk, a bit mischievously. “Just not as the president.”

Nixon chortles. “No matter what happens tonight, rest assured that I hate Reagan more than I could ever dislike your husband,” he says, meaning the Republican governor of his home state of California. “You know that bastard tried to primary me?”

“Actors don’t belong in politics.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Nixon says, and then bids you farewell as the lights turn blinding and the curtain begins to rise.

As soon as the adrenaline begins to fade, all you can think about is that you can’t breathe. You take your seat in the audience between Aegon and Ludwika, who won’t stop making jabs about Nixon: “He looks like a troll,” “He looks like a sasquatch,” “Do you think Pat makes him wear a  Creature from the Black Lagoon mask in bed so she is not so repulsed by him?” The most you can offer is an occasional distracted nod in response.

“You alright?” Aegon whispers.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look alright.”

“I’m great.”

“Sure,” he says, and he acts like he’s teasing, but there’s something tremendously sad underneath. He can’t save you from this. He can’t save you from anything. What must that feel like?

On the debate stage—broadcast to a national audience—Aemond performs brilliantly. Nixon salvages what could have been a bloodbath with a handful of clever retorts that Aemond pretends not to be rattled by. The real loser of the night is Wallace, who is brutally attacked by them both: Nixon because Wallace is commandeering some of his voting bloc, and Aemond because of his near-assassination back in May. After an hour, the contest concludes and the candidates descend to the main floor to pose for photos and get lassoed into brief interviews with various journalists. Everyone in Aemond’s entourage besides you and Aegon flock to his side. By now you’re gasping in shallow gulps, close to tears and in agony from your ribs to your wobbling feet.

“I told you,” Aegon says. And then: “Come on. We’ll take the first limo back.”

In the front room of your hotel suite—one yellowish end table lamp glowing dimly, the rest of the space like twilight—Aegon wrestles with the zipper as you struggle for every breath, trying not to pass out. “Ow,” you whine. “Oh fuck, this was so stupid…”

“Don’t let him make you wear shit you don’t want to wear.”

“I have to do what he says, Aegon.”

“He doesn’t own you.”

“Legally, he does.”

He’s tugging futilely at the jammed zipper. “Are you planning on using this again?”

“I believe that would be wistful thinking.”

“You probably look better out of it anyway.” He grabs his Zippo lighter from the pocket of his emerald green suit jacket and flicks it to life. “Don’t move, okay?”

“Okay.”

“At all.”

“Got it.”

You can feel heat, intense but not painful. Aegon has pulled the edge of the fabric as far away as he can from your skin and is singeing it until it turns black and charred and brittle. Then he tucks the lighter back into his pocket and with both hands rips your dress down to the small of your back. Cool air rushes to meet the ridge of your spine; goosebumps prickle all over. Aegon is marveling at you; you can see it when you glance over your shoulder at him. Then he lays a palm against your bare skin, leans into you, inhales everything you’ve ever been: smoke and sex and starlight, strategies, shadows, secrets.

The others will be pouring into the hallway from the elevator any minute. Aemond. Aemond could find us.

“We can’t,” you whisper, hating yourself for it.

Aegon kisses the nape of your neck—so slow, so kind—and then goes to the doorway. You wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. He’s looking at you as you hold up the ruined gown so it covers your belly and your chest. You gaze back helplessly, wanting him, needing him, a moon chained to another world’s gravity.

We can’t, we can’t, we can’t.

“I’m so sorry,” you say.

And only then does Aegon vanish.

[binniesbooks]

hi my fayebae, i just read ‘you don’t want him to know, do you’ and i’m🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️absolutely in love with it ahhh, feeding my brain and oh god i sudd had a thought…

his fingers… please

soobin x reader??? let’s just say that in this reality, soobin is able to play the piano beautifully. With his long fingers giving him the advantage of reaching the many keys he needs to, sometimes your mind wonders of how those long fingers would feel inside you…

the way he would play with your cunt… the way he would make sure youre stretched out and then finger fucks you…purposely bringing out his fingers from you. Sucking of your cum from his fingers, making you imagine how his tongue would feel against your clit.which of course then leads to freaky freaky heheh

ahhh i fr had this thought i hope u like it🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

• MELODIES OF TEMPTATION

SB 000 .F23 2024

wc 3.4k

pairings musictutor!Soobin x fem!reader

warnings oral sex, fingering, making out, nipple pinching (dream)

faye's note TMI: I was summoned to hell for the goddamn thesis, that's why I uploaded this late. Wth. Fuck school.

Hope you still enjoy this tho hehe, especially to my Beomgyu's kitten, I'm sorry for uploading so late, omg I hate myself 😭 anyway, I love your asks, really. Kith kith 💋

The soft clinks of the keys of the piano resonated inside the confinement of an empty room, long slender fingers dancing gracefully across the keys. Soft hums come from a comforting voice. The cold windy breeze blows at the open windows flowing through the guy's long fringe as his eyes flutter close feeling the notes hit his ears quietly. His movements came to a halt, head snapping towards the door --soft knocks waking him from his wandering thoughts.

'Hi, are you, perhaps, Choi Soobin?" You quietly asked, clutching on the straps of your crossbody bag.

"Uh, yeah?" he hesitated out of confusion, "May I help you?" -- "Oh, where are my manners, come in." he stood up from the piano as he walked toward the small table on the corner.

You walked slowly, observing the naked room, almost doubting if you really did come to the right place. "Please take a seat," Soobin said as he offered you a glass of water.

"So uh, my mother, found out about these some piano class thing? And, forced me to take it?"

"Is that so? Well, I have no students this session. it's been a while actually, so I'm afraid I can't make classes as of now." He answered.

You wiped your palms on your jeans, "Uhm, is there, like, nothing we can do about it then?"

"The whole lesson fee is actually divided over students. It's just that I can't let you pay the whole price. It's too expensive, given that... you still look like a student." He explained observing your overall figure that totally gives off a student vibe.

"I can pay for the whole price. Just... just let me take the lesson," you pleaded, hands clasped in front of you, "I just can't do anything about it. My mother is expecting me to play the piano in 3 months. I'm supposed to play at my brother's wedding." You rolled your eyes at the request your mother asked you. It just didn't make sense. Why ask you to learn the piano when they could just hire a whole band if they wanted to?

"I see." he meekly answered, nodding slowly. "Then I think we can do something about it." He stood up and walked towards the small cabinet just near the table.

"You can fill up this form, for legal purposes. And we can proceed on talking about your schedule." He handed you a folder. "Do you want to pay it whole or do you want to pay it every session?" He asked as he watched you fill up the form. "I'll pay during every session." You smiled at him and continued answering the necessary form.

You slide back the form towards him, "Y/n Y/s/n, 22." he muttered under his breath before closing the folder. "When are you free?" He asked as he pulled out his phone. "I am free on weekdays afternoon, and weekends the whole day."

"Should we do it on weekends?" he asked, checking his calendar. "We will have 24 sessions in total," he added.

"I'll take it. Weekends, I mean." You agreed.

"Is 5-8 in the evening okay with you?" His head tilted to the side, and you simply nodded.

Soobin stood up, "Okay then, come back this Saturday. we'll start at five." You stoop up after him taking his hand to shake it. As you were about to leave, you turned around once again, "I don't have to pay any deposit?" He chuckled as he answered with a dimpled smile, "No deposits."

...

You gasped as you looked at your wristwatch, what were you doing all this time? It was already four in the afternoon. You fumbled to fix your things as you quickly got up.

"Something wrong?" One of your friends asked, "We still have a movie to watch." "Go ahead, I have an appointment this afternoon, I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you guys on Monday!" You scurried out of the cafe only to go back again to order drinks.

"Two iced americanos, to go."

You knocked at the door twice before pushing it open. He was playing the piano again. he has a huge frame, you thought to yourself. His broad shoulders complement his tall figure, despite the fact that he has a big body build, Soobin has a small waist, emphasized with how his white shirt was tucked in his pants.

You walk towards the small couch and place the drinks on the table. You close your eyes as you listen to his soothing voice. He quietly sings with the melody he is playing. When he was done, you cleared your throat to let him know you were already there.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I did not notice you." he shyly walks over to the couch to talk to you. You offered him the drink as he expressed a small "thank you."

"You have a great voice." You complimented him. A flush crept up on his face, to be honest, he's not used to being complimented.

"Shall we get started? I'm glad to walk you through your music journey." His dimples showed up nicely. They're cute, it makes you want to poke them but it doesn't make you seem professional.

The session ended up well. Besides, Soobin did not have to start from the very beginning, since you already know some of the basics.

The following sessions wrapped up well too. According to Soobin, you are a fast learner. You pick up everything he says quickly. Well, aside from Soobin having longer fingers, it was difficult for you to press keys that were far apart. Other than that you didn't have any problem.

"Can I just cut my fingers and have yours instead?" You were growing frustrated, you were not able to press the right key, making a disturbing sound instead of a good melody. You always end up twisting and wrenching your hand when trying to hit the notes.

"I quit!" You exclaimed only for Soobin to chuckle at your complaints. "You can do it, you are a fast learner," Soobin commented, his arms crossed on his chest. "I am, but the keys make me want to kill myself." You blurted. "It's easy, look." Soobin gently placed his finger on the keys, easily pressing down each note. "You have long fingers, I don't." You pouted. "Not my fault I have longer fingers than you." He answered while laughing only to make you pout again.

"Let's end here, come back tomorrow, you should rest for now, it's getting late." Soobin closed the windows of the room.

"Where do you live? Shall we go out together?" You asked.

"Call," he replied with a dimply smile.

You two ended up dropping by at a convenience store to grab a snack. You found out that you go back by the same way, so you thought might as well take the same bus later.

"I thought you were much older than me." You chimed when you found out he's just one year older than you. "Shall we talk casually, then?" He asks as he sips on the hot chocolate he bought. "If you don't mind." You nodded giddily.

Soobin saw how you shivered at the chilly breeze. "Wear my jacket, you've been shivering since earlier." He offered, taking off his jacket to hand it to you. "I forgot mine." You sheepishly answered as you wrapped his jacket around your body.

"Let's go. You might freeze to death if we stay here any longer." Soobin laughed quietly, picking up the trash on the table as he chucked it into the nearest trash can.

You took the same bus that night. He even bid you goodbye and breathed a soft "Take care, see you next week" before you got off.

Soobin is a shy guy. But he's gentle and caring. He's also talented, not to mention his face card did not decline.

That same night when you got home, you did not know what had gotten into you. You did not know the reason why you let your senses engulf the perfume on his jacket, nor when you tried to close your eyes only to vividly imagine how your night went on. You even quietly prayed and hoped each day that week came fast. Your heart raced at the thought of seeing him again. You grew nervous each day, the anticipation made you bounce your legs in class. It got you checking and re-checking the date.

Maybe the heavens above heard your silent pleas. Because the weekend arrived so quickly. You were so used to wearing just pants and shirts whenever you went to the music tutoring. However, this time, you find yourself fumbling through your dresses as you look for clothes you can wear that gaev off the "I dressed up well for you but I'm not gonna make it obvious" vibe.

You stood in front of the mirror, wearing a skirt and a knitted long sleeve. You look silly, but your heart is about to burst out from the giddiness you were feeling. It's not that you were gonna meet up with a date or something, but, maybe, you like him. Maybe you like Soobin a little bit. Your sessions were more than halfway done, with just 10 sessions remaining.

However, when you stepped inside, there was no Soobin to be found. Nor his things to be seen. The windows were open, though.

You were clutching onto his jacket he had lent you as you scan the room once again, still not used to the naked ass room he's holding the lesson in. However, a bigger couch caught your attention, it looks new. You sat on the couch and watched the clock ticking slowly. You placed his jacket on the couch, as you tried to make it puffy to serve as a makeshift pillow. It's still early anyway, taking a nap won't hurt, besides, he's still not here.

Soobin stepped inside the room, his hair a bit messy as if he just got up from a nap, or a fight, or whatever it was. His words are slurred. Was he drunk? "Hey, are you alright?" You asked as you stood up and walked closer to his tall frame still standing at the door. He grabbed your face and crashed his lips onto yours. His hands fumbled over your body as he pressed your back against the wall.

"H-hey.. S-soobin.. ah.." You tried to push him away but to no avail, he's much larger and stronger than you. His tongue grazed your neck as he sucked lightly as if he wanted to leave a mark. His slender fingers danced across your waist, slipping underneath your long sleeve. He lightly pinched your nipples, eliciting a soft moan from you. His hand travels back to your waist down to your thighs as he lifts your skirt. Your blood ran south, heat pooling on your slit. You can't help but whimper at his touch, his fingers gently rubbing your clothed pussy. He pushed your underwear to the side to slide his fingers in--

"Hey, hey y/n, are you okay?" His face was painted with worry as he tapped your shoulder to wake you up. Your eyes snapped open. "You were whining in your sleep, is everything fine?" He asked grabbing a glass of water. Your face turned red. You can't believe you were dreaming about him, and a sexual dream at that. You chugged down the whole glass of water, you couldn't look him in the eyes, what was that dream all about? Oh god.

"I'm sorry, I was late, something came up and I needed to take care of it, that's why I uh, wasn't here." He apologized, his face still painted with worry.

"N-no it's fine. I mean, I early.. I'm got.. I was... I got here earlier t-than our scheduled time." You cannot even form your words straight. He let out a laugh, as he look at you once again. "You got me worried from all that whining." He sighed, "I thought you were having a bad dream." You scratch the back of your nape as you play with the glass in your hand, you can't tell him about your weird dream, it's not something to spill.

"Shall we start? I'll play a song first, then you'll play once I'm done and apply what you have learnt." He instructed as he strides towards the piano.

Your eyes were fixated on how his fingers danced gracefully on the keys. His beautiful fingers were able to reach the notes you were unable to do. Choi Soobin was actually known for his exceptional piano skills even when he was still at a young age. To most, him playing melodies effortlessly could enrapture the audience, but to you, his fingers stirred thoughts that went far beyond music. You had always thought how his fingers were so pretty although he was a man. It was as though he gave them extra care. The thought even caused you to dream about him. Not to mention you were dreaming about him inside his tutor room.

He had finished playing long ago, but you were still staring at his fingers, still in a daze. His body was already turned to you, examining your eyes and what they were staring at. An enigmatic smile played on his lips, "Care to tell what you are thinking about?" He asked, voice low and inviting. "W-what?" Your eyes snapped back at him. "What's on your mind, y/n." He chuckled when you avoided his gaze, he stood up, "Care to tell?" His head was tilted to the side once again. "Nothing... I.. I just think you're really good at playing the piano.. and that your fingers are p-pretty," you stuttered.

Soobin walks back to the couch where you were sitting, he draws his face near to yours as you back down, leaning your head on the backrest of the couch. "Is that all you're thinking about?" You felt your heart thump faster and harder as you nodded frantically, your palms sweaty. "I don't think so," he leans closer, one wrong move and you'll get your lips crashed with his, "I heard you call my name in your sleep -- let me correct myself, you were actually moaning my name." His arms were on both sides of your head, you're trapped on the couch.

"I'm not the type to let myself go in this kind of situation, but," he stopped as he twirled the end of your hair on his fingers, "You excite me. I'm actually surprised." He chuckled. "S-soobin, I... I didn't mean t--" "Mhm, you didn't baby, you didn't." He nods as he presses his thumb on your glossy lips. You gripped his jacket on your lap with nowhere to ground yourself. Your eyes flutter close at the skin contact. "See? You really didn't." He whispered before closing the gap between the two of you.

You did not know what happened, or what had gotten unto him, but there's one thing you were sure of. Your music tutor is making out with you.

"My, my... You were thinking about what else my fingers can do, am I right?" He remarked as he pulled away a bit. You bit your lips as you nodded lightly. "Naughty girl." He smirked.

His fingers danced across your face, touching your cheeks as he kissed you. You can't help but hold onto his arms.

"Stand up," he commanded as he pulled away. He gently drags you and makes you sit on the soft cushion chair in front of the piano. "Show me what you have learned." He ordered as he kneeled in front of you. "You look pretty by the way," he added.

You slowly pressed on the keys of the piano with an unstable rhythm and a pounding heart. "Spread your legs, I'll show you something," he chuckled at the thought. You clenched your hand as you slowly spread your legs in front of him. "Don't stop playing until I say so," he instructed as he pushed your underwear to the side.

You continued playing on the piano with a more uneven tone and rhythm as you trembled under his touch. His fingers danced gracefully on your pussy, slightly grazing your clit, making you shiver.

He bunches up your skirt to your waist and pulls your underwear all the way for easier access. "Tell me once again that you didn't mean what you were doing earlier," a playful smirk was plastered on his face as he looked up at you. "I... I didn't m-mean to m-moan your n-name..." You whispered with a shaky voice. "Is that right?" He asked, his finger nudging your clit. You nodded as you felt your body shrink at his melting gaze.

"Your body says otherwise, lovely." He chimed as his middle finger slides easily inside you making you gasp. "Continue playing, I'm grading you." He reminded.

You don't even know if the notes you're playing were making sense or if it's the right key, you just kept on pressing the keys with trembling hands as you felt Soobin's finger scissoring your pussy. "You're so wet that all I can hear is the squelching sound, your notes are being drowned," he commented, pressing on your sweet spots.

"S-soobin, I can't a-anymore..." Your fingers stopped, as you shook your head. "I'm grading you y/n. It's either you pass, or I'm going to refer you to another tutor." He warned. "B-but--" "No buts, pretty. Continue."

You did not know where your mind flew to. All you can think about is how his pretty fingers are stretching you out and reaching the spots your own fingers weren't able to reach. "I'm g-gonna cum..." Your voice all trembling and shaking as much as your legs do.

"So soon?" Soobin started to move a bit faster, the sound your pussy was making was so lewd and dirty. You're toes curled, your hand gripped on his shoulder as you try to stop yourself from cumming. Soobin smirked, you're so lovely to look at. "Hmm, pretty." He chuckled as he stared at you.

"P-please Soobin, I'm gonna cum..." You pleaded. He twisted his fingers, scissored and pushed it more inside your gummy walls, you're too weak to hold back. You came on his fingers as you shuddered with his finger still fucking inside you. You were whining and squirming, but he's too strong for your weakened body.

He pulled his fingers out. He stares at his sticky and slicked-covered fingers and looks at you. He saw how the flush crept over your cheeks. "We will continue our sessions, you still have a lot to learn." His gaze at you is unwavering, waiting for you to look back at him. And when you did, his fingers disappeared in his own mouth.

"Fuck, you taste so sweet." He moaned, cleaning his own fingers covered with your cum. His low voice gives you a shiver down your spine. He continued on licking his fingers, eyes locked on yours. You lean down to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue. He pulled away. "I'm still not done, hold your skirt up." As a good student, you gladly obliged, clutching on your skirt.

He placed one of your thighs on his shoulder as he dives into your pussy. Lapping every essence dripping down. You squirmed and gripped on his hair. His tongue poking on your cunt. "S-soobin ahh, shit." You've lost it. Your tutor is eating you out, the guy you have a little crush on.

He keeps on humming in your pussy, the vibration adds to the tingly sensation you are feeling. You were in ecstasy.

"N-no more... Hng.." he did not stop. No way he's gonna stop. Not when Soobin is already hard and on the verge of cumming just by eating you out. But he holds back. "Shit!" Soobin felt you clench on his tongue, riding your other high. Your legs spasmed while he was cleaning you with his tongue, scraping every drop of your cum. It's something he can't waste.

He looks up at you, wiping his glistening mouth and nose with the back of his hand.

"Lay on the couch." He bosses, as he proceeded to lock the door. "Maybe buying this bigger couch has a purpose. Too bad it'll get soiled today, I just bought it yesterday." He smiled as he unzipped his pants, "Bend over. You're the one to grade me this time. Which is the best? My finger, my tongue, or my cock."

@binniesbooks 2024

[goxjo]

omg the way you write wbk boys makes me dizzy.. love it sm. do you have any thots of suo that you’d like to share

nooonnniiiiie ૮꒰/ฅ//ฅ//꒱ა thank you for this ask !! I used to like him a normal amount, but because of two particular fanarts of him (and a few people from a lovely wb server I’m in), I’m afraid he’s aaalmost up there with my top 3 ;;

ANYWHO I think he would do very well in handling a partner who’s very shy but also very kinky <333

warnings: afab! reader, degradation + humiliation, choking, creampie, cum eating, likes to edge you in public, poor sakura, mean! suo, yeah I definitely like him a little mean sorry <3 (18+ only)

mean boyf! suo who on the outside, treats you like the proper gentleman that he is. In public or while hanging out with his friends, he always appears to be whispering sweet nothings into your ear. It’s impossible to tell what you guys got going on as he’s always got that signature smile on his face - the one that’s known to either melt girls down to their knees or set off an opponent. All they know is, you’re very much invested in whatever he has to say. Good or bad, they could never tell.

On the inside, behind closed doors, within close proximity, or whatever, he likes to treat you like the filth that you are. Little do they know, he’s been secretly telling you over and over how much of a minx you really are for deceiving the people around you, himself included. You appear to be so sweet and innocent- so shy and gullible. But you always crave the feeling of his hands wrapped around your throat, always desperately begging for his cock to fill you up.

He lets you know he wonders how his friends would react if they knew of the filth that comes out of your mouth, you practically have to cry out to him, praying he fills you with his load till your thighs are sticky from all the seed that drips from you. He fucks you even when you’re stuffed full. Cum oozes out of your cunt, squelching with every roll of his hips. And you love the mess - the mess the two of you make, because at the end of it all, he gets to lick your pussy clean.

“Wonder how they’d react if I told them just how needy you are, hm?”

He ignores every single one of of your protests. You’re afraid someone might overhear. What would they think of you? They’d look at you differently. He pushes you over the edge sometimes it makes you want to cry, but he chuckles even as tears prickle your eyes. He tells you, “C’mon. Don’t act like you’re not wet from the thought alone of getting exposed. I know you’re drenched right now. Want me to tell Sakura? Want me to have him watch as I stuff you over and over again, spilling out every one of your dirty little secrets?”

And he’s right on the money. Every single syllable that comes out of his mouth tickles your core, so much that it forces you to ball your hand in a fist, squeezing it between your legs. Never mind the look of wonder on his friends’ faces seeing you unable to sit still in your chair while Suo’s lips are practically glued to your ear.

And god you need friction. You need his tongue, his hands, his lips. You need him to throw you a bone and fuck you with it, anything.

“See what you did? You can’t control yourself even out in public, you just caught Sakura’s eye. Poor guy, no wonder he’s beet red.”

“H-hayato, can’t take it anymore. Please, I need you.”

“Hm? What if- Sakura and I switch places tonight?”

[klaus-littlestwolf]

Yan. College Student!Klaus M. A-Z

(I’ve done several Alphabets for Klaus already but I thought to do one for my Human!High School series but then I thought…Yandere College Student! And here we are😈)

A stands for AFFECTION: how would they show affection?

•Gift Giving is Klaus’ love language

•Before you even knew who he was he was sending you flowers almost everyday, especially after overhearing you tell your best friend that you love how strongly your (usually gross smelling thanks to so many other students in the wing) dorm room smells of roses thanks to the constant cycle of fresh flowers being delivered

•After he introduces himself to you for the first time (which he believes is your 6 month anniversary) he gives you a black Eternity Collar that he keeps the key to so that you can never remove it, clearly loving the knowledge that you are wearing a collar that he has gifted you

B stands for BLOODY: how bloody are they willing to get for their object of obsession?

•Klaus has made it clear that he is willing to do whatever he deems necessary to “protect you” in any way and that sometimes means getting his hands bloody

•You made the mistake around the third month of your Stalker (though he signed all of his love letters to you ‘Your Loving Boyfriend’) sending you letters and gifts, of going out on a date with a boy from your Econ class. He had been asking you out relentlessly for over 2 months and while you originally said “No” because of your Stalker, his persistence had also creeped you out (arguably in a much worse way than your Stalker). You finally said you would go to dinner with him just to get him to stop asking and he took you to a fancy little place in town. He was an asshole as you knew he would be and it seemed your Stalker noticed that too

•Your stalker believed that the idiot you went on a date with had threatened you into it and so you were forgiven…he wasn’t though and he found himself thrown off a bridge to his death later that night (though everyone else would believe it a suicide)

C stands for CRUELTY: would they ever hurt their object of obsession?

•Klaus does not physically hurt you, he won’t hit you or beat you (he had been beaten his entire childhood and he’s sensitive about it)

•The most painful thing he does is when he’s really angry he will occasionally grab you by the collar that he gave you and drag you around by it

D stands for DARLING: would they cross their object of obsession’s limits?

•Sexually, no, he will never do something that you are afraid of or that you don’t like

•Other limits are non-existent. What limits? You are his girl and your relationship has no limits

E stands for EXPOSED: how much do they expose their own feelings to their object of obsession?

•Klaus tells you about his feelings for you immediately

•Your first “interaction” with Klaus was his first letter that he sent you along with the bouquet of flowers, the letter containing his thoughts and feelings for you that he poured out onto the paper and you were instantly torn between being flattered by how gorgeous and wonderful he thought you were and being creeped out by how he was clearly watching you and had been for God knows how long

•He never hid his feelings from you in any regard, not even when he is angry with you for whatever slight you have committed without knowing it

‘I have loved you since the day I first saw you, you looked at me and I was done for, I knew it instantly.’

‘Everything I am is yours, I exist only for you and seeing you in pain hurts me more than words can express. You should never have reason to shed a tear Princess and if you tell me who it was that brought tears to your eyes, I will ensure that they never have the chance again.’

‘How could you allow him to put his hands on you like that?! Does this relationship mean nothing to you? Do I Mean Nothing to You?! I have not so much as thought about touching another girl since the day we met and you are on a date?!’

‘I cannot express how sorry I am for scaring you my Darling. I should never get upset with you, especially for something that isn’t your fault. That idiot boy pressured you into a date and you were afraid, my Princess was scared and all I did was make it worse, I am so sorry. Please forgive me for the words I wrote in anger and please accept these flowers as my sincere apology, as well as the idiot boy who pressured you into a date now never being able to set eyes on you again. No one hurts you and doesn’t suffer for it, you will never have to worry about him again.’

•His mood swings were terrifying even before you met him when all of your interactions were through his letters and texts to you. You had no idea who he was and you hid all of the letters from everyone, keeping it a secret for the entire 6 months that he stalked you before arriving at your door and instantly behaving like you had been dating the entire time

F stands for FIGHT: how would they react to their object of obsession fighting back?

•He wouldn’t understand it at all and it would confuse him before potentially enraging him if you don’t stop quickly

•You are his girl, you’ve been together happily for months and he wouldn’t understand why you’re suddenly behaving like this

G stands for GAME: do they think this is just a game?

•No, this is in no way a game

•You are Klaus’ everything and it’s not something that he takes lightly. He will kill for you if he has to, and he has done just that

H stands for HELL: what would be their object of obsession’s worst experience with them?

•Your worst experience was probably when you needed to pretend that you had nothing to do with your dates death and that he had just committed suicide

•You were questioned by everyone since he had been with you the night before, wondering how he was, if he was acting strangely, asking why he would do this and you needed to pretend you had no clue

•It was extremely stressful and you locked yourself in your room for 3 days to avoid people, not even answering for the deliveries which just worried your Stalker

I stands for IDEAL: what are their plans for their object of obsession?

•Klaus plans for you to be his forever

•He plans to graduate and take care of you, you’re going to move into a condo together and enjoy being together for a while before you have some kids and spend the rest of your lives together

J stands for JEALOUSY: how they react when jealous? Do they get jealous?

•You do not want Klaus getting jealous, he gets violent

•Klaus will instantly see another man as a threat to you and he will want to get rid of that threat anyway he can and he will absolutely kill for you

K stands for KINDNESS: how they act around their object of obsession?

•Klaus worships you

•He will give you anything you want! You want to watch your favorite movie? Fuck studying for his exam, his baby wants to watch a movie! You have a craving for ice cream at 1am? Fuck his early morning class, his Princess wants ice cream!

•You hate that he does things like that but he will never stop, he loves to see you happy and it’s the most important thing!

L stands for LOVE LETTER: how would they approach their object of obsession?

•He stalks her for 6 months sending letters and gifts almost everyday believing you are in a committed relationship

M stands for MASK: how different are their public persona from their true selves?

•Klaus is a nerdy, shy kind of guy and most people wouldn’t even notice him in the back of the class

•With you he’s a very dominant person and that last word you would ever use to describe your boyfriend is “shy”

N stands for NAUGHTY: how would they punish their object of obsession?

•Klaus’ favorite punishment is when he locks you in his dorm room and you end up forced to stay with him, only leaving when you have class but usually ending up stuck there all weekend

O stands for OPPRESSION: how many rights would they take from their object of obsession?

•All of them

•You live for him, to be his Princess and your entire life (in his opinion) should be about your relationship. What rights do you need? Where do you need to go? What do you need to do that he can’t do for you?

P stands for PATIENCE: how patient are they with their object of obsession?

•Klaus isn’t known for his patience

•Honestly, after finally meeting him you were shocked that he waited 6 whole months to meet you officially

Q stands for QUIT: if their object of obsession died or escaped, would they ever be able to move on?

•Died: Klaus would lose his mind. He would end up having a massive psychotic break and killing God knows how many people before being locked in an asylum for the rest of his life

•Escaped: He would never stop looking for you. No matter how long you’ve gotten away for, a month, a year, 10 years, just when you think you’re safe and you settle down he would find you and lock you away with him forever

R stands for REGRET: would they ever regret harming their object of obsession? Would they ever let them go?

•Klaus wouldn’t let you go, however if he did actually hurt you in his anger he would quickly regret it as soon as he calmed down

•He would take care of any injury and baby you for weeks afterwards until he knows you forgive him completely

S stands for STIGMA: what made their yandere tendencies bloom?

•The day he first saw you in class he just knew you were his

•From that moment he refused to fight his feelings, why fight destiny?

T stands for TEARS: how would they react to their object of obsession crying/breaking?

•Your tears typically send him into a panic

•He absolutely hates seeing you cry for any reason, and though when he’s angry and you cry he will just ignore it, he quickly falls right back into babying you and letting you cry on his shoulder until you feel all better

U stands for UNIQUE: something different they would do compared to others yanderes.

•The 6 months it took him to meet you in person for the first time was definitely different

•However while most Yanderes would want to lock you away (and while he did love having you all to himself) he allowed you to finish your schooling right along side of him before locking you away in the house he got the two of you after college when he was ready to stuff you full of his babies

V stands for VICE: what weakness their object of obsession could use against them?

•Y/n found out quite early that not only could she weaponize his jealousy but her tears as well

•Like most Yanderes, Klaus is profoundly jealous but he also can’t handle her crying and will do just about anything to get her to stop. As long as she doesn’t push it too far she can get almost anything she wants

W stands for WIT’S END: would they hurt their object of obsession?

•Klaus wouldn’t hurt you on purpose

•You have occasionally gotten him so upset that he ended up shoving you against the wall too hard or grabbing your arm so hard it bruises but it is very rare as he is quite attentive about that

X stands for XOANON: would they worship their object of obsession?

•The ground you walk on every moment of every day

•Klaus absolutely adores you and there is nothing you could do to change that. You’re half convinced that he believes you to be a Goddess in human form

Y stands for YEARN: how long would they pine after their object of obsession before they snap?

•He couldn’t even wait one whole day after meeting you before he sent you the first flower bouquet and letter, however 6 months was his limit before he couldn’t stand not being able to touch you anymore without losing his mind

Z stands for ZENITH: would they ever break their object of obsession?

•He would never break your spirit completely, however you would eventually do as he wanted knowing that you were never getting away from him

•Being with Klaus wasn’t so bad, honestly it could be much worse and with how much he loves you you knew you would always have just about anything you wanted

Klaus Mikaelson Masterlist

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Video Games Part 11

Alien: So what is this one about? Human: Vampires in the wild west. Alien: Sounds interesting. Human: You’d think so, but when the main characters are as animated as the undead monsters they fight it’s pretty hard to take them seriously. Alien: From your own admission they are fighting vampire cowboys…..how serious were you expecting it to be? Human: ……. Touché. ---------------------

Alien: What is “The Quarry”? Human: Murder porn and sadness. Alien: ……………… ------------------------

Alien: “Boltgun”? Human: A man too angry to die because of what a sassy bitch he is. Alien: How does being sassy make you avoid death? Human: Because even death is afraid of being mocked so hard. ---------------------

Alien: Why would anyone want to play an aquatic predator? Human: You ever just look at someone and wonder what they’d taste like? Alien: I believe that is called cannibalism. Human: Not unless you’re a giant fish. ---------------------

Alien: Why does the tiny creature have a machine gun? Human: To stop you from eating it. Alien: Most effective. ---------------------

Alien: I heard this one is a popular game. Human: Eh, I guess. Alien: What do you mean “eh”? Alien: There have been five of them made. Human: It’s mostly made for people that like to watch a slow mo shot of a bullet going through a man’s balls over and over. Alien: What sadistic beings are you?!? Human: You should let me tell you about Meat Boy sometime for more context. ---------------------

Alien: This one looks cute. Alien: It’s about a brother in sister in your primitive era. Human: And a shit load of rats. Alien: What? Human: Yeah, you can make the rats devour a man whole as he screams and begs for his life. Alien: I…..but…..just….why? ----------------------

Alien: Why on florps name would someone want to play a game about manual labor? Alien: is not the point of your entertainment games to seek enjoyment? Human: Some people feel pleasure from a job well done. Alien: That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Human: Didn’t your people worship a rock a couple centuries back because when the light hit it the thing sparkled? Alien: ………touché. -------------------------

Alien: I wish to escape this bunker. Human: You just need to find some dynamite and a plunger to trigger it. Alien: Sounds easy enough. Human: And avoid the ancient giant rat god stalking the halls of the bunker. Alien: What is with your people and rats?!!?!?!? ----------------------

Alien: What is this “Crackdown 3” about? Human: A cops fantasy about how they view themselves. Alien: How so? Human: They see themselves fighting crime when more often they help prop up a totalitarian regime. Alien: Did not the second one have monsters in it? Human: That’s how they see poor people. Alien: Holy gargle…..that’s messed up. --------------------

Alien: What is this one? Human: Designing overly elaborate death machines to murder guys in metal suits with swords. Alien: Is that not what we did to your people during the third age of your species? Human: Come again? ------------------

Alien: Is this game about zombies? Human: More a social experiment. Alien: How so? Human: It has no set rules or goal in a zombie apocalypse, but more often you find people choosing the worst things to do to each other for shits and giggles. Alien: It can’t be all that bad. Human: I watched a group of high level players capture a new player, strip them of their gear, and force them to drink bleach under pain of death for a meme. Alien: ……………….. ----------------------

Human: How’s the new game goin- Alien: *Grabs human friend and sprays them with foam Alien: Good…you’re not one of them. Human: spits out foam One of what? Alien: A shape shifter! Alien: They were everywhere on the station and that made me wonder if those bastards are here in the home as well! Human: Wouldn’t say they’re all bastards. Table: Yeah, some of us are actually nice fellows. *Alien and Human both scream*

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Surprise Pt. 3 | Soap x Reader

Summary: The boys get called out to a mission after you get injured during a game, and your past finally catches up to you.

Word Count: ~ 4k

Warnings: minor character death, guns, blood, injuries, lil bit of angst, ptsd, panic attacks, episodes, and yeah

A/N: alr I’m kinda making it up as I go, but I feel like I’m slowly getting better at making accented dialogue…hope you enjoy<3 (also thinking of making it gaz x reader x soap, or just johnny?? lmk what u think)

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The longer they stayed in your home, still keeping eyes out for any of the terrorists in the area, the more they noticed some of your odd quirks.

Simon was the first to notice many of them, due to his years of experience in the military, and all of the skills he’d acquired during that time. He observed every little thing, whether it be on purpose or unconsciously.

Like how you always locked your door after entering or leaving, both locks as well. Not just one. Or the way your windows remained shut and locked, dark curtains pulled over most of them to block out any light or keep someone from looking in.

There was a knife under your pillow, and a small gun in the drawer of your nightstand. Simon would know, he’d searched the entire house when they’d first arrived, not sure if he could trust you or not. You had a gun safe in your room’s closet, and the screws on your room’s hinges were slightly unscrewed, as were every door in the house, so it would creak every so slightly when opened. So you could locate everyone in the house.

It reminded him of his habits a bit too much.

But you also had a kernel of authority to you, despite sometimes mumbling instead of speaking clearly, or the tiniest of nervous ticks he could notice, like how your lips would twitch left when unsure or insecure. Despite your stone-faced look now, you still had a few of the same tells that the little girl he’d known all those years ago did.

He only wondered what had happened to that little girl.

But he knew she’d grown up. And what he saw in you now wasn’t what he recalled from the girl he’d threatened in the past, the girl he’d intimidated and scared into staying away. Because now, you didn’t seem afraid of him at all. Not afraid of his comrades, either.

You were different in more than a few ways, now. He knew foster care had been rough on you, with god knows how many families taking you in only for money or being abusive. He barely knew the general timeline of how long you’d been in it. He’d heard tiny bits of it you’d offhandedly mentioned, and you seemed to have found a more permanent home at 12, staying until moving out here, looking for what most teenagers are, a meaning and some freedom.

But he hadn’t known just how rough it had been.

You’d gotten home from work looking beat one night, wearing some jeans, a uniform shirt, a belt, and per usual a holster for your gun. You always insisted on carrying it, and he didn’t blame you. Bad things happened to girls who lived alone here.

You didn’t even take any time to eat or change before walking into your room and collapsing into bed, asleep in a second. Work always seemed to tire you out, for whatever reason, but maybe they had you doing all kinds of shit he didn’t know waitresses did. Who was he to assume?

“She should eat dinner, at least.” Price said, watching from the couch as Johnny pouted slightly. He’d cooked a meal, especially for you, albeit Gaz had done most of the work and helped him out, basically making the entire dish, poor Soap had been waiting all day to try it.

“I can go get her?”

Kyle suggested, and Simon’s deep rumbling voice spoke up next, glancing over to your closed door, a neat “Do not enter.” sign on the front.

“She don’t like when people go in ‘er room.”

“Well, she’s breakin’ poor Soap’s heart.”

“She’s yer sister, why don’t you go get the lass.”

“She’d beat his ass, that’s why.”

Simon gave an exasperated sigh, getting up from where he’d been sitting next to Price, watching a soccer game. He approached your door, slowly opening it as it creaked. The lights were off, the room completely dark as the windows were also covered by the thick curtains you kept.

You’d made it clear that no one was allowed in your room before, but it looked normal to him. The walls were a shade of your favorite color, or what he assumed was, fairy lights with clips on them holding pictures of you and friends, and even a picture from years ago of the family, hanging from wall to wall. There was a desk at the front, papers thrown about and some neatly arranged. The clothes basket smelled vaguely of an irony tang he didn’t bother to investigate at the time.

A mirror hung on the other end of the door.

Walking quietly up to you, he watched you for a moment. Your body was deathly still, breathing quietly but a bit shaky. He could see your eyes moving beneath your eyelids, the movements erratic and frantic.

Despite himself, Simon found himself intrigued by the papers on your desk. Why had you bothered to keep them out of your room? What were you hiding? His military career kept him on his toes at all times and kept him suspicious of everyone.

After all, it was the people you trusted that could hurt you the most.

Walking silently over to your desk, he began going through papers. Gaz and Soap, now both watching through the doorway, made little hushed whispers of “Wha’ are you doing??” and “Jus’ wake ‘er up-“ that he ignored. The papers were all basic, nothing interesting.

Essays, research papers, lots of notes. But just when he thought he wouldn’t find anything, he slid open one drawer as it creaked slightly as well, finding files in it. Paper, Manila folders that were thick with information that he found himself curious about. However, just when he reached for the first one, he heard Johnny.

“Behind ye, Lt-“

The cold metal of a gun against the side of his head became more than apparent as someone kicked the backs of his knees in. A gun to his head, on his knees, with Gaz and Soap now in the room, hands up, carefully trying to approach him.

“Easy, lass. We ain’t gonna hurt ya..”

Johnny tried, and that was when Simon realized it wasn’t some enemy terrorist who had gotten in who was holding him at gunpoint, no, it was you. He hadn’t even heard you approach. Hadn’t heard you get out of bed or move at all.

But he did hear the hammer of the gun click back.

The first thought he had was that he was being betrayed. Double-crossed. Either that or you were having some sort of episode. Price approached the door, watching you like a wounded animal. Unlike Simon, he could see the way your eyes weren’t there, that you were somewhere else, in an entirely different world, doing what you thought was right.

Price slowly approached, bolder than both of the Sergeants, but with a practiced precision. He’d done this before. They could tell.

“Can you tell me who you’re pointin’ a gun at?”

He asked, voice unwavering and not full of pity, but instead understanding. He watched your eyes slowly trail from the gun to Simon, now completely still, and held a hand for Gaz and Soap to stay where they were. He could tell when the realization slowly began dawning on you, that you weren’t in danger, and that this was Simon.

A tiny click, the safety being switched on, before you took the gun from Simon’s head and set it on the floor, kicking it away from you to Price. Usually, you wouldn’t sleep with a gun on your person for this reason. By the time you would open the nightstand to grab it, you’d usually have already snapped out of it.

Sighing deeply, you slumped on the floor beside Simon as he slowly relaxed, and you curled up into a ball. You didn’t say anything, and neither did they. Price took the gun, standing and walking out of the room, giving a nod to Gaz and jerking his head to Soap as the Captain and Johnny left the room.

Kyle remained nearby, just in case, but didn’t say anything.

“Didn’ know you had it in ya to hold a gun to my head,” Simon said, trying for a bit of humor to make you laugh, or even hear a snort in reply, or even a snarky comment about how stupid he was. When you didn’t do anything, he silently sighed.

“How often do you have ‘em?”

“Every night.”

He made a small grunt at that. He could understand nightmares a bit too well, considering the demons of his own he had. He put an arm slowly around you, and when you didn’t stiffen, he considered it okay as he slowly stood, picking you up. However, as soon as he picked you up, you mumbled something under your breath and squirmed free, standing on your own.

“Let’s get ya some fresh air.”

He said, leading you out of the room. He took one last glance at the open file drawer and decided that you had your secrets, and he had his, and it could stay like that until either of you was ready to change it.

~

Nothing had changed since that night, other than one thing.

No one tried to wake you up again.

However, you remained as sassy and slightly stoic as usual, still caring for them, and now savoring every one of Johnny’s dinners to make up for the one you’d missed that night.

When they showed up covered in blood, sweat, and tears, you would take it in stride, patching them up and grumbling about buying more medical supplies, washing their clothes, and buying razors for them because, “A beard does not suit any of you but Price.” You’d even bought food they liked, albeit making them cough up some money for it, because of the job you had at some little restaurant they’d never heard of before as a waitress. You only really worked the job on some weekends, when you weren’t on a big absence for traveling during volleyball season, or at camps.

Your manager-landlord was surprisingly lenient about it, Simon thought. But considering all the weapons you had, he wouldn’t be surprised if a little threat went a long way.

He’d always wondered what you did at those volleyball games, anyway. That was until Price spoke up about it at breakfast one morning when you hadn’t left early for practice, and Laswell had eventually just informed them to lie low until further orders came.

“You oughtta come out wit’ us, get out the house a lil’.”

Johnny had suggested, and Gaz had given a little affirming nod. Simon remained silent, quietly watching as you shook your head.

“Can’t, got games today.”

You replied without even glancing up at them, eyes on your plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. That was the usual. You always had games, training, work, or school. With a schedule as busy as that, none of them knew how you managed it, but it left little to no time for you to simply relax or hang out with them.

Johnny grumbled about something with his mouth full of eggs when Price spoke up.

“Why don’ we go watch, eh? You been havin’ me help wit’ the plans, might as well.” He suggested before taking a big bite of bacon. You paused at that, glancing up at Price, studying him, before swallowing the food in your mouth.

“I’ll think about it.” Was the only answer they’d gotten at the time, but around thirty minutes before the game, you’d texted Simon the address, which was enough of a sign for him to get the boys and head over to your school, walking in the gym and paying for their entry. Six dollars for an adult, players were free.

To be fair, they tried their hardest to dress in civilian clothes and act normal, but it was hard when their instincts screamed to check every corner, keep eyes on the windows and doors, and scan for possible entries and exits.

You and your team were already practicing by then, setting up a hitting line, one setter in the front middle, two lines of hitters taking turns, and two passers in the back row bumping the ball to the setter, who promptly set it, and the hitter smacked it over.

Many of the girls were tall, and while you weren’t too short, standing at around 5’7 now, you weren’t the tallest either. That might’ve been the reason that you were mainly a back-row passer, also taking into consideration the control you held over your hits and body as well. The other team got full court to practice before the game for 2 minutes, which must’ve been the usual around this area.

“They bette’ win this,” Gaz murmured, seated to the left of Price, who watched as another girl on the team whispered something in your ear that had you biting your lip to hold back a smile. You were close with these people, they could all tell that.

“Our lass’ got it, I’m sure.”

Johnny said, watching the other team practice while Simon did the same. Simon’s attention was then diverted back to you, as any hint of laughter or amusement faded from your expression, into the stone wall he’d come to know. With a notebook in hand, you went over something with the rest of the team as they all huddled, the coach nearby and nodding along with it as they pointed something out with a pencil in hand.

A few adjustments must’ve been made before a game of rock-paper-scissors was played between the two coaches to decide who got first serve. The other team did. Already off to a disadvantage, he thought.

You all took up your positions in the court, Simon not recognizing anyone but you, with your hair, braided tightly back by one of your teammates, and the bright red jersey everyone on your team wore. You were number 14. He vaguely remembered Johnny mentioning something about you wearing a jersey in the number 14.

You were in the top right position, tucking any stray pieces of hair that had gotten loose somehow behind your ears, before all of your team was in position. The serve was hit over by the other team, and a brunette in the back row passed it to the setter, who made the ball go in a perfect arch in your direction. You began the approach of the ball, jumping up, arm held back, and ready to spike it. The blockers for the other team jumped, ready to deflect any ball, but right when you were going to spike it, your left non-hitting hand tipped the ball over the net.

Right between the blockers.

“Cleva girl,” Gaz said with a small smirk, and Soap lowly whistled. You didn’t glance up at them, expression remaining still despite the clever move.

It hit the floor, and a whistle sounded. Your team’s point. A rotation was done, and you were serving. They watched you toss the ball up, approach, jump, and smack it down all in less than 15 seconds before you were back in your spot, ready for the ball to be returned.

“Bloody hell..” Simon said, watching the two teams volley. He didn’t know many of the rules of volleyball, only Price knew most of them because of some of your late-night conversations on strategies to use with your team, but he was pretty damn sure you were doing good.

Your team moved in fluidity with each other, and it made Simon wonder what the hell you’d been putting these girls through in those training sessions, and what your coach had been doing. It reminded him a little of his team, his Task Force. The way you all knew each other, how high a set had to be for one specific person, the way one girl would slightly skew her bumps to the left, and the setter would move accordingly, or how to interweave without bumping into one another.

And the way you held everyone together… reminded him of Price the most.

When someone messed up, you didn’t yell or look disappointed, you simply glanced at them, acknowledged them, and gave a small nod. The same when someone pulled something off well. When you won the first set, you didn’t let your team gloat in the victory for too long.

And when you were losing the second set? Your teammates got a bit skittish, sure, but the way you remained almost totally unaffected kept them together. You were the glue of the team, keeping everyone out of their heads and in the game.

The second set was lost, but the third set remained.

“They play the last one to fifteen’.”

Price informed the boys after they’d sat up a little more, on the edge of their seats, bodies taught with stress. Kyle could’ve sworn Johnny was sweating a bit.

It went over fifteen, as you had to win by two points, and it was currently 15-16. One more point and the opposing team would win. But three more points and your team would.

Price’s phone began ringing.

A harsh serve from the opposite team and the bump was skewed by an anxious redhead in the back row. It went too far to the side, and you were running for it, but it looked too far away.

Two steps away.

Price was talking quietly to whoever was calling, his work voice on. Simon was too focused on you to care about the phone.

You weren’t close enough.

One knee went down closer to the ground, and your remaining foot kicked off the ground as your body dove for it.

A grim tone from the Captain as he nodded to whatever question Gaz had asked, while he ended the call.

Only a foot away.

Your hand flattened against the ground just as the ball bounced off of it, your head smacking hard against the floor.

Price muttered something to Soap, who tried nudging Simon, but didn’t get his attention, his eyes on you.

Your team played the ball off of the save, and the opposing team lost the point. The whistle was blown while the game was 16-16, mainly because you weren’t getting up. Out cold.

Simon shot to his feet, already, heading in your direction. There was red spreading on the floor, and he was back in his family home, looking down at his mother’s crumpled body, flashes of his little nephew’s bloodied corpse, and his brother’s shredded body coming into view.

He wasn’t there fast enough, he couldn’t get to you fast enough. He had failed.

Before he could go down even a single step, Price’s hand came down onto his shoulder firmly, holding him back. Grounding him. As he turned to face the Captain, Price spoke.

“It’s Laswell. Urgent, they need us.” He spoke quietly, and Ghost could only look on as they picked up your unconscious form from the floor, a part of your blond hair dyed red with the liquid oozing from it, and carried you away.

“She’ll be alright, Lt. Let’s go,” Soap said, grabbing Simon’s hand and pulling him along like a lost puppy. Gaz and Price were talking about something in front of them as they walked out.

The moment they got to the car, Price pulled their uniforms out of the trunk.

“Jus’ in case,”

He said, tossing them to each respective man, and Price drove while the rest of them changed in the car. The moment Simon slipped his mask on, he willed himself to forget about anything regarding you.

The job came first.

~

Your head was swimming and fuzzy. Your limbs refused to cooperate properly.

You recognized your bed, the dark curtains on the windows, and the smell of your room, covered in the perfume you always wore. Your vision was blurry, too blurry to simply be from sleeping.

Swallowing, you tried to sit up, only to find your throat dryer than a desert and your limbs shaky and weak. You made a small grunt when you tumbled from the bed to the floor, vision blurring more before going slightly back to normal. As normal as it could be right now.

You heard a small female gasp and your bedroom door opened with a creak. One of your closest friends from the volleyball team, Nalani, walked in, immediately going to your side.

Her brown, bronze skin reminded you of Gaz, and her long, dark intricate braids you’d always been amazed by hung in a ponytail behind her. Sure, you two might’ve fooled around a bit a few months back, but that was behind you. Behind both of you. She was a friend, just a friend, even if friends didn’t usually share beds and know how each other tasted.

But you trusted her more than most, that was for sure.

She’d seen your scars, heard what you could tell her without endangering her life, and she hadn’t backed away. She’d embraced it with you. Even on your worst days.

“You just busted your head open, you need to stay in bed.”

She mumbled, putting you back into the bed after lifting you. She’d changed you into your favorite pair of shorts and a loose T-shirt. It was only when she began going on and on about how stubborn you were, that you noticed a blur of movement in the doorway.

You’d seen Simon’s friends leave earlier. Assumed they’d been on a mission again.

You began pushing against Nalani, and she looked confused.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Your throat was too dry and cracked. You rasped to get something out as a gun poked around the corner. A silencer on it.

“Down, get-“

You tried pushing her down, the other hand reaching for the gun in your nightstand, fingers fumbling to find it. You were too late.

A near silent shot, and there was a hole in the back of her head that you couldn’t see but knew was there. She crumpled to the ground as you tried again to grab your pistol from the nightstand drawer, only to realize that Price had never returned it after that night.

Cursing under your breath, you grabbed the knife from under your pillow, a hunting knife, and threw it, watching as it embedded itself into the man peeking around the corner’s neck.

One down.

More came, though. Too many. Your vision blurred as you heard male voices talking, a shot down by your legs, but not quite hitting.

They were trying to disable you.

Your head was throbbing, adrenaline making you forget grief in the moment. Pain exploded through your veins as you felt a bullet whiz past you, nicking your right arm. Three men stormed the room, clearing it, before one of them came into sight, kneeling to be eye level with you.

“Thought we wouldn’t find you, yes? The Wasp’s Nest is not as secure as you thought. We’ll get our retribution.”

He spoke mockingly to you, before shoving a white bag over your head. Other voices filled the room, quiet, but loud enough for your dwindling consciousness to catch.

“…useful?”

“It’ll work……able to….again.”

“…knock her..”

“Roger that..”

You felt the blunt force of the back of a gun being slammed against your head, and your vision went black.

If you’d told the truth, then maybe none of this wouldn’t have happened.

But in the end.

The job came first.

Tags:

@yearninglustfully

@kazuyatokue

@kiwibao

@kurokitty6

@sharkluver

@100percentlazybonez

[icarusredwings]

Clean

Separating this from my other works because of the Trigger Warnings. This read my not be for all viewers and is NOT safe for littles. It contains past mentions and discussions of Child SA, child abuse, unintentional SH, panic attacks, and emotional hurt/ comfort.

It's time to get out of the bath, but.. Wade's not clean yet. At least thats what he says.

"Alright. That's done. That's ready. Check, check, okay, now I just need Wade." Setting the plates down on the coffee table, he had even brought him some juice and turned on Beauty and the Beast for them to watch during dinner.

Today had been... Rough.. to say the least. First when he went with Vanessa he had been scolded by a parent to stay away from their child, the arguing between Ness and the parent scared him enough to sit down and put his hands over his ears near a tree, rocking himself.

He must have gotten even more spooked because when someone came to see what was wrong, Wade kicked them in the nose and practically cried all the way home after the incident.

Fortunately, he didn't want to press charges and told Wade he forgave him but to be careful next time. It was a slap on the wrist compared to what trouble he could have actually gotten into. It was one of the reasons Logan was afraid to take him there, knowing he'd lose his temper and be not any help either.

For the last hour or so, Wade has refused to speak to him. Or anyone really, the only word he said was "Bath" multiple times until he was finally put in one. Or rather, one was ran for him.

See, he was big enough (thank god) to take care of himself (mainly) but did enjoy help with his shoes and to be held, etc. It only made Logan wonder how long this has been going on. How many years has he had to do this by himself? Far too many it seemed.

The way it would work was Logan would prepare the Bath while Wade picked out his clothes. He also got to pick what kind of bubbles and small things like that, though mainly, He didn't take care of the water parts (Not ever since he flooded the bathroom).

After it was fully ran, bubbily and warm, Logan would leave him to it. Letting him soak for how ever long he liked and wouldn't open the door unless told too.

Sometimes, when he was itchy, they'd put oats in his bath instead of bubbles, though Logan had to be sure to tell him not to eat the oats or else he would.

It would be more difficult if wade had hair to wash, but since he didn't (obviously) there was no fuss about it.

He didn't need any help scrubbing his legs and arms, his chest, etc. Of course, he would play with his ducks, too. Right now, his favorite was a big mama duck toy who held 3 baby tinier ducks. A gift from Dopinder who knows that Mr. DP likes toys rather then why.

Right now (like many other times) He would come to check on him, putting his ear close to the door and knocking. "Wade?"

"Kid?"

Now ussually, he'd get a response of giggles or "Almost done!" But now he got nothing.

Again, he knocked harder.

Silence. Though he could smell soap. Not the same kind that he remembered putting in. Also a soft scratching sound, as well as a whimper.

"Kid? Dinner's done." He adds this last bit, knowing he was always hungry after the park.

Still nothing.

"Wade. Do... you need help?"

"No!"

'No' was not what was concerned him. What concerned him was the tone he used with it.

"Are you okay?"

Again silence.

He took a breath, sighing as he had a feeling of what he had to do. If he asked to come in, he would just keep saying no. Unfortunately, this was one of those times when "Being a mean ol Kitty" had its advantages.

"Wade? I'm coming in. You sound hurt."

Something that Ness has taught him was to add the 'why' automatically after the direction. That way, he doesn't have to ask, and it makes him more comfortable to be told up front.

"Nooo.." He whined as Logan unclicked the door, slowly opening it only to gasp softly. The water was a very light pink as he saw him applying more soap and scrubbing his arm far too hard.

The area was raw, bright red, irratated, and some blood was dripping down into the tub, but it wasn't the only thing adding to the water. Tears were rolling down his face and snot trying to leave quicker then he could sniffle it up.

"Wade! What are you doing!?" He asks, Stepping into the bathroom to see that a part of his chest was scratched too.

No awnser. In fact, he seemed to scrub harder, almost as if he were panicking.

"Oh Wade..." Taking a few steps forward, He tried to take the brush only for him to scream and punched him the nose.

"Augh!- fuck!" What was with him and noses? Seriously? This was the second time today someone got a new nose job from him.

"No!!" He yelled, shifting in the tub to lean away from him, now starting to scrub at his neck, that now also was starting to bleed a bit.

"Ah- Why did you do that?! Stop! You're going to make it worse!" Logan understood that his skin issues bothered him, but he wouldn't let him do this.

Growling a bit, he grabbed his cheek, pushing him away as he took it, pulling the drain too.

Trying to take it again, he held it close to him and bit him (hard) when he tried to take it from his hands. "Nooo!!" And now that he knew he would fight him on it, He had no choice.

"N-Nooo!!" He screamed, if anything backing away, starting to shake from the cold of the water gone.

Putting them to the side, Logan looked him over, trying to think of any possibility of what was happening. Why the only thing he was shouting at him was No, why he wanted to stay in the tub, and why- even now- he was crying.

"Why did you do this?" He asks, watching as he goes quiet again, staring at him with a still shock of fear.

"Come on. Get out. It's dinner time. I made mac and cheese. You love mac and cheese." He tried to bribe, but Logan was never good at these things.

"NO!" Going as far as throwing a soap bottle at him, Logan put an arm up only for it to hit the wall and bust, beginning to ooze out the conconut smelling liquid.

"Hey!! Don't do that!-"

"I-i'm not done!!"

"How!? You've been in here for an hour already!" The screaming back and forth was fine by him, as long as he kept talking. The more he spoke, the more Logans' hearts sank, especially with what he said next.

"Don't..h-Hur..." It was the last straw, breaking down into a sob as he shook his head. "Please...No." The shaking wasn't just from the cold. He was shutting his eyes tight as if he didn't want to see what would happen next and ws trying everything in his power to stay away from him.

It was now that Logans eyes widdened, swallowing as he had a horrible feeling in his stomach. "No what,...Wade?"

"Please, Kitty... No.." He began to slur and choke on his own hot, thick tears, his skin burning with the sensation that it wasn't before, the sensitive layer being exposed to the air.

"Who." Was all he said. It wasn't even a question, more like a demand. His grumbling through grit teeth making Wade shush from his crying. He was crying so hard that his screams were silent, shaking harder and trying to make himself as small as possible.

"I-i'll be good...I d-don't wanna...!" He spoke this sentence, and instantly, a propane tank worth of anger filled his body, up to his lungs with hatred as he thought about what this meant.

"Who. Wade! Who?! Why!?" Now this was a demand. A demand to know who in their right mind would ever do such a thing to him.

Opening his mouth to speak, he felt nauseous, swallowing it deep in his stomach.. for now.

"K-kevin.." he whispered, a tiniest voice practically strangled out by the lumps in his throat.

"When!? Do I know him?"

He shook his head, ever so slightly trying to hide his face into the side of the tub.

Taking the towel, he threw it over him, as he tried to calm down enough to get him to talk, let alone look him in the eye. He could smell how much fear and confusion he was in. How terrified he was to get out of the tub in fear something bad would happen to him.

Slowly opening an eye, he looked at him from the corner of his eye, pulling the towel around him only for him to start rubbing his skin again with it.

"I-hey! Stop that!" Grabbing his hands again, Wade jumped, pulling away as he began to sob loudly that he was sorry. "Ill be good" "No!" "Bad kitty!!" "I clean it" mixed in with distorted cries, pleas to be let go.

It broke his heart to hear him so scared of him. Honestly, it started making his stomach turn. Did Wade really think he would do that to him? Why would he...? Oh great. Now there was tears in his eyes too.

Hearing the word "Clean" connected the dots*. The reason WHY Wade insisted that he "was a big boy and can do it himself" each bath despite showering with him before. The reason why he was screaming No, and trying to keep away from him. The reason why he punched and threw the soap at him.

"Wade, I-.." Letting go, he groaned, a small whine coming out of him as well as he rubbed his face, trying to keep it together. But how could he? With what he just learned?

Going to walk away to call Ness and ask if she knew anything about this, he stopped, cursing under his breath as he realized the second he left he would just start scrubbing again.

How was he supposed to help him if he couldn't touch him but also watch over him at the same time to be sure he's not hurting himself if he hated being watched in the tub?

Making a loud grunting sound, Wade stopped, looking at him as if trying to analyze if this sound was negative or not. His kitty did grunt a lot, so it wasn't scary, but he was still scared of him. Scared of everyone, actually.

Sighing, he sat on the toilet, putting his head in his hands, thinking. Think! Come on, Logan, you've been around dozens of kids, right? Wrong. He just recently started to warm up to his daughter, a grown woman by now.

If he had his phone he could call or.. I don't know google it? But what would he even type? "My boyfriend was molested 20 years ago, what should I do?" No... no. Come on there has to be something in there. Deep breaths. In... ou-

"Kitty...?"

Looking up, he swallowed, tears running down his face, his own throat tight. "Yeah, Kid..?"

He pointed to the bottle that was half spilled on the floor.

"What? Soap? What about it? The second I came near ya, you chucked it at my head." He mumbled.

"..." Looking at him, Wade blinked. "...Soap?"

He wanted to say,'No, you're not getting anymore soap. It's time to get out' but instead paused. "...Why?"

Ness had said one of the best things to do for a kid was to understand them. He didn't know what she meant by that until now.

"Uhm.. Dirty?" The higher mark at the end gave Logan an opening, a chance. The question of him being dirty was enough.

"You aren't dirty, Wade. You're clean." Logan didn't move from his spot. Not a single inch. He couldn't risk spooking him again. His tears just now were coming to an end.

"But- I..." He was thinking. Logan knew he was. Trying to process the information. "B-but he..."

"I-i know... I know he did." His fist clenched but tried to smile. It came out crooked and kind of awkward as more tears raced over his face like the Nashville Derby. "You're clean, Wade. Good-" he swallowed, trying to ground himself.

"Good job."

Again, Wade was confused. He wasn't good. He just bloodied his second nose for the day (that was already healed up by now) and threw a bottle at him.. that didn't seem good.

Swallowing, more tears came to him, begining to realize what he has done, calming enough to understand. "B-but.. I bad.."

"No!- i-i mean.. No... you're not bad. You did nothing wrong. It's not your fault. None of it was your fault... Im so sorry.." Logan whispered, wiping his eyes.

He wasn't expecting to cry today, but he had a feeling tonight, once all was said and done, they were going to have a long talk later, and he'd cry more in bed.

"S-so... All done?"

Quickly, he nods, "All done... erm.. I-i made us mac and cheese so... get dressed and.. I-ill help with your booboos okay?" He says, about to stand up but decided to wait until told to leave. Any movements would probably send him right back.

To his suprise, Wade got out, Holding his towel tight around him but came to him. Very still. That's how Logan sat as Wade ever so gently touched his face, wiping his tears, tilting his head when more came.

"Kitty...?"

"Yeah, bub?" He muttered, giving him a lopsidded smile, not wanting him to be scared.

"...Are you cry because..." He trailed off, but Logan knew exactly what he meant.

"Y-yeah."

"Why? ...He mean to you?" Pulling his hand away, he seemed so confused about why anyone would care what happened to him. His parents sure didn't.

"No, Bub... but he was mean to you. Right?"

He nods, slowly, ashamed of this.

"Hey- No, You're not introuble.. it's his fault. He's bad. You... you were never bad, Wade. Not ever." He tells him, Putting out a hand for him to hold.

Instead of taking it, Wade hugged his head, petting his head. "Don't cry kitty.."

Loosely putting his arms around him, he sniffled again. "I-ill try, kid... now.. Lets go watch some dancing tea sets, yeah?"

"Okay!" Nodding, Wade picked up his clothes, running off, excited to be clean and to eat with him. Oh, how quickly his moods changed... Logan was going to get whiplash one of these days.

Later, during the movies credits, they sat in silence of one another, Wade's face in the crook of his neck, clearly still ashamed of his actions for the day and his past..

After bandaging and icing his wounds, They sat together for a good 30 minutes, Wade devouring all of his food. Logan didn't eat. His stomach was too turned over to even think about it.

"...Wade?" He says, breaking the silence as he stares off at a random wall, keeping him as close as possibly, letting him wrap his legs around his wasit as he held him.

"..Yuh?"

"..It's not your fault."

"What?"

"It's not your fault."

"I know." He says, but suddenly the room had a stench of a mechanic's shop. Thick gasoline. He lied straight through his teeth.

"Wade... It's not your fault." He says again, beginning to rub his back, feeling him tense up.

"I... know?"

"No- Wade. Litsen to me... It's not your fault. Its theirs. You did nothing wrong." He repeated again, making him start to cry as a single tear fell down Logan's face.

Nodding into him, sniffling, a muffled, strained 'That's why I carry my baby knife. Baby knives protect babies sometimes' came out as he clung around his neck, never wanting to let go.

A minute or two passes. Logan's shirt his wet. Wet wasn't even the right word. More like soaked.

"Is... he dead?"

"Good." He holds the back of his head, begining to rock him, quietly shushing, letting him sob. "Shhh... I got you... I won't let anyone do that to you ever again. I don't care if it kills me.."

"E-even if I throw summer breeze body wash at you again?"

"Even if you throw summer breeze body wash at me." He agreed, feeling him relax a little.

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

"H-hope to die?"

"Even if I die, just wait. Ill find that fucker in hell."

Wade giggled, letting out a sigh as his shoulders dropped, trusting him more than before. He felt... safe.

Hi. If you made it down here, Im proud of you for how far you've come in life, and I am so sorry if you relate to this.. this, uhm.. this one hit a little too close to home for me. So..

*For those who don't understand, Wade didn't 'Clean himself good enough' so kevin 'helped'. It's implied that this was a form of 'punishment' as well as wade feeling dirty from the thoughts seeing as.... nevermind. The unfortunate truth is how ever much you scrub, you can still feel it.

Again. If you understand this, Im so sorry. It is and never will be your fault. 🫶🩷 And I hope Scoutmaster Kevin gets what he deserves with a chainsaw 🥰 Fuck that guy fr

[realisticjupiter]

Can you do jealous angsty sex with chishiya? And since you are the best chishiya fic writer I want to see how you write it! (Hope that wasn't too much for you) tysm if you do!

ꔫ ⸝⸝ summary: chishiya's afraid of the commitment that comes after admitting your love to someone. but you already knew how he felt, you just wanted him to say it to your face.

ꔫ ⸝⸝ pairing: chishiya x fem!reader

ꔫ ⸝⸝ genre: smut , sorta angsty

ꔫ ⸝⸝ warnings: smut (lol), not anything super

ꔫ ⸝⸝ word count: 856

A/N: I had waiting room by phoebe on repeat when writing this >_<

"He doesn't make you feel as good as I do." Chishiya's sultry breath traveled down your back as you straddled his lap, out of breath and panting for air as he saw you for who you were.

You weren't dating. Not even close of it.

But Chishiya was possessive. Pissed if you'd even look at someone else. He was so confusing to your mind filled with love but none to give. Wondering if he just never wanted to see you happy or was just selfish and kept you to himself without the commitment.

Whatever it was, whatever he wanted to call it, never felt real--but a mask he placed on every day when you touched each other in places you swore no one else ever has.

"Touch me, y/n. Please--god." He moaned in your ear, guiding you hips up and down as you looked at the ceiling with silent moans.

He looked up, noticing your silence with a confused sigh. "Please?" He whispered, watching patiently as you looked back down to him, clearly tired as he was; you both wanting to finish and be done with this daily routine.

He couldn't read your eyes, not even if he wanted to. He was far too deep in the feeling of lust when he looked up at you, his hands giving out and unable to guide you for much longer.

Your breath was heavy coming out of your mouth, a feel of dryness following it. "Tell me you love me, 'Shiya." You managed to whisper through your dry throat, your eyebrows withering when he didn't reply.

He didn't know how to reply to your sudden request, and for a second--directly after the sentence left your mouth, he almost did it without hesitation. And then he hesitated.

Did you know about the times he'd whisper to you when you were asleep? When he'd admit his undying love to you during his only moments of vulnerability?

For a short answer: Yes.

Yes, you did. Every night you kept yourself up to hear his words, to hear his voice crack when he spoke. Sometimes to even feel his smile through them.

"Please? Just this once. Say it to my face, 'Shiya." You begged, eyes glossed over as you moved your body against his after his hands fell limp.

You couldn't read people quite as well as he could. But the confusion, the shock that was in his wide eyes and furrowed brows spoke more than words.

"Tell me." You whispered, barely audible through the sounds of loud breathing and huffs of air.

His mouth opened, silence following that small gesture. He closed it, but opened it once more--this time with words.

"I love you." Chishiya whispered, like a disease he had no cure for. Like the words could stab you once he spoke them, the fear in his eyes when realized they weren't just his feelings, but now sharing them with someone else.

Like a secret you swore to yourself to take to your grave with a knife in your hand, ready to keep that secret like you promised.

And now it was an un-kept secret. A broken promise that he'd surely feel the guilt for moments to come.

You couldn't help but smile after the words left his mouth, your hands traveling to his face to hold him in place. "See, that wasn't so hard." You laughed, feeling his hands travel back to your hips.

His eyes never left yours, now having no words left in his large mind to explain himself or his feelings, except a soft hum, "Mhm."

Your lips touched his without a second thought, moving them together like you could finally let everything you've ever felt for him out.

He pulled away to lean back on the headboard of the bed, Chishiya's eyes finally leaving yours to look down at where your bodies connected.

He lifted his hips up to meet your's halfway, letting the lewd noises of skin slapping skin and your loud moans fill the room with an unexplainable smell of sex.

Repeated words of, 'yes' and 'dont stop', spilling from your lips in a sound of desperation.

His eyes found yours once again, but this time yours were closed. And a realization that you knew he loved you, and truly wanted you, sent him over the edge with a soft moan and plea of your name.

It was quick to send you over the edge too, falling limp into his chest as he kept his movements going until he couldn't anymore. His hands found their way onto your back, softly caressing the soft skin.

"Thank you." Was all you knew what to say, it was all you really could say in that moment. Unable to catch your breath and your mind moving a thousand miles per hour without any knowledge of what was coming and going.

Except the simple fact that Chishiya loved you. You've always known, but now you knew. Knowing he finally admitted it to you while looking in your open eyes.

It was nice, it was peaceful. Because you knew, you loved him too.

reposts and comments are appreciated <3

[astermath]

hey! could I get some hc’s for the series of Dave and the popular girl? swf and nsfw if possible. TYSM!!!💗

omg yes absolutely! so glad you asked, I really love writing for these two <333 don’t know if you wanted nsfw headcanons too but i kept it to just sfw ones for now, hope you enjoy!

would love to hear you guys’ thoughts and headcanons about these two as well :3

“so? whatever.” dave lizewski x popular!fem!reader: landing page.

♡ even though your family is way wealthier than dave's, he still buys you gifts. flowers, your favourite snacks, those earrings you were gushing to him about. yes, you could easily buy them for yourself, but that doesn't matter to him.

♡ you make up for it to him by buying him expensive, rare, limited edition comic books.

♡ one time he cried because of how happy he was when you got him a special spiderman comic. you happily sat on his lap while he explained his favourite parts about it after.

♡ you know that meme that’s like “he asked for no pickles on his hamburger”? yeah. that’s you two. he may be tall, muscly and your city’s most popular vigilante, but he’s also dave. and dave is still getting used to sticking up for himself.

♡ it doesn’t make it any better that your brothers friends still mess with him sometimes. so, you’ve had to set the record straight to them a few times. cussing them out, threatening to beat their asses, or just pulling in your boyfriend for a deep kiss to really drive the point home.

♡ dave does the same thing when todd or marty make a comment about you being a bimbo, or a mean girl, neither of which are true. and he makes sure to remind them that the only reason they’re not getting shoved into lockers anymore is also because of you.

♡ surprisingly, your dad has taken a serious liking to your boyfriend too. he was skeptical of him at first, thinking he was some pervert trying to get into his daughter’s pants, but he sees that not only is dave is smart, he really, really loves you.

♡ and either way, he could never deny his little girl of anything. even if it is loving the biggest dork he’s ever seen.

♡ when you go shopping, he always carries your bags. all of them. not like it’s hard for him, with those beefy arms.

♡ he also loves it when you give him a little fashion show showing everything that you bought. then again, he’d think you’re beautiful even if you were wearing a trash bag.

♡ he always loves to watch you get ready. you think he’s not paying attention, reading a comic or scrolling on his phone, but he’s watching your reflection in your vanity mirror out of the corner of his eye. smiling at the way you look so concentrated when doing your eyeliner, or how cute the pout of your lips is when you apply your lipgloss.

♡ WILL sing along with whatever pop song you put on. taylor swift, ariana grande, olivia rodrigo, he’s humming along at first and suddenly you realise. he knows all the words. and he’s just fully singing along with you because he knows you love those songs.

♡ dave is not much of a gossiper himself, but he will always hear you out when you have some juicy tea to spill. like no way, jessica really said that? god, she would have the nerve, no wonder her boyfriend cheated on her— you giggle, it’s a funny sight, seeing your nerdy sweet boyfriend get so into the drama of it all.

♡ he’s really happy and really grateful that in the end, he’s never a secret for you. you’re very happy to have him as your boyfriend, and you’re not afraid to let the world know. anyone who has a problem with that would have to deal with your sharp tongue and biting remarks.

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