#please anyone who has navigated this once already

[greyias]

Me, quietly, desperately trying to find a reliable guide to some of the triggers in Act 3, because I may have gotten myself into a pickle, and Ari may never sleep again because:

Having exhausted everything to do in Rivington that I could find (rip strange murder ox), I saved and:

Waved my junior detective badge at the bridge (among the five other objects in my possession I could have used), and immediately had Gortash hitting me up to watch him be crowned super duper duke of everything Baldur's Gate

Having heard that you shouldn't sleep after that because it'll just happen/people will wind up dead(??) I went inside, talked to Mizora who taunted Wyll because devil's gotta devil man, then explored the coronation room and triggered the coronation scene

Where naturally he tells me that Orin's infiltrated the camp teehee

We pick up the notification that Florick is in prison (scheduled to be executed)

And I head back downstairs and suddenly Mizora's like "Oh haha Wyll your Dad who you literally talked to five seconds ago has been banished to prison Imma visit you tonight at camp so we can chat"

And I'm like "well... shit", because that sounds like a nightly encounter.

So because I was quicksaving like a fiend during all of that, I backed up and experimented with seeing what happens if I long rested right after the coronation but before talking to Mizora, and suddenly I get the scene where Orin reveals who Ari's randomly selected kidnapping victim is: Lae'zel

I'm also presented with an insanely high (DC 25) persuasion/intimidation check in order to prevent WANTON CHILD MURDER. So I'm further like "well... crap", and so it seems that the moment Ari goes to long rest, kidnapping plot is on. Other fun things the internet seems to think will happen, but I can find no consensus on:

Can I walk past the coronation scene and put if off so it doesn't, you know, trigger the child murder DC check? Is it a proximity trigger? Or a timing trigger? Do I just not short/long rest before starting it?

Can I long rest and still have Wyll talk to Mizora post-coronation scene? Will that conflict with Orin's murdery murderness? Can I even walk off and do something else before walking back and triggering that?

Since I started the Open Hand Temple Murders and entered the lower city, if I long rest before warning the victims on the list, do they all die? I should probably do that right?

Apparently the poor circus dryad may not have had to die??? If I had just talked to two other people in Rivington first? RIP Dryad lady but that's way too far to go back and retrace our steps

If I trigger other things does that delay the kidnapping plot reveal? Because like, it kind of seems like maybe I should go save my kidnapped friend from being ritualistically murdered. But I'm getting conflicting information on: how safe kidnapping victim is for how long, if killing Orin triggers some endgame stuff and locks out other quests

Because if the answer to any/all of that is "uh yeah, get chopping", then before precious yodeling paladin can sleeps, she must:

Attend a coronation

Talk to a devil

Finish solving the murders

Find all the potential murder victims and warn them so maybe they don't die

Do a prison break

NOT trigger any more time and or proximity based missions

THEN save a tiny child from death by passing a very difficult DC check

Like game. I love you. I love you a lot. But this ridiculously interwoven web of intrigue without knowing if I'm going lock myself out of content or risk having to backtrack literal hours of progress is not super duper fun.

Also I really should've rolled back and gotten that super buff at the beginning of a day rather than near the end. So you know. She can have an extra +d6 to prevent the child murder.

My kingdom for a proper guide that lets me know when it's safe to, you know, sleep. Without people dying.

[hairmetal666]

Steve has this bar he loves in Chicago. It's a little bit dive-y, a little bit dirty, but it's quiet. A good place for when he needs to clear his head.

Only, tonight, the place is packed. Music pounding from the jukebox, no space at the bar, patrons at the dartboard and pool table. In three years he's never seen it like this.

He has a second to wonder what's going on before he sees exactly who is going on, and for him to catch Steve looking.

"Stevie!" Eddie Munson cries. He leaps from the bar top, the people below scrambling away from the stomp of his big black boots.

He hasn't seen Eddie in years. Can't actually remember the last time. Max and Lucas's wedding? Robin and Nancy's baby shower?

Steve considers booking it out of there, escaping in the crush of the crowd. By the time he has the thought, though, Eddie's already pulling him into a hug.

He's excited to see his friend. He is! Really. He loves Eddie. But that's kind of the problem.

Steve fell in love and Eddie left town.

Well, maybe it wasn't so dramatic as all that. It wasn't until six months after they packed the last box in the back of Eddie's van that Steve could name his feelings for what they were. And by then, Corroded Coffin were building buzz and Eddie had a huge whole life outside of the people he saved the world with.

Over the years, as Eddie's fame grew, he came around less and now they hardly see each other. They still talk from time to time, Steve still buys all the band's records, and Eddie's still close with all the kids, Nancy and Robin too.

Eddie releases him, those big eyes bright, a pure and genuine smile stretching his face. Steve's stomach twists, heart skipping a beat.

"Gotta be honest with you, man. Never expected to see Steve Harrington in a place like this."

Steve snorts. "There's lots of place I go you wouldn't expect."

Eddie's smile wobbles, Steve thinks. It's gone in a blink, though, and Eddie laughs. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart. Have time for a drink with me?"

Eddie navigates to the bar, returns with two beers in hand. He presses his palm to the small of Steve's back, directing him to the single empty table in the corner as far from the jukebox as possible.

"How's life treating you, Stevie?" Eddie asks after a sip. "Nance told me the store is doing really well."

"It's good, yeah. Finally turning a profit. Wasn't sure about Dustin having us add a game section, but he was right. It's really taken off."

"Oh, he told me," Eddie smirks.

Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that he did. He hasn't let me hear the end of it."

"That tone," Eddie says, voice soft.

"What brings you to Chicago?" He asks to hide the way all the fucking love he feels for this man is bleeding out of him.

"Not really supposed to be," he laughs. "Flight got diverted to O'Hare, can't get another one until tomorrow. Have to make it to LA in time to play a show."

They both know Eddie loves it; the rush, the adrenaline, that comes with performing, to making it to shows at the very last minute. It's how they got here in the first place.

"Working on new music?"

Eddie leans back, dimples popping with the pleased lift of his lips. "Oh, Harrington, you don't even know what we have in store." He leans over the table and launches into tales of rehearsals and writing. Steve drinks his beer and can't take his eyes off his friend, Eddie the sun Steve orbits around, helpless to his gravitational pull.

"So, Stevie," Eddie says, once there's no more to tell about music. "You seeing anyone?"

Steve hides his cringe with a chuckle. Picks up his beer to buy time and finds it empty. "Not anyone of note."

"C'mon, how is that possible? You're easily the hottest guy in this place."

He grimaces. "That's a low bar."

"Oooh, still bitchy after all these years." Eddie snickers, takes a swig from his bottle.

"Shut-up."

"Seems like it's been a while since you dated."

"You interrogating my love life now, Munson?"

"No, not at all. Just curious."

"Okay, who are you dating? Still that guy from People?"

"Gossip," Eddie frowns.

"Anyone else you got your eye on?"

"No one new," Eddie says. He stares at Steve hard for a second, like he wants to dig into his brain, like it holds the answer to all life's question.

"There is someone, then." Steve tries to ignore the jealousy licking down his spine. Eddie isn't his and never will be.

Eddie picks at the label on his now empty beer. "Not--not really." He licks his lips, leaning over the table again. "Is there a reason you don't seem to date anymore, man? It's just--you wouldn't hurt for options, right?"

Steve freezes, trying to figure out a way to answer that won't end up breaking his own heart. "Ah, it's--you know, things got busy with opening the store and everything. Stopped being a priority."

"Are you lonely?"

"Are you?" He snaps before he can stop himself. "Sorry, I'm--sorry."

"Yeah, man. I'm lonely as hell." Eddie answers as though Steve didn't give him an out.

"I--you ever have someone where the timing is always wrong?"

"Think it's a hazard of my profession. Who's yours?"

"What?" Steve clunks his bottle too hard against the table.

"The one that got away?"

"It's--it--I--it doesn't matter."

Eddie's smile is all jagged edges. "Nancy?"

"God, no. Nance and I are good with being friends. No lingering feelings there. Who's yours?"

"Ahh," Eddie sits back a little, eyes glittering with an emotion Steve can't place. "The best boy I ever met. Can't get over him, can't forget him. I think they guys are going to start banning my 'pathetic gay yearning songs'. Gareth's words."

Something in Steve's chest crumbles to dust. There's someone. Has always been someone. Of course. Eddie is beautiful and hot and charismatic and fucking famous. And Steve is--just a guy who runs a struggling bookstore with a couple of his best friends.

"That's--I'm sorry it didn't work out." He's trying to stop his voice from breaking, from giving Eddie any hint of what he's feeling, just knows he has to get out. "Listen, man, thanks for the beer. Great to catch up. You should hit up Robin and Nancy the next time you're in town. I gotta get going."

"Wait, Steve--"

"See you around."

He doesn't wait. He pushes through the people, and races out the door, into the crisp Chicago fall air. He squeezes his eyes closed, practices his breathing exercises, tries to relax the clench of his teeth, ease the screaming in his lungs.

Three steps away from the building is as far as he gets before he hears, "Steve, please wait." A hand catches his hip, holding him in place.

"Eddie, I don't--"

"It's you," Eddie says. His face is pale, stricken. "You're the one who got away, Steve."

"What?"

"I've never been able to work up the nerve to confess. I've been trying for years, but. Too afraid of losing you to tell the truth."

"Years?" Steve's brain is trying to wrap around what's happening. That Eddie has feelings for him? That he's the source of the pathetic gay yearning?

"God, since 1986, at least."

Steve doesn't know what to say; what to do. He's been waiting for this moment so long, and his brain goes on pause.

"It's okay if you don't feel the same," Eddie rambles. "Hell, I'd be surprised if you did, but--"

"You're mine too," the words tumble out.

"What?"

"You're the one who got away. For me. You're mine."

"Steve," Eddie breathes. "Is this--are you serious?"

"Pathetic gay yearning and all."

Eddie's laugh is a bright spot in the darkness, relief and happiness mixed with the hope of what's next.

Steve can't help but giggle. "We're so dumb," he says.

Eddie looks at him with a raised eyebrow before bursting into giggles of his own. "So dumb, Steve, oh my god."

"It's been a decade!"

"Fuck," Eddie cackles.

They collapse against each other, chests heaving with their mirth. As they catch their breath, Steve nuzzles against Eddie's neck, relishing the closeness. It's easy for him to change the angle so their lips meet in a kiss frantic with ten years of longing.

"Your place or mine?" Eddie asks once they part.

Steve laughs. "You think I'm that easy, Munson?"

"Oh, Steve," Eddie smirks. "I know it."

"Asshole." Steve presses a kiss to his jaw. "How many songs did you write about me?"

Eddie smiles so hard his dimples pop. "All of them, baby. Every single one."

Steve rests their foreheads together, body fizzing like freshly uncorked champagne, "Take me home, Ed."

[fernandopiastri28]

Oscar is angry about carlos situation and his Miami GP result so y/n helps him relax (maybe a handjob,maybe Smut..you chose)

the city that keeps the roof blazing ~ oscar piastri

“Please,” The heat between her legs is near unbearable from how desperate he sounds, and her thighs chafe from how she’s kept them squeezed together as an attempt to relieve some of the ache of her cunt. “Y/N, I need you,”  The tips of her fingers jut down to splay across the bulge in his shorts, applying some sort of pressure to the spot. He groans, grabbing her wrist and pushing down harder so she’s fully palming him. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking all pretty and desperate just for her as she continues her ‘massaging’. “You’ll get it Osc, I promise,”

| warning ~ smut, degrading language. MDNI

Y/N’s heart thrums in her chest, an anxious sweat pooling across her back under her corset dress. Oscar’s not doing well, having taken a hit from the Ferrari of Carlos Sainz and losing his front wing as a result. He’d had to pit, finding himself in last, only in front of Logan who’d already DNFed. Her nails are bitten up, rough on the edges. She can hope and pray for at least a points finish, even if it’s just one or two, but at this point, the whole situation is looking rather dire.

If Oscar doesn’t already despise Carlos, he certainly does now. 

In the final few laps, the team instructs Oscar to basically not pull anything stupid and risk Lando getting his first win. It’s honestly offensive of them, as if Oscar has ever done something to sabotage anyone else in any circumstances. In anything, the McLaren team should be focusing on getting a penalty awarded to Carlos for his shitty stunt against Piastri or figuring out why the fuck Donald Trump is in their garage.

When a McLaren passes the chequered flag first, Y/N can’t even feel happy for Lando. She just feels fucked over for her boyfriend who’s being perfectly polite and mature over the radio but is gonna be absolutely destroyed once he’s out of shot from all the cameras and media. 

He’d been leading the race at one point, and now he’s having his first out of points finish of the year in 13th. Stupid Carlos, stupid fucking Carlos. Y/N looks around the rest of the garage at everyone jumping around and cheering for the brit’s win. She keeps her headset on, smiling politely as Oscar would be if he were here. She can’t muster up any excitement, so she’ll fake the bare minimum.

She navigates her way through flocks of commentators and team members as she attempts to find her boyfriend. “Oscar?” She has to crane her neck, searching for a papaya race suit that isn’t the one being showered in praises. As two men who tower over her push past, she bends her arm tighter to keep her bag in the junction of her elbow and close to her. 

“Y/N,” A tired voice calls out, Oscar tugging his balaclava off with one hand. “I’m not crazy right? You say that- that was all Carlos,” He pants, wiping a line of sweat that’s gathered over his top lip. Y/N rubs his cheek, applying pressure to where the outline from his helmet is especially dark. 

She nods, her hand squeezing his bicep through the thick material of his race suit. “Completely baby, you were doing so good.” She’s about to tell him that she was convinced today would be his first race win before her mind reminds her that telling him that isn’t going to make him feel better, in fact he’d probably feel even more shitty that she was expecting a win for him and he ‘let her down’.

He drops his head into his hands, letting out a noise that’s halfway between a sigh and a whine. “What is his problem with me? Because if it’s genuinely got to do with Lando and I being mates,” He groans, shaking his head in disbelief. “Just can’t deal with this right now,”

Before she knows it, Oscar’s being whisked away from her to be weighed and then dragged through endless interviews and media tasks. It’s the absolute last thing he wants to be doing, which is just going to make him more irritated and upset tonight. 

Y/N has to come up with something to cheer him up.

Something certainly. 

At the end of interviews, when they’re finally allowed to head home, Y/N slips her hand into Oscar’s, squeezing each of his individual fingers as she aligns the time of their feet hitting the floor. He just hums plainly, instead of laughing along with each pinch she gives to his digits. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Her tone is soft as they get into the car, Oscar’s eyebrows furrowed as he clicks his seatbelt in.

Oscar doesn’t need to be offered twice as he immediately shoots off into a rant. “He’s just so immature, he’s almost 30 and driving a 23 year old in his second year off the track. Each time I get blamed for it.” He starts the car, his eyes hyper focused on the road ahead as he just aimlessly insults Carlos. “I mean- he’s just an absolute idiot. I meant it when I asked if he was blind because in what reality did I deserve a penalty and he deserved a spot change?” 

Y/N keeps her eyes on him, watching as the muscles of his neck flex and tense, his cheeks getting hot, the veins in his hands becoming infinitely more defined as he grips the steering wheel. She’s ashamed of how turned on it makes her, seeing him like this. Maybe that’s exactly what he needs tonight though.

“And-and, fuck, he’s just soo desperate for another Carlando podium that he’s willing to drive me into a fucking wall just so he can stand on the top step with his precious Lando,” He mocks him, positively seeing red. “I’ve considered Logan my best mate for years longer than those two have known each other yet you don’t see me risking all of Carlos’ races so Logan can get a fucking point,” The swears are just spilling out of his mouth at this point, sounding like a second nature to a degree.

Her hand meets his thigh, rubbing it tenderly as a way to calm him down. “Keep going Osc, just let it all out,” Her voice is thick, warm, and sweet like honey. It’s exactly what he needs right now. He needs her next to him, needs her voice in his ear. 

Needs her hands on him.

“I just think he’s an entitled brat who doesn’t deserve a seat,” It’s harsh, but it’s coming straight from the heart. “I’m glad Ferrari dropped him,” It’s said accompanied with a long, drawn out sigh. He’s relieved, finally able to have gotten that all out.

Yet, there’s still a bugging sense of dissatisfaction deep in his bones that he knows he won’t get from continuously insulting the spaniard. Luckily for Oscar, he’s just about pulling into the hotel valet. 

With a single look at Y/N, he conveys everything he wants when they get to their hotel room, and lucky for him- she wants the exact same.

They maintain a sense of decorum in the elevator ride up, which can’t be said about each time Oscar has a bad race. Example, the 2023 Belgian grand prix. After his DNF, his mouth had been attached to her neck and his hands on her breasts the second the elevator doors shut. 

It had been a very awkward situation to apologise for after a family of four with two very young kids had entered the lift five flights before their hotel room.

But back to now, the second their hotel door clicks shut behind them, Y/N’s taunting him over to the bed with chaste kisses on his cheeks, each one just narrowly avoiding his lips. “You’re a crazy tease, you know that?” He groans, lacing his fingers into her hair and pulling her in for a kiss as they reach the bed. 

She replies with an ignorant shrug and a careless smirk, “It’s fun- getting you all riled up. Makes me feel like Carlos,”

Oscar’s touch sears hot against her skin, his glare even worse. “Don’t fucking mention him in our bedroom,” It’s barely a hiss, but it’s enough of a warning to keep her in line. Instead, she decides to take action on him. Her fingers drag along the hem of his polo, tantalising slowly. She doesn’t need to wonder why that is, it's the same as when he does it along the zippers of her dresses or buttons of her blouses. 

She wants him to beg for it.

“Please,” The heat between her legs is near unbearable from how desperate he sounds, and her thighs chafe from how she’s kept them squeezed together as an attempt to relieve some of the ache of her cunt. “Y/N, I need you,” 

The tips of her fingers jut down to splay across the bulge in his shorts, applying some sort of pressure to the spot. He groans, grabbing her wrist and pushing down harder so she’s fully palming him. He sits on the edge of the bed, looking all pretty and desperate just for her as she continues her ‘massaging’. “You’ll get it Osc, I promise,”

His legs are nudged apart by her hands as she sinks down to her knees in front of him. His eyes light up, his lips red and bitten up from how he’s been chewing down to keep in his whiny noises and begs. Her fingers expertly undo his shorts, poking him so he’ll lift his hips so she can pull the pants and his boxers down in one go. 

His cock doesn’t hit up against his stomach when his tight boxers are removed, instead just lays heavy between his muscular thighs. Truly a sight to be seen. “So hard,” Y/N marvels, gently sliding her cupped hand up and down his length. One pump, two pumps. “And needy,” He looks up at him through her lashes to where his bottom lip is tucked under his teeth and his cheeks are flaming red. 

Oscar bucks his hops forward instinctively, chasing the high of how good her hand, or mouth preferably, feels. He’s lucky when she doesn’t make him wait too long before she grants his wish, opening her mouth, flattening her tongue, and taking the majority of his length into her mouth. 

Y/N’s toes curl in an attempt to remove her somewhat of a gag reflex she has. Today, she wants to take him as deep as she can and make him feel as good as possible. It’s deeper than she was expecting, which is definitely a win in her books. Pulling back slightly, she focuses on the head for the time being.

A string of praises spill past his lips, “Fuck, yes, so so good.” His hand snakes into hold her hair, keeping her head in place as he gradually goes deeper. “Taking me so good, sucking me off like an angel,” Her lips stretch around his thickness, her eyes void of any emotion beyond lust as she stares up at him. 

Y/N’s tongue glides back and forth along the underside of his cock, disgustingly loud sucking noises filling up the entire hotel room. He cups her cheek, his thumb dragging along the bulging of her cheek. His hips inch forward, his cock stuffing her mouth full and moving towards doing the same for her throat. 

Y/N feels insanely good, and maybe even too good. Panic fills her head, what if Oscar’s still thinking about pleasuring her over himself. It’s typical Oscar, catering each sexual experience to prioritise her and her pleasure, even if it means he doesn’t cum as quickly as expected. Steadying her hands on his thighs,she pulls back gradually, “Fuck my mouth,” It’s not a question, suggestion, or even request. 

It’s a straight up demand.

“What, why?” His voice is more broken and weak than she’d expected. Hers is too, but that’s to be assumed when someone has a cock prodding the back of their throat. 

“Because I'm giving you head to make you feel good. This isn’t about my pleasure Osc,” Her voice is absolutely ruined and will likely be even worse by the end of this. Y/N cuts him off before he can begin to protest, which once again, she knows he will. “No but-s Oscar, just fuck my face,” He gives into the carnal desire as his hips begin to snap back and forth, burying into her throat. 

Drool spills out over her bottom lip and down her chin, her mind fuzzy without another tangible thought besides giving Oscar the best blowjob possible. Her jaw is aching but it’s ignored as she solely cares about getting him to orgasm. He huffs and groans, continuously sending praises mixed with harsh insults of calling her a slut and a whore as he gets more shallow with his thrusts, clearly very much so on edge.

She takes advantage of his situation, suckling solely on the sensitive tip as he warns her that he’s “So close Y/N, I’m ‘bout to cum,” The fact that she doesn’t budge or show any signs of slowing down tells Oscar enough. With three pumps of her hand on his cock, he’s spilling out into the wet heat of her mouth. As if time and consciousness is slipping further from her, his index and middle fingers tap her cheek to get her to pull off, then again to tell her to swallow.

Her jaw goes lax to show the proof that she did what he told her to as he takes his shirt off, gently wiping a mixture of cum and drool off her chin. Her eyes fight so hard to focus on the glorious sight of his toned abdomen and well filled in muscles as he cleans her up, but she’s so overwhelmed by the pleasure that she not only gave, but genuinely got from that experience. 

Oscar scoops Y/N up onto the bed, arranging her under the sheets so he can cuddle up against her, his chest to her back and his arms slung loosely around her stomach. “That was perfect,” He murmured, pecking at her cheek and ear as a further thank you.

Her throat does indeed ache, but it’s a worthy pain. “You’re not as upset about what happened with Car-” She can’t even finish the spanish ferrari’s name or her question before her boyfriend has his hand squished over her mouth.

“No saying his name,” He shakes his head, tutting disapprovingly. “But yes, I feel much better. Thank you babe,”

[mysadcorner]

Heyyy! How are you?

Can you do Damian Wayne x childhood friend!reader

Headcanons of them going from childhood friends and vigilante partners to lovers

Damian Wayne x ChildhoodFriend!Reader Headcanons

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- Credit to the images owners - Please be specific about characters wanted and read request rules -

Masterlist Navigation

• Damian’s a pretty rough and brash kid, so when the two of you first meet he’s going to be quite intimidating and even rude no matter how nice you are to him. Seeing how much of a superiority complex he has during his younger years really makes you realise how much he matures when interacting with people as he gets older.

• Due to his experiences and training before he comes to live with Bruce, he’s clearly got a huge amount of training already mastered or at least highly developed compared to basically anyone else his age, including you. This is something he uses to put you down at first, before he actually realises how much he enjoys your company and uses his experience to help you later on.

• Training is something Damian spends a lot of time doing outside of actually handling villains and criminals, so this is a perfect way to spend a significant amount of time with him, while you also develop your skills, without putting either of you out of your comfort zones. It’s a great way to bond with him and spend time, making him more inclined to spend regular and relaxed time with you as well.

• Once he stars getting older he still isn’t much of a people person, but he has learned how to accept the company of others in a more civilised manner and learned how to actually work well with others help when he’s comfortable with them. Because of this, you are actually one of the few people he’ll consistently keep around and work with when patrolling around Gotham without complaints.

• As you’re one of the few people that Damian is friends with, especially since such a young age, the rest of the family tend to know you quite well. This starts from their initial interest in Damian actually acting pleasant towards someone, to actively enjoying you being around due to Damian’s temper and mood being restrained when you’re around.

• Even though Damian knows you can handle yourself and has seen your skills first hand, he still ends up being extremely protective and defensive of you no matter the situation or how minimal the danger. He’s also a lot more gentle himself than he is around other people just because he cares for you so much more, letting you be one of the few people who has seen his softer side every so often.

• Since you are one of the people that has seen the vulnerable side to Damian, he feels quite a deep connection to you. Because of this it’s easy for him to eventually develop feelings for you as he gets older and allows himself to express and explore that side of himself naturally. He may be awkward and distant about it at first, but once he’s accepting of it he’s a naturally great partner. Especially since you both already know everything about each other.

[askdiscordwhooves]

This update was drawn by me, @jitterbugjive

I want to address one thing that I KNOW some people are going to complain about because they've already complained about if it would happen, and that’s The Doctor and Derpy getting together in the end. I understand the concerns. This is in no way meant to say ‘your abusers will eventually change for the better if you just say the right things to them’. This isn’t that kind of story. These are special circumstances that DO NOT EXIST in real life where the abuser was under MAGICAL mind control. That’s not who he actually is and when he’s himself he’s not remotely an abuser. He is safe from having a relapse, the curse is gone and over with because the core Discord was killed while the fragment left over in their universe has been reformed.

 Real abusers are not under any kind of puppetry or mind control when they do what they do, and no not even getting drunk counts as this because when someone is an abusive drunk they’re still choosing to get drunk when they are well aware of what they do when under the influence. If The Doctor did any of this abuse on his own terms, I wouldn’t have let them get back together. I’m an abuse survivor, I know better than that. When you try to compare completely fantasy scenarios that can’t happen in real life to.. Well, real life, you’re kind of reaching at straws at that point. Besides, this relationship wasn’t automatically better just because he returned to normal. Both of them suffered damage and trauma and both needed to navigate around it to be able to trust one another again. If there’s any kind of comparison to make, it’d be more like a loved one suffering a psychotic episode and doing horrible things they’d never do in their right mind. And some people are able to understand and forgive, while others are not. The pain of having a psychotic episode and saying and doing things that hurt people is really hard to overcome, it’s hard to trust yourself and it can be hard to make amends. But a psychotic episode does not dictate who a person is. It just doesn’t. And that’s the closest thing to reality this story is. I tried to handle this as best I could, because in my line of work recovery is the most important thing and I understand that someone coming out of a bad episode needs support and compassion (Unless they’re a terrible person in general) and there have been extreme cases where perfectly good people end up going as far as murder- even murdering their own children, but their loved ones are able to reason that they were sick and they are going to suffer great pain upon realizing what they’d done, and they are going to seek help. Maybe you wouldn’t be able to forgive someone who did terrible things in a psychotic state, and that’s within your right, but it doesn’t mean people who can forgive are any less valid. Listen, if a husband can be capable of not blaming his wife for killing their kids in a psychotic state (a very real event that happened rather recently, simply google “wife psychosis news killed children husband forgives” and you’ll find it), it's perfectly reasonable that someone can forgive someone who was under magical mind control.

If you are in a physically abusive relationship, you need to get out of it. The likelihood of this person changing for the better is extremely low, and you can’t cling to the idea of the rare few people who manage to work through these kind of things. Those are very special circumstances and in my opinion if there’s a relapse into violence after making genuine efforts to change, that should be the end of it once and for all. It shouldn’t be happening to begin with, it should not be tolerated. You matter, you deserve to be treated with kindness and compassion. Never let anyone tell you or make you feel otherwise. Please take care of yourselves, and DO NOT use this story as a basis for how to manage your own relationships, no matter how much you might think you see yourselves in it. This is fiction, and the scenarios in this story do not happen in real life. If you can’t discern reality from fiction, that is all on you, not me.

[familyvideostevie]

a kind of hunger | chapter 1

joel miller x fem!reader

series masterlist

joel miller walks into your life just as it starts to fall apart. surely some hot nights with the bar's newest regular can't hurt, right?

length: 9.2k

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, fem!reader, unspecified age gap, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), doggy style, missionary, slightly painful sex, dirty talk, size kink if you squint, joel is a liiiiiiiitle mean if you squint, general feelings of loneliness and angst from r in her free time

a/n: huge thank you to @strangerfreaks without whom this would never have gotten off the ground. also to all the joel writers on this site, i love you, i am in awe of you. please allow me to give it a go myself <3

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The first time you sleep with Joel Miller you know it won't be the last. 

But that's not where this story starts. 

It starts in a bar. Nothing special about it, really. Staffed half by college kids who come and go, half by drifters who, for some reason, stopped drifting once they found this dimly lit, sticky-floored hole in the wall. Not quite a local institution but not forgettable, never totally empty. It's got pool tables and a jukebox but also clean bathrooms aside from the graffiti and two new-ish TVs showing whatever the first guy who gets there wants to watch.

Point is, you work there. One of those drifters who stopped drifting. The guy who owns it, some crotchety old fuck called Bill, rents you the apartment above the bar for a decent price considering it's loud until 2am on the weekends and midnight all the other days. Loud enough that even on nights you don't work it feels like you're there anyway. But you get used to it. It's called Frank's, which you don't totally understand, but you're not about to ask questions of the guy who has finally allowed you to slow down and take a breath who is also your boss and landlord.

You've worked there long enough to have learned the names and orders of all the regulars who've been coming in since long before you walked through the door and to have seen some new regulars enter the rotation. In truth, you've worked there long enough to basically be running the place. It's still the bar in your head, not your bar because getting attached will do you no good. This is how it always goes: you care too much but it never seems like anyone cares back. You cut and run before you can be disappointed and you’ve already been here longer than you’d expected to be because it’s something close to comfortable. 

Almost no one messes with you despite being younger than most of the clientele and on the off chance some frat boy from the city decides to take a cheap shot you've got a small army of imposing customers on your side. Between them and your coworkers, it's almost like you're not alone. 

Almost.

The hours you spend away from the bar are spent alone. You don't have many numbers in your phone and the ones you do you don't call. You go on drives in the shitty truck you bought off some guy when you moved here. You browse used bookstores and suffer the heat of the day on long walks and wonder if this is all there is. You think of what it might be like to feel something other than rootless.

One thing that helps is…sex. Being close to someone for even a little while, letting yourself be seen in a way that doesn’t require you to totally show your hand. You try not to make a habit of actually fucking your clientele. It can get messy quickly, guys coming in and expecting more than a good pour. Being offended when you don't give them a free round, don't make eyes at them over the oiled wood. It's easier to be alone, that much you've learned. It's easier and it's simpler and it means you've only got yourself to blame for the hurt you sometimes feel laying in bed, staring at the ceiling as some rock song thrums up through the floor. 

And if you do fuck someone from the bar, you keep it simple. You do, however, try really hard not to sleep with regulars. And no staying over. A classic, unspoken rule of sleeping with strangers that you rarely verbalize but make sure to enforce every time. It keeps things neat. The last thing you need is mess. Who knows how long you'll stay in this town, in this little apartment and this shitty bar. You've got a lot of years left, a lot of years you should probably spend in classrooms or an office or falling in love with some nice guy with a nice family who can give you a nice life. 

But you're here. 

And then, one day, so is Joel.

Being a good bartender is memorization, paying attention, and keeping a level head. You know how to make pretty much any drink even though your regulars are mostly the simple beer or Jack and Coke kind of people. You swear you can tell when a glass is going to fall a second before it shatters, spot a punch before it can be thrown. So you notice when a man you've never seen before walks through the door.

You notice how the energy of the room changes, how multiple pairs of eyes follow him as he settles at the end of the half-full bar. Dark hair shot through with grey, green shirt rolled up over chorded forearms that he rests on the wood. It feels like you should know him but you don't. You've never seen him before.

You finish pouring beers for some giggly girls before making your way over to him. His eyes track you.

You wonder what he'll order. A shot, maybe, based on the tense line of his shoulders. Or a dark beer. Maybe something strong. You hope he won't be one of those guys you have to peel off the bar in a few hours. "Can I get you something?"

"Whiskey, rocks," he says. You can hear the Texas drawl even from so few words. Deep, low, measured. "Cheapest you got."

For some reason, it feels like he's returning and you're the new one. "Wanna start a tab?"

"I'll do cash at the end," he says. Ah, one of those. Guy getting away from his wife, maybe. Tough day at work. Doesn't want to leave tracks. You can relate to that.

"Joel fuckin’ Miller," one of your regulars says as you turn to grab a glass. He claps the man -- Joel -- on the shoulder. "Heard you were back up this way," he says. "Good to see you, man."

Joel simply inclines his head once like he's not thrilled to be recognized. The dismissal is clear. And, weirdest of all, it works. You've seen insults hurled between friends for less.

You set his drink down, the amber liquid sloshing around the ice. 

"Thanks," he mutters. The dismissal is...less clear, but you've got other customers to tend to. And Joel doesn't seem particularly chatty.

Your eyes return to him for the next hour or so but he never waves you over for another round. Heat trails up and down your spine and you have to tell yourself that he's not watching you. That would be too optimistic, right? At one point you take a bathroom break and when you're back he's gone, wrinkled bills stacked under the glass. Enough for his drink and a decent tip. 

Joel comes in three more times over the next month before you sleep with him. Each time he orders the same drink, leaves the same tip. He sits alone at the bar, occasionally saying hello when someone approaches but no one ever sits next to him. He's gruff but only ever polite to you, doesn't get impatient when it takes you a minute to get to him. 

And he's really something to look at. The tick in his jaw, the veins in his neck. His skin is tanned, dotted with small scars that must come from a lifetime of hard work. He wears a watch and jeans that hug his ass in an almost indecent way, a way that has you watching him when he's not on a stool. Sometimes you catch him smirking to himself when there's some shit going on at the bar, gossip or people being loud for no reason. You wonder what his laugh sounds like and scold yourself for it. No harm in looking but there's the possibility of harm in thinking too much. You know better.

The third time he comes in is a bad night. It's busy for some reason and everyone is a fucking asshole. You weren't even supposed to work tonight but one of the seasonal kids had banged on your door begging you to come help, promising you all the tips for tonight if you did. You knew it would make you look good to Bill and despite yourself, you didn’t want to leave them hanging, so here you are, sweaty and pissed and smelling like beer, doing your best to empty the dishwasher in between drink orders and praying the keg doesn't need changing. 

You don't even notice when Joel comes in, only spotting him once he's managed to scare some college kid from a seat at the bar. For some reason, his presence makes you a little calmer in the chaos. 

"Be with you in a sec, Joel," you say to him when you're near. You don't call him by his name since he never actually introduced himself to you but it slips out in the rush. His nostrils flare but you don't have time to linger on it even as you feel the hot weight of his gaze. 

"No rush."

You manage to get him what you know by now to be his usual only to be called over by your least favorite customer of the night as soon as he's thanked you. 

"Honey," the asshole says. This fucker's name is Seth and he's a pain in your ass. "Gimme another, will you? Make it a heavy pour." This would be his fifth and he's already slurring his words. 

"Don't think so," you tell him firmly. "I'm cutting you off for tonight, Seth." He's liable to start some shit or at the very least throw up on the floor and you don't want to deal with either. You don't have time to deal with either. 

His bloodshot eyes narrow and he slams a fist on the bar. You manage not to flinch, though pretty much everyone else does. "That's not good fucking service, sweetcheeks," he leers. 

"Good thing I don't give a fuck," you snap. "Get the fuck out of here before you do something you regret, sweetcheeks.” The venom in your tone seems to surprise him before sheer rage takes over. You've thrown out plenty of assholes in your time here but it's not always a smooth experience.

Seth leans forward over the bar, reaches for you -- to do what, you have no idea -- and you prepare yourself to yell for backup and then kick him out for good and maybe get a punch in as he goes. His fingers manage to hook in your shirtsleeve before a hand closes around his wrist.

Before Seth can scream he's got his outstretched arm behind his back, face twisted in pain. Behind him is --

Joel?

The bar is almost silent. You can hear a few whispers over the blood pumping in your ears. 

"I'd get out of here if I were you," Joel hisses. He glances at you, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. Are you okay? he seems to be asking. You nod. 

Seth whimpers. "Let me go," he says weakly. 

"Just gonna show you the door." Joel all but drags him through the parting crowd. 

"Jesus," someone says behind you. One of the seasonal kids. "You okay?"

"I'm taking my break." You leave the kid behind the bar to fend for himself and barrel into the back and through the side door into the alley where you always take your 15. It's one of those weird cold fall nights, just the wrong side of chilly to be here without a jacket but you left it in the bar office.

The milk carton you sit on has been turned over so you kick it back with a thud and slump down onto it. The light above the door flickers. "This shit is getting old," you say to no one. You kick aside cigarette butts that aren't yours and wonder how long you can do this. What would be next, anyway? You've got a laundry list of failed dreams and no one wondering if you're going to make something of yourself. Long nights at a bar you care about more than you should and rowdy customers and handsome men who barely say a word to you can't last forever, can it? Would anyone here even notice if you left?

The door flies open, startling you out of your thoughts. 

Joel steps into the alley. Somehow he manages to yet again look like he was meant to be here and you're the one who is out of place. You blink at him and he stares back like he wasn't sure he'd find you here.

"Got lost?" you ask. "Pretty sure you know where the front door is."

He lets the metal door swing shut and crosses his arms. "Was lookin' for you."

That catches you by surprise. "Why?"

Joel shrugs, a small lift of his shoulders. His expression doesn't budge. "Sorry for makin' trouble."

Oh, right. Seth. You wave him off. "Just another night," you say. "I'd have handled it." You stand from the crate and lean against the brick wall. It's true. Seth isn't the first asshole you've handled.

"I bet you would've," Joel mutters. He takes one step closer. You're reminded all at once how good-looking he is, how you've wondered what his hands would feel like on your skin. There's no way he's ever thought of you, right? You're just some girl who pours him drinks, too young and too forgettable. He was just having a man moment, wanting to save the day or some shit like that. 

"I don't have a cigarette or anything if you want to smoke," you say. This close he doesn't smell like tobacco but you don't know what else to say. "Sorry."

"So you just sit in alleys on your break for fun?"

"I like this alley," you say, suddenly a bit defensive. "It's a nice alley." You take a step towards him. He uncrosses his arms and his hands flex at his sides. You shiver. "No one bothers me out here."

Joel tilts his head to the side. "That so?" His eyes are dark under the dim light. When did he get so close? When did your face get so hot?

"Except guys who drink whiskey on the rocks, I guess," you say. It comes out much softer than you'd like, your voice cracking. The air doesn't have the same bite as it did seconds ago. Joel's expression hovers between something you recognize and something you don't, something you desperately want to figure out. "Good thing I don't mind." The adrenaline from the small altercation hasn't left and the swirl of emotions about your whole shitty life has you on edge, has you wanting to play with fire.

You're so close now that you can feel his breath on your face, feel the heat of him in the still night. Joel's eyes rake over your face, looking for something, something you try very hard to show him so that he might fucking do it, meet the want that is suddenly uncontrollable halfway, or at least tell you if he's not interested so you can --

Your name is a groan in his throat and then he's kissing you. His palm cups the back of your head as he presses you into the wall, his other hand firm on your hip, fingertips pressing into your skin through your shirt hard enough to bruise. He tastes like the whiskey you served him. You fist one hand in his collar and wind the other into his hair.

Joel controls the kiss but you give as good as you get. He licks into your mouth and you suck on his lower lip. His beard rubs against your face in a delicious burn and when you tug on his hair he makes a noise you must hear again. The brick behind you scrapes a bit but you hardly notice when he presses against you, slides a thigh between your legs and you feel him hard through his jeans. 

"S'not right, you lookin' so good yellin' at that asshole," he grumbles into your neck, teeth nipping at your pulse. You cant your hips and he hisses.

"Speak for yourself," you manage. "Always got your eyes on me, don't you?" It feels like a risk to call him on it. Control of the situation is slipping from your grasp, this man who you never thought would actually touch you now holding you in his arms, his lips on your skin. He pulls back from your neck and smirks, eyes dark. 

"'Spose I do." 

You can work with that. You surge forward to kiss him again and this time he lets you call the shots while still meeting your bruising caresses with his own.

"Joel." You tug on his hair.

He makes that noise again.

It might be five minutes, it might be an hour. You have no idea. All you know is you can still feel his cock through the denim and you're so turned on you might combust in this alley. Or at the very least let him fuck you in it.

"I don't close tonight," you pant. One of Joel's hands has worked its way into your back pocket and the other has rucked up your shirt to rest on your bare back. 

"What?" he growls.

"My shift. I'm off at 11." You tap his watch. He glances at it and sees it read 10:30. "Half hour. I live upstairs."

For a second you think he'll say no. Walk away with a nod of his head and out of your life forever. Wouldn't be the first, wouldn't be the last. You're already breaking one of your rules by even considering sleeping with him but there's just something about him. The way he looks at you, the way his hands feel on your skin. You want to know what he'll feel like inside you. Maybe you’re still in this town because you were waiting for him to walk through the door.

"Alright," he says. He clears his throat and releases you. You fuss with your hair and straighten your shirt and he adjusts himself in his jeans. "Half hour." His dark eyes narrow as he glances down the alley back towards the street. 

"Take a walk around the block or something," you tell him, swallowing the urge to laugh at him so handsome and disheveled from your hands. Never in a million years would you have predicted that tonight would go this way. "My door is on the other side of the building. I'll let you up."

The urge to flatten the damage your hands did to his hair is so overwhelming for a second that you step away from him towards the door. His eyes follow you, expression unreadable. How many nights would it take for you to know what he's thinking? Careful, you think, or you'll be tempted to find out. 

Joel watches you until you give him a little wave and slip back into the bar. The metal door clangs shut behind you and you lean against it, knees still wobbly. Is this actually happening? Are you really this overwhelmed by making out with some guy in an alley? You check the clock on the wall and curse. Your break ended ten minutes ago though since no one came looking for you it's probably no big deal. Being mostly in charge has its perks.

The bar is a little less crowded than when you left so you grab a rag and start wiping down the bar. Joel's seat is empty, his glass gone. 

"Oh, hey," the seasonal kid says. "That guy, uh, Joel? He said to make sure you get this." He pulls out Joel's usual tip from his apron and holds it out to you.

Considering you're planning to go upstairs and fuck him until you can't walk, you don't feel like taking his tip tonight. "It's yours," you say. "Thanks for handling everything while I was out back." The kid blinks at you but knows better than to refuse, pocketing the cash and going back to loading the dishwasher. 

You finish your shift. Your blood feels electric, your skin hot. Can anyone in this bar tell what happened in the alley? You haven't felt this way about a hookup in ages. Like you were wanted, not just convenient. It's just one night, right? Maybe he'll never come to the bar again, which makes your chest tighten for a second. Maybe you're about to ruin something you don't totally understand. But you haven't gotten this far in life by worrying about shit like that, so you clock out and wave goodbye and make your way to the other side of the building. 

Joel isn't there. You unlock the door to the stairwell so you can at least wait for him inside when you hear footsteps, the crunch of gravel under boots. You fist your key between your knuckles just in case but before you can turn around you hear your name in that Texas drawl. 

"Just me," he says. You don't know if Joel Miller is capable of looking nervous but this is probably close. He shifts from one foot to the other, hands in his pockets. A thrill runs up your spine. Are you really doing this? Are you really about to bring this man up to your apartment and hope to god he does whatever you want to you? 

"Come on up." Yes. Yes, you are. You give him a smile and he follows you up to the landing. 

"S'loud," he mutters once you shut the door. The bar's music wasn't that loud when you were in it and up here it's a dull hum, people's voices and laughter slipping through the cracks like a TV left on a little too high in the other room. These days it's background noise to you but you figure Joel lives in a house somewhere with lots of land and open windows and silence. He seems like the type to like silence. 

Jacket on the hook, shoes clumsily thrown on the mat, keys in the dish. Your normal routine except there’s a man in your living room, too. He looks around the space, hands still in his pockets. You try not to be self-conscious about your place. It's small, sure, the bedroom visible through the currently open French doors in the small living room. Your kitchen is tiny, bathroom tinier, but it's all yours. "You get used to it," you say. "I hardly mind it anymore."

"Didn't say I did," he says. You both stand there for a few moments before Joel takes two big steps and crowds you against the door, one hand on your hip and the other next to your head. "Means they won't hear us." You swallow a gasp as he drags his nose along the curve of your jaw, breath hot on your skin. You were going to ask him if you could shower first since you undoubtedly smell like sweat and beer but clearly, he doesn't mind. His tongue darts out and he sucks on your pulse point, your own hands clutching desperately at his shirt. If he moves you're sure you'll melt into a puddle on the floor. "Means you can be as loud as you want," he growls. "That sound good?"

Any breath remaining in your body rushes out and you jerk your hips to make contact with the hardness in his jeans. "Yeah," you gasp. You can feel something like a smile against your neck. "That sounds good."

It's a dynamic you don't mind stepping into -- whatever this is. Every second of your life you feel like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everyone around you to get tired. Your eyes are always on the exit, always wondering where you'll go next, what you'll leave behind this time. Even when you're fucking strangers you're always wondering how you'll get them to leave. You’re better off alone. But right here, right now, with Joel's heavy scent of sawdust and whiskey and something earthy, something grounding, in your nostrils, his hands and his mouth on you, nothing else matters. Your brain shuts off and you're just here.

You grab Joel's jaw and guide his lips back to yours. He allows it and you moan deep in your throat as he tongues back into your mouth, your own trying to give as good as you're getting. He pops the button on your jeans and you help him with frantic hands, shoving them down your hips along with your underwear so he can ghost his fingers through your coarse curls. He pulls back from the kiss to watch as he drags two fingers through your folds. Your eyes lock and he smirks as your lids flutter.

"Soaked," is all he says. You tip your head forward and rest your forehead on his shoulder.

"Don't be smug."

He huffs. "I ain't trying to sound like an asshole, but --"

"Already failed." He nips at your earlobe.

"Gotta work you open a bit, sweetheart," he says. His fingers circle your clit once, ever so slowly. Your grip on his bicep tightens and you wonder if you'll leave bruises. You hope so. "Gonna be a tight fit."

"Heard -- fuck -- that before," you gasp. Joel really fucking knows what he's doing. "I -- bed?"

"Smart girl," he says. You're pretty sure you get wetter. He pulls his fingers free but keeps a hold on your hip like he knows your knees are jelly. "Sit on the edge." 

You leave your jeans and underwear behind and make your way to the bed through the French doors, sitting heavily on the quilt, knees bent and leaning on your hands behind you. Before you can say another word, Joel lowers to his knees between yours. He pries them apart even further and runs his hands up and down your thighs. 

For a few seconds, you can't find the words. This man, older than you and impossibly handsome, face lined with years he's lived and hands callused with work he's done, this man that you hardly know anything about but can't get out of your mind, is on his knees before you.

"You gonna be okay down there?" is what you come up with.

"You always talk this much?" he mutters, though his mouth tugs up at the corner. Joel's forearms wrap around your legs and he tugs. You fall flat on your back in surprise and your ass almost hangs off the bed. He draws one of your legs over his shoulder and kneads the flesh of your thigh, eyes dark and jaw twitching as he spreads you open and just looks. "Might have to help me up but I think I'll be just fine."

"Joel --" 

The end of his name becomes a high-pitched moan when he leans in and buries his face in your cunt. He drags his tongue up and down through your folds, nose catching your clit in a way that makes you squirm. His beard scrapes against your skin deliciously, leaving a sting that you know you'll be able to see evidence of when he's done. He laps at you before finally taking your clit in his mouth and sucking like his life depends on it. It's only his hand on your outstretched thigh keeping you from suffocating him between your legs, though you're not sure he'd mind.

"Should be a crime," he says. You look down the length of your body at him. His chin is wet with you, eyes meeting yours when he feels your stare. "Cunt this pretty tastin' so good."

How do you reply to that?

He's back at it before you can even try. Joel gets messy with it, the sounds of his attention loud and filthy. He tells you how wet you are, how good you taste, and your eyes flutter shut again.

"How're we doing?" 

"Don't stop," you manage. "Just, don't stop--"

He prods your entrance with one finger. "Reckon you can take it, hmm? You're so wet it'll be easy." There's a bite to his tone, a sense of amusement mixed with awe like he can hardly believe it either. 

"Two," you gasp. "I can take two." You need two, in fact. His hands are one of the few parts of him you've been able to study and you know his fingers are long, much thicker than yours and you need them to fill you up, need them to stretch you out. You need something to clench around because right now you feel like you're on the edge of the pleasure building in your core and if you don't get a release soon you'll just…just…combust. 

Joel hums but you feel a second finger nudge into you. He slides them in and curls them as he goes. Your back arches off the bed.

"Dunno," he coos. "Pretty tight, sweetheart." The slight meanness to his words is in complete contrast with the gentle, attentive way he handles you. Who knew he'd be such a fucking tease.

"Well get to work, then." He scissors the digits inside of you in reply and returns to sucking on your clit. You reach down and bury your hand in his silver-streaked hair, tugging a bit harder than you intend to. Joel just moans into your cunt, the vibration making it feel like your very pelvis is rattling as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. 

Sweat beads on your brow as you try to hold on. He picks up the pace and presses into your walls with his fingertips like he's looking for something. His tongue wreaks havoc on the rest of you, sucking bruises into your inner thighs when he's not abusing your clit. If this is just the foreplay you don't know how you'll survive actually fucking him. And he hasn't even asked you to touch him, hasn't shown even a hint of expectation. He's doing this to get you ready but based on the blown state of his pupils he's enjoying it almost as much as you are. 

"Getting close?" he asks, breath ragged. Your skin is starting to feel deliciously raw from his beard and the hook in your belly is pulling tighter and tighter. 

"Yes -- fuck -- I'm close, Joel, keep --"

His hand moves faster than before and he latches back onto your clit. Your legs start to shake and you feel your orgasm coming, it's just right there, you just need him to --

His fingers find the spot he must have been looking for and your only warning is a sharp tug on his hair and then your back arches and you come all over his face. He fingers fucks you through it and you feel it as your walls clench around him, your mouth open in a high whine as your muscles finally relax and you flop back onto the bed. Joel keeps his face in your cunt, gently lapping at your release while avoiding your sensitive clit. You push his hair back from his face and try to get your breathing under control.

He manages to get up on his own with a grunt as you pant on the bed. "Okay?" he asks. "Lookin' a little tired." You show him your middle finger and he...laughs, lips shiny with your slick. So he can laugh. 

"Are you going to keep your clothes on?" you ask him. His eyes travel slowly over your bare bottom half, the redness of your thighs from his beard and the way your shirt has rucked up to the wire of your bra. 

"Nah." He sits heavily on the edge of the bed to take off his boots and socks. You want to ask him if you can undress him, slowly peel off his layers button by button and explore every inch of him but you won't be able to take it if he says no so you just watch. Already you know you'll be thinking about this night for a long fucking time. The way it seems like he cares about how you're feeling, how he wants to take his time with you, how he enjoys your pleasure. It's nice. It's...making you feel wanted.

His denim button-up is tossed on the floor and he stands, shirtless, to undo his belt. The forearms and small triangle at his throat that you've been treated with thus far when he sits at the bar in no way prepared you for the rest of him. Broad shoulders, thick, muscled arms from years of hard work. Graying chest hair that travels all the way down the slight softness of his belly and in a darker trail his jeans. Your mouth waters. 

"You're starin'," he says softly before unzipping his fly and pushing his jeans and boxers down in one motion. 

"Taste of your own medicine." The words come out with much less bite than you intended as his cock springs free. 

Well, he wasn't lying. He is big. You knew he would be based on what you felt through his pants, but seeing it is something else. 

You sit up and scoot to the end of the bed to be closer. Is he really going to fit? He's bigger than anyone you've fucked before, that's for sure. A ruddy color, a little darker than his tanned chest, the tip a little lighter and already leaking. A few veins run the length of him and the hair at the base of his shaft is clearly taken care of though a little wild and a shade of deep brown that hasn't grayed much yet. His balls hang heavy, one slightly bigger than the other. He twitches under your gaze. You look up at him and wait for him to call out your staring again but instead, he's just watching you, pupils blown. 

"You are...so beautiful," you breathe. He makes a dismissive noise but a flush travels up his chest and to his face. It's true. There's something about him that makes you think you could look every second for the rest of your life and not get enough.

"Should be sayin' that to you." He strokes himself once and you lick your lips. "You got a condom? Should be one in my pocket if you don't." Does he always carry one? Or did he hope to get lucky with you, just like you've been thinking about him?

"Bedside table drawer." He goes for it and you remember too late that the drawer has...other things in it, too. His eyebrows raise and he eyes your small collection of toys but says nothing, though his cock twitches again. If you asked, would he use them on you? He seems like the type to be into that. But right now you need him inside you so badly you might combust.

"Can I?" He pauses before handing the foil square to you. You take him in hand and stroke him from root to tip. He makes a noise low in his throat and you lean in to trace the vein along the bottom of his shaft with your tongue. His hips twitch forward just a bit like he's trying to keep control and failing. You know the feeling. He's warm and heavy on your tongue and the slightest bit salty. You kind of lose the plot for a second, thoughts of him fucking you fading with the desire to make him feel good like this, to blow him until he's moaning your name like you were moaning his.

Joel slides his fingers into your hair and you manage to take him about halfway before he tugs gently. "I'm not complainin'," he says, voice tight. "'Specially when you look so damn pretty like this. But I've been hard as a fuckin' rock for an hour and I ain't as young as I used to be, so..." He trails off.

You place a dainty kiss on his tip and pat his hip. "Another time," you say, realizing too late what you've implied, but Joel just smirks. You tear open the foil and slide the condom on as gingerly as you can but he still hisses your name like he's scolding you, that hand in your hair pulling once again just a little. You feel the arousal pooling in your gut, sticky between your thighs. 

He tugs on the collar of your shirt. "Off," he says. You're quick to obey, whipping it to a corner of your apartment along with your bra. Joel just looks for a second before reaching a calloused hand to palm one breast, thumb sliding over your nipple. "Look at you," he says, breathy, with a squeeze. "Christ."

"You gonna fuck me, Joel Miller?" You blink up at him. He swallows visibly, throat bobbing before that smirk is back. 

"Only ‘cause you asked so nicely." 

You scramble back up the bed on your hands and knees, leaning down on your elbows and presenting him with your bare cunt. "Cause I'm such a lady."

"That so?" he murmurs. He drags his fingers through your folds slowly, brows furrowed. You fist your hands in the sheets. "You want it like this?" he asks. He palms your hip, traces the curve of your ass and presses his fingertips into your skin. You wiggle at him a little. Most guys you hook up with want it like this. You don't mind being fucked from behind, don't mind being able to close your eyes with your face shoved in the sheets and just feel. God knows with a dick his size you'll be feeling it regardless of the position you're in. But part of you does want to look at Joel, to watch him, his expression, his handsome, rugged face. Feel his arms around you, feel the warmth of his breath on your lips as he fucks you. See what his eyes look like when he comes. But this is enough.

"Do I need to say please?"

The head of his cock presses against your entrance in reply. You crane your neck to see as much of him as you can. He's focused on your ass with a light frown, hands resting on your hips.

"Gonna go slow," he grumbles. His gaze meets yours. "For my benefit as much as yours."

Words don't come. You're breathless and dripping, desperate for him to just get on with it. 

"Joel, are you gonna just stand there --"

He slowly, torturously slowly, starts to slide into you. The stretch is immediate, has you face down in the sheets, eyes fluttering. Each inch of painful stretch fades quickly to throbbing pleasure, a fullness that has you keening. 

You press your hips back into him but his fingers grip tighter, holding you in place. "What did I say?" he grits out. 

"Feels so good, so big," you babble. There's nothing left in your brain, your body, but this. But Joel. You have to have all of him. "I can take it, I can take your cock, I --"

"Got quite the mouth on you, huh?" he says. He keeps pressing into you, filling you up inch by inch. "Okay?" he pants. "Look at me, tell me it feels good --"

You crane your neck again, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes and look at him. His own are lidded, mouth open in an "o" like he can hardly believe it himself. A flush runs down his chest and if you didn't know better you'd say he's trembling.

"Yes, I -- god, Joel, keep going, please --"

"Doin' good, sweetheart," he coos. His hand strokes up and down your spine. "Almost there. Almost takin' all of me."

He bottoms out and you see stars. You feel lips on your back, the warm puffs of his breath on your skin as he waits for you. It's a fine line between pain and pleasure and you're walking the tightrope but the stretch is delicious. You can feel every inch of him. Your heartbeat is loud in your ears and you shift your hips a little, loving it when Joel moans.

"Alright," you manage. "Move, please." His fingertips are back on your hips and give you a squeeze before he starts to drag his cock out of you. The tip of him catches the spot inside of you that makes your back arch as he pulls out and then again when he thrusts in. 

"All that work, my fingers and my tongue and you're still so fuckin' tight. Christ."

The only thing you manage to say is a litany of his name.

"Lemme hear it, baby," he grinds out. Baby. "Be so loud those fuckers downstairs hear you--"

You meet his thrusts as best you can and even though it feels so good, even though you're so full, it's not bringing you to the edge like you need. Your neck is starting to hurt from the way you're twisting to see him, your fingers gripping the sheets as hard as you can because you want to be touching him instead. But this is good, this works, maybe if you touch your clit, you'll --

You reach between your legs and Joel pulls out. You get off your elbows and turn around, almost gasping at the loss of him. "Is something wrong?"

He's frowning at you. "Should be askin' you that."

You don't know what to say. Your cunt throbs a little from being empty, the ache settling in now that he's not there to literally fuck it away. "What?"

"You stopped makin' those noises," he says softly. “The ones you were makin’ before.” You turn around and sit facing him, suddenly a little self-conscious. "Ain't gonna fuck you in a position you don't like."

"I --" You try to fight through the haze of your brain for words. "I liked it fine."

Joel waits. He just stands there at the edge of the bed and waits. 

"Maybe..." you try again. "Would on my back be okay for you?"

His eyebrows raise like he can't believe you'd think otherwise. "That'll work for me," he says slowly. "Grab a pillow." You shift back on the bed as he kneels on it, positioning himself between your legs. You hand him one of your pillows and he taps your hip. "Up." You obey and he slides it under you so your lower half is lifted a bit before he presses one leg to the side, spreading you open. He slowly bends the other so that your thigh is pressed against your torso in a deep stretch without being painful. You feel bare, exposed in a way he somehow hasn't yet achieved. 

Joel fixes his gaze on your face. "Let's try that." He strokes himself once and then leans over you, bracing himself on one hand near your head. He lines up to press his cock into you again. Faster than last time, you wince a little but you dig your fingertips into his back to tell him to keep going. He bottoms out and you immediately feel the difference, eyes fluttering shut. Before it was like he was plowing into you, like you were so full you could hardly handle it. But like this it's like he's melting into you, like there is no space between you anymore. You're full but it's not so harsh. You don’t know where you end and he begins.

"That better?" he croaks. You force yourself to look at him and find his face closer, closer than you thought he'd get, breath warm on your face. His forehead is beaded with sweat and his eyes search your face. This close you can see they’re grey, the lines at the corners deep with strain. Even like this, stuffed full of his cock, you could look at him all day.

"Move, Joel," you tell him. He takes that for a yes and starts at a punishing pace. You have no idea how he's kept it together this long, considering you've felt on the edge of another orgasm this entire time. You anchor your arms on his shoulders as his thrusts make you see stars. 

"Ask for what you want, you hear me?" His balls smack loudly against you and he presses his lips to your ear. "You ask and I'll do my damn best."

You don't know what it is -- the overwhelming sensation of his cock dragging in and out at this angle, how close he is, his words -- but you feel tears at the corners of your eyes again. You nod frantically, hands grasping for purchase on his back. 

"C'mon," Joel says. "Gotta use that mouth, sweetheart."

"Yes," you pant. "Yes, yes, Joel, yes --"

"Fuckin' perfect for me," he moans. His lips trail up your cheek, tongue catching your tears before he presses them to yours in a messy kiss that's more teeth and breath than anything else. 

"Joel, Joel, Joel --"

"Gonna come for me? Gonna soak my cock like you did my face?"

Your orgasm comes like the snap of a rubber band. You hold him as tight as you can as it washes through you, the waves almost painful as he keeps fucking you fast and hard, your name a series of broken sounds from his mouth until his hips stutter and he groans deep in his chest. You try to keep your eyes on him as you come down from your high and are rewarded with the scrunch of his brow and the slight part of his lips as he comes. Beautiful, you think. 

The room is all of sudden much quieter without the sounds of your fucking. It's just the dull sounds of Frank's through the floor and your combined panting as he pulls out of you and flops on the bed beside you. You wince this time, the soreness really settling in. Joel finds your hand and kisses the back of it in a move so unexpectedly tender you can't look at him, raw as you are already. The bed shifts and you figure he's throwing out the condom. 

"You okay?" he says. You open your eyes and find him standing at the edge, looking at you. He's holding your robe from the bathroom. You stretch and let him look. 

"Yeah," you reply. You give him a smile as you scoot to the edge and wrap yourself in it when he holds it out. "Thank you." Joel grunts. 

You go to the bathroom yourself to pee and see the damage. Hair a mess, your mascara gathered around your eyes like you've been working hard. You've got hickies forming on your neck and chest, the skin rubbed a bit raw from his beard around your mouth. You love how you look right now. 

You look like you got fucked well. And you did. 

But now you want a shower and a snack and to go to bed. 

You half expect Joel to be gone when you go back into the bedroom. You remember belatedly that you don't let hookups stay the night. Will he leave if you ask him to? If he's already left then you don't need to worry about it. A small part of you worries you won’t ask him to go.

Instead, he's sitting on the edge of your bed putting his boots on. His shirt is unbuttoned but other than that he's dressed. He looks up briefly. His own hair is going in a thousand different directions and if this wasn't a one-night stand you'd fix it for him, a hand pushing it back like you did when he was between your thighs. But things are different outside the heat of the moment. 

"You want some water or anything?" you ask instead.

He shakes his head and finishes his boot, stands and buttons his shirt. "Nah," he says. "Should just head out."

You wonder belatedly if there's anyone at home missing him. Maybe he's got a wife. Maybe he's got a life that he's running away from and into your arms. 

"Bar'll be closed by now, or as good as," you say. You spy his jacket by the door and bend to pick it up. "No one'll see you."

Joel's face does something funny that you don't quite know how to read. He takes his jacket from you and shrugs it on. "Alright," he says. 

He looks awkward in a way you didn't know he could so you throw him a line. "Thanks," you say. For fucking me. For listening to me. For making me feel good. "It was fun. See you around?"

His expression softens. He steps close and gently holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger before kissing you once, firmly but chastely compared to what you were doing before. 

"See you around," he says. And then he opens the door and disappears down the stairs. 

You hear the outer door close and only then do you let out a breath. Your entire body feels like you just spent hours at the gym. But your mind? It's going a thousand miles an hour. You don't know what to think about first -- how Joel looked, how he spoke to you, how his hands felt. How he implored you to ask for what you wanted, how he made you feel good because it made him feel good. How you desperately, desperately want to see him again, to know him in every possible way. How you want him to walk back up the stairs and hold you until you fall asleep.

And that's not how you expected to feel. It's not how you should feel after a one-night stand with a guy you serve a few times a week at your place of employment. Like he saw right to the core of you, like he gave you something you didn't know you needed. 

You need to get a hold of yourself. This is how it starts -- this is how you get hurt. You care. Well, you always care, but no one has to know that. You let someone care about you. Not that Joel does, but he could. 

But isn't that the one thing you want most of all? 

You sleep in the next day. There's not much that needs to be done at Frank's besides bookkeeping and inventory which doesn't take you long. When you finally make it downstairs, three Advil popped to ease the soreness of your entire body, you're surprised to find Bill himself sitting at the bar. 

He looks just as you remember, hair a little longer and a little grayer. Shit kickers and jeans, a hunting jacket and trucker hat. You'll bet his actual truck is parked around back where no one from the road can see it. 

"Uh, hi?" Bill hasn't come around for at least a year, which is making your stomach sink a little. The last time was when there was a fire because some dumbass tried to smoke inside and he wanted to make sure you weren't going to quit on him for having to throw water on the nasty curtains. 

"Heard about Seth," he says. Always right to the point, this guy. He's drinking what looks to be Coke with a lemon. "Sit." You do as he says. So much for bookkeeping.

"Yep," you say. You have no idea where he heard it and know better than to ask. "No big deal."

"I want to retire."

What? "Do you...work here?" Bill appreciates honesty and he's the kind of asshole that respects you if you're an asshole back. 

"No," he says. "But I own the fuckin' dump. And me and Frank want to retire."

"There's a Frank?"

"My partner, dumbass. Keep up."

You were already groggy and still muddled from last night but this is forcing you to bring everything into sharp focus. Bill wants to retire. Which means he wants to...

"So my options are to sell this dump or find someone to take it."

If he sells the bar you're shit out of luck. No way another owner would let you live upstairs the way you do for next to nothing and let you work here and run the show. This is...a lot to take in.

"Are you listening to me?" Bill says. You blink a few times. 

"No," you admit. "Can you say that again?"

He sighs. "Do you want it?"

"The bar?" you ask incredulously. 

"No, idiot, the dumpster out back. Yes, the bar." He raps his knuckles on the bar top. "You could keep everything the same. It's just paperwork, really. I'll just give it to you. God knows a young person like you could make it nicer, turn a better profit." He says it like it's an insult. 

"Are you fucking serious?" This goes against most every rule you've had for yourself for the last who knows how long. Don't get attached, keep moving. No one really needs you so you can disappear whenever. You haven't gotten bored yet, haven't gotten restless, but you know it'll happen. There's no way you can do this forever. But owning a bar? That would make you stay. You'd have no out. You’d have to let yourself be seen, let yourself be needed. You’d have to commit. You’d have to not fuck it up.

"Why not?" he shrugs. "I know you said it was temporary back when you moved in, but you practically run it."

He's right. Everything is temporary for you. But would sticking around be so bad? Would trying to actually make a life for yourself, have a home base, a thing you care about be the end of the world? And then there's Joel...No. Not going there. 

"I..."

"Either you take it or I shut it down." Bill gets off his stool and looks around. "No one cares enough about it to try to sell it."

"Then why me?"

"Do you care about it?" he asks. His piercing stare pins you to your stool, compels you to be honest with him where you're rarely honest with yourself. 

"Yeah," you say. "I do."

"Then there's you're fuckin' answer. I know you do. You clean the shit out of this place and train the seasonal dipshits and learn the names of the fuckin’ drunks and live upstairs and make this a good place for good people to come. You think no one notices, but I notice. We all notice." It's possibly the most words Bill has ever said to you in a row. 

"Can I...think about it?"

He shrugs. "Sure," he says. "Not too long, though. Gotta decide by the end of the year. Maybe earlier."

That gives you three months, give or take. To figure out what the fuck you're going to do.

With one conversation Bill has shattered your entire life here. Now there’s actually a timer on it, this little piece you’ve carved out and started to enjoy. Could you make it a real thing? Could you finally admit to yourself that this is what you want – to be wanted? To be needed? To have something that’s yours?

The bar door shuts and you realize Bill has left you alone with your thoughts. You shift in your stool and a wave of soreness rolls through you from your core. 

You thunk your forehead on the bar. “Fuck me,” you say to the empty room. 

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback!

[homeslices]

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

A/N: For the one annon who requested a before the Borderlands with my Best Friend fic I’m working on it as we speak, I just got a lotta inspo for this 😏 and 🦢 annon I just wanted to let you know ily and you’re so sweet <3. If people have any other Alice in Borderland ideas for me my inbox is open.

Summary: This has no connection to my Best Friends fics it’s just pure smut with Chishiya but it could technically be read as a part of it if you wanted it too.

Pairings: Shuntaro Chishiya x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Smut

“Oh, will you look at that”

Chishiya draws out the first vowel of his sentence in a condescending way, but you really couldn't pay attention to that. You couldn’t pay attention to anything.

A fog of lust clouds your mind and senses. The position you’re in only makes it worse. Your head lulls back against Chishiya’s right shoulder, not being able to sit up from both bliss and exhaustion. Your bare back presses against his clothed chest and your legs are hooked around his, opening wide for him to do as he pleases.

The hand that was switching in between your nipples, flicking and twisting them in the most calculated way, soon starts trailing up. It brushes gently against your sternum, up your neck, until you can feel him gently grasp your jaw.

You can even begin to process what’s going on before Chishiya moves your head from his shoulder, to straight up, carefully holding it up himself.

Your unfocused eyes were staring through whatever was in front of you, but the feeling of your clit being pinched brings you back to reality. You squeeze your eyes shut at the spiked pain and pleasure, letting out a squeal surprise.

Bringing his lips right against your left ear, Chishiya continues with a single word.

“Look.”

With as much strength as you could muster, your eyes slowly open and focus on the exact thing Chishiya wanted it to. Yourself.

The mirror mounted to the wall reflects everything in front of it, and at that moment that includes you.

Your eyes meet your own, and you can see the mess Chishiya has made you. You look like you’ve been fucked dumb, which is pretty accurate. Chishiya uses his hand that wasn’t holding your jaw to part your sticky folds, revealing your clenching hole, aching with need.

He’s been messing with you like this for a while. Toying with your bundle of nerves until you see stars but never letting you finish. Rubbing up and down your slit, but never putting his fingers where you needed them most. However, the stimulation of him playing with your clit and your hard nipples felt so good, euphoric even.

Pleased at your compliance, Chishiya trails two of his long, slender fingers to your desperate hole. Your cunt tightly squeezes around them as soon as they enter and you let out a whine of relief.

Chishiya expertly navigates the inside of you, knowing exactly what makes you moan and scream. You let out a whimper, feeling him so deep in you with just his fingers.

He curls them suddenly, pressing them right against that spongy spot, making you open your mouth in a silent cry. All you can do is watch in the mirror as Chishiya pumps in and out of your dripping cunt.

At this point a white ring has formed around his fingers and Chishiya soon adds a third finger. Letting out a broken moan, you move your eyes to Chishiya, only to find he’s already looking at you. There’s a smug look in his eyes when you meet them.

“Feel good?” He questions like he doesn’t see you falling apart in front of him.

You shakily answer with a hum, which is all you can manage. The sudden feeling of Chishiya’s fingers speeding up and your clit being stimulated once again makes your eyes immediately fly back to the reflection of your cunt in the mirror.

You can’t keep the moan bubbling up in your throat down, and the haze that was covering your mind before soon returns. Your eyes stay fixed on the mirror as Chishiya expertly makes a mess out of you, ruining anyone else for you except himself.

At this point you're close. So close to the edge that you let out a desperate sob and hand grabs around Chishiya’s wrist that’s pistoling in and out of your sopping cunt to ground yourself.

Leaning down, eyes not leaving the mirror, Chishiya leaves open mouth kisses up and down your neck, marking you, all while watching you fall apart on his fingers.

His hand that was gripping your jaw soon trails town to tweak your sensitive nipples lance again and switching between the two.

Chishiya lips brush against your ear, one word leaving them.

“Cum.”

Just like that coil of arousal that has been building for what feels like forever, snaps. White floods your vision as you cream around his fingers. But he doesn’t stop. His fingers keep going in and out, in and out, even faster than before. Your nails dig into his wrist, overwhelmed at the overstimulation.

“Too much,” you cry out.

Whispering in your ear once again he responds.

“You can take it, can’t you?”

You only nod mindlessly. Chishiya doesn’t falter from his fast pace. Your second orgasm was fastly approaching and he could tell. Your cunt was squeezing around his fingers once more, and your eyes were starting to stare mindlessly in front of you.

And just like that, with a little more pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves, you watch yourself cum for a second time. You let out a sob of pleasure and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Chishiya slowly works you through your orgasm, leisurely slowing his fingers to a stop, and when he removes them from your dripping cunt, you let out a whine at the sensitivity.

You feel Chishiya wrap one of his arms around your waist and the other gently cups your jaw.

“You think you got one more in you?”

It was only then that you felt something hard pressed against your back. Looking up at Chishiya in the mirror, you see his amused expression, but it’s hinted with need.

The look he was giving you was making your clit throb once again, so you turn around and put your lips on his. You kissing him soon turned into a battle of dominance, that you quickly lost, as you both quickly stripped Chishiya of his clothes.

Once his clothes were scattered somewhere around the room, it was sort of a blur. All you could focus on now was looking at Chishiya’s reflection in the mirror as he pounded in you from behind.

He tightly grasped your hips and all you could do was grip the sheets, your head falling against the bed. His cock was hitting your g-spot over and over again. You felt so full. You could remember anything, not ever your own name. The only thing going through your mind was Chishiya.

However, it seemed apparent that Chishiya didn’t like the fact that you were no longer looking at the mirror in front of you. He removes one of his hands from your hips, and brushes it all the way up your spine, only to then grab your hair. He then pulls, making you strain your neck to watch yourself once again.

Your cunt clenches around Chishiya’s cock and his hips stutter. You know you're going to cum soon and so does Chishiya. His hips speed up, making you aware he’s just as desperate as you are. He’ll never admit it though, not when he looks so smug about the state you’re in.

Finally, when Chishiya gives a particularly rough thrust aimed right at that special spot in you, your final orgasm of the night hits. You let out a shaky cry as you squeeze around Chishiya’s cock, vision white once more. You hear a loud groan behind you and then you feel Chishiya paint your walls white.

You close your eyes letting the euphoric feeling and exhaustion settle over. You feel Chishiya pull out of you, and you let out a whimper. Your head felt like mush. You couldn’t think, everything was hazy.

When the fog finally cleared your mine, you find yourself under the sheets wearing a clean t-shirt, and can feel Chishiya’s arms wrapped around you.

“Are you okay?” He asks softly yet hesitantly, as if not to startle you.

You nod against the crook of his neck.

“Yeah I’m good,” you confirm.

You don’t move when you continue.

“Are you okay?”

You can both hear and feel him as he lets out a huff of amusement.

“Yeah I’m okay.”

You let out a hum of contentment before closing your eyes once again.

[rae-pss]

masterlist

˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ . . . i tried to do something here, i swear. drabble inspired by @etheries1015 's idea. special thanks to my dear @livelaughlovesubs for proofreading and helping me with this one, ily (🥹🫶✨). ˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ . . . lowercase intended, 878 words, angsty themes, reader is sad bc they feel objectified by the demons.

“why...?”

that was the question that lingered in your head the most. stuck in a sea of misery and hardship that only you could freely navigate and easily drown in.

there was no other way to share the pain of your most incessant storms of thoughts, not when no one there present seemed to care about your mental well-being.

of course, they cared about you, or that's what you wanted to conclude from times when they truthfully helped you. from the moment satan decided to take you to hell to bring minhyeok back, through the various moments in which you needed the different essences of demons and humans to survive, to when your life seemed to be in danger and they were there to rescue or save you… it was all certainly nice, feeling loved on those occasions.

however, all those memories only led to the same point, making you feel like nothing was right that morning. has it ever even been?

they could sing to the winds and swear to hell that they appreciated you, they loved you, that you were the most important person to them. yet, why didn't anyone seem to care about you?

firstly, the elephant in the room, you were the only living descendant of the much acclaimed and beloved –plus dead– solomon. a man who seemed to leave such a great mark on both hell and heaven. your ancestry unknowingly condemned you to a life of pain, unbridled lust, and way more.

someone who said that he saw you as his own child, but that he never seemed to be there for you or understand you in the face of your deepest sorrows.

and, then there was what certainly shrank your heart the most, took the air from your lungs, and made you a mere vessel of what you once could be.

“aren’t i worth more than my body? do they just see me as a sex toy? a pretty face and body to own and use as they please?”

you wanted and implored that the answer to all of that was no, that they didn't see you as such. but how could you convince yourself of that if they only seemed to mind about your physical appearance? they were indeed interested in your personality, especially when you showed one of their sins in front of them, and yet no one seemed to know your favorite color, food, music, or animal.

questions that if strangers in the human world had asked you’d have been somewhat uncomfortable. after all, who asks those nowadays?

and, here you were now, wishing that one of the many demons there would take even the slightest curiosity in you to ask such things. 

“was it so difficult to ask about your favorite weather? what is your favorite type of tea? what is your favorite book? what is your favorite dessert?”

“was it so difficult to feel any interest in your damn tastes?”

there was a time when anger resided like a parasite in your hot veins for every time those thoughts plagued your mind. an arduous sensation that made you want to harm those who unconsciously hurt you so much in the same way.

but, that was already something in the past. now you could only completely shut up and look at the ground. anger is replaced by sadness, deep, drowning sadness. long nights in tears and full days in pain. but, no one seemed to notice, and if they did they didn't even ask about it. 

“would it cost that much to care?”

it was a slow realization process. a clear decomposition of your spirits, your feelings, of you as a being. you didn't even know if you really cared about saving this already damned place, or if you even wanted to go home... home. your home...

and so a single tear fell from your eye, one that you didn't think even thought existed in your weakened body.

minhyeok... would he still be waiting for you? would he even be alive once you got back? would he welcome you with a plate of your favorite food? a bouquet? a hug…?

the only one who understood and knew you. how would he react if he saw you like this? he would surely care for you like a mama bear. taking your temperature, cooking and feeding you, telling you how silly yet precious you are, giving you all that love that you crave so much.

a smile, a weak smile on your lips appeared at the memories of your best friend. how much you missed him day after day, longing to return to the home that was his arms. the warmth that only he knew how to bring to everything around him, including you. the thousand and one apologies he deserved from you.

so much, and for nothing, because you were still there among demons until everything was over... and, that was if they later deigned to let you go, something that you were not even sure was possible. 

you doubted that after all that chaos they’d let you leave their side. knowing them, they would even lock you up if that kept you close to them. just a mere creature trapped in the vile clutches of thirsty beasts.

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on. Mentions of assault, mocking, face fucking, somnophilia, dacryphilia, dubcon.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello angels, did you all see AO3 was down? I was distraught lmaooo wtf??? But it's back up now which means I can have my little night time stories again hehe. Reader has been working hard to get where she is and honestly? Slay. So here is the next chapter, I will say, things will be moving a lil quickly from here on out so buckle yourself up babes <3 Enjoy!

Chapter 81: A Council of Green

The dinner was uncomfortable for you all. Just as expected. 

You had gotten dressed for the evening with the help of Joanna and Amala, a black dress with red stitching and embroidery, hair half up, and half done in intricate braids with small rubies laid inside.

Aemond had been dressed in his usual black leathers again, the tunic buckling up high on his throat, but his hair was braided back and away from his face, half up, half down. 

Two halves of a whole.

You had walked together, anticipation strumming in your veins with every step you took towards the Great Hall with Aemond. Anxiety steadily building as you got closer, knowing that you would be in the presence of Aegon once again, and not only that, but his entire small council including the slimy Lord, Jason Lannister.

When you had arrived, you had been relatively on time. Most of the Lords arrived at the same time as you, with Alicent decked in her usual deep green. She had blinked at you oddly, as though she had not expected you to join, or that she had been told that you would not.

Though Aegon was nowhere to be seen.

Ser Otto Hightower however, did not even spare you a second glance, as though you were part of the furniture or one of their tacky Seven tapestries that defiled the castle walls.

Perhaps you were like a part of the furniture by now.

There, seen, and rarely heard.

When Aegon finally arrived, all having waited for him for a time, food already atop the table, he was flanked by Ser Cole, who announced his entrance to the Great Hall and the small council who joined as though they were not aware of who the pompous silver haired fool was already.

The wives of the Lords of the Small Council were also present, dressed conservatively in their House colours, bright blues and soft yellows and reds. When you had sat yourself down and looked amongst the long wooden table, you had attempted to gage the attention of the other women, hoping that perhaps you could make a friend. But none of the women turned to acknowledge you, avoiding your eye carefully.

The table was full tot he brim, and even the longer tables that flanked the sides of the Hall were full of men and women, servers and guards stationed about the sides of the room. There were even some lower Lords who were not a part of the council, but in charge of large plots of land or advantageous Houses and trades. 

It was, for the most part, a loud and joyous affair for them, or for all those except anyone who had witnessed the Prince and the King’s spat. Whenever Aegon’s eyes would graze over the two of you, landing on you in curiosity, the Maester or another Lord like Jasper Wylde, or even Otto Hightower would ask the King a question, speaking loudly to gain his attention. 

Like you would a child.

But whilst most eyes were not on you, you felt a pair beside the King’s short glances to be particularly burning. 

Jason Lannister sat at the end of the table, donned in his House colours of red and Gold, his blue eyes glued to you and Aemond. Beside him, an empty chair where his wife would have been.

"And where is your wife, Jason.” Aegon asked, noting the absence of the woman, and the presence of every other Lords.

“She sends her apologies that she could not join me in King’s Landing. She is recently with child, and well…” Jason intoned, a limacious smirk winding on his face, “You know how women get when they swell.” 

The Lords wives stayed quiet, some with small, shy smiles on their faces in mock agreement whilst the Lords half heartedly agreed, others more enthusiastically than others.

It made your skin feel alight. 

“And how do they get, Lannister?” Your voice carried across the table snidely before you could stop it. 

A knife scraped across a plate, and all eyes were on you. You could feel Aemond’s careful gaze on the side of your cheek as you stared at Jason. 

Prick. 

The sound of Aegon snickering caught your ears, and you fought to not turn and face him. 

The Lord pressed his tongue into his cheek as he looked at you, “Well, I am sure you will find out in due time.” He smiled, eyes flicking from you to Aemond. 

“Of course, but I’m asking you.” You smiled back falsely, reaching to take a sip from your wine primly. 

Jason laughed, and some of the other Lords laughed awkwardly with him, sensing the tension, “My wife,” He began, looking around the table, “Has a terrible craving for fried trout, and will burst to tears if she is without it. It goes without saying, her hysteria can be quite jarring.”

“Interesting.” You mused, placing the wine back down, “Perhaps she is not being adequately satisfied with other smaller meats.” You grinned. Aemond hummed in amusement beside you. 

Aegon bellowed, large hand slapping against the wood of the table jolting goblets and cutlery. The other Lord’s joined in with their King, seeing permission to laugh at your snide remark. Even Jason himself huffed out a laugh, though the smile did not reach his eyes, and his jaw was clenched tight. 

“My niece everyone.” Aegon boomed, “The sharpest of tongues and the tightest of cunts.”

The room burst into laughter again, some more nervous than others. Otto did not laugh nor smile, and Alicent glared at her son. Aemond inhaled sharply beside you, and from the corner of your eye, you saw Ser Cole shift. 

"Aegon." Alicent warned beneath her breath, eyes darting from Aemond, to Ser Cole, and then back to Aegon.

“My brother is a lucky man.” Aegon hollered, raising his goblet up in mock toast. 

Aemond did not move, eyeing his brother down, anger radiating from him. 

It was perfect. 

You lifted your goblet to Aegon, toasting to yourself, before taking a deep sip, turning your head to Aemond, smiling. With a soft hand, you grasped his on the table, squeezing it twice. 

Aemond did not squeeze it back.

“That he is.” You smirked, head still turned to Aemond who slowly turned his gaze onto you. 

He was furious. 

Good. 

“And how is your son, My Lord?” You asked across the table, looking at Jason Lannister who’s face beamed with pride, “The last I remember was you offering his hand to me, not too long ago.”

Aemond took his hand away from yours and moved it under the table, gripping your thigh. 

“Loreon grows bigger by each day,” He grinned, “ A fine young Lord. He has his mothers eyes, but thankfully my hair. Can’t have a lion without its mane.” The Lord joked, and all chuckled with him. “Perhaps one day if you are to have a daughter, the Targaryen and Lannister Houses can be united.” He grinned. 

When the world is on fire, and I am long gone. 

The rest of the Lords moved to their own small conversations as you continued yours with Jason, feeling Aemond’s fingers dig meanly into the flesh of your thigh.

“Only if you were to build a Dragon Pit in Casterly rock. Our daughter will need to house her dragon there some day, and I expect I would come to visit.”

“You are welcome at the Golden Tooth whenever you please, Princess. We have the finest silk sheets, and the softest of beds.”

“I suppose I will have to see for myself if the riches of the Lannister House are truly what they are said to be.”

“If it is anything like the beauty of the Targaryen House is said to be, then you will find that the riches are just as spoken of.” He boasted and flirted. 

You had to bite your inner cheek from gasping as you felt Aemond’s hand bruise your leg meanly, his nails biting into your skin.

“You’d best watch yourself, Jason.” Aegon smirked, “Aemond looks ready to summon Vhagar.”

Jason paled, “My apologies, Your Grace. There were no ill intentions.”

“My husband is a possessive man and protective.” You intoned, turning your head to face Aemond whose eye was locked on Jason again, "Issa iā orvorta, ñuha dōna. Ao gīmigon iksan aōhon.” He is a cunt, my sweet. You know I am yours, You cooed sickly sweet, hand coming to brush against Aemond’s cheek.

Aegon burst into childish giggles, throwing his crowned head backwards against the high seat of his chair. Aemond’s jaw clenched. Whilst Jason cocked his head, not sure of what you had said and turned to join conversation with the other Lords. 

“Yn emā issare ñuhon tolī.” But you have been mine too, Aegon grinned, looking at you with bright violet eyes. 

Your heart leapt in your throat, bile rising in your mouth. 

“Daor ondoso iderennon.” Not by choice,You plastered a fake smile upon your lips, Aemond’s hand digging harder into your thigh as he straightened in his seat. 

To anyone else at the table, it looked as though the three of you were having a lighthearted conversation in your mother tongue. 

To the three of you, it was a stand off. 

“Kostan tepagon ao iā iderennon.” I may give you a choice, Aegon smirked, sipping his ale, “Aemond kostagon urnēbagon lo ziry jeldan.” Aemond may even watch if he wishes.

“Aemond iksis ñuha iderennon.” Aemond is my choice, You purred, sipping your wine, mirroring the King. You felt Aemond’s hand on your thigh loosen. 

Aegon rested his elbow upon the table lazily, sitting his chin in his palm as he looked at you both, “Sesīr hae ēza iā līve?” Even as he has a whore?

Anger bubbled up inside of you. You ground your teeth together and pushed out a false laugh, far too high to be believable, Alicent’s eyes darting to you with her brows drawn.

“Sesīr pār.” Even then. 

“Lēkia, emā zirȳla orvorta qilōny.” Brother, you have her cock whipped, Aegon smirked. 

Aemond hummed lowly, “Issa iā sȳz ābrazȳrys.” She is a good wife.

You almost beamed at the praise. You picked up your goblet to stop yourself from smiling, bringing the cup to your lips to sip at the honeyed Essos wine.

“Ivestragon nyke, qilōni's orvorta iksis rōvykta?” Tell me, who's cock is bigger? Aegon asked, and you spluttered your wine, inhaling it and coughing into your palm. 

The urge to dive across the table and force a knife between his eyes grew larger. 

You stayed quiet, sipping the wine again to settle the tickling burn in the back of your throat, and the rising anger that continued to mount within. Words fought in your chest to fly from your lips, but you swallowed them.

“Aōha lykemagon vestras nyke.” Your silence says me.

“Ñuha āeksio valzȳrys’.” My Lord Husbands, You smiled, wishing to sink your teeth into his throat, biting through the tendons and flesh, and ripping your head backwards, tearing the flesh away and watching his blood spurt out. 

Aegon ignored his Small Council, Lords and Ladies who had travelled from all over the realm to dine with him, and enjoyed the small time given to direct snide remarks to Aemond without the chastising of his mother. 

“Ao gīmigon lēkia, eman ryptan mirri sȳz udir hen Harrenhal.” You know brother, I have heard some good news from Harrenhal.

Aemond stilled.

The King grinned, teeth and gums being revealed by his lips pulling back, “Ēza Aemond ivestretan ao?” Has Aemond told you?

“Nyke gīmigon iksā nūmāzma naejot.” I know you’re about to, You snipped.

“Ah, ēza daor. Sȳrī,” Ah, he hasn’t. Well, Aegon smirked, leaning forward, “Gaomagon ao remember bona witch isse Harrenhal?” Do you remember that witch in Harrenhal? He tapped his chin in mock thought. 

He knew who she was.

“Alys?” He continued.

Alicent’s head snapped to her son, eyes darting back and forth at the sound of her name. Your heart raced against your chest, heat rising to your cheeks. 

How could you forget? 

“Hen rhinka.” Of course, You said dully, swirling your wine in your hand as you tried to not give him any satisfaction as rage bubbled inside of you.

Not only at the King, but at your husband.

“Ñuha lēkia ēza issare working qopsa, pār emā daor given zirȳla iā dārilaros.” My brother has been working hard, since you have not given him an heir.

An heir. 

“Aegon.” Aemond warned, jaw set in a stiff line.

“Skoros? Kostagon nyke daor biarvī manaeragon ñuha lēkia becoming vala? Iā kepa?” What? Can I not celebrate my brother becoming a man? A father?

Your blood ran cold, and fire licked at your face.

“Kepa?” Father? You seethed, teeth showing, smile faltering on your lips.

“Oh yes, Alys iksis lēda riña.” Alys is with child, Aegon grinned.

With child.

With child.

You saw red.

“Alys iksis lēda riña.” You parroted, tying to collect yourself as you thought of driving your fist into Aemond’s sapphire eye.

With child. 

Alys was pregnant. 

“Y/n-“ Aemond began.

“Aemond,” You interrupted him, turning your face to look at your husband, face cool, “Rijes aōt issi isse jorrāelatan. Kostilus, jikagon ñuha udir naejot aōha līve.” Congratulations are in order. Please send my word to your whore.

Aegon guffawed, eyes bouncing between the two of you. Aemond stared at you with a sallow face, your own carefully schooled.

You were enraged.

Your hand around your goblet tightened, nails reaching around the cool metal to dip into your palm as you desperately tried to use it to ground yourself. 

“Bisa iksis daor skorkydoso-“ This is not ho-

“Valzȳrys,” Husband, You smiled joylessly, all teeth, “Ivestragī īlva daor ȳdragon hen aōha nādrēsy’s.” Let us not talk of your bastards.

“Kostilus īlon should maghagon-“ Perhaps we should bring-, Aegon began.

“Aōha Valyrīha jorrāelagon mirre.” Your Valyrian needs work, You snipped, mock toasting your wine to him again, small droplets falling from the rim to the table below at the force of your thrust, barely contained anger spilling over. 

You let your eye trail over the King, his crown atop his head, wavy silver hair peaking beneath it, a small blush on his cheeks from the ale. 

You were furious. 

You were enraged. 

You wished to hurt Aemond. 

"Sir bona nyke pendagon hen ziry, iksā qumblie.” Now that I think of it, you are thicker, You mused, eyes quickly dropping to Aegon’s waist before back up at his face.

You reached to grasp the decanter from in front of you to refill your wine which disappeared at a rapid rate, and Aemond’s hand shot out, grasping your wrist tightly. The rest of the tables eyes flitted to the sharp movement. You snatched your hand away from him, not even sparing the man a glance as you continued to refill your wine. 

"Konīr's bona ēngos,”There's that tongue, Aegon chuckled, smiling at you appreciatively, his eyes grazing down your body, "Nyke gīmigon iā sȳrkta gaomagon syt ziry.” I know a better use for it.

"Ȳdra daor.” Don’t, Aemond finally spoke, voice low and rough, hand returning to your thigh where he dug his fingers into it again, possessively and angrily.

Aegon giggled, excited that he had finally gotten Aemond to react, the unfinished fight between them simmering to almost a boiling point. “Nyke gōntan daor jiōragon naejot sylugon ziry.” I didn’t get to try it, Aegon pouted.

“Se kesā daor.” And you won’t, You purred, sipping your wine, “Yn ñuha valzȳrys gaomas.” But my husband does.

Aemond’s grip on your thigh tightened again, and you watched as he grabbed his goblet of wine and drank deeply from it.

"Kostilus kesan mirri tubis.” Perhaps I will some day, Aegon mused, pouting his lips at you as he fought off a grin. 

You steeled yourself for what you were about to do, swallowing thickly as you looked Aegon in the eyes.

“Kostilus.” Perhaps.

The conversation had ended there, and Aegon had smirked, eyes half hooded as he looked at you. Alicent did not take her gaze from the three of you before you excused yourself, stating that you were tired and wished to leave your husband to his duties and fellow Lords for the rest of the evening. 

You had pried Aemond’s hand from your thigh and bowed to Aegon and the other Lord’s, reminding Jason Lannister that he should begin preparing a Dragon Pit for Casterly Rock, to which he grinned in response. Aemond’s heated gaze followed you as you left the Great Hall, walking back to your chambers alone. 

You arrived in your chambers and laughed loudly, furious at the news of Alys.

She was pregnant.

She was pregnant and he had not told you.

She was a greater risk to you now than before. You picked up a goblet at the side table and filled it with wine, already tipsy from the night, tossing its contents back down your throat. 

But Aemond’s reaction at dinner was another thing all together. 

It worked. 

Your last lingering comment to Aegon, a small, ‘Perhaps', left the One-Eyed Prince reeling in his head, his hand not once undigging itself from your thighs. Even Jason Lannister unburdened flirting that evening had helped you along tremendously. 

You had filled your goblet with wine once more, sitting in Aemond’s armchair, drinking slowly as you thought of the evening. Of the way his anger rose off of him in heated waves, the way he had become possessive of you with Jason. The way he scowled at his brother. 

He was beginning to resent them all.

The door to the chambers slammed open, and the storming footfall of Aemond caused you to lazily turn your head to look at him. 

He was irate.

“You seek to humiliate me in front of the council? In front of the King, flirting like a whore?” He sneered, marching over to you as he yanked you up from his chair, the goblet of wine tumbling from your fingers to the stone floor below, the red alcohol spilling across the tiles like blood. 

“And what of you? What of your whoring? Your bastard is pregnant.” You retorted, lips pulling back to bare your teeth. 

“She gave me an heir long before you did.”

You hand slapped across his cheek, Aemond’s head turning to the side. 

“You disgust me.” You spat.

A shadow crossed Aemond’s face.

Your knees hit the harsh stone floors before your brain could catch up, Aemond’s large hands jarring you down by your shoulders. His eye crazed. 

“You want to act like a whore, I will treat you like a whore.”

You tipped your chin up to look at him and smiled meanly, “Like Alys?”

“I told you, I did not see her.” He growled at you, hand gripping the side of your hair as he tugged your head. 

“I don’t believe you.” You sneered.

Aemond’s hand moved to the front of his breeches and began to tug at the strings, impatiently ripping them open in front of your face. 

A warmth spread within you. 

He was so angry. 

So on edge. 

It had worked.

It was working.

Aemond finally undid the last of his ties and yanked his pants over his ass, pulling his cock out of the confines of his breeches. You looked up at him defiantly as he began to stroke himself in his hand, slowly getting hard. 

“Having trouble?” You mocked, watching as he frowned down at you.

“Cunt.” He swore, before grabbing the back of your head roughly and tugging you towards his length.

“Open.” He barked, and you obeyed, keeping your eyes on him as he slid his length cruelly down the back of your throat in one rough push.

You gagged around him, tears prickling your eyes.

“Much better when you can’t talk.” He grunted, holding you down on him, the light curls at his base tickling your nose.

Aemond roughly pulled you back off of him by your hair, a spluttering cough escaping your lips as you sucked in a lungful of air. 

“I should have his head for that. Who does he think he is?” Aemond growled, pulling you back on his length, saliva dripping from your lips onto the stone below. 

Your knees ached as he began to thrust into your face harshly, his tip hitting the back of your throat as you breathed through your nose, tears dripping down your cheeks.

“Fucking Lannister scum. A Dragon Pit?” He grunted, using both hands to pull your mouth up and down his length, “He thinks he could fuck you? He thinks he could please you? Silk sheets? Is that what you want? You want fucking silk sheets?”

You gagged loudly as he pushed himself all the way in, holding your head down on him as he shook you with your hair, causing his cock to beat against your gag reflex.

“Stupid cunt. None of them could give you what I do. None of them could fuck you the way I do.” He continued, and you squirmed on the spot, bringing your hands up to his thighs to hold on for balance.

Aemond’s hands slapped yours away, “No. I didn’t say you could touch me.”

You dropped your arms, digging your fingers into your thighs as he continued. 

“I am the only man for you. You are my wife.” Thrust.

“Mine.”

Thrust. 

Warm heat settled in your gut as you hummed around him, curling your tongue up against the underside of his cock. Aemond moaned, letting go of one side of your head to brush hair away from your cheeks.

“Sȳz riña.” Good girl, He praised, framing your jaw with one hand, “Such a good little whore.”

Your core clenched around nothing and you shut your eyes, rubbing your thighs together to ease the ache that steadily began to rise in you.

“Aegon is a cunt." The Prince growled, "A depraved, pathetic excuse for a man. Do you think he could please you?” He grunted.

You did not want to think of Aegon.

You squeezed your eyes tight.

“A useless King,” Aemond continued, thrusts becoming harsh again, “Can't even perform his own duties. Has me do them. Has me fly about the realm when he has Sunfyre and does not ride him.” Another growl, his length heavy on your tongue, you could feel every vein and ridge. 

“Mother should have put me in line for the throne. We had to search the Silk Lanes for him when father died.” The wet sound of your mouth filled the room with Aemond’s complaints. “I hate him.”

I hate him.

Hate.

You sucked at Aemond’s length harder, a whine falling from this lips.

Rewarding him.

It spurred him on. 

“He should beg for my mercy. Should have me rule.” 

Delight sparked within you. 

You curled your tongue up against the underside of his shaft, pressing the wet muscle against him as his thrusts became sloppier, thick strands of saliva hanging from your lips as he continued, the front of your dress and the stone floors below wet with it.

“Fucking pathetic.”

You hummed in agreement, opening your eyes to look up at him. Aemond looked down at you watching the way his cock disappeared into your lips. A groan falling from his mouth as you caught his gaze.

“He could never have you. He does not deserve you. He is not worthy.” His tip hit the back of your throat, “Not worthy of your perfect cunt.” 

You moaned around his length.

“Not worthy of the throne.”

Thrust.

“Not worthy of life.”

Thrust. 

You suck sharply on him as his thrusts grow sloppy, his mouth slackened as he breathed heavily, hands holding your head still as he chased his peak. You fought against your gags, tears moving down your face as you continued to squirm from your spot on the tiles. 

It turned you on. 

“Fuck.” Aemond moaned, pushing himself as deep as he could go.

His hot seed burst down your throat, causing you to cough and gag on his length as he moaned above you, holding you down on it with no escape. Each pump of his seed coating your mouth and tongue. 

“Sīr sȳz syt nyke.” So good for me, “Vok byka ābrazȳrys.” Perfect little wife.

Aemond pulled himself from your lips, and a sharp inhale sucked air into your lungs as you coughed, swallowing what was left of his seed. The Prince’s hand moved to the side of your jaw stroking it as he looked down at you, thumb swiping up the seed that had escaped from the side of your mouth. Aemond rubbed it over your lips as he looked at you, your knees aching in protest.

“Filthy.” He purred.

Aemond bent down and pulled you up. The Prince took you to bed before hardening again, fucking his seed deep inside of you in the hour of the owl. You had whined and moaned, and he had fucked you roughly against the soft sheets, growling about his brother, about Jason, about the throne. 

And you had encouraged it. 

As the ebbs of your third release left your body, you found yourself boneless in the bed beneath Aemond, who crawled down the length of your body, planting insatiable kisses against your sensitive skin. 

“I am falling to sleep.” You had argued, trying to pull him up and away from your core, where his tongue darted between your folds. 

“Then sleep.” He uttered, “Let me enjoy the pleasures of my wife.” 

His tongue was soft and gentle, pressing soothing kisses to your core as you felt your eyes flutter shut, fatigue dragging you down into the depths of sleep.

You woke some time later to the familiar stretch of Aemond’s cock moving through you. You had groaned, blinking in the dark up at Aemond he pushed himself inside of you.

“Wha-“

“Shh. Go back to sleep.”

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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[azzifuddworlddomination]

casual pt.4

paige x azzi

where my perkins tolerators at???

they'll be a part 5, maybe a part 6

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“Here girls let me open up the trunk for you,” Paige’s mom says as they approach the car. Azzi had already been subjected to a somewhat awkward reunion between mother and daughter, and now she has to sit through a forty-minute car ride with not only Paige and her mother but her siblings as well.

Paige truly does love her mother, and her mother loves her. When Paige’s mother, Amy, found out she was having a girl she was over the moon. So excited for the princesses, the pink, the dresses, and the unicorns that would fill her life once her little girl was born. It didn’t take long for Amy to catch on that her baby girl was a copy and paste of her father, Amy’s estranged husband. Between Paige being a constant reminder of her failed marriage and several states between them, Paige didn’t see her mom too often. Amy thought inviting Paige’s best friend would sweeten the deal and encourage her to come. She was right, but as the girls giggle as they load their stuff into the car. Amy silently rejoices as she sees her daughter happy to be in Montana for once.

As they pull out of the airport parking lot Paige’s younger siblings, Ryan and Lauren, begin to fire off every question and fun fact that hits their mind. Paige and Azzi indulge them by giving the kids the silliest answers that she can to keep them entertained as Amy navigates the snowy mountain roads. Finally, they reach Amy’s home. As they bring in their bags Paige nudges Azzi, “y’know you’re staying in my room right? My mom said she set up the guest bedroom, but I told her you’re fine with me.” Conflicted, Azzi responds, “P, if your mom went to all that trouble I should at least humor her.” 

Amy leads them into the house, stopping at Paige’s room so she could drop off her bags before taking Azzi further down the hall. “Here you go Azzi, let me know if you need anything, okay sweetie?” Azzi nodded her head as Amy shut the door behind her. She held my hand the whole flight… who does that?? Casual my ass, Azzi thinks to herself. She stares up at the ceiling, am I stupid??? What am I doing here?” Azzi’s thoughts are interrupted as she hears knocks on the door. Azzi sits up at the sudden noise and looks over at the door. It’s Paige, she lets herself in as Azzi gives a nod of approval. Paige makes her way over to the bed and sits down next to Azzi. Silence fills the room before Paige breaks it. “Don’t sleep in here,” Paige looks at Azzi. She has a earnest look in her eyes, “Please, I need you with me…” “Okay,” Azzi replies “I will.” 

 Amy turned on a movie for the kids to watch as she worked on Thanksgiving dinner for the next day. Ryan and Paige played Fortnite on his switch as Azzi let Lauren tell her all about the fourth-grade drama ensuing at her school. Azzi even pinky swore to not tell anyone that Lauren had a boyfriend, a boy in her class named Brady, who played basketball but wasn’t super good. Azzi also promised to beat him in a game of HORSE if he broke her heart. As the night continued, one more movie and three more bowls of popcorn later, Lauren and Ryan were asleep. Paige carried Ryan as Azzi carried Lauren to their rooms. Meeting back out in the hall after they had laid their respective kid down, they went into Paige’s room. Azzi briefly imagined what that would be like someday, laying their own kids down to go to sleep. But reality hit as Paige left Ryan’s room and ushered Azzi into hers.

Paige closed the door as she pressed Azzi up against it, kissing her neck. “I’ve waited all day to do this, Az,” Paige muttered as she kissed a trail down her neck. Azzi could give you a list of a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t give in right now, but she ignores all of them as she slips her shirt over her head and lets Paige lead her to the bed.

Hours later when Amy walks by, after finishing a night-long cooking session, she peeks into Paige’s room. The two girls lay in bed, burrowed into the blankets. Too tired to really process anything she figures they must’ve fallen asleep talking. As snow falls over the peaceful Montana mountains that night. Paige pulls Azzi closer as the cold winds seep through the window crack.

“Wake up!!! Wake up!!! You’re gonna miss the parade!!!” Lauren and Ryan run into Paige’s room as the two girls frantically attempt to untangle their limbs. “We’re up! We’re up! Geez get out of here!” Paige yells as her younger siblings retreat out of the room. Paige gets up and throws a sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants toward Azzi, “it’s cold as shit,” she mutters as puts warmer layers on. The two join Lauren and Ryan in the living room watching the parade. They decide to join the kids’ protest of breakfast to save room for their Thanksgiving dinner.  

After the parade is over Paige retreats to her room to change as Azzi wanders into the kitchen. She finds a distraught Amy at the kitchen table. “The wind must’ve knocked the power out last night! The fridge never turned back on. All of it is spoiled! God I can’t do anything right,” Azzi envelopes Amy in a hug. “You couldn’t have known that that was going to happen… It’ll be okay,” she reassured her, “we can go out to eat! It’ll be fine it’ll be okay!” Paige walks in and sees Azzi hugging and soothing her mom. Concerned at what happened Paige approaches them, but Azzi brushes her away and mouths to “not worry about it.” 

Azzi helps Amy find a restaurant open on Thanksgiving day. They settle on a Perkins that’s about thirty minutes away. While it wasn’t the Thanksgiving dinner she had worked so hard to give her kids, it was still something. Amy loaded the kids into the car as they waited on Paige and Azzi. “When you were with my mom… That was really sweet, Az,” Paige held Azzi’s cheek and turned her towards her. “It was really no problem,” Azzi replied sheepishly. “I love you, Az, I mean it,” Paige looks Azzi in the eyes before finally bringing her lips to hers. Paige pulls back, as Azzi looks up at her, “I… I… think your mom’s ready to go.” 

As Amy pulls into the Perkins parking lot, its deserted. They walk into the resteraunt, and are seated immediately. Amy can’t help, but wonder if they’re judging her. Once their orders are taken, Paige excuses herself to go to the bathroom. Looking around the table, Azzi decides that going to the bathroom now would be less awkward than sitting with Amy, Ryan, Lauren, and their father. She follows Paige to the bathroom, and opens the door to see Paige splashing her face with water. “You okay, P?” Azzi asks. “Yeah, fine,” Paige responds. “No, you’re not P…” Azzi looks at her. “I said I loved you, Az, and you didn’t say anything back,” Paige replies. “I do… I really do love you Paige, its just I’ve been so confused about what we are lately I just couldn’t say it,” Azzi responds, moving towards Paige, “What are we?” “We’re what we’ve always been, Az,” Paige says grabbing her hand. Azzi should’ve been pissed off by this non-answer-answer, but as Paige grabbed her hand and pulled her closer, she couldn’t find it in herself to be mad. “Yeah?” Azzi responds, playing with Paige’s fingers in her hand. “So… do you love me?” Paige asks, “I love you, P” Azzi responds bringing her hand up to kiss it. “Then show me,” Paige says as she drags Azzi into a bathroom stall. “This isn’t a good idea,” Azzi says as she pulls at Paige’s flannel to expose her shoulders. “Your mom’s out there… she could walk in…” Azzi tries to justify between kisses. “So let her,” Paige breaks out as she grabs Azzi’s hair. 

Azzi presses Paige against the door as she kisses down her neck. Shedding her flannel, Paige throws it on the floor as Azzi helps lift her shirt above her head granting her access to more skin. Azzi kisses down Paige’s neck and stomach before arriving at her jeans. She looks up at Paige for permission as she unbuttons her jeans. Azzi pulls her jeans down and kisses the clothed area before moving to her inner thigh. Azzi rises back up to Paige’s height as she plunges two fingers deep into her folds. 

When the girls arrive back at the table, their meal is already out. They tried their best to smooth each other’s hair, and rid each other of a freshly fucked look. Amy sarcastically welcomes them back to the table, and for a split second, she wonders if her mom is catching onto them. 

[meraxesmoon]

Modern AU HOTD Yandere HCs

note: idk what possessed me to make this lmao

warnings: yandere content, dark content, toxic relationships, sexual innuendo in aegon's part, college students au, helaena is my sweet baby ily helaena targaryen

┍━━━━━━━ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗━━━━━━━┑

Aemond Targaryen

☆ He meets his darling in college and is charming enough for them to trust him almost immediately. Aemond is smart, and often offers to tutor his darling in any subjects they're having trouble with, even going as far as renting out a room in the campus library so they can study without being bothered by other students.

☆ There comes a time where Aemond becomes romantically involved with his darling, after careful planning, and he invites them over to his apartment. He's a Targaryen, so he lives lavishly, but his apartment is tasteful, and you wouldn't know that he's rich just by looking at his home. Inside resides his large Maine Coone, Vhagar. She's this huge, extremely old and grumpy cat, who surprisingly takes a liking to Aemond's darling, and is always more active when they come around.

☆ Aemond is smooth with his relationship, yet he's far from perfect. Aemond is jealous, possessive, and obsessive when it comes to his lover, and hates sharing them with anyone else. He's more on the traditional side, as well, and desires to make them his little housewife as soon as possible.

☆ He most definitely tells his mother about his darling! Alicent and Aemond have weekly lunch dates, and she loves (Name) already from just hearing her son talk about them. She wants to meet them so bad, and once she does, she absolutely adores them. Aemond is a mama's boy. Not meeting his mother is out of the question!

Aegon Targaryen II

☆ The resident fuckboy, Aegon desires his darling more than any of his hookups, but she just doesn't seem interested in casual stuff. I can definitely see Aegon going for the nice girl, and he's an absolute menace when it comes to his darling! Aegon is high key annoying, but he's definitely an art student, which makes a lot of sense.

☆ I feel like his darling would be good friends with Helaena, so he asks her to put in a good word for him. Despite his reputation, Aegon is really devoted to his darling and has a hard time with anyone else that he tries to bring into his bed. It's a very toxic situation because while he's in bed with someone else he's thinking of (Name).

☆ Aegon is a bitch, like he'd let a pretty girl walk all over him kind of bitch. Once he does get involved with his darling, he's incredibly good at pleasing them. It doesn't matter what they want. He's there. This isn't just a sexual thing. Either way, he'd literally do anything for their approval.

☆ He's dependent on his darling, as well. He loves his sweet girl so much that he's unable to imagine his life without her! He wants to crawl into her body so she can never be without him, and Aegon recognizes how creepy that is, so he settles for keeping her in his bed as long as humanly possible.

Helaena Targaryen

☆ This sweet girl is an entomology student! She loves her bugs and is so passionate about them that she goes into that kind of career path. She meets her darling through her mother, unsurprisingly. Helaena doesn't have many friends, and so when she finally finds herself a companion, she's very happy!

☆ Helaena's feelings for her darling don't stay platonic, obviously, and she ends up wanting them to be more than friends. I definitely think she's neurodivergent, so Helaena isn't quite sure how to navigate her emotions when it comes to romance, but she knows that she absolutely adores (Name).

☆ She's a stalker. That's the only way to describe Helaena. She loves observing. She always has, but it's different when it comes to (Name). They're very close, and Helaena just loves looking at them! She thinks that her darling is so pretty, the prettiest in the entire world. So, Helaena follows her darling around constantly. When they're not hanging out together, she tries to steal glances of them. She's so sneaky about it, too. You'd never catch her in the act.

☆ Helaena hyperfixates on things, so she really appreciates it when people take in interest in her hobbies or whatever she's into currently. Like, she went through a phase where she was absolutely fixated on doing crochet, and she was making little bugs to give to her family and darling. She blabbers on to Aegon about her darling. I feel like in a modern AU, they would be very close :((((

☆ She has a pet tarantula named Dreamfyre 💕

[raythekiller]

Weird question, but how would the creeps and Lane be affected by a reader who has obsessive pheromones. Ex. Any person they spend enough time with, the person (or people) surrounding them gets obsessed with the reader. I kinda imagine everyone putting on a gas mask once they snap out of it lol

I wonder if Lane would be affected, would they stay the same or be worse?

Please and thank you for serving us. I bid you a good day. Take care 🩷🩷🩷

🗒 ❛ Reader With Obsessive Pheromones ༉‧₊˚✧

Featuring: Jeff The Killer, Ben Drowned, Ticci Toby, Eyeless Jack, Masky, Hoodie, Lane The Lurker

#Notes: this was such a fun concept to write

pronouns used: none, gn! reader

˗ˏˋ back to navigation ´ˎ˗

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Jeff The Killer

Absolutely falls for it. And it's so difficult to snap him out of it because he will not leave your side unless he's being forcefully dragged away, and that while still putting up a fight. Gets super touchy with you and actually treats you decently. He's just going on and on about how attractive you are and wow is that a new perfume? Once Masky manages to pull him away he'll refuse to come near you or even look you in the face, embarrassed about his own behavior. Avoids you like the plague.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ben Drowned

My God he's already horny normally, imagine now. Hits on you nonstop in a very suggestive manner and is another one that refuses to leave your side. Will probably try to kiss you once or twice before being dragged away. To everyone's surprise, he doesn't seem to mind the fact that he was only obsessed with you because of the pheromones and still hits on you while wearing a gas mask. He's just funky like that.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Ticci Toby

He gets super flustered around you and stutters twice as much. Doesn't really try to flirt or make any moves, he just stands there awkwardly. Actually doesn't take him long to snap out of it since he gets overwhelmed with his own feelings and scurries away from you himself, without much needed intervention. He didn't like the feeling so he only talks to you while wearing a mask.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Eyeless Jack

Oof... Well, you see, obsession kind of triggers something... demonic inside of him, pretty similar to how I describe him in my NSFW posts. He's unable to speak and just kind of circles around you, acting like a guard dog. Will actually roar and claw and bite at anyone who tries to approach you or take him away from you, so he's the hardest to snap out of it. If he manages, though, he'll apologize for his behavior and ask you to please be more careful with this... power of yours.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Masky

Look, I'm trying to keep this post SFW, but it's getting a little difficult. He doesn't really show any change in behavior, to the point you might think he's immune somehow. That is, until he corners you against a wall, demanding you help him with the... Uhm, problem you've created. You'll have to get him out of it yourself. Once he's back to normal, he'll threaten you to not say a word about what he said to you to anyone else, his face flushing lightly underneath the mask.

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Hoodie

Extremely similar to Masky. Doesn't show any sings of being affected until he makes a move, running a hand up your thigh and kissing your neck. You have to be lucky enough for someone to walk by or else things might escalate. Once he's normal again, he'll chuckle at you like it's no big deal, writing something on a piece of paper and handing it to you. It reads "Played a dangerous game there, doll".

꒰⸝⸝₊⛓┊Lane The Lurker

Oh boy. It's gonna be pretty impossible to get them out of it because they don't want to go back to normal. They enjoy the feeling of obsession. Follows you around like a lost puppy and does literally anything you ask them to, but asks for kisses and such as compensation. Can and will threaten to kill anyone that approaches you, being another creep or family member or anything else. They want every last bit of your attention and they plan to get it.

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

Being a native of Foosha Village and falling for Shanks would involve...

Shanks x reader

Sorry if the timeline is a bit wonky, I wasn't able to determine how long exactly the Red Haired pirates spend on Foosha nor how much time passes between the beginning of Luffy's adventure and him getting a bounty, at least in the Live Action continuity...

*****

🏴‍☠️ Being Foosha's resident doctor, you have known Luffy since he was a baby; he is usually in good health, but sometimes you are called to treat a small wound or a bruise he sustained while he played... or got into trouble as usual. You quickly grow fond of the child, who in turn comes to consider you as a sort of older sister. He routinely eats at your place when the Partys is closed, and you insist he regularly attends the village's school, pointing out even a pirate needs a basic education.

🏴‍☠️ One day you are called to the village's little harbour; a pirate crew has docked that morning, some members of the crew have come down with a sickness they cannot diagnose, and the captain has insisted none of them go ashore lest they infect the villagers. Privately you have your misgivings about their presence, in case your visitors are the sort of people who depredate defenseless villages and indulge in violence and bloodshed for the sheer pleasure of it, but as a doctor you have sworn to assist any person who needs it, so you take your bag, introduce yourself once you have reached the ship, and are admitted on board.

🏴‍☠️ You are quickly brought to the captain, and so you find yourself face to face with Red-Haired Shanks, one of the most famous pirates of the Four Seas... even though he doesn't look particularly glorious at the moment. He explains that the first signs of the sickness appeared three weeks ago, when a few of his men started coughing and complaining of chills even though it was summer, and soon many of them were struck down with the fever that, in the confined spaces of the ship, quickly spread to the whole crew, even though the captain ordered to confine the sick in their quarters... and then to do the same to the healthy ones, to protect them. There had been no one capable to treat the men, since the ship doctor had been killed in a scuffle with another crew two months ago, and since then they had not acquired another yet.

🏴‍☠️ "Not the wisest decision of my life, I know; I should have realized that a doctor is vital for a crew, more than a cook or even a navigator. I thought we would have more time, because we hadn't needed one in more than a year... please, help us." he says; he is lying on his cot, clearly weak and in pain for the fever, but there is an unquestionable, unquenchable energy in his eyes, the desperate fire of his force of will that has led him to become one of the most respected and powerful pirates of the Four Seas, burning as bright as his red hair "I will pay you well, you have my word, and I promise we came to your village to rest for a while and search for help; we don't want to hurt anyone. No, take care of my men first; some of them have been in pain for weeks. Save them, I beg you."

🏴‍☠️ The desperation in his voice, the sincere worry of a captain who deeply cares for the men under his command, would be enough to dispel your qualms, if you had any. You immediately start attending your patients, and are relieved to realize they are suffering from red fever, a technically fatal illness that can nonetheless be quite easily cured, that a few men probably contracted on the last island they visited and then spread to the rest of the crew. The number of patients to treat causes some difficulty, but fortunately Foosha's apothecary is well-stocked with the ingredients you need to prepare the medicine, and Makino and a few other women offer to assist you as nurses. It takes a few days, but soon Shanks and his men are on the road to recovery, the least sick already back to health.

🏴‍☠️ Shanks is immensely relieved for your help, and thanks you profusely; as he promised, he offers to reward you handsomely for your service, and seems impressed when you insist to accept your usual fee and nothing more, plus a compensation for your assistants. "I am a doctor." you simply explain, shrugging your shoulders and sincerely convinced there is nothing heroic, or even just commendable, in what you did "I swore to help whoever needed it, pauper or King, hero or bandit; you and your men were sick, and I could treat you. End of the story." "Nevertheless, I really appreciate your help, doctor; meeting you was a blessing from the Gods." Shanks says; he is back on his feet, his already familiar straw hat on his head, and you find yourself smiling back without realizing. He has a very nice smile. "I was happy to help; and please, call me (name)."

🏴‍☠️ As promised, Shanks and his men create no disturbance in Foosha; rather, they take such a liking to your little village that they decide to stay for a while, to rest before resuming their travels. The villagers quickly grow fond of them, and soon Shanks and his crew become part of your community, as if those men hailing from the four corners of the world had always been there. You are, for obvious reasons, one of the first they come to know, and you learn to appreciate their company... especially the captain's.

🏴‍☠️ Once he and his men no longer need your assistance as doctor, you would have no reason to seek Shanks' company, nor he yours; still, you end up meeting every day or almost, all of it because of (or thanks to, you'll think back later) Luffy. Becoming a pirate has always been your young friend's dream and aspiration, and predictably Shanks, an expert captain and famous corsair, quickly becomes his idol; he follows him around, hanging off his words, begging to know about their travels and adventures, which Shanks is always happy to. Soon your young friend become a sort of mascotte for the pirate crew, a younger brother they all like and are happy to entertain.

🏴‍☠️ You are in the habit of going to the Partys every night, both to relax after work for a drink and spend some time with Luffy, and the pirates have likewise selected the bar as their favourite meeting point, which means that without either of you realizing (or wanting, which doesn't mean you regret it, or even try to avoid it) you and Shanks quickly become acquainted well beyond the simple relationship between a doctor and an one-time patient.

🏴‍☠️ The first opportunity you have to really bond happens during your village's yearly festival: there is music, food, dancing, even a firework display, and the pirates are obviously happy to join the celebration. You are sitting alone in front of a bonfire, having gotten momentarily separated from your friends, looking at the couples dancing as you vaguely reflect on your duties for tomorrow, when suddenly Shanks appears next to you. "You don't like dancing?" he inquires after you have greeted each other, as he slides on the bench next to you, a jug in his hands; you shrug, admitting that you actually do, but you haven't been invited by any of the men present. "Oh! Then they don't know what they're missing." Shanks seriously comments; he drinks a sip from his drink, leaves it on the bench, stands, and offers you hid hand. "Shall we?" he asks. "There is no need, really! You don't have to..." you hurry to explain, and he determinedly shakes his head. "I know I don't have to; but believe it or not, I enjoy dancing, and I am told I am pretty good at it. Come on, it is a night of celebration; let's enjoy it."

🏴‍☠️ You could point out that from what you have seen the pirates don't need a special occasion to revel and have fun, but you gladly accept Shanks' hand and let him lead you to the improvised dancefloor in the village's square. Shanks takes one of your hands in his, gently rests the other on your hip, and a moment later you are moving together in time with the music, and Shanks had not lied, he is actually a very good dancer, and you can't help smiling as you follow his steps, noticing that the red of his hair is even brighter than usual thanks to the light of the bonfire, and his smile brighter still. In the end, the rhythm changes to a slow dance, and Shanks gently circle your waist with an arm, just like all the men around you are doing with their partners. "Is this... all right?" he asks, suddenly uncertain, and you nod, intimately surprised of how all right it is, as you silently rest both of your arms on his shoulders, your hands overlapping behind his head. Another smile passes between you, a smaller, more intimate one; you suddenly feel shy, and giddy, and you wish this moment would never end.

🏴‍☠️ Unfortunately it does, in the end, when Shanks' men reclaim his help for a prank they are pulling; he then takes your hand and kisses the back. "The men of the village don't know what they are missing, you are a very good dancer." he says, and then the other drag him away, and you remain there, suddenly alone, and wondering why you feel so warm in the face, while the party goes on around you. Sleep eludes you that night, and when you finally dream, it is of him, still unsure whether what you are feeling is simply due to the moment of intimacy you shared during your dance... or this is something more lasting, and deep.

🏴‍☠️ You are still thinking about it that night, as you nurse your usual drink at the Partys, so lost in your thoughts Makino asks if you are all right. Before you can answer, "Is this seat taken?" someone asks pointing to the stool next to yours; it is Shanks, smiling at you, and you smile back as you nod, and he asks Makino for some dinner, his leg brushing against yours under the counter as he sits. Once more, you are quietly enjoying each other's company; as he eats, Shanks look at you out of the corner of his eye, and when your gazes meet and you realize, he smiles, not exactly unabashed but still not shy, open in his interest, and it is not the first time a man looks at you, but still, you feel yourself blushing... and, you discover, it is not an unpleasant sensation. Not at all. He asks about your job, and you reciprocate inquiring about a few places he and his crew have visited, and that you have always dreamed of seeing, even though you have never left Dawn Island, and have lived in the village your whole life. You doubt anything you can have to say could be of interest for Shanks, but he seems sincerely taken by your conversation... until his leg touches yours under the counter once more, this time not by accident, and you feel all the blood, and the warmth, of your body rush to your face.

🏴‍☠️ "I have made you uncomfortable. I am sorry." Shanks says after a moment, misinterpreting your silence for discomfort, and you quickly shake your head; you can see Luffy approaching on the street behind him, ready to demand his idol's complete attention, and you hurry to take advantage of the little time you have left. "Not at all. I... I am glad we had a chance to talk. I like it. I... I like talking to you." "And I like talking to you, (name). Really. You are... a really good person."

🏴‍☠️ After a while you decide it is time to go home. "See you tomorrow, Makino." you say as you take your bag and stand, and in a moment, Shanks has done the same. "I'll walk you home." he proposes, more as a request than as an order, and you are suddenly a young girl again, because your heart skips a beat. "But Luffy..." "Luffy is with the others, they can take care of them for a few minutes; there'll be no problem... unless you'd rather go alone, that is."

🏴‍☠️ Two minutes later you are walking side by side along the village's main street; you have slipped your arm under Shanks', his happy smile making you unconcerned about the gossip that will probably spread in the village as soon as someone sees the two of you together. You don't talk much, still enjoying each other's company, but Shanks uses his free arm to return the greeting of a few people who cross your path. "I love this place." he says after a while "The people here are so friendly and kind, I feel I could stay here forever."

🏴‍☠️ Usually a compliment paid to your village would please you; still, those kind words feel like someone had spilled a bucket of cold water on your head. "But you will not, right?" you realize, thinking out loud "You are pirates, the Sea is your home, and a stay in a town or village a simple vacation. You have been here for about two months; you'll probably leave soon, right?"

🏴‍☠️ Shanks' silence, and the touch of guilt in his dark eyes, is answer enough; he tries to meet your gaze, but you avoid him, suddenly feeling the stupidest, naivest woman of the East Sea. After a minute spent looking at your feet you hear Shanks softly calling your name. "I'm fine, don't worry..." "No, I mean... I think we're here, aren't we?" he asks, and your embarrassment deepens when you realize that you had indeed reached your house, and were it not for him you would have walked past it, and kept going until you crossed the whole village. "I'm sorry, I... I am so dumb..." you mumble as you begin searching for the keys in your bag.

🏴‍☠️ Shanks remains silent until he sees you open the door; he is serious, more serious than you've ever seen him, but his eyes are full of sadness. "I am sorry." you repeat, not quite sure what you're apologizing for, and he shakes his head. "I should be the one apologizing." he gently says; you're standing on the doorway, face to face, and you're torn between the impulse of closing the door, sparing yourself another moment of pain... and the desire to take advantage of the little time you have left, and invite Shanks in. You know he'll not decline (... right?), and it'll probably make it harder to say goodbye when he and his men will leave, and you're usually not one to let your feeling dictate your actions, but...

🏴‍☠️ "I better go." Shanks says, sparing you the need to decide, and for a terrible moment you think he means he's leaving Foosha right now, but he simply takes a step back, a sweet and concerned smile on his handsome face. "I am a pirate." he gently says "This is the life I have chosen, and... I will keep living it until there is life left in my body. I am not saying it is always easy, nor that I have never been tempted, but I could never live on land, no matter how... how good the company would be." "I would never ask you to." you assure him; the simple idea of a man who has probably lived a pirate life since he was a boy and has become one of the most notorious captains in the Four Seas, leaving everything behind for you, after having known you for two months, is risible, of course, but still, why can't you help feeling the tiniest bit disappointed? "Your men need you, and being a pirate is in your soul. You could never be happy otherwise, and... I want you to be happy, Shanks."

🏴‍☠️ There is nothing else to say, and after a quiet goodbye Shanks depart, and you remain looking at him through your window as you mentally chastise yourself, because how could you be so stupid to catch feelings for a man who you'll never have? You have only known each other for a few weeks, and the sooner he leaves the sooner your heart will begin healing, but you already fear you will never forget Shanks, not even in a hundred years.

🏴‍☠️ You begin avoiding him as much as you can, which means mainly avoiding the harbour and the Partys (you tell Makino this is a particularly busy period for your practice, not wanting her to think it is because of her; she looks at you, clearly unconvinced, but accepts your explaination) and hoping whatever feeling you have developed will soon start dissipate, like crushes often do, until... until one day Luffy shows up at your home, crying and more upset than you've ever seen him. "It's not me; it's Shanks." he says when you, terrified, start checking him for wounds or injuries "You need to come now, (name), he... he..."

🏴‍☠️ He wouldn't have looked for you if the patient were beyond helping, but Luffy is too upset to explain what exactly has happened to the captain, which can only increase the terror in your heart; you run to the harbour as quickly as your legs can carry you, and when you reach his cabin on the ship, Shanks, lying on his cot and surrounded by his closest friends, smiles, clearly pained but happy to see you. "Hey, here's my favourite dance partner." he says "I am fine, don't worry..." He clearly isn't, and your legs amost collapse under you when you see what has happened to his left arm; you are able to remain calm and focused as you clean the wound to avoid infection and then bandage it, while Shanks looks silently on, his eyes full of warmth and pain, not necessarily for himself.

🏴‍☠️ "What has happened to you?" you ask in the end, sitting on a stool Luffy has brought you before leaving with the others; Shanks quietly answers telling you all about the child's kidnapping, him intervening and having to fight the Sea King that inhabits the waters around the island, and this is when you start crying, overwhelmed by the courage and generosity of the man in front of you, who has paid such a terrible price for it. What will he do now? You know how tenacious and strong he is, but will he be able to fight and lead his men without an arm? You have already treated this sort of wound, and you know it might keep paining him for the rest of his days; what if an enemy takes advantage of his weakness and he can't defend himself...?

🏴‍☠️ "I am all right." he gently says as he uses the hem of his cape to dry your tears, and you feel more guilty than ever, because he has just gone through a terrible trauma, and still he is able and willing to comfort you "Truly; Luffy is safe and this is what matters. It is just an arm, I have a spare one to use..." "How can you joke about it?" you ask, crying and laughing at the same time, and then you have thrown your arms around his neck, sobbing and hating how useless you feel, and Shanks holds you tight with his arm around your waist and his cheek against your shoulder, feeling your very presence more soothing and healing than any opiate or medicine he could have taken. "It is so good to see you again." he whispers; you can both feel your hearts beating as one, a sensation whose beauty and sweetness you cannot describe in words "I know you've avoiding me. No, no, it's ok; I know why you did it, and it's probably for the best, even though I have missed you..."

🏴‍☠️ You don't answer, quietly enjoying the peace and comfort Shanks' presence always brings you despite the heartbreak; there must be dozens of men on the ship around you, but you are alone in the tiny, sparsely furnished cabin, enjoying a fleeting, precious moment of intimacy. In the end you turn your face to meet Shanks' gaze, and you do not vocalize your feelings, but he understands them all the same, and a moment later your mouths meet in the sweetest, most intense kiss of your life. Shanks moans, his lips avidly caressing yours, and a moment later you are running your fingers through his hair, and you want him so much your heart is about to burst.

🏴‍☠️ When you finally part, five minutes later, neither of you is smiling. "I don't want to cause you pain." Shanks says, deadly serious; his hand is holding yours, his thumb caressing the back "We are meant to leave in three weeks..." "And you will; I will not beg you to stay, and I know that saying goodbye will be harrowing; but it'll be anyway, since I can't stop thinking about you." you admit with a sigh "I want to be with you, Shanks, be it for a day or a year; if, ehm, you want to be with me, and I know you are in pain, and obviously as a doctor I am not supposed to date my patients..."

🏴‍☠️ You are blabbering, as usual when you are nervous, but Shanks is quick to put an end to your speech kissing you soundly once more, holding you as if he never wants you to go. You lie down on the cot together, your legs entwined and your bodies pressing against each other, but after a while you are forced to stop and change position, because a moan of pain warns you your side was pressing agains the stump of his arm. "My poor darling, I am so sorry for what has happened to you." you murmur, but Shanks smiles, and gently kisses your forehead. "Luffy is safe and you are here next to me." he says "As far as I'm concerned, it was a small price to pay."

🏴‍☠️ You and Shanks are determined to make the most of the little time you have, so you are nearly inseparable for the next three weeks. You don't want to neglect your work, since your patients need you, but if you are not at your practice, you are with him. You sleep in his cabin (the cot is tiny, but squeezing together is not a problem for the two of you) make sure his wound is clean and neatly bandaged, and walk with him on your favourite beach, enjoying his quiet, solid presence next to you, his beautiful smile, and the way he has to circle your waist and lead you in a dance when you least expect it, making you laugh. Luffy reacts with disgust the first time he sees the two of you sharing a kiss, but he is happy for you, secretly thinking you and Shank deserve each other - and for the future young King of the Pirates there is no better compliment than this.

🏴‍☠️ Before you become intimate for the first time, Shanks asks you to make sure you don't get pregnant, and you comply, privately thinking you wouldn't mind having his baby, were it not unfair to both to keep father and child separated, quite the opposite, because a child with his smile and eyes would alleviate the solitude you know you will suffer once he will have left. You feed him food with your fork at the Partys, fall asleep lulled by his heartbeat, and sit next to him at the end of the wharf, your legs dangling and his arm around your shoulders as you look at the sun setting behind the horizon, and wish your time together would never end.

🏴‍☠️ It does, unfortunately, and on one clear, warm morning, Shanks and his crew prepare to leave the village. Luffy is inconsolable, even after Shanks gifts him his most precious possession, his straw hat, with the promise to ask for it back when the young boy has become a great pirate; you, on the other hand, feel pain and heartbreak beyond words and tears. The two of you have spent the whole night making love, with an intensity and an abandon you had never experienced before, and he looked as grief-stricken as you feel while he whispered his feelings in your ear and promised he would never forget you, but still, your heart is full of doubts and anguish while you walk to the harbour to say goodbye to the man who has, in true pirate fashion, stolen your heart. He lied about your affection to comfort you, an unpleasant voice whispers in your ear. He has a woman like you in every town and port his ship visits. He will forget your face in less than a month and in two he won't remember ever meeting you. Worst of all, he will die soon, battling another pirate crew or drowning, and you'll cry for him for the rest of your days...

🏴‍☠️ A few of the pirates you have gotten to know in the last months say goodbye to you and you wish them good luck, having gotten sincerely fond of those brave, freedom-hungry men who have chosen such a dangerous way of life and can face any enemy with a smile on their faces. In the end, you and Shanks find yourselves face to face, and "Please, do not cry; I am already desperate, your tears would kill me." he softly begs as the tips of his fingers caress your cheek, and you shake your head: you can't help being sad, you admit, but you knew this moment would come and do not regret being with him, even just for a few short days, and no matter what the future has in store, you will keep him in your heart forever. "Just promise me one thing: find a doctor for your crew, as soon as possible; I can't stand the idea of you and your men travelling without someone taking care of your health." you ask him, and for the first time since you met, you see Shanks hesitating. "I will, I promise; but..." "But?"

🏴‍☠️ "But, I was hoping I wouldn't need to look for a doctor; that you would join my crew and fill the spot. I... I know it would change your life, and I won't lie to you, it is a dangerous life, especially for a person who is not a trained fighter and even if we would all do everything we can to ensure your safety. We have known each other only for a few months, but it would make me the happiest man on the Sea if... oh, forget it, it was a stupid idea, how egotistical can I be asking you to leave everything you know and love for..." He is mumbling, and looking at him in that moment, unsure but hopeful, all your doubts and fears disappear like snow at the first light of spring; he cares about you, he really does, much more than simply because of the advantges your presence on the ship would provide the crew, but since he could never renounce his way of life to be with you, he feels unworthy of asking you to do the same. How could you ever doubt him?, you wonder while tears of happiness begin falling from your eyes... and how can you say no to him?

🏴‍☠️ "Oh, Shanks... nothing would make me happier; I'd leave in a minute if it meant being with you." you sincerely answer "But I can't. I am the only doctor in the village, and it would take months to request the capital to send another one here; I can't in all conscience leave my patients without anyone caring for their health. And there is Luffy; he needs me, at least for a few more years. Believe me, I... I am not simply looking for an excuse; I really want to be with you, but..." "I know." he interrupts you, and the reassurance about your feelings for him doesn't make your refusal easier to accept. "I know what sort of person you are, how much you care for the people of the village; I wouldn't expect any less from you." You sigh, wishing for a moment you could actually disavow your professional oath and forsake the people you have promised to take care of, and follow the man you love towards whatever fate awaits him. You are doing the right thing, professionally and towards a boy you love as if he were a child of your body, but the prospect of losing Shanks forever makes you feel as if you were renouncing a part of you...

🏴‍☠️ "You know, it... It doesn't have to be forever." you tentatively add wringing your hands, a moment after one of the men has called to Shanks to tell him they're ready to go "It will be a few years, but one day Luffy will be old enough to take care of himself, and in the meantime I could instruct a new doctor for the village or ask for one to be sent here. And then, once I'm no longer needed... I-I could come. To you. I mean, I wouldn't ask you to wait for me, if you... met someone else, or if simply your feelings changed..." "I will." Shanks immediately answers; he's looking at you as if no treasure he could ever find would compare "I'll wait for you, and you'll wait for me, and once Luffy no longer needs you, I'll come back for you. And from then on, no one and nothing will ever separate us."

🏴‍☠️ The promise is sealed with a kiss, that you and your lover share on the harbour in full view of the crew and the villagers, and there is no need to say you love each other, because a look of Shanks's warm eyes is enough to reassure you and he can read the same feelings in your gaze. A few minutes, and you are looking at the ship disappearing into the horizon with Luffy by your side, not bothering to hold back your tears while a stubborn, fierce hope fills your heart.

🏴‍☠️ Ten years pass, slowly, often excruciatingly so, but at least you can keep busy instead of spending days and nights crying over your lost love. You focus on your work, finding gratification and sincere joy in taking care of the people you grew up and live with, and helping them when they are sick or wounded; five years after you said good-bye to your lover, two girls who have just completed their studies at the village's school ask for permission to follow you in your work, and you gladly take them on as apprentices. You write to the libraries of the larger towns in the island, asking for books written by ship doctors or that would help you specialize for your future responsabilities as a member of Shanks' crew, and follow his adventures in the papers.

🏴‍☠️ The news of your and Shanks' promise has somehow spread to the village, and save for Luffy and a few of your friends, most of the people think you are wasting the best years of your life, and should have never believed in him. "He said that to make fun of you, or at least to comfort you and make you think he actually cared." they say "He's a pirate, (name), he must have a woman like you in every harbour. By now he has probably been with ten others." "Even if he actually cared, ten years is ages to spend waiting for someone! What if he dies in the meantime? And even if he returned, are you sure you want to live such a dangerous life?" "Don't you want to marry and raise a family? A pirate ship is no place for a child, and in ten years you'll be past marriageable age; there are many good men here in the village..."

🏴‍☠️ They mean well (most of them do, at least), but you don't listen, and while you miss Shanks more and more every day and sometimes even wish you had forgotten duties and responsibilities to follow your heart, because whatever length of time destiny will allow you to spend together you will have still wasted ten years, you never waver, sure in your heart you have made the right choice, and you don't care how naive and idealistic you would sound if you said it out loud, you know he's also thinking of you, saddened by the distance between you and nonetheless carrying on, knowing nothing and no one will stop you from being together once the time is right. The idea of becoming a pirate is both terrifying and exciting, and had you not met Shanks, you would have been happy to stay in Foosha forever, single or otherwise; but now you know he is your destiny, and you will share whatever future and dream he will pursue, because you know he will always be worthy of your devotion.

🏴‍☠️ On the other hand, you do miss him. Fiercely, desperately, a feeling which is hunger (why is his warm body not flushed against yours when you wake up? Where are the avid and sloppy kisses you had already become dependent on, and that now you cannot do without?) and jealousy (is another woman flirting with him in this very moment? Touching him, smiling at him, catching his attention even if just for a moment? And how can you discover her name and city or village of residence, to go and teach her not to touch what belongs to others?) and protectivity (what if something happens to him and you're not there to take care of him? Has he found a doctor like he had promised you?) all in one, that becomes a permanent presence inside you, from the moment you wake to when you go to sleep... and sometimes even longer. His smile, his kind and determined voice, the subtle energy and power his very figure emanated... you even miss his cold feet, and that affectionate but vaguely annoying way that he had to pull your hair to get your attention. Deep in your heart, you know he is also thinking about you, that he remembers his promise and is honoring it, no matter how difficult it might be; but however pleasant and productive your days are, no matter the joy you feel in being in the company of your friends and in successfully treating your patients, his absence is still a weight in your heart, a dull but persistent pain that before long becomes as familiar as the colour of your hair of the medical coat you wear at your practice. You have not stopped eating (that would be bad for your health!) and you are not going to wither away like the protagonist of a romantic novel whose sweetheart has deserted her, but you miss him, deeply and desperately, and every time your eyes fall on a red-haired head, your heart skips a beat...

🏴‍☠️ Luffy is, as you expected, the only one who fully believes in Shanks' promise to you, just like you trust the pact the captain and the child have made about Luffy's future and the straw hat; you never told him he, and his well-being, is one of the two main reasons why you elected to stay in Foosha, because a child doesn't deserve to feel guilty for the choices of an adult, but Luffy is much smarter and more perceptive than he is given credit for, and in the end it is you who, exactly ten years after saying goodbye to Shanks, he tells he is finally ready to leave the village to pursue his dream... and you need to do the same. "I know you have stayed here to look after me, (name); and I appreciate it a lot. But now I can take care of myself, and I'm leaving to find a crew and become King of the Pirates. You have to go too; don't you want to see him, after all these years? I'm sure he missed you a lot too; find him, become his doctor, and say hi for me."

🏴‍☠️ You do. After an heart-felt goodbye ("Don't lose the first-aid kit I gave you! And please, Luffy, I don't need you to remind you to eat, but don't get cold!") you prepare a small luggage and your doctor's bag, entrust your practice to your apprentices (who by now are more than up to the task, and who you know will take as good care of the villagers as you did), and your home's keys to Makino, and leave. Part of you still can't believe you are actually doing it, that you are leaving everything you knew and loved behind, the village you were born in and all your things at home, to pursue a life you are probably unprepared for and that could cost you your life, but you don't care, and whatever happens, you know you won't regret the choice you have made... the choice to follow your heart.

🏴‍☠️ The only, but not negligible, difficulty you have to face is that you have absolutely no idea where Shanks is. Your deal was that he would come back to get you in Foosha once Luffy no longer needed you, but since you have no way to contact him, you can't ask him to meet; the most reasonable choice would be to wait for your young friend to make a name for himsef, either earning a bounty of fighting the Marines, so that news of him having left the village and become a pirate would reach Shanks, who would then know it is time to make good on his promise, but not knowing how long it would take, and determined not to waste any more time, you decide to take the matter in your own hands and go to Shanks yourself... even though you have no idea how, and where to find him. According to a by now weeks old newspaper article you had read, your lover has been seen in a certain island across the East Sea, so you buy a ticket to reach it, hoping to still find him there, or at least that he had left word of where he would head next.

🏴‍☠️ Ten days of navigation later, the ship has to make a stop along the way to resupply; you are walking down the dock as you wait for the captain to call the passengers back on board, trembling with excitation and hoping you and your lover will soon be reunited, when your eyes casually fall on a man walking down the pier, unhurriedly but with the sort of determination that leads anyone who crosses his path to give way. You have never met him, but your lover has told you about him, and you would have recognized him in any case, because Dracule Mihawk, the greatest swordman in the world, is not the kind of man you can mistake for someone else... if only for the enormous sword, as long as he is tall, hanging from his shoulders. Normally you would have no reason to approach him, not last because Mihawk doesn't seem the sort of man who tolerates being bothered without a good reason, but Shanks has told you the two of them know each other of old and are, if not exactly friends, at least good acquaintances; could the swordsman know where your lover is? Could he tell you, if you tell him you are also a friend of Shanks and he is supposed to meet you anyway?

🏴‍☠️ To approach him requires all your courage, since Mihawk, while perhaps not unnecessarily violent like some other pirates, is the most intimidating person you have ever met; but finding Shanks is more important than anything else in the world, and if you are to become part of the crew of an important pirate like your lover, you need to find your courage and learn to face danger with your head held high. So you reach him, and ask him if he knows where your lover is. "I mean him no ill will; actually... we are also good friends. I... I come from Foosha Village, my name is (name)..." you begin, stammering under the piercing gaze of the swordsman when suddenly he interrupts you. "You are the doctor, I gather. The one who remained at the village to care for the boy who had eaten the Devil Fruit." "Y-yes! It is me!" you exclaim, surprised and immediately flattered; Shanks has told him about you! "We had agreed to meet once Luffy had... well, I am looking for him now, and I am heading to the island where he was last seen but since you have known him for a long time, I thought that perhaps you know where he is..."

🏴‍☠️ Mihawk, apparently indifferent to your blabbering (he's probably used to people being nervous in his presence, and how could they not?) points out he is not Shanks' father nor a member of his crew, and as a consequence he is not in the habit of keeping an eye on his movements. "But coincidentally, I know where he is; in fact, I had in mind to meet him myself." he adds, before mentioning a semi-deserted island much closer to where you are than the one your ship is heading to "If you leave now, you can reach him before nightfall." It is the best news you have ever received, and you thank the swordsman profusely, forgetting for a moment how intimidated you are by his very presence. Mihawk simply nods, and then offers you a folded piece of paper. "If you meet Shanks, will you give him this for me? I think you know the person it concerns." he asks, and your eyes open wide as you open the bounty poster... Luffy's bounty poster! You haven't had access to newspapers during your journey, but it seems that in the few short weeks since he left the village your young friend has already made a name for himself, earning the attention of the Marines and, as a consequence, a remarkable bounty; you wouldn't have expected anything less from him, you think, your heart full of pride and happiness. "I thought Shanks would appreciate seeing it, given his interest in the boy." Mihawk points out "Will you give it to him, when you meet him?"

🏴‍☠️ Of course you promise, happy to save Mihawk the effort of going himself after the precious informations he gave you. Your heart pounding, you are quick to go back to the ship about to depart, retrieve your belongings and run, quickly telling the captain you have changed your mind and won't be continuing your trip with them. The smaller island you have to reach is very close but, you discover after asking around, there are no regular vessels that reach it, given that it is almost uninhabited (which is probably why Shanks and his men have chosen it as their base) but you are able to find a fisherman willing to get you there. And so, soon after dark, you finally lay foot on the same ground your lover is walking on, closer than you have ever been in ten long years...

🏴‍☠️ ... and you are immediately surrounded, a number of heavily armed pirates pointing their weapons at you, ready to shoot at the first sign of danger. "Don't, please! I mean you no harm, I am a friend!" you hurry to explain, recognizing a few of the pirates who were already in Shanks' crew when you first met and hoping they also remember you "I am (name), the doctor of Foosha village. Many of you were sick with red fever and I was able to help you, remember? I need to speak with Shanks, he's waiting for me... sort of..." Fortunately it works, and many of the pirates you had met ten years ago welcome you as a friend, still remembering what you had done for them, and lead you to their beach camp, where Shanks and the others are resting after an impromptu party.

🏴‍☠️ Ten years have passed, and still it takes you less than a moment to recognize the man sprawled in a hammock, even before the red hair and the lack of his left arm are visible; the handle of your bag slips from your fingers and falls on the sand. You must look horrible, you suddenly realize, tired after a long day of travel and with your hair tussled by the wind, and this is the sort of situation you would like to look your best for, but you don't care, you care about nothing in the world but the man in front of you, still lost in his hangover dreams.

🏴‍☠️ "Shanks." you murmur, theoretically too low for him to hear, but he does, even before his men can wake him up and tell him he has a visitor. He lifts his head, gingerly standing from the hammock, and in the darkness descending on the beach, he sees you, and for a full minute that's all he seems able to do, looking as if he can't believe his own eyes. "... (name?)" "H-hi." you stammer, suddenly shy and even scared; you have trusted him, and the bond between you, for ten years, confiding that what you shared could resist the test of time and that your lover would keep you in his heart like you have kept him in yours, but suddenly, now that the moment of truth has finally come, all your certainties seem to desert you. What if the people at the village were right, and you have wasted ten years of your life for a naive, romantic dream? What if Shanks has forgotten the promise you two shared? Even worse, what if he has decided to renounce it after time and distance ended up attenuating his feelings for you? You could go back to Foosha and resume your old life as village doctor, a good and productive life, but you know you will never survive the disappointment... "It's... it's good to see you. I came, ehm, I don't know if you remember what we had agreed to do once Luffy..."

🏴‍☠️ "You are here." Shanks murmurs, as if thinking out loud; suddenly sober, he stands and walks up to you, still disbelieving and at the same time delighted beyond words "I can't... you came. You actually came." "Yes, I did. I know we had agreed you would return to the village, but I have trained two new doctors, and Luffy has left to become a pirate, and you wouldn't believe it, he has already..." He stops you, not in words but with a hug; Shanks' arm has circled your waist, pressing your body against his, and it is all so familiar, from his scent to his touch to the sound of his voice, that suddenly you can't control yourself anymore, and you start crying, out of joy, out of relief, out of the simple and visceral pleasure of being with him, once more, with your captain, your lover, your Shanks. "I have missed you so much." you murmur, and his delighted laugh is music to your ears; Shanks presses his forehead against yours, still holding you close, while his crew rejoices all around.

🏴‍☠️ You walk together on the beach for a while, away from the camp, silently enjoying each other's company, until Shanks asks you about Luffy, who must have left the village since you did too, and you show him the bounty poster, that your lover observes with delighted pride. "I can't believe you asked Mihawk for directions..." "Well, I am not saying I wasn't trembling with fear, but I wanted to find you, no matter what. I... I have never stopped thinking about you, you know? And please, tell me you haven't spent ten years journeying through the Seas without a doctor." Shanks smiles, and explains that they actually found a doctor soon after departing Foosha, a capable man who took good care of the crew for ten years... and who just two weeks ago decided to leave, having met a special someone on an island they had docked at, leaving the position vacant. "I let him go, because I have never forced anyone to be part of my crew, but I had no idea you would come... Curious, isn't it? As if destiny had decided it was time for us to meet again, as we had promised."

🏴‍☠️ You shrug, mostly uninterested in assigning responsibility: whether it was destiny, or simple coincidence, you are together once again, not because of a concatenation of events but as a result of your own choices. You did what you thought was right, and now you are free, and determined, to follow your heart. "I came to join your crew, as you had asked me to do ten years ago." you tell Shanks, turning to face him; those words do not need to be said, but you want him to hear... to know that for a whole decade, you have never let him go in your heart "To be your doctor, and your lover, if you'll be mine. What do you say?" Shanks doesn't immediately answer; his hand touches your cheek, gingerly, as if he feared you were just a mirage about to disappear if he only looked too closely. "How beautiful you are." he murmurs "My (name)... ten years ago, I told you meeting you was a blessing from the Gods; I didn't know how right I was. I have never stopped thinking about you; I was sure Luffy would leave the village soon, since he is almost a grown man, and I was ready to come to you as soon as I was certain he didn't need you anymore. But now you're here, and I'm never letting you out of my sight."

🏴‍☠️ It is a promise and a declaration in one, nothing less than what you expected and the only thing you would have accepted. Shanks' hand finds yours; the night enveloping the beach hides a kiss that tastes like homecoming and cheap rhum, your lover's body welcoming you in the warmth and security of his embrace. From now on, your life together begins; from now on, you're part of the Red-Haired Pirate crew.

[soraviie]

jealous over a friend.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader  ━ navigation

━ about: angst, a teeny tiny bit of humour ━  pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: Please, like, reblog and leave a comment, they inspire the writing to continue :)

━ linked to: "he's a friend of a friend" and "crushing on a friend"

NAMJOON: The smile is present but the eyes scream murder and once he puts a hand on your shoulder, you stiffen. Not because he makes you uncomfortable, well, perhaps just a little, after all the poisoned aura is streaming from him in pungent waves. Be that as it may, you stiffen more so because of the implications behind the seemingly minuscule gesture. Why do it at all? One time? Sure. But this was not a rare occurrence anymore. Still, you don't discuss it. Both of you observe this rather intricate though entirely mute ritual - he acts like your lover but isn't and neither of you ever dare to bring it up. At most, there are fifteen stifled minutes where both of you stand awkwardly in each other’s presence. Afterwards, it's discarded and you go back to being Namjoon and ______________. Whatever that means.

And frankly you're sick of it.

You shrug his hand off your shoulder and loudly proclaim that no, you're not ready to leave yet. Instantly his eyes narrow and if feasible there'd be smoke coming from his nostrils.

"We arrived together."

"Does that mean we leave together as well?"

The person you've scarcely flirted with has already long disappeared into the depths of yet another one of Namjoon's cement post-modern art exhibitions despite you both not noticing. This isn't about them. It's about Namjoon and _____________ and what does that mean.

Huffing a breath of barely contained ire, he continues, trying to sound softer.

"It's safer if we stick together."

It's late afternoon as you trail down an abandoned side street. The golden sun is slowly sinking below the horizon and though the air is warm it's unperturbed by conversation. You listened to him in the end. Why do you always listen to him?

Your depressed sigh doesn't go unnoticed. Namjoon’s head quirks in your direction, you can see so from the corner of the eye.

"They weren't the right one for you," he mutters, almost like an afterthought.

"Then who is? You never like anyone I do," you snap back. He opens his mouth as though ready to say the definitive answer but somewhere in the seconds before his gaze lifts off the cobbled ground to stare at your face only to return back to the ground, the reply is lost.

"I don't know," his fists come up to curl by his side. "Just...someone else."

YOONGI: The yearly get away among dearly beloved and wonderful friends, Sae's words not yours, was not going how you'd planned it. First of all, it was once again Yoongi, the Special Presidential Envoy Min Yoongi, who volunteered to drive your directionally insane ass to the storybook cabin deep in Gangwon province. As if sensing that the last two times meeting each other face to face was not enough of an embarrassing ordeal, he just had to be so chivalrous and offer to pick you up. And sure the last time wasn't...that bad but he was after all Min Yoongi. No matter how many times he'd inexplicably texted you over the course of this bizarre year, it didn't change the fundamental fact - he was Min Yoongi and you were you.

Maybe he'd realised that as well because as it stood he appeared on the very brink of hurling. Lips turned downward and gaze set numbly on the floor, he sits in the far edge of the patio and looks positively disgusted. The change of moods is so jarring, you can't hear a word what Drew is saying. You like Drew, perhaps once upon a time a bit too much, but currently you find yourself wishing they'd just shut it.

"He looks sick," they point out quietly, briefly making eyes at Yoongi. "Does he have a stomach flu?"

"I don't know," you honestly shrug. "We were talking some thirty minutes ago and everything was fine."

"Maybe you should go ask him?"

Your eyes widen and much like Edvard Munch painting you gape at Drew, jaw growing slack.

"Me?" you parrot, scandalised. "Why me?!"

"Because he talks to you the most?" Drew answers, equally befuddled.

You turn towards Yoongi, accidentally clutching the glass so tightly it makes an audible squeak and feeling the weight of your stare, he meets it head on. Then he swivels away.

"He probably hates me," you lament. "I get it. I went on a long ramble about hues of green colour on the way over here. Hatred is understandable."

"Hmm, does he?" Drew hums cryptically. "I rather think it's me he dislikes."

"You?" you query with a furrowed brow. "What have you done?"

"I'm talking to you, am I not?"

"I don't get it," you mutter after a moment of consideration.

Once Drew leaves for the night, to your surprise, Yoongi stops by and offers to drive you back, even to the airport once the vacation is over. And while technically you were supposed to hitch with Sae and the rest, your mouth is faster than the brain and you blur a breathy agreement.

Curiously, he doesn't appear disgusted in the slightest, in fact, Yoongi gives you a diffident smile, softly ghosting his fingers across your palm to tug you onto one of the many plush seats laying around on the patio. You're tired, says he, he'd noticed.

JIN: "What...was that?" you question curiously at Jin's retreating back. He blinks at you, feigning utter innocence but the displeased scrunch of his nose tells you a very different story. One might even say a polar opposite.

"What was what?" he mimics your confusion with frustrating level of acted ignorance. "Did you think anything weird was going on? 'Cause I didn't. All is cool."

Jin who previously had to get bubbled off a bottle of champagne to even say sorry to you had just guided you out of the room, hand around waist and all, after bidding a polite yet cutting to a faceless stranger: "thank you for the flattery, they're however taken. Try again never".

Yes, safe to say, it was a bit weird.

The longer the weight of your undivided stare settles upon his shoulders, the more he crumbles.

"He was making you uncomfortable, wasn't he?" he whines, affronted if the pout was any indication.

"Well, yeah, but I doubt you could see it across the mile long hallway," you smile at him, curiosity eating you whole. The action was...uncharacteristic for Jin. Though lately he'd been acting quite weird. Like he was holding some big and grave secret that he could hardly contain within himself.

"Well, I did," he scorns, kissing his teeth in annoyance. "Now buy me a drink."

"Buy you a drink?" you echo disbelievingly. "It's my birthday!"

"And we're celebrating the collective good," Jin throws you a wayward glare over his broad shoulder. "You and me. We need nothing more."

You're rather inclined to agree though you don't voice it out loud. Jin had this weird habit of going beetroot read whenever you said something too sweet.

HOSEOK: "You're hanging out with Hoseok? You?" the level of surprise in Nall's voice is almost insulting so you react to it as such. Giving her your driest glare, you flick a strand of hair away from the eyes.

"Yes, me. I don't see what you're fussing so much about."

"Oh come on!" she protests. "I had to swear in blood-"

"It was cranberry jam."

"-that I won't even bring him up in conversation and now you're friends?!"

"Yeah well," you retort off-handedly over the shoulder. "He accidentally met me on the street and we ate together and now we're...friendly. He's cool," the last part you keep largely to yourself. "Do you like this shirt?"

"The shirt is sick!" Was the first thing out of Hoseok's mouth, once you spot the tuft of his dyed hair from a distance. You bid a quiet thank you, forcing a stiff smile upon your lips. Okay, so perhaps you weren't as easy going with him as you projected to Naal but he really was cool. In the relatively span of time you actually talked to him in a friendly manner, you saw the invisible albeit sturdy wall between both of you thinning and although Hoseok noticed it as well he never pushed you to break it. You went at your own pace and he was glad to tag by.

The conversations flows easy, it's not particularly deep but it's fine for now. He relies on the advice he feels comfortable asking for and you divulge little worries that have piled along the way. It's all good for now.

"Any special plans for the weekend?" The festival is coming up," he remarks in between bites of crispy glazed chicken. It's good, he had shared a piece.

"Oh, I'm going on a date."

The movement of Hoseok's hand stops and you lift your head to see what caused the change.

"Really?" he inquires politely, somewhat disinterested. "With whom?"

"Don't know yet," you shrug. "Nall set me up with one of her dancing partners. What about the festival? You're going to that one."

Hoseok gifts a smile that feels a bit too stiff for your liking but you shrug it off. Not like you knew him all that well.

"No," he says suspiciously light. "Reconsidered."

JIMIN: "What am I only supposed to talk to you?!"

"Yes! No one else! Just me!"

You draw a shuddering sigh of tightly congealed wrath, glaring Jimin down with all the world's disdain.

"Fuck you."

Oh, how you wished that it would be the triumphant march of victory that you'd walk home with but, alas, it's more of a sad, tired shuffle where the only thing you see is the soulless city concrete and the only thing you feel is the ever surmounting mound of self-disgust.

Jimin's bright, you're dim, he's warm, you're cold. Different people worked out only in theory, in reality they walked their respective opposite ways. Had they not, would magnets not push each other away?

You don't think you're making sense anymore so you shake your head and numbly walk through the quiet doors of your home. With Jimin having spent all his free time here, seeing the dark shroud the hallway is almost disconcerting though once it was an all too familiar of a sight.

To recall that once upon a time he couldn't even properly glimpse at you. That he'd been nothing more than the yet antoher stranger Malia wanted to give the world to. The tone with which he'd spoken with you then had been reserved and polite. Where had that gone to? And why didn't you stop loving him no matter how hard you wanted to? Getting over Jimin in the unspoken suffocating empty space of your imagination was hard enough, why did he have to be so-!

A knock on the door.

Who else.

"You have a key," you open the door and grumble without a fail but he shrugs, hands deep in pockets and that guilty, though tad sharp expression mars his face.

"I wanted you to let me in."

"Are you going to say sorry?"

"No," his eyes darken, plush lips speaking words that drip down like honey but burn all the same. "I'm not sharing you with some sleazy asshole."

The thing about Jimin as you had learned was that there were great many parts of him, entangled and overlapping each other not unlike a twisted knot of wires. He could simultaneously be soft and fierce about the same thing like the way he is now - gazing at you determined from the other side of the open door.

"You're always so jealous," you roll your eyes, pretending that there isn't a part of you that giggles like a schoolchild over his hunger for your attention.

"Yes, I am," spitefully, he agrees, lifting one eyebrow. "What are you going to do about it?"

You stand mutely, slowly realizing that there couldn't be a march of victory to begin with as you never could have won. Like a spider made of well-meaning intentions and genuine care, he twists you around his ringed fingers. And you're so screwed.

"We're still friends, right?" he asks, prideful at first glance but you know how vulnerable his heart is underneath the glimmering, hardened armor of his that's neither a mask or a facade. His strength is not an illusion but a part of him. A part of him you love, though you'd rather die on the spot than let your mind wander on scenarios of possibilities.

At last, you give in, tired but sated in a way. You're still friends and he's here, you don't need anything else.

"Of course, we are," you sigh, stepping out the way and happily, Jimin slides in the slippers he'd lugged all the way from his house. "Though you infuriate me like fucking no one else."

You turn to glide into the kitchen, quickly finding that the greedy, beloved spider of yours has wrapped his hands around you, nosing pacifyingly at the back of your neck.

TAEHYUNG: "Just call him."

The sound of Jae's exasperated tone pulls you away from the dutiful task of staring numbly at the phone.

"Didn't you plead the fifth?" you snide. But this is Jae and he cannot be so easily offended.

"I did, I did," sagely, he nods along. "Being caught up in this emotionally constipated friends to lovers shtick between my two besties is bad for the skin."

"We're not-" heatedly, you begin but it is quickly interrupted by a stern:

"Don't fool yourself."

You leave the room, phone still in hand.

Taehyung's confession hadn't been at all surprising - you were not stupid, however it did not make it any easier to accept. He was after all Kim Taehyung and the evolution of your relationship with him from that awkward first car ride was boggling enough, to transform into lovers was just...too much.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"I'm an adult," he glared at you across the candle lit table. "Don't rob me of my agency. I know what I feel."

You wet your lips, struggling and failing to come up with something both pointed and profound.

"Listen," he began anew, softer, maybe even tired in a way. "I'm not forcing you to love me back. I'm not out here demanding your affection."

You lift an eyebrow at him and instantly he concedes.

"Well, maybe a little but you know what I mean," he admitted with the very corners of the lips curling into a dry smile. "I'm not going to dictate how you should feel but in return I ask that you don't either. I promise I won't bother your peace of mind, just let me love you and if you ever decide to reciprocate, I'll be here waiting."

Before the full weight of his confession had the time to make you utterly breathless, grimly, almost like an afterthought, he added:

"Though I won't pretend to be happy when you're with someone else. I'm sorry I just can't."

You have to give him that, he'd been up front about it hence why you can't really blame him. The unexpected re-emergence of your ex looking for a reconciliation had left Taehyung mute and sullen as he quickly hopped on a plane and left for overseas. Being a stubborn person yourself you dug your heels in, proclaiming that you won't entertain his tantrums but..

But you missed him.

When at last you broke down and called well into the night, he picked up immediately as though waiting all this time. You ignored the way your heart trembled at the thought of it.

Instead of a greeting there's a forlorn "I missed you" spoken in an absolute sync. You chuckle mirthlessly and so does he yet silence follows suit.

"You left," you accuse meekly. Vulnerable.

"I did," Taehyung hums, sounding tired of all things. "I couldn't stand seeing you get together with them again. I wish...I could be better for you."

"You're plenty of good," heatedly, you argue.

"Am I?" he echoes thoughtfully and you find yourself wishing you could gage what his expression was like. "I'm jealous and petty, and childish. You know that."

"So? No one's faultless."

I'm certainly not, you think to yourself. Had you been, you'd probably tell him that lately you've been liking him some different way than what you think friends should be. It's something, you don't know what it is.

"Are you going to get back together?" he asks tersely and, despite him not being able to see it, you shake your head.

"No," because of you.

And despite you not being able to see it, somewhere in the gilded hotel room that's as luxurious as it is lonely, Taehyung closes his eyes, pressing the phone to his ear, pining, yearning, wanting so much he wants to cry. Because of you. But he'll wait. Is it what he should do? Perhaps not but no one is after all faultless.

JUNGKOOK: "No."

"But-!"

"As your best friend-"

"You're not."

He casts a heavy glare over the rim of the glass.

"As your best friend," he reiterates strongly so there's no misinterpretation from your end. "You should just dump them."

"I cannot just do it over a text!"

"Sure, you can," Jungkook shrugs carelessly. "Undoubtedly it's an asshole move but the bitch deserves it."

"Jungkook!"

"What?!" he whines with the whole of his body, a familiar grimace of frown marring his features. Ever since you got together with your partner, he was nothing short of a storm cloud, glaring and raining on all the parade's happening around. "They stood you up - how many times? How many times you fought and they ignored you? How many times they threw a fuss about us going somewhere together?!" he scoffs harshly. "How possessive."

"Ever so self-aware, Koo," you roll your eyes, prompting him to examine you with earnest confusion.

"What do you mean? I happen to be extremely self-aware!"

"And jealous and possessive not to mention overly protect-"

"This is not shit on me day," he flicks your forehead, interrupting the long laundry list you've had simmering on the backburner for months now. The most annoying thing about Jungkook, and you don't tell him this, was that he managed to make those qualities a point of problem you closed your eyes upon.

"Well, of course, that's on Wednesday," rubbing the sore spot, you gruff, watching him down a sizeable chicken drumstick with no problem whatsoever. The already dour expression grows worse, forehead creasing into rows upon rows of deeply etched wrinkles. You smile to yourself. You knew he would like this place.

"Why did you never like them?" you question curiously after a moment of relative peace in which you'd been prodding disinterestedly at the chocolate mousse. "You're both quite alike actually."

"Yeah, but I actually lo-" he stops in midsentence, eyes stretching wide and for the lack of better term he does look like a deer caught in headlights - staring, absolutely frightened in front of him and not daring to move.

"Anyway, break up with them," he suddenly continues coolly as though nothing ever happened. "Write it in the sky if needed, I'll sponsor the event."

"You're so heinous," you mutter though he is right and the break up text clanging around your skull like a broken teleprompter has been nagging you enough. You'll break up. You want to do so.

"I don't share," he chews on the chicken, frowning full force. "What's mine is mine."

© soraviie, 2023

[mysadcorner]

I just found your blog and I love it SO MUCH! And I was wondering if I could PLEASE request Bale?? Bruce wayne and Jason Todd Dating Rich reader hcs??

Bruce Wayne/Jason Todd x Rich!Reader Headcanons

-Credit to the gifs owner - Please be specific about characters wanted in headcanons and read request rules -

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Bruce Wayne

Bruce would probably find it easier to be with someone who grew up in a similar way he did, except from the trauma he faced. He doesn’t mind how much money you have because he’s going to want to spoil you regardless and doesn't see your financial status as a cause for concern unless he suspects any shady business.

If the two of you have a pretty similar lifestyle in terms of finances then he isn't going to need to introduce you to new things life galas or the way he handles business during the day. It may also help you be more understanding of the minimal time he has to spend with you privately due to already having witnessed the amount of time and effort it takes for someone in Bruce's position to keep things running smoothly in their businesses but also while ensuring their own privacy.

Being from a wealthy and well known family, there is definitely going to be a lot of publicity surrounding the two of you so being followed by reporters and anyone working for any tabloid newspapers and magazines will be expected when you're spotted in public. Bruce would greatly appreciate it if you kept things private, if you went and told them a lot about him or actively looked for the publicity then Bruce wouldn't keep the relationship going for any trouble and leaked privacy that might come from it.

Bruce prefers the meaningless but highly meaningful moments he has with you, such as quiet dinners together or getting ready for bed (more like the early hours of the morning once he comes back and is able to rest for a short while). He doesn't find any genuine joy from doing anything flashy or going out of his way to do things that are "impressive" if you aren't going to enjoy the simple and quite tired side of him. Anything he does that is flashy is essentially just for show and to keep up the persona he's built.

Regardless of this, Bruce is still going to spoil you quite a bit, but he would just do it in more subtle ways, or if he does doe something extravagant he would prefer to keep himself humble and quiet (leaving his big public shows just for any publicity he finds to be necessary or expected of him). You'll usually find he'll refuse you from giving any presents back and may even sneak things into your collection of clothes or jewellery rather than presenting to you outright if you start getting sick of his constant apology presents (apologies for being busy and missing dates, or having to cancel plans last minute).

Jason Todd

Jason might be slightly put off at first when he finds out that you're rich. He doesn't want to be responsible for getting someone who may have been sheltered for a lot of your life into danger (if that were the case) and he also hasn't had many good experiences with other people outside of the family who are accustomed to having a lot of money. As long as you're humble about your wealth and don't make it the focus of your life and personality then he should get along fine with it.

In no way would Jason want to become public, or at least known for dating someone who comes from a well known family; he values his privacy more than enough to keep himself distanced from Bruce in public already, he doesn't need things to backfire by being photographed with you. If the two of you are going to date, then he's going to keep it incredibly private and keep things quiet until he's literally unable to continue doing so.

Jason will actively avoid all tabloids and reporters like they were the plague, and in no way can you convince him to behave any differently. No matter how happy he is with you in private, other than the people who know you both extremely well there will be no record of him being near you at all. Not only for privacy reasons, but to also keep his tracks covered and to keep you out of danger in the long run.

He will be more than happy to take you out on dates in places he has fully control over though, and will make sure neither of you are bothered in these places giving you both complete privacy. He just needs to be in control of the situation, if he's able to ensure things go to plan and aren't interrupted by anyone trying to find out who you're with or taking photos of him when they aren't supposed to then all will go smoothly.

Just because Jason doesn't like showing off with money doesn't mean he won't spoil you. He'll literally go out of his way to get you anything you ever want, even if you're left confused where he gets the money from (because it's definitely not happily from Bruce) but he won't let you get concerned about any of that. He'll essentially ensure you keep living the rich life you're used to as he continues to live on cheap take out and hiding his night life from you for as long as possible. He can clearly afford it though, just look at all the gear he constantly has.

[chaotic-archaeologist]

Do you have any advice for someone who has most of an archaeology degree, but following some health problems during covid foricng me to withdraw from some classes, I didn't meet pace of progress and lost my financial aid and now owe my university $13k for the semester i didn't complete. I'm a 3.8gpa student and was deans list, but I have an enrolment and transcript hold until I pay them back. I will never have $13k at my disposal to pay that off without haivng my degree to make me employable, so I'm not sure how I can ever go back and finish my degree.

Do you have any advice for how someone in my position should proceed? I thought about merit based financial aid/scholarships with my high gpa, but I've never had any success finding those.

This is a tough one, since I don't really have any direct experience with a similar situation. If anyone has specific advice, please let me know.

Education loans/debt are special legal creatures, and perhaps the most important thing you can do is educate yourself on the legalities of your particular situation and what options are available to you. Here's a page I found that talks about the legal precedents for certain types of education loans. From what little I understand, the school is not looking for you to pay the $13k back all at once. There may be payment plans or settlements available to you.

The first thing that comes to mind is to contact your school's ombudsman. This is an office whose single purpose is to help students navigate institutional bureaucracy and pursue grievances against the institution. They are probably the best bet for finding ways to mitigate this debt, set up options for payment, etc.

Similarly, I would recommend making an appointment to talk with someone in the financial aid department if you haven't already. It might be painful and embarrassing, but I can guarantee you that you aren't the first person who has had this exact issue, and you won't be the last. They might also be able to help you navigate ways to deal with this debt.

Some schools have policies that if you have to withdraw for health reasons before X point in the semester, you can get your tuition refunded. This is what my family was able to do when I had to drop out during my sophomore year. Whether that would be an option for you depends 1) on your school, and 2) on if you have to apply for that forgiveness within a certain window. Still worth a shot though—this is something you can ask the ombudsman about.

If you were registered with your school's disability services (provided that you're in the US, which is where my experience comes from) before you had to withdraw, they may also be able to help you advocate for yourself based on having a disability. If this is something that applies to you, it's possible that you have some protections based on the ADA, although this will depend on the nature of your financial aid, and whether you were registered beforehand. Accommodations are not retroactive.

Finally, I hate to say it, but working in archaeology—with or without a college degree—is going to make it difficult to pay off these loans. Entry level archaeology jobs pay notoriously poorly, and other positions generally require some sort of postgraduate degree. You are employable without a degree, but it may not be in your chosen field. That's shitty news, I know, but it's something you need to consider in order to start dealing with this.

Best of luck, -Reid