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brokenpieces-72 · 2 days

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COD x Transformers

Fair warning: heavier language than what I usually write.

Not gonna lie I’m gonna need help with this if y’all want a series. I’m letting requests and comments to push this series forward, because honestly I don’t know what else to do with this.

School was so stupid, why were you even here? You see some value in the lessons, math is useful, science is good to have, understanding history is helpful, and English has you reading in a different way. Why you had to come to classes though you really don't understand. But Price suggested it, and offered to pay for it, so here you are. Of course when people know where you grow up, or rather think they know where you grow up, that means dealing with people who are either afraid of you or think they are superior to you.

At least the guys in your shop class were chill. When you first came to the class, you got some looks, but after a week they were asking questions about your life. You kept a lot of it to yourself but it was nice having people not treat you like a delinquent.

You didn't have shop though, unfortunately there had been an accident recently involving some of the power tools being damaged, with yellow tape over the doors. It meant going home early sure, but you had one more class. Some girl took a piece of gum acting like she was better than you when you told her no. There was a kid who whipped around to hand you a work sheet, and then whipped back forward as soon as you got it, despite you not doing anything to him all year. Another handful of students tagged your locker with 'gang' signs and adult photos, and you were blamed for it. If it weren't for being in school you and the principal could be on a first name basis. Half the time she'd just go straight to security footage to see what had actually happened and shut down whatever group was trying to get you in trouble.

The bell rings and you stay seated, waiting for the teacher to finish talking and others to leave before you get up, slowly inserting your books and papers into your bag, before hoisting it over your shoulder. Of course it couldn't be that easy as you're met with a small group around your desk, close enough to break your personal bubble and making it very hard to stand up without bumping one of them, you just stare at the ground off to the side.

“Pay up.” The rich boy says. For what? God knows this time. He’ll demand money for a number of things. Tiny scratch on his car, losing an “unfair” bet, or for wasting his time getting called by the principal for his own actions.

“I’m not paying for the hairline damages on your daddy’s borrowed ride, for me crushing you in whatever you considered our most recent bet, or for making you late for your work shift at kissing mommy and daddy’s ass for getting caught.” You say before sliding back in your seat away from them, and heading for the door. You turn back to push in your chair, and that’s when the rich boy’s richer girlfriend pipes up.

“Probably wouldn’t want to touch any of their bills, who knows where they stuffed them last night at the club.” She sneers leaning in. You lean in to meet her.

“Sorry you couldn’t get me for your lap dance, I had respectable company to entertain last night.” You say smugly. God that shock and disgust on her face was a thing of natural beauty. You start walking out but before you can reach the door one of the rich couple’s cronies decides to make another remark.

“Bet your mama sucked dick to get you here.” You stop dead in your tracks when you hear this. When you were younger a comment like this made you see red and it made life difficult on your mother with the amount of fights you’d get into. You see red now. You turn to them.

“Even if she was straight, your fat ass hogs all the space under the desk in the office.” With that you leave, shoving your earbuds in. As you go, you take a photo of the shop class door with the yellow caution tape over it and send it to the guys. You text them, asking if you can hang out at the junkyard.

House rule: no skipping class to come see them. If you got off early that was another story. As you leave the building, you get a text from your mom. You didn’t tell her about shop class but she asks if you’re going to the junkyard. Which means she knows even without you telling her.

Y/N: yeah, shop is cancelled.

Mom: homework?

Y/N: was going to do it there.

Mom: Sleepover?

Y/N: maybe.

Mom: stay safe.

Y/N: I will.

You sigh and finally get a reply from the guys. They’re out but they’ll see you at the junkyard. Which meant you’d be able to do some homework by yourself.

There’s one of those giant storm shelters at the yard. It used to be for sorting junk like appliances, propane tanks, electronics, car parts, etc. Any equipment or machinery in there had either been removed or was completely broken down. Now it was your gang’s pad, complete with old beat up couches, a small fridge, a few tables and chairs, and whatever project was being worked on. There was a small loft area for you as well, filled with slapping bags, blankets that rivalled Swiss cheese and ratty cushions.

When you get to the junkyard you find the hole in the fence you use to sneak in and make your way down the dirt path. As you walk you notice some of the piles had been sifted through. Odd. The guys usually waited for you before sifting through the piles. Maybe they wanted an early start before going off to do whatever they were doing now. You reach the building and plop down on one of the couches, enjoying the silence and what sounds like some more trucks dropping off junk.

Kyle reclined on the couch leaning against your shoulder to bug you. They’d brought dinner for you, and Price was supposed to arrive later tonight. Johnny and Simon were working on a car they’d been trying to fix for some time. They got a new part for it and were doing some more work. Kyle was stepping back to bug you for a bit. He sees you more focused on your text book and not saying too much.

“What is the square root of Canada?” He asks. You don’t reply, so he replies for you, taking your jaw in his hand and poorly imitating your voice. “35 to the power of-“

“Fuck off.” You mutter shoving his hand away. Kyle sits up and looks at you. Something happened today, hell something happens everyday but something has you ticked off. Kyle gets up and grabs two flashlights, before swiping the textbook out of your hands. Your shoulders slump as you take it and pull the hood up on your sweater, zipping up your coat. Kyle takes his off the couch.

“Going out!” He calls, and gets a wave from Simon.

Outside you turn on the flashlight, walking with him along the dirt trail, keeping your flashlight low. You have your hands in your pockets and you feel a pat on your bicep. Kyle hands you work gloves. You take them, and continue walking.

“What happened this time?” He asks. You bump him gently, showing silently your appreciation for his company.

“Same old.” You say. Gaz sighs.

“You can’t let it get to you.” Gaz says. “They don’t know you, so why should you let them judge you?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, they treat me like I have, and won’t stop!” You argue.

“I know I know.” Kyle says, nodding. “Nothing wrong with a few comebacks. You have to remember though you are a beast among lions.”

“What kind of a metaphor is that?” You ask, half amused, half frustrated.

“They are testing you, trying to get you to act up so they have a reason to get you into more trouble. But you’re a much more powerful being, because you are more mature. You’ve grown up faster than them and they don’t like it.”

“So this is some initiation?” You ask, as you both start going off the trail to start checking for new loads.

“Nah. They’re egging you on to see if you’ll break or try to be one of them. You refuse to be one of them, and they can see that. So they go with the former.” He explains.

“…they insulted mom.” You mutter and he stops.

“You know the truth.”

“They don’t and then they go around talking about her like she’s some whore!” You argue, getting a little upset.

“She’s not. You know that.” He says. “And that’s all that matters.”

You nod. Then you both hear something. The two of you look in the direction of the sound, towards a pile that was deflating. Animal weren’t uncommon in the junk yard. However you’ve never heard this sort of metallic animal noise. It sounds like a raptor. Kyle puts an arm out, keeping you back, and shining a light at the pile. You’re frozen in place while Kyle moves closer. He only gets a couple steps before a head pokes out and you both are still as possible.

A metallic raptor looks at the two of you tilting its head curiously.

“Please don’t quote Jurassic Park.” You say quietly. Before Kyle could respond the raptor stalks out, keeping its focus on you. You’d heard about robotic aliens online but you’d taken it in as conspiracy. Guess this is how believers are made.

The creature makes another metallic growl, sniffing at Kyle. You’re impressed he can stay so still. The raptor’s claws are razors, with its spine and head looking like it was decorated with feathers from various fan blades. It’s around your size, so Kyle is taller but he’s also unarmed. Except for the flashlight. The eyes glow as they stare at the two of you, they’re a golden yellow.

It makes another small cry before walking away, and then looking back at you.

Without thinking you slowly move towards it. Kyle tries to stop you but the raptor approaches you both again. It comes closer, until you’re eye to eye with it. Your heart is pounding, and you wonder if it can hear it. It makes an odd sound, almost like a coo. You catch a glimpse at its teeth, and they’re sharper than any nail you’ve seen.

It walks away from you, before turning back at a short distance from you both. It’s waiting.

Kyle exchanges a look with you.

“We should follow it.” You say, seeing the creature shift from foot to foot anxious. Kyle opens his mouth to argue but honestly, he doesn’t know what to make of it.

“We have to tell Soap and Ghost.” He says.

“I’ll follow it, you go get them.” You say, and start following it before Kyle can protest. Kyle texts them, instead not about to ditch you. Your mother would kill him, and she could out run him.

The critter runs up ahead and you hug after it. It waits for you to catch up before hurrying off again. In between its movements it picks around the trash looking for something. It seems to find whatever it’s looking for but you can’t make out what it is.

It keeps going and eventually rounds the bend behind a much larger pile of junk. You’re not unfamiliar with these mountains, too dangerous to scale and picking through it could cause a collapse. You hesitate now, unsure about what could be on the other side. Kyle is nervous too.

“We should wait for the others.” Kyle suggests. You don’t mind waiting. Following the creature was a complete whim. For all they knew behind the mountain was a whole flock. You look around and find a long pipe. Not perfect, but it will do. Hopefully.

You wait a while and you can hear footsteps, from two large men and the raptor. It pokes its head out and then its whole body when Ghost and Soap see it eyes wide. If Ghost is scared he doesn’t show it, Soap just tenses.

“The bloody ‘ell is that.” He asks. It comes out from its hiding place and approaches you. You approach it, meeting halfway. It claws the ground restless.

“It needs help I think.” You say looking at it. It take off yet again, and you follow it behind the mountain where you freeze up. There’s a huge dinobot before you. It’s breathing heavily, sounding like the brakes of a bus. It’s another dinosaur, but this one is huge it looks like a triceratops. It’s weak too. When you look at the raptor you see it nudging something closer to it. Mustering your courage you move closer, while the other three hold back. You find at the raptors feet are batteries.

So many questions run through your mind, but the raptor gives you this almost pleading look. You look back at the guys who look tense, but keep their lights on.

“What do we do now?”

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emilykaldwen · 2 days

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The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Seventeen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Author's Note: We've got Rhaenyra POV! We've got Aemond POV! We've got a surprise in the end! Thank you for all the support and patience. You're all getting this chapter early since I'm out of town for the weekend! Enjoy!

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my love to @vampire-exgirlfriend for her love and support and holding my hand through this chapter that just kept kicking my fucking ass. If you need more Aemond content, you must read, They Say I killed You (Haunt Me Then)! Now complete! (epilogue going up soon!)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Parrying the Daggers Thrown At Us

Rhaenyra receives a letter. Aemond cannot find peace until he gets a taste of it.

Grandfather is still ill, much like we saw him last but he prefers his wheel chaired more oft than not…

Things have been tense, understandably so, but Queen Alicent has been cordial and has made sure we are comfortable and have what we need…

Aegon and Aemond keep their distance, perhaps so they can glare all the better…

I do not know how to make amends for what happened…

…and they say Aemond is taken by his pains at times, darkening his room as his head aches from his wound…

I should make amends, it is right…

What do you think I should do?...

Heleana has been the warmest…

…we danced together at the feast and she was quite happy to do so. It is nice spending time with her…

Aegon is happy around Lady Abrogail and she laughs freely with him. He is not like how he used to be as much with her…

I think Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin would be pleased to see how well she is treated…

Many houses were represented at Aegon’s nameday…

Most seemed to wonder if Aegon would have been named heir and displace you but none came to pass…

…they will inherit Harrenhal. I can see the wisdom in it as Luke will have Driftmark one day, but I think of Joffrey and Aegitsos and my uncles who do not have lands and holds to occupy them…

I love you much, Muñus, I hope you are well and that I will see you soon…

Rhaenyra ran her fingers over her son’s careful script, her mouth twitching in fondness amidst her worry of her zēapos. His letter was long, too much for a raven’s wings and she started from the beginning once she had read it through once. Twice. Her ribs ached as if Jace had been carved out of her to go on this journey and she shook her head, trying to let the feeling flit away on the breeze. Her eldest had a temper, much as she did in her youth, much as his father had, in the ways that drew her in. Time stole away much, and her own bouts of temper had cooled with each broken toy, each yelling fight, each ‘he pulled my hair!’ and ‘He pushed me and won’t share!’

The sounds of swords clanged in the yard and her gaze flitted from her son’s letter - pages crinkled in her grasp - to the courtyard below where Daemon was testing the new recruits to the Dragonstone guard. His silver hair was twisted back from his face in braids as he preferred, something about war and mindset and always be prepared.

He called something towards Joff and Aegitsos as the knight before him panted, having been bested against her husband.

Baela had not written, that much she knew, though Jace had said that she had found a friend in Helaena after a tense standoff. Rhaenyra had found the mention of it surprising, for her little sister, in the times she’d been around her, had been a quiet thing, eyes large in her face, gaze flitting to everyone and no one.

Helaena has been the warmest…

Helaena was not yet married. The match with Aegon had never come to pass.

The invitation lay on the table before her next to the plate of lemon cake she liked for her morning meal on days such as this.

The wedding of Prince Aegon of House Targaryen and Lady Abrogail Strong of Harrenhal…

In five moons, the spectacle would be held in the Riverlands. In five moons, the realm would look upon her brother once more, peacocked and pulled out, as Daemon sneered, by Otto Hightower to show him off as a contender, to put pressure on her father to change his mind. Her father had nearly twenty years to change his mind and still, he had not. Not even in her absence, cowardly as it sometimes felt to retreat and lick her wounds, had her father’s support of the claim and her family seemed to waver. Try as the Hightowers might to scream and spread slanders that would call for bloodshed, her father still would not be swayed. It was the sense of satisfaction that she had felt when he came to her defense in that shadowed hall those years ago, the heated of curl in it that no matter what, there could be no question as to his choice.

He had chosen her.

Even as the feeling waned over time to give over to those moments where she doubted, all the times he had failed to reign his wife in with her abuses and vitriol, the words her son had sent her bolstered her.

I think Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin would be pleased…

Harwin’s little sister, big blue eyes and red curls bound in braids, peeking curiously over the edge of Lucerys’ cradle next to Jace because ‘She asked if she could see the baby and give him this,’ Harwin had said, as the little girl presented her attempts at embroidering a little dragon on a pillow. Little Abrogail, half Harwin’s, half Alicent’s. She had tried to bring the girl to Dragonstone with them. Would she not be happier away from the court politics with her brother and the quiet? Lord Lyonel had given her a surprised, then hard look, and Rhaenyra had felt chastened in a way her own father had never been able to evoke within her.

“I will keep my daughter with me, and should I send her away, it will be back to her home, at Harrenhal, with her brother.”

Grief washed through her like the crashing of the waves on the rocky shore below and she felt her own jagged edges inside of her. Lyonel Strong had been the best of them, putting the realm first, always by her side at every council meeting she attended, encouraging her, even as his face grew graver with each brunette curled boy she bore.

Violet eyes swept across the parchment again. A servant in the camp had tried to attack the girl, Jace said. Crept into her tent, assuming she would have been alone. Inquiries were being made, but as far as anyone could see, the man had just been a baseborn servant - blending in like no other. Rhaenyra pursed her lips and looked down at the training yard once more, fingers drumming along the stone ledge of the terrace.

She wondered how wrapped around Lady Abrogail’s finger her half-brother might be… and how opportune this moment was.

Alicent’s eldest was marrying and taking a seat in the Riverlands. It was not the bold choice that Rhaenyra had thought would happen. Surely one of the many Lannister girls, or one of the Baratheons - a great house who would be invested in their own daughter becoming queen would have made more sense.

Harrenhal, for the wealth and lands that it had, did not command armies the way the Stormlands did. It did not have endless coffers the way Casterly Rock boasted of. It was a moody fortress on the edge of the God’s Eye, surrounded by lush farmland and woods that were dark and deep and felt that you were somewhere fanciful, somewhere that didn’t hold dragons nor thrones, nothing except for a warm hand wrapped around her own.

The clashing and screaming of steel in the yard below pulled Rhaenyra from her thoughts, and away from the path of her sorrows and regrets. Turning her back to the sight below, she reached for her own parchment and quill, pushing aside the letter from Lord Celtigar.

Lady Abrogail… Good tidings on news of your approaching nuptials…

Aemond pursed his lips, his gaze rising from the book before him, a study on the Conqueror’s approach to the first Dornish war,to squint across the barrel room near the top of the tower that held the library in the Holdfast. He drummed his fingers upon the scarred wooden table, a fingertip running along the crescent burn from the time Abby had accidentally knocked over a candle while they were reading about Harren the Black.

He exhaled slowly, the way the Braavosi manuals advised and looked back at his book.

It had been weeks since his brother’s festivities, and the chill of the end of the growing season had crept in. It was not cold by northern standards, but the air cooled, the rains rolled in for the next several months, and angry storms fell over them from the Narrow Sea, their winds piercing and frightening, as if they were dragons themselves in the winds that the Storm God rode, threatening to tear apart the Red Keep brick by brick.

Helaena’s nameday had passed with quiet fanfare, the lingering lords of the realm who had not left parading their sons in front of his maiden sister. As if any of them were worthy of a dragonrider, someone as clever and kind as Helaena.

It had been complicated over the past weeks since the talk in the garden, and Aemond still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt. What had been most surprising had been the strange sense of release when his sister let him go, leaving him to sit in the rain before Visenya’s statue, her words ringing in his ears.

‘I would burn Dorne for you… but I do not want to leave behind a world of ash and bone.’

How desperate Helaena had looked, angry and frightened and full of hope as she begged not to have a husband, but a brother back. ‘How else am I supposed to protect her?' he had wondered. How else could he offer his sister protection and security if it wasn’t to marry her, to tie her to him so that she would never have to fear, never have to doubt her acceptance and those who loved her?

Aegon had not wanted to marry her. She was weird, he’d sneered. How miserable Helaena would be, how miserable they both would have been. Aemond had done the right thing. He’d stepped up, he had gotten Mother and The Tower to break the betrothal. Even if they had not promised him and Helaena to one another, that was alright, it would simply be a matter of time.

He had Vhagar. There could be no further doubt that he was truly a Valyrian. There could be no more doubt as to his place in the world. All that was left was his sister.

Guilt gnawed deep in his stomach, shame twisting around his throat when the thought filtered through. Helaena was not a bauble he needed to collect to prove something. Collecting her was not protecting her. Collecting her was not about her, but for him, and it was this knowledge that he had thought about constantly.

His sister deserved more than being a broodmare, to be a pawn in the games. The forced distance the last few weeks had given him, after Helaena pushed him from the proverbial nest, had left him unsettled and snappish.

The loud thud of a book hitting the stone floor reverberated through the room. A heavy tome, judging from the heft of the sound, followed by a soft giggling, a deeper snickering sound chasing after it before they muffled and fell quiet.

He knew, with the utmost certainty, why it had fallen quiet.

Ever since the betrothal, the grip on his best friend had been slipping. Oh, him and Abrogail were an unlikely pair, but few appreciated books and history as his cousin did. While digging in the dirt and helping Helaena catalog her collection had been fulfilling, there was something joyous in being able to have someone who understood the quiet and sanctity of the library, and who loved books and reading and learning as he did. Lyonel Strong had always indulged his questions when was young - far more enthralling than Mellos and Orwyle were, and he had fostered that curiosity in his daughter.

‘All she’s going to care about is making babies with Aegon!’ Helaena had cried, frustrated and angry when they’d been alone after the fight in the brothel.

There was a soft cry, and Aemond scowled at his book before his chair scraped across the stone floor and he strode purposefully towards the source of the sound. The histories of the Riverlands were there - not just observational books, but the census, the trade information, things used by the small council’s not-quite-so-small army of clerks and counters and lawmakers. The section of the library that Abby had frequented since the announcement and that he had helped her with.

“Not here,” came the whispered whine, laced with laughter. Aemond rolled his eye as he turned the corner of the aisle. It was shadowed somewhat this far down, The strategically polished silver angled to bounce the light around so as not to pose a fire risk among the precious books, although the day was gray and cloudy and the light reflected was that of a lamp. Abby was pressed against the bookshelves, the blue and silver brocade of her skirts rucked up with her stockings on display, her legs at present, wrapped around his stupid brother’s waist. One arm was stretched out to grab onto the bookshelf behind her, and the fallen book that had been in its place was still on the ground. Aegon’s face was buried into her chest, or maybe her throat?

He was half-blind, after all, sometimes details could be mercifully missed. Or ignored.

“This,” Aemond said, his voice even and dripping with every ounce of annoyance and betrayal he felt, “is the library, not a brothel.”

Aemond’s fists clenched at the disrespect both of them displayed to a place they knew was important to him. At the announcement of his presence, Abby squeaked, Aegon’s arms tightening around her as she scrambled to lower herself without sending them both toppling. He held his arms folded behind his back, his hand scraping along his elbow as the pair of them got themselves in order and he shook his head when Aegon looked at him, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. Abby had turned to straighten her gown.

“Are you really going to act like this?” Aegon said, for it was barely a question. “We weren’t in front of you and your book. You were the one seeking us out.”

“Because you both weren’t as quiet as you thought you were,” Aemond snapped. “It was distracting.”

A lazy smirk crossed across his brother’s flushed face and he wanted to punch him square in his stupid nose. Let him kiss his future wife with his face bashed in. “Well, my lady is distracting-.” There was a soft sound as Abby smacked Aegon’s shoulder, cutting him off with an exaggerated ow, the flinch was nowhere near the violent response that inhabited his brother when it was their mother doing the hitting. She peered around Aegon’s shoulder, her mouth just as swollen, her cheeks just as flushed and her features apologetic.

“We’re sorry, Aemond. Things just got out of hand. I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t you apologize,” Aegon interrupted her this time, a fierce look on his face.

“No, actually,” Aemond cut in, taking a step forward, using the few inches he now had on his brother to straighten his shoulders. “She’s right. Thank you, Abby, for apologizing. Are you upset that she has to apologize for you, since your self-awareness is worse than a billy goat ramming his head into things?”

Aegon’s mouth gaped in offense, his flush deepening. There was a bruise along his neck that was going to be difficult to hide. The glib nature of his eldest brother was a trial at the best of times, but this? “You know this isn’t your place to run about as you please. Shall I just unlock my doors, let you roll around in my sheets and over my personal things while you’re at it?”

“It’s the fucking library, Aemond. It doesn’t belong to you-”

Abby let out a startled cry as Aemond’s fist shot out, but as much as he would love to punch his brother, he shoved him instead, feeling the crackling of frustration, the rumble of Vhagar in his chest. “Because it’s all yours, is that it? You mewling fucking kitten. This isn’t just my library, it’s hers too, but you don’t fucking care about anything that means something to anyone else if it gets in the way of what your limp cock wants.”

“Aemond, truly, we’re sorry - Aegon, no!” Abby’s voice was lost in Aegon’s growl as his brother came back with another shove, sending him back a few steps. Aemond laughed, a hint of a sound like the thin scrape of wind whistling through a crack. Yes, yes let the idiot push him around. Let him continue to pull his friend away from him, from him and Helaena both. His gaze darted briefly to the redhead, blue eyes wide as she pressed herself back against the shelves, before meeting his brother’s lighter gaze.

“You are a glib fucking fool, Aegon,” Aemond said lowly, his mouth curling as he readied for a fight, needing to expend the burn of flame inside of him. “I don’t care what the pair of you do, I’ll say nothing should Mother hear of it, but-” he stepped forward and shoved Aegon hard into the bookstack. The ancient wood creaked and groaned, but the stacks were bolted to the floor to prevent them from topping. A few books fell from the force of Aegon’s frame smacking into it. “Stay the hell out of my library.”

He did not look over his shoulder, even as Abby called his name, apology rife in her tone. He strode through the halls, calling for his horse to be saddled while he went to angrily pull on his riding leathers. The left side of his temple ached as it was wont to do when his face was full of tension. Helaena would make him tea, protect him in the quiet, but that was not meant to be today. The last he saw, his sister was in the gardens with Jacaerys.

How he ached to wring the stupid bastard’s neck.

How bright he seemed to make Helaena laugh.

How betrayed Aemond felt by it all.

Why hadn’t Helaena said anything? Why hadn’t she told him that she didn’t want to be married? Why had she just let him wander around like a puppy and now left the fool?

‘But hadn’t she told you?’ a little voice drifted through Aemond’s mind and he paused in the lacing of his leathers. Had she not told him by pursuing that fool Warren Fossoway, and the time that he had spied her kissing him - for he had seen Helaena push the squire behind the carved dragon pillar by the gardens.

‘But she would let me kiss her, she would kiss me, and she’d touch me and I her and-’ The flurry of thoughts ached as he pulled on his boots.

It would not hurt as much if it was anyone but Jacaerys.

The ride to the beach beneath the shadow of the Red Keep was a blur. The rock outcropping of Aegon’s High Hill was a craggy, sheer thing, but the beach below was one that Vhagar enjoyed sunning herself, a guard dog laying at the foot of the bed in a way. Her head lifted as Aemond approached, lowing in greeting and shaking sand from her scales. The tension in Aemond’s chest began to ease at the sight of her, and he approached, patting a gloved hand along her scarred neck, scratching along a vicious scar she must have received in Dorne. There were no words exchanged, not the way Aegon chattered with Sunfyre. Aemond’s bond with Vhagar was one of feeling, of such deep understanding that no words needed to spill from him. In no time, he scaled her great bulk and yelled out the command to fly, which his dragon responded with her own, what he assumed was excited, call in return.

Vhagar landed on the cliffs on the western side of Massey’s Hook, the bay below dotted with smaller fishing boats this far out from King’s Landing and away from the bustle of the capital. Rage and grief, anger and fear were a tempest in his gut and he rankled at the call of Moondancer as his cousin circled above them.

If Baela wanted this fight, then he would meet her, unflinching. Let her see what dragons were made of. They did not all reside on Dragonstone.

“Laodijes peldios!” Baela howled at him, her voice a sharp shout on the breeze, her face twisted and ugly with fury, fists at her side as she readied herself to hit him should he get within reach.

Aemond glared at her, the distance between them shrunk now to an arm length. Vhagar was a great shadow behind him and he could feel the sulfuric heat of her breath as she exhaled buffeting at his back. Moondancer was a little ways away, shrieking fearfully and Aemond could not tell if the dragon reflected her rider’s mood, or her fear of Vhagar.

“You’re a fucking fool. Daemon Targaryen is your father, your mother a Velaryon, and you still don’t realize that a dragon cannot be stolen.”

“You had no fucking right!” Baela snarled. “Vhagar was for Rhaena to claim-”

“If Vhagar had not wanted me, she would have eaten me and you damn well know it.” Aemond cut her off, watching her jaw click shut with a curl of satisfaction. “Vhagar chose me, not your sister. What? You want to kill me to give her another chance at claiming her? Is that what you’re here? To finish the job that you all started?”

“Why would my mother’s dragon choose you?” Balea cried, and this time, there was a choked quality to her rage. Aemond’s eye widened slightly and he leaned back from her, a curl of uncertainty that he despised. His words had been harsh, full of the anger that he had felt simmering these past years. Aemond shrugged it off. He had earned his harshness in this. He’d been the one attacked, the band of them setting upon him simply because he chose to claim his right as a Valyrian prince.

‘Why would my mother’s dragon choose you?’

Aemond ran his tongue over his teeth and leaned back on his foot, watching Baela gasp for air amidst her choking sobs, and turn from him to look out to the bay, towards Driftmark and High Tide.

He remembered his mother’s cries, her rage, her such careful and elegant control snapping as her voice cracked in the silence of the Hall of Nine.

“He’s your son, Viserys.”

“Why did Moondancer choose you?” Aemond asked. “Why did Moondancer choose you, and my egg never hatched?” Baela did not look at him but he could see the way her shoulders tensed. “Why didn’t you go find the guards? Why did you come, thinking a thief had stolen a dragon and Jacaerys brought his blade? Why did they give me a pig, pretending they had found me a dragon as they both had their own? Why did they do nothing but terrorize me with that fact for our childhoods?”

Aegon had done it too, gone in on the fun, drunk on being the eldest. It had lessened considerably in the wake of Rhaenyra leaving the capital, even if his brother sought other ways to tease him - he’d never again mentioned his lack of dragon.

Aegon had come to him in his sick bed, his curls shorn, red eyed and puffy faced, tears on his cheeks, had knelt at his bedside and vowed to him.

“We protect our own and I did not protect you. I do not care if you’ve claimed Vhagar, for I was not there for you when you needed me. It will never happen again. I will protect you. I will be by your side.”

Aemond had sometimes wondered how much of the words were his brother’s own, but he had known, with certainty, that the feelings were genuine. His brother was an idiot, and they butted heads, but his brother loved him in his own way, and for as angry as Aegon could make him, he loved him too. In his own way.

He might admit that on his deathbed, unlike Aegon, who would only need to be in the depths of his cups and into the sad and tearful mourning edge.

“What do you know, Baela?” Aemond said, his voice even, coldness creeping along the edges. “Of fighting and scraping for everything that is owed to you?” He forcefully bit his tongue, copper exploding in his mouth as he broke skin, to keep from pressing further at the loss of her birth right to Driftmark for Rhaenyra’s folly.

“A prince has to scrape for all that is owed to him.” It was rhetorical, biting, and Aemond snorted, taking a step forward, his own gaze looking out at the water.

“You may have been an idiot child, but don’t play me for a fool.” It was impossible not to see how little Viserys thought of his second family, and he had seen it plainly on Jacaerys’ face, the surprise in witnessing it. “I’m sure your father relishes every word you send to him. His little spy.”

Baela’s lip curled in a snarl and she stalked closer. Aemond stayed where he was, watching her with a narrowed eye as Vhagar let out a low growl behind him. She did not move, did not lift her head, but her nostrils flared and Aemond felt the heat of her breath swirl around him. Baela’s eyes widened, and she paused, the indigo of them shining with tears.

He turned his head slightly to look at Vhagar. “Ȳgha iksi,” he reassured her, feeling Vhagar’s displeasure seeping through him, her warning and the remembered rage from those years ago when she could not protect him or take away his pain. He reached for her snout, pressing his hand to the scar above her left nostril, rubbing against it. He turned his back to his cousin and brought his other hand up, feeling the anger hot as coals, hot as dragonfire in his chest. Vhagar was full of tension. He could feel it. Would she feel that way if it wasn’t him? If she was not so worried for him, would she recognize the girl behind him as the child that Laena Velaryon surely brought to her, as Aemond would have brought his own child? Had his grandfather, Baelon, brought his sons to this dragon before them?

The silence filled the air around them, the wind thick with tension. Aemond pressed his forehead to Vhagar, took strength from her, squeezed his eye shut and ignored the pain that lanced through his head and pulsed behind his scar.

The sob behind him was soft, and Moondancer’s cry was mournful.

“He’s your son, Viserys.”

“I did not mean to tarnish your mother’s memory,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice carrying as he looked, blind side towards Baela. “It was not done to hurt you, or to take something from you. It was… It was my only chance. And it’s something I don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand. I am… I am sorry about the loss of your mother. I did not have the opportunity to give you my condolences then, but I can give them to you now.”

The sound Baela made was strangled. Aemond turned to look at her. Baela was stiff beneath her red and black riding leathers, the metal rings in her hair tinkling as the wind tugged at her braids. He recalled the mourning child she had been sitting by her twin and Jace, the vicious yell she’d let out when she punched him in the nose that night, the howls and scream of pain. He felt Vhagar twitch and groan beneath his touch, another warning and he hushed her again, stroking her snout. He watched her gaze go towards Moondancer, who was crying fitfully, grounded still, her aquamarine wings more green against the lush grass of the clifftop.

“Do you want to pet her?”

Baela stared at him, the hostile lines to her face instantly slacking in surprise. “Skoro syt?” Her voice was small and wary, even as her eyes were wide with grief.

“My condolences,” Aemond repeated, and he found the words genuine. It was not Baela, nor her sister, or even his bastard nephews that rankled him. Oh, he wanted his revenge, He wanted what was due, but more of the blame lay with his eldest sister and their father. Of that, Aemond was secure in. He would gladly feed them both to Vhagar, to take an eye as payment for his mother.

His cousin shifted on her booted feet before whatever compelled her brought her forward. Aemond shifted, beckoning her to take her place by his side as he murmured words to Vhagar. Baela had taken her glove off, her slim, tanned hand reaching tentatively up before resting along the scar on Vhagar’s nostril.

They stood there for how long, Aemond was not sure, quietly beside one another as Baela grieved for the mother at the bottom of the Narrow Sea, and his own grief at what was taken from him.

“Do not mourn me, mother…”

‘But mourn the boy dead on Driftmark.’

It was not lightness or peace that settled over Aemond when he and his cousin parted later. He was not certain how much time had passed, only that after she had sobbed, they sat there in a strange, companionable silence eating hunks of bread and cheese and apple that Baela cut with a wicked blade. She did not give him thanks, she did not say anything, but Aemond took the offering of shared food as her own gesture of whatever truce was settled between them. The exchanged curt nods before parting, Baela northeast and away from the city to what Aemond assumed was High Tide and her grandmother and twin, while he circled back towards the city.

Aemond was not certain of the feeling he held except that it felt like he had scratched something out on a list, or deposited a burden that he was trying to carry with all his other, more cumbersome burdens. It was a closed door. That was enough for Aemond, and there was a part of him that wanted to march to his sisters and tell them that he had made nice, to have Abby’s warm smile proud with him, and Helaena’s little clap and promptly being the receiver of her latest mountain spider that Uncle Rodrik had brought her.

Instead, after entering the inner courtyard of the Red Keep and handing off his horse to one of the stablehands, he made his way to the gardens and to his own preferred solitude when the library - so recently desecrated - was not an option. No, Aemond needed air, he needed the statue of Visenya to look down upon him. There, where Helaena had snipped the strings and released him from the vow he had made, the goal that held him that was more about him than it truly was about her.

Where his sister had set him free, and he loved her all the more for it.

The problem, he found, upon striding down the paved path and through the dripping ivy, was that his garden was not, in fact, as empty as he hoped. Wylla Karstark was kneeled in front of a bush of hyacinths, carefully cutting the purple blooms and placing them in a basket beside her. She was clad in a dove gray dress, the black fabric of her kirtle beneath poking out through slashes along her shoulders and puffed at her elbows. Her fox features were pinched in concentration and Aemond watched her for a moment, silent as she had clearly not heard his approach.

Wylla Karstark was an unknown. She was pretty enough, with a long nose and sharp jaw, gray eyes that flashed when she was annoyed, which was the majority of the time. She had a rather frustrating talent of being able to look down at him even as she had to arch her neck, for she was as petite as Abby was. Their joint misfortune, just like Aegon’s. She was also well read, their conversation at the feast turning from a mutual annoyance to discussing the book of poetry that he had seen her reading, which itself had turned into a rather long and in depth conversation on the Valyrian poet, Praxilla, whose work had survived by the grace of her living the life of leisure in Lys when the Doom happened. Wylla and his elder brother unknowingly shared a fondness for drinking songs penned by the scribe, although Aemond was smart enough to know he shouldn’t bring that up.

Not until he needed to.

“It is polite to speak when coming upon someone, Your Grace,” Wylla’s northern burr was arch as she focused on her task. “I would curtsy, but you can see I’m already on my knees.”

Aemond’s cheeks flushed at the turn of her words, and he was not certain if she understood how they could be taken. He decided that she didn’t, for she did not turn to look at him, seemingly unbothered. All for the best, he supposed, for Aemond did not think he could meet her gaze should she be facing him.

“Why are you cutting my flowers?”

“Your flowers, Your Grace?” Wylla laughed, a sharp, lilting sort of sound and he wondered if that’s what she sounded like when she sang. Did she sing? He had not asked her. “These flowers belong to Queen Visenya, for it is her garden, is it not?”

“It is my garden,” he pushed back, frowning at the back of her head, the mass of thick, twisted black braids kept in place with a woven, pearl hair net with wicked looking, pearl tipped hair pins to keep the heaviness of it in place. He flexed his hands, wiping them on his riding leathers as he approached. There were other flowers in her basket, like wisteria and some of the roses from the main garden. He sat, bending his one leg to rest an arm on while the other reached in.

Up close, he could see the red flush to her pale cheeks. He did not recall them looking so red when he saw her the day before, outside of the bit of sun all the girls had gotten during the sun.

Her smack was quick, the sound of flesh stinging flesh loud and he immediately pulled back with a hiss and a glare. “How dare-”

“Those aren’t for you,” Wylla said forcefully, the gray eyes of her bright in her face as she finally looked at him. “They’re for Lady Abrogail.”

Aemond had killed a man for the fox-faced woman before him without hesitation, and the knowledge of it settled in him still, generally buried over the past few weeks because he had no idea what to do about it. They’d been attacked in the night, and Wylla Karstark had shoved a knife between the man’s ribs without hesitation. So tall, Wylla Karstark seemed, so loud, filling up the spaces she was in without holding herself back, that he had so often forgotten how small she was.

Until she was there, in front of him, those gray eyes like the storm ridden ocean.

Aemond held her gaze, reaching back into the basket to pluck one of the deep purple, nearly blue anemones that she had gathered, twirling it idly between his long fingers before reaching up to tuck it behind her ear. Wylla was still beside him, her red painted mouth parted slightly, so he could see the flash of her white teeth behind it. Her cheeks deepend in their red to match the paint on her lips and Aemon hummed.

Abby had been understandably shaken. Knowing her as long as he did, even with the smiles affixed to her face, he knew the signs as intimately as he understood Helaena’s or Aegon’s, or his own mother’s. Wylla Karstark was a mystery. She had been quiet, from what he had seen, but the wedding preparations had taken up much time with the girls, as well as her brother finally leaving the capital earlier that week.

He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking, before he met her gaze. “Are you alright?”

Her inhale was loud. It trembled and she pressed her red lips together, her throat bobbing with a swallow and looked back at the flowers but did not move to cut anymore. Aemond did not push her, but only waited.

“Yes? No? Strangely yes,” she finally whispered. “I think that’s what bothers me more.”

“That bastard came in with intent to harm,” Aemond said. “If you didn’t kill him, someone else would have. You were incredibly brave.” None knew where he’d come from. The assailant had been clad in the same red garb as the rest of the servants. A baseborn man. Waters or Storm, Aemond couldn’t remember, much like he had no memory of the man’s face before he stared down at it, red and wheezing before he killed him.

“At least it wasn’t Aegon,” Wylla whispered, her eyes wide, drawing his attention back to her. “What would have that turned into - him sneaking in for them to slobber all over each other. Me thinking he was an attacker and-”

The snort of laughter that escaped Aemond at the idea of it all could not be held back. He bent his head, gasping for air as his shoulders shook and it was only a moment before Wylla’s own peel of laughter joined his. It had been some weeks since he’d laughed, in the wake of what happened at the hunt drying up what little humor he’d indulged in. There was an infectious quality to Wylla Karstark’s amusement that he found comforting. Aemond looked at her, her face flushed from her laughter, and he leaned in, kissing her.

The laughter abruptly stopped, her mouth soft against his, still from her clear surprise. She tasted like oranges. Abby must have indulged in the sweet and sour orange cakes they had at the feast. Wylla did not respond, but she didn’t move away either and Aemond took that as acceptance, and he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, thumb swiping softly against the apple of it. Kisses with Helaena had been different - always expected, always ready, with her initiating many of them. The one time he’d kissed Abby, when they were little and Jace had dared him to, did not count. The both of them had made faces, vowing to never do it again.

Kissing Wylla, though? He never wanted to stop, especially not when she reached up, the clippers making a soft thump along the grass to wrap around the end of the braid slung over his shoulder. She tugged it gently and Aemond broke away, blinking and gasping. “What?” he asked. “Should I have not done that?”

“Oh, you should have,” she reassured him, breathless and red faced. She licked her lips and looked at her fingers still wound around his braid, toying with the leather tie. “I was just reminded of something someone told me once.”

He cocked his head, mouth pursed. “What was it?”

The smile that cut across Wylla’s face was amused, the scar along the top of her lip giving a mischievous bend to her small, red mouth. “It was about how dragons purr when you pull their hair.”

Whatever thought started to coalesce about her late night conversation with his sisters was pushed right out when her lips found his.

I would love to hear your thoughts! Even if it's just a keyboard smash! Reblog to spread a story around so others may find it! I would love to hear your theories! What did you love? What are you looking forward to? Happy to have you here as always <3

#my fic #hotd tag #house of the dragon #hotd fic #hotd oc #fyeahgotoc #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x oc #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen #baela targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #oc: abrogail strong #aegon x abby #abrogon #otp: do not go far from me #man tagging is so annoying

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thedeviltohisangel · 2 days

Note

“Are you actually blushing?” “No! Shut up.” & “awww did I flustered you?” For Cass/Bucky please

BLUSHING PROMPT ERA

when you all aren't requesting pow camp angst, you all want more of cass and the egan family. my gift to my few fluff lovers.

Penelope's wails had quieted to tired little whimpers as John paced around the backyard of his childhood home. Her and her brother had been perfectly well behaved on the flight from Virginia to Wisconsin but while Gale had fallen asleep during his bedtime bottle, Penny had decided to test the capacity of her lungs in the midwestern air.

"It's okay, my sweet girl. I know you've had a long day. You must be so tired," John cooed to his baby daughter as he bounced her gently. Her teary eyes were looking up at the stars as he pressed gentle kisses to the side of her head. He hoped Cass had fallen asleep. They both had been running on empty since they became parents three months ago.

"Coming out here always use to work when you were as little as her." John turned to see his mother standing in the doorway to the back of the house, watching her son and granddaughter with a smile on her face.

"Did she wake you? I'm sorry, ma, I tried to get her out here as quick as I could." His mother shook her head and reached for her granddaughter, John passing her off and collapsing into a lawn chair as she took over the calming, rocking movements he had been trying for what felt like hours.

Penelope looked at her grandmother with curiosity and slowly went silent as she grew comfortable in her arms. "How come you and my wife can just look at them and they stop crying but they make me work for it all night?"

"Maternal instinct, Johnny. Cassandra seems to be adjusting to motherhood quite well." John nodded as he took the sleeping baby back from his mother and held her against his chest.

"She's a natural. Barely blinked when the doctors said there was another one right behind Penny." John had been in the hallway raging at the medical staff that was trying to keep him from seeing his wife. His mother didn't need to know that part.

"And you? I remember that one summer you helped with a baseball team, you were so good with them."

"I think I'm getting the hang of it. The half of them they get from me is causing us the most problems but that is to be expected." His mother laughed and he let it wrap around him like a hug. "I never thought about a future that looked like this until I fell in love with her." John kissed the top of his daughter's head and pressed his finger into her little palm that was resting against his chest, her fingers curling around his and his heart skipping a beat.

"I'm glad. I was worried after the last time you were here." His mother hadn't mentioned their time in Wisconsin when she had come with his sisters to South Carolina for the wedding but that doesn't mean she hadn't thought about it.

"That was...we were in a dark place. I didn't mean for it to boil over here but I saw that photo and got that letter and..." He hugged his daughter tighter. He had stormed out of his parents house that night without his wedding band. With the intent of helping Cass book a one way trip to South Carolina to be rid of him and their marriage and the mess he was causing in her life. Had said a million things he regretted and had drank himself to oblivion at the local bar over the idea that he had finally fucked up enough to lose her.

"But now you've got these little blessings. And that absolutely wonderful little dog, John, he really is so handsome." Butter was probably on his half of the bed upstairs as they spoke, sleeping like a rock in Cass' arms. John hadn't even tried to fight bringing him on the trip and hadn't looked at the final cost of bringing a dog on the airplane. His wife assured him it was pennies for the joy it would bring her and the kids to have him tag along.

"Butter? He's trying to replace me."

"Well, I'm sure Cassandra appreciates that he doesn't talk back." John looked up at the sky and prayed for strength. Why did all the women in his life have to be against him?

"Oh, Cass, he's such a handsome little devil just look at him!" Gale giggled as one of his aunt's kissed his cheeks and tickled at his sides. "How on earth did he come from someone like my brother?"

"Your brother is plenty handsome," Cass offered with a smile as she adjusted Penny in her lap, the little girl chewing on the foot of one of the stuffed animals she had just been gifted.

"Don't tell me he makes you do all the work during the making part."

"Yeah, John, your wife deserves to be lavished more often than you do!" his other sister chimed in. He poked his head out from where he was preparing bottles in the kitchen.

"You have no clue how often I lavish my wife!"

"She could always use more." Butter barked in agreement.

"Are you actually blushing?" John asked with a smirk as he offered Cass one bottle and his sister the other.

"No! Shut up." It wasn't that Cass was some kind of prude when it came to talking about her sex life with John. She just didn't want his mother overhearing any conversations of baby making and lavishing.

"Did I fluster you, baby?" John nuzzled his nose into her neck to make her laugh as she lovingly looked on at Penelope eating her second breakfast.

"Just got me thinking about lavishing now is all."

"Yeah? You in need of some?" John said, his voice dropping an octave. She bit her bottom lip and nodded, leaning in to nip at his lips. "Fuck. Yeah, I think you need some real bad, baby."

He was never happier to have his sisters around to baby sit than he was on his knees in the backseat of his old car, his wife's legs over his shoulders and his face buried under her skirt.

#john egan #masters of the air #john egan fanfiction #masters of the air fanfiction #mota #john egan x oc #answered #cass and bucky

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y3ager · 2 days

Text

RODEO NIGHT

— a weekend visit back home leads you to the annual blueforest rodeo, where a certain man in red is competing.

jean k. x black!fem!reader

tags: modern au, cowboy au, fluff.

YOUR LEMONADE JOSTLES in the translucent plastic cup, crushed ice knocking against itself and fresh lemons releasing more of their sour juice as you roll your wrist in a lazy circle. your glossed lips wrap around the bright red tip of the straw, sucking absentmindedly as your dark eyes scan the rodeo arena.

rodeo-goers like yourself file into the stands, boots and tennis shoes clanking against the metal as they seat themselves after purchasing their concessions of cheesy nachos and sour green pickles, excited chatter filling the air around you.

itching to get away from the hustle and bustle of the big city, you decided to escape to your hometown of blueforest, a quaint and quiet town tucked off in the corner of the state. you left soon after graduating high school, a full ride paying you to attend the big university of your dreams. you didn’t really appreciate blueforest’s peacefulness then, but wiser and older you love its predictability, its peacefulness.

the mounted speakers crackle as the host begins to speak, his drawl thick and country as ever. “ladies and gentlemen that was our bull ridin’ event. please give those boys a hand! they put on quite a show and gave our judges a tough time!”

the crowd erupted in cheers and hoots, shoes stomping against the stands. it really was a good show, with the win being determined by mere fractions of seconds.

“with that let’s move on to the next category, yeah?” the announcer’s voice called over the sound system, his voice reverberating all around the ring. “up next we got seven talented boys competing in our tie ropin’ game. a little calf is gonna run out into this ring, and these boys gotta catch ‘im and tie ‘im up. his horse gotta be well trained too, because he better come to a stop once that calf is caught and he better not drag the poor thing along when he’s all tied up! now, let’s give it up for ‘em!”

the crowd cheered in excitement again, the audience giddy for arguably the most popular event in the blueforest rodeo. from your seat in the stands, you could see the men lining up on their horses. their shiny, healthy coats gleamed and glistened in the slowly setting sun. anyone with sense could tell that these were prized beasts, they were huge with healthy fat. they snuffed and nickered quietly as they rode in, their tails swishing as them and their rides waited patiently for their turn.

one particularly gorgeous mare stood close to wear you sat. fitted with some expensive looking tackle, her coat was a black so stunning you could almost see your reflection in it. your eyes roved over her appreciatively, recalling the horses your grandfather used to care for when you were a little girl living in this town. on her behind, J. K. was imprinted into her otherwise blemish free flesh. your eyes finally trailed over to the horse’s tall rider, where his golden eyes stared back into your own.

“oh, i’m so sorry for staring.” you gently raise your hands in surrender, suddenly feeling a bit sheepish as you took in the rider. he was tall, probably a bit over six foot. his light brown was long, a mullet that tickled the back of his neck. “your girl was just so pretty.” the light of the sun catching your glossed up lips as they break into a polite smile. “she’ll do you right.”

the rider smiled back at you, his light eyes flicking to your lips before quickly snapping back up to your brown eyes. “means a lot, hun,” his deep voice rumbled out, his position on his mare shifting a little to get comfortable. “she not quite pretty as you are, though.”

you laugh, your head tilting to side slightly as you study the man before you. “aw, you tell all the girls in the stand that, huh?”

“no, never, ma’am,” he affirms earnestly, his eyes widened slightly as he placed a hand over his heart. you chuckle again at his antics, and his smile widens. “i only say a girl’s pretty if she really is. and you’re downright stunning.”

“mmhmm, i bet.” you feel like some lovesick teenager, giggling and making goo-goo eyes at this man, and right before he’s up to compete, no less! out of the corner of your eye, you see the horses in front of jean marching forward, their thick tails flicking and twitching. “ah, you’re up soon. i won’t distract you any more.”

“ah, no, you’re doin nothin of the sort, ma’am.” the rider shakes his head, his horse pawing lightly at the ground as if she’s eager to start too. his smile shifts into more of a self assured grin, as he straightens up in his saddle. “matter fact i just might do a little better now that i know you got your eyes on me. can’t come off as a fool now, can i?”

the speakers overhead crackle again as you watched as the rider you were flirting unabashedly stepped up the box. “and now for our final contestant for the tie-down, a mr. jean kirschtein! don’t let his pretty-boy looks fool you, this is a born and bred cowboy right here! time to beat, ladies and gentlemen, is 9.3 seconds. can he do it?”

the crowd erupted again cheers and applause, and you find yourself sitting up straighter in your seat to get a really good look at jean and his performance. 9.3 seconds was a pretty tough time to beat.

down in the box, jean shifted anxiously in his leather brown saddle. pre-performance jitters. he was confident enough in his abilities, but knowing that that pretty girl in the stands had her eyes on him made his heart throb in his chest under his dark red shirt. bijou, the black beauty underneath him, pawed at the dirt again, her head bobbing up and down in excitement and making her mane tickle the bright white diamond adorning the front of her head.

“easy there, bijou,” jean hummed, adjusting his grasp on his loop, the rope scratching his calloused hands. “we’re almost up. gon’ give that doll up there a good show, eh?” reaching down, he procured his pigging string and clenched it tight between his teeth. he had to focus. any minute now, that calf would burst from that chute.

once the calf reached had his head start and the barrier was dropped, jean flicked his heel against bijou’s side, the mare shooting out like a hot bullet, kicking up dirt and dust alike in her wake. jean’s rope was like an extension of his arm, easily encircling the calf’s neck. as trained, bijou skidded to a stop immediately, her hooves digging in the brown earth.

jean moved on instinct, his body moving before his brain. his hands were on that calf almost instantly, picking up the small beast and dropping him back first to the ground. holding his legs still, jean yanked the pigging strip out of his mouth. “easy, kid, easy,” he muttered, tying the string around three of the calf’s legs. the second the knot was tightened around his ankles, he flung his hands high into the sky.

his heart thrummed in his ears as he made his way back to bijou, who waited patiently for her master. she huffed, her breath a cloud that cut through the humid arena air, as jean remounted her with a slight grunt. the next 6 seconds were like agony, ticking along slowly as a bead a sweat ran down his hot neck. the calf shifted slightly on the ground, but didn’t break the rope that held his legs together.

“and that’s time!” the announcer cheered. “the time to beat was 9.3 and that there jean kirschtein did an astonishin’ 8.8! 8.8, why, that’s a blueforest record! ladies and gentlemen, give that man a round of applause!”

the crowd broke out in raucous cheers and applause to congratulate jean’s stellar performance. atop bijou, jean waved, his slightly sweaty face broken in half with a wide grin. “y’hear that, bijou? we did amazin’, little lady.” his hand came down to pat her shoulder affectionately as she began to exit the arena. jean’s eyes scanned the stands for any sight of you, that beautiful brown face in a sea of people. when his eyes met yours, his heart thrummed in his chest again and his breath caught in his throat. he smiled sheepishly, raising his hand in greeting before turning forward, guiding bijou along. ‘god,’ he thought to himself. ‘what a woman.’

the rodeo went on as planned. you enjoyed the rest of the categories, but you couldn’t help but crane your neck for another glimpse of jean kirschtein. the name didn’t sound too familiar, he had to have been someone visiting just for the rodeo. if that was the case, your chances of seeing him again were pretty slim. you were anxious, picking at your nails, and you were embarrassed about it. you and that man exchanged about five sentences, and here you were breaking your neck trying to find him! you groaned quietly to yourself. ‘girl, get it together…’

the summer sun is setting by the time the rodeo finishes, the sky painted in a myriad of dark oranges, reds, and purples. you shuffle behind the rest of the audience as they make their way down the stands and out of the arena, trying to accept the fact that you won’t see that jean kirschtein again, at least not anytime soon.

you’re following the rest of the crowd towards the parking lot, narrowly avoiding horse droppings from messing up your boots or the hems of your flared jeans. people are buying last minute treats from the stands as they excitedly reminisce on their favorite scenes from the rodeo.

unbeknownst to you, jean weaves in and out the thicket of the crowd. his light brown eyes are trained hard on the back of your head as he tries to get close to you. as soon as the rodeo was over and he received his award money, he practically threw bijou’s reins into his buddy marco’s hands and ran off, promising that he’d be right back, he had something really important to do.

as he’s sliding past guests, he wishes that you just turn around, look over your shoulder something. he groans internally. he was so busy ogling you he didn’t think to catch your name before he rode up to the box. he clears his throat, his hand held out slightly ahead of him. “ma’am,” he calls softly. ‘cuse me, ma’am!”

you’re not sure what, but the sound of someone calling out behind you makes you turn your head to peek over your shoulder. your eyes widen slightly as you watch jean pace up towards you. “oh, it’s you!” you stop your determined stride, allowing jean to finally catch up. his red shirt has the first three buttons undone, and your eyes can’t help but rove downwards towards his tanned, exposed chest before snapping back up to his face. “you were amazing out there.”

jean laughs breathlessly, giddy to be in your presence again. the crowd mingling around her fades into the background. right now, with the sun setting and the summer breeze gently stirring the around him, it’s only you two in this moment. his grin is slightly crooked as he sticks out his hand towards you. “only because i had my good luck charm out there cheerin’ me on. i’m jean.”

“…,” you greet back, sliding your soft hand into his. his large, calloused fingers easily envelope yours, shaking it firmly but politely. his grip lingers for a bit, sending sparks through your body before he finally pulls away. your lips break away into another grin, one that sends butterflies careening in jean’s stomach. “a pleasure to meet you, sir.” the lilt of your voice, the accent decorating each of your words, its music to jean’s ears.

“pleasure’s all mine, ….” jean slides his slightly sweaty hands in his jean pockets, his thumbs sticking out and rubbing against the stitching. “i hope i’m not bein’ too forward when i say i’d love to take you out while i’m still here in blueforest.” he pulls one hand out and dusts away a dirt spot on his jeans, smiling nervously. “i clean up rather nice, i assure you.”

you laugh again, clear and melodic as a bell. “well,” you muse, tilting your head to the side as if you’re giving it some serious thought. “i am in town for a while. i think i’d enjoy getting to know you more, mr. kirschtein.” you slide your handbag off your shoulder, rooting around for your phone. you quickly procure it, opening it up to your contacts for jean to add himself in. “i think we’d have a grand time.”

jean bristles with excitement, his fingers a blur as he types in his number. “oh, i’ll make sure of it, .... don’t you worry.”

when he’s done you slide your phone back into your bag. “i don’t wanna keep you.” turning on the heel of your brown boots, you wave back at jean, the gold rings adorning your manicured fingers twinkling against each other teasingly. “til then, jean.” you don’t want to come across as too giddy just yet, but deep inside you’re practically bouncing with excitement. a date with him? you might not even be able to sleep later that night.

jean tips his head at you, his own hand raising in farewell. “til then, ….” aw man, just wait til marco heard about this!

*quick lil ting inspired by my visit to the rodeo. if i got anything wrong i apologize. 😖 hope y’all enjoy!

#🏙️.aotmodern #🧸.aotfluff #jean kirschtein x reader #aot x reader #aot x black reader #jean kirschstein x black reader #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein x black reader #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirstein x you

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scottmemelordstrashpile · 1 day

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Survivor Tessa AU (Murder Drones AU Concept???) [Episode 7 Spoilers]

So, you know when you want to make an AU but you also don't want to dedicate to the grueling process of actually writing a story and writing how we got to this part? No? Just me?

Well, regardless here are a couple of potential examples of scenes that could have unfolded

Click the "Keep reading" button if you either don't care or have already watched.

had Tessa been a survivor of the fall of Earth. I guess these are just concepts for potential scenes or something?

Unlikely Alliance

N: Fine. You're right. Maybe I'm not the real N. So I won't pretend to be. But that doesn't mean we can't help eachother! I want the patch to save Uzi, you want it to defeat Cyn. We can make this work!

Tessa: ... *Sigh* Fine. It would be smarter to work as a team for now I suppose.

*Suddenly Tessa presses the barrel of her gun right against the side of N's head*

Tessa: But I swear... if you even dare THINK, of trying to cross me... I'll kill both of you. Understand?!

N: Y-Yes... m'am.

Tessa: Good.

I Found You Faker

*The scene with "Tessa" and Uzi at the chapel unfolds the same until-*

"Tessa": No worries, makes my job easier.

*BANG*

*A gunshot reverberates throughout the chapel as a bullet rips through the back of "Tessa's" helmet and ejecting through her visor leaving a bulletwound behind*

*"Tessa" collapses to the ground bleeding heavily revealing the real Tessa standing behind her with a smoking gun*

Tessa: You must think you're real funny, huh Cyn? Running around impersonating me?!

Uzi: W-What?! W-Who?!

Tessa: Shut it! I'm getting to you. Where is the patch!?

Uzi: The what?!

Tessa: Don't have it? Bloody hell... Then who does?!

The Patch

*N reaches out expecting Tessa to hand over the crucifix usb but she steps back, drawing her gun on N with the other hand*

N: Tessa?

Tessa: No.

N: I-I thought you finally trusted me?!

Tessa: Trust you?! Please! You and that little monster took everything from me! Oh! But you weren't satisfied with just that! Now you oughta' go and destroy everything else while you're at it! Huh?!

N: Tessa... please-

Tessa: No. I won't let you have it. It means too much to me!

*Tessa clutches the crucifix tightly*

Tessa: This, this might be my only chance of finally destroying her. And I won't let you take it away from me too!

N: But... I thought... I thought we were friends.

Tessa: ... No. I was friends with the real N. Not you... You're just a fake...

N: ... Fine. I don't care what happens to me, but please! You have to help Uzi!

Tessa: Why should I? Doesn't she want to kill us all too?! Don't think I didn't overhear that. I'm onto you lot. Can't trust anyone but myself anymore. I learned from my past mistakes...

Old Enemies

Tessa: Fine... just do it already. Finish it!

Cyn: "Manical Laughter" I promised I wouldn't kill you, didn't I? Besides, I wouldn't get the satisfaction of watching you suffer if I do.

Cyn: ... But, there's still a chance. The Solver is pretty chill, maybe you could like join us or something.

Tessa: I'd rather DIE than to serve you!

Cyn: Oh well, it was worth a try. Have fun watching everything you know and love die for the second time. Loser.

I dunno what to call this one but I couldn't not include

*To Tessa most likely*

Cyn: I won't kill you and you can't kill me. I guess we can just sit in this room and glare at eachother until somebody drops dead. But I have a better idea.

End

I don't know what to call this. A proof of concept or something? I don't know. Because sadly I'm too lazy in addition to just not having enough time to make a full genuine AU about this but I thought the idea was interesting so I dunno, if people with more dedication or time on their hands want to steal these ideas for stories, art whatever. I don't care. You don't even need to tag me or credit me or anything. (And I mean that. It's not like my ideas are very original anyway.)

Basically in general the idea of this AU as I said at the start is the idea of the real Tessa having survived the destruction of the Earth. Now she's hellbent on destroying Cyn whom she perceives as the one that took everything and everyone she loved away from her.

She doesn't trust the disassembly drones in the slightest, not seeing them as her friends from the manor but as crude mockeries of her friends created by Cyn.

Cyn treats the entire thing like a game. Think of it like a sort've reverse Batman and Joker where Cyn refuses to kill Tessa due to her promise to not discard her. However all it does is fuel Tessa's unending rage when she laughs in her face and tosses her aside.

As for Tessa herself I like to imagine she's missing at least one hand and maybe even an eye. Of course her missing hand being replaced with a cybernetic one. (Definitely not a Berserk reference.)

That's about it. I imagine her personality would be totally different from Episode 5 Tessa as well. She'd probably still have funny moments or one liners but in general she'd probably be a lot more deadpan and monotone. When she's not being "Girl too angry to die" anyway. I imagine her in contrast to her past self being very quiet, cold and distant. Not wanting to be hurt again by becoming too attached to those around her.

All she wants is REVENGE. (You could even play with the idea of this desire slowly turning her into a monster too if you want to be really angsty with it.)

I imagine for the most part things would play out MOSTLY the same but with the added element of real Tessa also landing on Copper-9 to find the patch before Cyn (Disguised as Tessa) does. I guess serving as a rouge 4th element or something?

EDIT: I also like to imagine the real Tessa looks similar to canon "Tessa" (Which is just the fake Tessa in this version.) but without the stickers, hat and bow on her suit. Maybe a more visible oxygen system on the back too, like one of those big air tanks or astronaut backpacks. Something like that. Could get more creative with it, but yeah that's how I imagine it. I feel like the cybernetic hand probably wouldn't be visible due to the suit. As for the eye for me it alternates between it just being stuck closed like Guts or her having an eyepatch. (Personally I prefer it being permanently closed.)

Oh yeah of course also feel free to like... reblog... whatever. Give your thoughts? I guess? I don't know. I just wanted to get these ideas out of my head I guess and this was the most efficient way to do it.

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adnauseum11 · 13 hours

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SITREP (John Price x Reader)

Dinner continues after you get a hold of your emotions.

3.6 k words

CW: mention of deceased parents.

Hopefully I slalomed through this dinner without adding too many personal details so the reader remains as much of a blank slate as possible while retaining some interesting backstory.

This work is part of the SNAFU series - most of which has been posted here and the Masterlist is pinned to my page. Due to threats from apps like lore.fm and Ai data scraping, I'm feeling less and less secure posting my work to Tumblr. I'm toying with the idea of taking it all down, although that feels a bit like closing the barn doors after the horses got out.

This will be the last chapter I post in its entirety here on Tumblr for the time being. Partial chapter updates only going forward. If you want to continue, please consider asking for an invitation from Ao3 to make an account. It's free, and then you can read anything, even the locked fics, like mine. It's worth the little bit of a wait.

link to the chapter over on Ao3

feedback welcome, let me know if you primarily read here on Tumblr or over on Ao3. I asked earlier and the responses seemed to favour Ao3. Not the case? Let me know!

sorry for folks on the taglist - let me know if this upcoming change works for you or if you'd rather not be tagged if it's not the full chapter. I'm trying some stuff out, love to have your thoughts.

You take a few long moments in front of a large gilded mirror to breathe deeply, shaking off the lingering pall of grief, occupying your hands by checking your hair and make-up. John had been out of the country when your parents had been killed, unreachable for long months while you struggled to keep your ship afloat amongst the ensuing chaos. The situation had left you de-stabilized for longer than you cared to admit, John more familiar with the aftermath – the constant fighting with David and wild emotional dysregulation that he had weathered with equanimity. You can’t help but wonder what your parents would think about you dating the man you’d been fast friends with for all these years. Would your mother think it inevitable or inconceivable that you would see John in a new light after everything you had been through? You’re touching up your lipstick when Michelle’s face appears over your shoulder in the reflection.

“Are you ok? I’m sorry if Kate upset you. She’s prone to prying and forgets herself sometimes.”

“It’s fine, the emotion takes me by surprise every now and then. Needed a minute to get my head on straight, as John would say.”

You answer as you square your shoulders, turning to face the other woman. Michelle nods sympathetically, twisting her fingers together in front of herself.

“I’m sorry for your loss. John is pretty concerned; I think he would have come in after you himself if I hadn’t offered to come check on you.”

You give the other woman a reassuring smile, gently rolling your eyes at the unsurprising news of John’s overprotective streak. She carries on before you can make a weak joke about his hovering.

“You guys are pretty serious, hm? He didn’t call you his girlfriend when he took Kate to task about being too intrusive, he said you were his partner.”

A warmth blooms from the pit of your stomach, and you have to fight to keep your smile from growing into an inappropriately triumphant grin. John was listening after all bouncing around in your mind. Michelle follows you out of the bathroom, chatting easily.

“It’s nice to see him with someone that loosens him up. I can’t remember the last time we did something like this. There was a time where I didn’t think he would ever relax. I swear his shoulders were habitually around his ears most of the time I saw him. I’m rooting for you two.”

“Thank you, we’ve had our challenges so far but have come out the other side stronger I think.”

You squeeze John’s shoulder again as you step around his seat, his hand coming up to rest on your side protectively before you sit, his attention zeroing in on you.

“It’s alright, I was just caught off guard. Everything is fine.”

You reassure him, squeezing his wrist before his hand slips away again. Kate is contrite.

“I apologize, it was tactless to ask such a personal question.”

With a smile and a wave of your hand you try to place her at ease, not wanting dinner to grind to an uncomfortable halt.

“No, no, you couldn’t have known. Quite alright. I’m usually better behaved, I blame the red wine on an empty stomach for making me emotional.”

John huffs, having seen you far worse for wear but satisfied all is well if you still have a sense of humour. Kate’s face also relaxes into one of relief, and they both sag back into their chairs slightly.

“Are you a cigar aficionado as well, Kate? John’s been wanting to come here since it opened.”

“Only when we’re playing poker. The ‘lil missus doesn’t like the smoke.”

Michelle takes a half-hearted swat at her wife who smiles in return, shrugging slightly as if the truth would come out regardless.

“No more smoking inside if everything works out, sorry John.”

Michelle adds with a small smile in John’s direction. He nods, as if he was expecting the news.

“Fair enough. I’m not smoking as much as I used to these days. Although I am interested to pop downstairs and see what their selection is like. I was gifted a beautiful lighter for Christmas, would be a shame to not use it a little more.”

The look John sends your way makes your skin prickle again. Not just with the desire that’s been simmering between you two all night but backed with the warmth of genuine deep-seated affection. It makes you want to crawl on to his lap and mess up his perfect tie despite all the onlookers. He reads the look on your face and the corner of his mouth quirks up. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he reaches into his inner jacket pocket, finally breaking eye contact to hand over the vintage lighter to Kate’s curious reach.

Your eyes follow it as she turns it over, examining the silver rectangle. It has a unique arm mechanism for lighting, effectively stamping out the flame when shut. It’s all hand wrought, the screws on the bottom for refilling the chambers individually made. There’s a delicate filigree up the corners, leaving the worn space in the middle empty for the engraving you had commissioned with John’s initials. John had been thrilled with your small gift, it had immediately joined his wallet and watch as an essential item he carried around every day.

“It’s a 1928 Kickstarter from Colibri. No idea where she found one in such good shape, it works like a dream.”

Kate tries the lighting arm and it swings upwards easily, a flame springing forth almost instantly. She snaps it shut again with a satisfying click and offers it to Michelle to inspect. You take a sip of your wine to avoid John’s intent gaze on the side of your face, certain that if you look over, you’ll give in to the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him. You can practically feel him willing you to turn and he only relents when Michelle hands the lighter back, a knowing smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.

“Looks like she’s got a homerun here. That’s a lovely piece, John.”

“I had to look for a while to find one in good working order.”

You supply, pleased these women who seem to know John so well are impressed with your gift.

“You know who else would appreciate that? Simon.”

Kate gestures to the lighter in John’s hand, raising her eyebrow at him in an expression you don’t understand. Michelle turns to face her wife immediately, concerned.

“Kate, no. No work stuff.”

“What? John will want to know.”

Kate’s tone is innocent, but her wife’s posture tells another story.

“Know what?”

John is cautious, returning the lighter to his inner pocket slowly, his eyes tracking from Michelle to Kate.

“He’s asked for the paperwork to be discharged; he’s going to retire. Making noise about moving back to this neck of the woods.”

John hums and his hand settles on your forearm, making you glance over at him in surprise. You’re fairly certain he’s unaware he’s reached out and grabbed you, his focus solely on Kate’s face. Kate notices the knee-jerk reaction though, and you watch her face rapidly go through a series of complicated emotions you couldn’t name even if pressed.

“You’re right, I do want to know.”

John’s tone of voice has a measured calmness to it that belies the grip his hand has on your forearm.

“Well, this is all very cryptic. Who is Simon?”

You don’t dislodge his hand, raising an eyebrow at him when he slowly turns away from Kate to explain.

“Simon was my Lieutenant. He’s had a… rough go lately. Not surprised he’s wanting out but did he say what he plans to do?”

John answers your question broadly before directing another question back towards Kate. Michelle sighs, and you get the impression that this hi-jacking of the conversation happens more often than she condones.

“No, not to me. Nor anyone else as far as I know. I was hoping maybe you could check in on him.”

“Hm. Yeah, could do – “

John is interrupted by dinner arriving. Everything is laid out still steaming and fragrant, fresh from the kitchen. Michelle shakes her head at the platter that is set before Kate, disbelief written across her face. John’s plate isn’t much better, the thick slab of meat before him making your eyebrows raise.

“Is this a military thing?”

You ask Michelle in a stage whisper, John letting go of your arm to attend to his enormous meal. He’s got a baked potato and lightly roasted green beans to get through as well, never mind the huge cut of meat. Kate’s lobster tail and steak take up most of the plate before her, with a potato of her own nestled beside a garden salad.

“No, it’s an excellent food thing.”

John answers, his eyes crinkling in good humour. Kate makes a sound of agreement before adding with a smile.

“And it’s a John’s paying kind of thing.”

“Kate!”

Michelle’s back to scolding her wife but John just smiles, not offended in the least.

“She’s earned it, Michelle. Don’t worry.”

“Lord help us, don’t encourage her John. I haven’t decided yet how I feel about you two not working together anymore.”

Kate smirks at that and clinks her glass against John’s, and in a flash the depth of their friendship becomes clear. You refocus on your own food, wondering again at this part of John’s life you’ve heretofore been excluded from. You soothe your slightly wounded ego by reminding yourself that John’s trying at least to bridge the formidable gap between his work life and what you consider to be his ‘real’ life. His enjoyment of the company across the table is evident to you though, giving you pause. Michelle picks up on your thoughtful turn and catches your eye as you cut into the tender side of the filet mignon in front of you.

“They’re always having side conversations, it’s insanely annoying. It was worth putting up with it to know someone out there had her back when they were working. Now, it’s just taking the piss, as you say over here.”

She narrows her eyes at John who has the good grace to look slightly chastised. Kate ignores her wife, digging into the lobster with gusto.

“John doesn’t talk to me about his work much. It’s all classified, apparently. I just found out that you two existed the other day.”

You try to gently joke with her, brushing off the fact that you know next to nothing about John’s work other than the broadest strokes. Michelle sends you a kind look and nods in understanding while Kate stares down John over her buttered lobster.

“Field work is difficult - Kate you know that. It’s safer for everyone if there’s nothing to leverage. As recently proved.”

You barely understand the context of John’s words, leverage striking you as an odd phrase when talking about relationships. You gather he’s talking about the break-in and subsequent shit show only just recently put behind you. Kate understands his meaning straight away though and shrugs, arching a brow across the table at John who’s paused in eating his meal.

“God love ya John, you always pick the hardest possible path forward. I get where you’re coming from, just not sure on the execution in reality.”

“Could you two speak English, please?”

Michelle interjects, her eyes on your face as you quietly puzzle over the layered conversation going on. If you knew her better you would say the look on her face was sympathetic. Kate explains herself for your benefit, her eyes flicking between you and John.

“I worked with John for years and if it makes you feel any better, he didn’t tell me that you existed until recently either. He seemed to be under the impression that keeping the spheres of his life from overlapping was the safest way to operate. The idea being that it would keep you from becoming a target. I’d say forewarned is forearmed, myself. But I understand his logic. His work was dangerous.”

John’s face is suddenly serious, his hands still, waiting for your reaction. You’re trying to piece together what little you know of his work and the events of the last few months. The idea that he’d been living what amounts to a dual life is jarring for some reason. You like to think you know John well, and this night is reminding you there’s a lot you are unaware of. Kate’s revelation that she didn’t know him as well as she thought either is cold consolation.

“So, keeping everyone separate in their own little box was about safety?”

“It’s always about your safety.”

John answers and you get the impression there’s more to be said but he’s holding his tongue. You decide to leverage it out of him later. What possible danger could there be in meeting these women now that wasn’t there when he was working? You exchange a long, silent look with him that must convey your skepticism because he only physically relaxes when you eat another bite of dinner, seemingly letting it go for the moment. Kate watches the tense exchange between you with rapt interest as she polishes off the rest of her lobster and salad.

“I don’t know about anyone else, but my dinner is simply delicious.”

Michelle breaks the silence, reaching across her wife’s arm to snag her gin and tonic and take a delicate sip. You smile in appreciation at her attempt to break the newest layer of tension, Kate’s chagrined face only making your grin wider. You exchange an amused look with Michelle as she hands the gin and tonic back to her annoyed wife.

“The food is really delectable. I’m getting full but it tastes so good! I’m going to risk popping my dress.”

Michelle laughs and Kate smiles over a bite of steak.

“I know John can put away a lot of food, but these portions are massive you guys. I’m impressed.”

You continue, a hint of awe entering your tone as you watch Kate’s methodical approach to her plate.

“I suspect they don’t half-ass things around here.”

Kate supplies, looking pointedly at the rich appointments around the big dining room. From the chandeliers to the floor length window dressings, the restaurant screams sumptuousness. John is just as regimented about his food as Kate, most of his steak gone and half of the side dishes remaining. He huffs in acknowledgment of Kate’s words, amused.

“They haven’t half-assed their prices so I would hope not.”

You smile into your last bite of filet mignon, relaxing into the gentle banter again. You take a moment while finishing what you can of your dinner to observe the way the group easily pivots from topic to topic, and the familiarity of it is striking to you. John is himself with them, there is no pretence in his conduct and you puzzle over his insistence on keeping you separated from people he gets along with so well. If what he says is to be believed, John spent his career being concerned about your safety such that he went to extreme lengths to keep you protected from its dangers. That’s not the behavior of a man who has only recently decided he wanted more from your friendship. His admission about the dress you're wearing turning him on years before he asked you out rattles around in your brain like a marble you can’t stop rolling around. His hand on your forearm draws you back to the present, and you look at him, his vibrant blue eyes taking in your dazed expression.

“Do you want more wine? I’m having coffee. Kate’s having another gin and Michelle is going to have a decaf.”

He asks, filling you in quickly once he clocks that you were lost in thought.

“Yes, that would be lovely. Please.”

The return of your manners earns you a warm smile and John turns to the waiter to relay your order. The dishes are cleared and you spend the next three quarters of an hour forcing yourself to stay present in the moment and not withdraw to puzzle over all you’ve learned. You find yourself naturally drawn to Michelle, her dry wit cutting and more than a match for her formidable and straightforward wife. Kate and John seem to be able to have a conversation within a conversation, and you quickly learn what Michelle means about it being annoying. It especially grates on your nerves as it’s typically you and John with a litany of inside jokes scattered through any conversation. Having the shoe on the other foot is less fun than you imagined. John excuses himself to the bathroom, which you know is code for paying the bill and you steel yourself to spend the next few moments alone with his friends.

“You’ve had a lot of change over the last few months, what with starting to date John and then moving in so quickly after the break in. How are you finding living with him?”

Kate’s got the question out as soon as John’s big frame leaves the general vicinity of the table.

“It’s like anything, a bit of an adjustment but it’s been good. He’s far neater than me, maybe you should ask him what living with me is like instead.”

You laugh before you continue, mentally acknowledging your vastly different decorating styles. John’s a minimalist where you love fun and funky tchotchkes. Your flat had been crammed to the rafters with knick-knacks. Moving in with John had necessitated parting ways with a lot of your less sentimental pieces. The lowkey dispute about the Christmas decorations had hardly been a solitary event.

“So far it's been lovely, he lets me have my way most of the time and pairs the most delicious wines with dinner. I have no complaints or salacious details, sorry ladies.”

You keep your most recent fight to yourself, unwilling to expose John or yourself to the scrutiny of these women, even if they mean well. In the end, you had gotten what you wanted there too, which was to be heard and considered in matters that concerned you. Which by all accounts, seems to have landed for John.

“He plays it pretty close to the vest too, as previously established. Was hoping you would be a bit more forthcoming.”

Kate smiles, not unkindly, but her rampant curiosity might as well be a neon sign flashing over her face. Her wife elbows her arm with all the subtlety of a gunshot and the dirty blonde schools her face back into something more restrained. You offer a smile and swirl the dregs of your wine, unsure what the other woman was hoping to learn.

“He snores when he’s been drinking?”

Kate gives a startled laugh and shakes her head quickly.

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“I suspect the John you know and the John I know are the same, we just see him in different scenarios.”

“True enough to a point. He doesn’t let me have my way as often, I'm going to guess.”

You can feel heat creeping over your cheeks at the suggestive tone and she carries on before you can speak.

“I’m more interested in you, than how he behaves when he’s with you, to clarify what I meant. You went to university?”

You nod dumbly, the wine doing nothing to help your mind focus. Kate rolls along with more questions, to her wife’s open annoyance.

“Kate, leave her alone. Seriously.”

“Where do you work? Have you been there long?”

“Uh, I quit, before Christmas. After the break-in John and I talked and I’m going to find something else. I wasn’t happy there. So, technically working nowhere right now.”

“Were you using your degree?”

“No, it was customer service essentially with some data entry. Soul sucking. Awful.”

“What would you prefer to do?”

“I’m not sure. I think being a docent would be fun but those positions can be quite hard to get.”

Michelle’s distracted from trying to back Kate off this line of questioning by this tidbit of information, and her attention swings to you.

“Oh! Like at the Tower of London? They were phenomenal! That would be a fun job.”

“Yes, exactly. Having new faces to chat to every day and all that history around would be – “

“What does John think?”

Kate interrupts, the curiosity on her face in full force. The wine answers before you can corral your thoughts into something more even-tempered.

“I haven't mentioned it yet, besides, why would he care? He won’t be the one working there.”

Michelle tilts her head backs and laughs, John’s quizzical face popping into view at the end of the table eventually subduing her mirth.

“Hate to interrupt but everyone ready?”

You exchange a smile with Michelle and nod at John, standing and linking you hand with his outstretched one. He leads you back through the restaurant to collect your coats from the coat check. Afterwards you stand on the chilly sidewalk to exchange hugs and goodbyes, a whispered good luck sent in to Michelle’s ear that she acknowledges with an extra squeeze before letting you go. Kate bundles her wife into a waiting cab with a final wave out the window, and John convinces you to go peruse the cigars downstairs before heading home yourselves. If things work out for the two women, he reasons Kate will need a celebratory cigar to herald in their newest adventure. You can’t say no to his sentimental reasoning and find yourself an hour later, back in the same place on the sidewalk, John’s newest purchases tucked into your clutch to protect against the damp while you wait for the valet.

Taglist: @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms

@itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch @magsmagic @h0n3y-l3m0n05

@chickennn-soupp @fruitymoonbeams-blog @redwites @glitterypirateduck

@tf141gloryhole @bespectacledhuman

#john price x reader #fanfic #john price #john price x f!reader #friends to lovers #john price cod #captain price #captain john price #john price x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price x female reader

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wholoveseggs · 4 hours

Note

Hey lovely, today request from me🥰

I got struck on an idea where reader tried to dominate Elijah but always fail so, she get Klaus help with some magical witchy rope or something to subdue him, which was successful.

Tho here's the thing, reader is inexperienced in doing something like that and not prepped enough to take him, cuz y'know Elijah is big.. hehehe😌🤭so she started tear up, and ask for his help. Elijah being a smug he is punish her happily after...can you added a sprinkle of daddy kink and overstimulation, pretty puh-lease with the cherry on top🙏🥺

Oh btw your story always superb 🤩 😁

Bindings

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

You ask Davina for help with creating something to tie up Elijah... only for you to get in way over your head. Luckily, he is in a forgiving mood.

♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! I decided to change it from Klaus to Davina, because I just can't see Klaus being okay with you essentially making a weapon against his family... Even if the reason behind it is just for some kinky fun ♡♡

4.9k words - Warnings: smut, *magical* bondage, dom!elijah, daddy!kink, spanking, choking, sex toys and a whole lotta praise...

You sat in Davina's greenhouse, looking around at all the various plants and flowers the young witch had collected. You had asked Davina to meet up with you to help with a problem, one that was a bit awkward to even say out loud, but you knew that she of all people would understand.

You watched her browse through her books, trying to find the spell you had requested. After a few moments, Davina had found the page and started gathering the items needed.

"Davina?" you said.

She looked up from the table and gave you a curious look. "Yeah?"

"You don't think this is a little crazy? I mean, it's a bit of a long shot."

Davina smiled. "Not at all. I may have.... tried it myself... with Kol," she replied, looking away with a light blush.

Your eyes went wide. "Oh, my God. It worked?"

She shrugged trying to appear cool, but her mischievous grin gave away her answer. You smiled back and the two of you quickly dissolved into a fit of giggles.

After the laughter had calmed down, you looked at her questioningly. "So, how does it work?"

Davina took a seat on the couch next to you and showed you the spell she had found.

"The basic binding is actually quite simple, it's the ingredients that are tricky," she explained, "luckily I have white oak ash, and the rest should be easy to find."

You nodded and listened intently as Davina read through the list of ingredients and their uses. She began by grinding the herbs and mixing them in a bowl, followed by the white oak ash.

Once the mixture was complete, Davina took a long silk rope that you had provided and dipped it in the bowl. She held the rope above the bowl, letting the excess liquid drip off as she chanted the incantation.

"Done," Davina announced, handing you the now-dry rope. "It will keep him bound and unable to break free. You can use it any way you'd like." She grinned, giving you a knowing look.

You couldn't believe how easy it had been, that you were so close to fulfilling a long-held fantasy of yours. "Thank you, Davina. You're the best," you said, pulling her into a hug.

She hugged you back, giggling as she pulled away. "One more thing, if you need to break the spell, just say 'confractus' and it will untie itself,"

You nodded, thanking her again before making your way home, the rope clutched tightly in your hand.

It was the most expensive piece of clothing you had ever purchased. It wasn't even something you could wear outside your bedroom, but damn, did it make you feel sexy.

The lingerie was a red, sheer babydoll dress with black lace trim, and it was paired with a matching thong and stockings. You had never worn anything so revealing before, but you knew Elijah would like it, and that was all that mattered.

You wanted to get him all worked up, break down the gentleman facade, make him want you so badly that he would do whatever you asked. You had been waiting for the right moment to try the rope Davina had created, and you were certain that tonight was the night.

You pulled a robe over your outfit, concealing it until the right moment. Then you sat back on your bed and texted Elijah.

"Are you free tonight?"

A few moments later, your phone vibrated.

"For you, always."

You grinned and quickly replied, "Come over."

He sent a thumbs up, and you tossed your phone aside, your nerves kept you from sitting still, and you spent the next ten minutes pacing anxiously around the room. When you finally heard a knock on the door, you jumped, startled by the sound. You took a deep breath and walked to the front of your apartment.

When you opened the door, you were greeted by a sight that made your mouth water. Elijah was dressed casually, in just a t-shirt and jeans, it was a rare sight, and one that had you practically drooling.

You stood there in silence for a moment, taking in the sight of him, until he cleared his throat and asked, "Can I come in?"

"Yes, sorry. Come in." You stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. You let yourself melt into him, enjoying the feeling of his arms wrapped around you.

"What's this for?" You asked, teasingly tugging on his t-shirt, your hands roaming across his broad chest. "Has your dry-cleaner gone and quit on you?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I figured we would just have a quiet night in. No need for the formalities."

You nodded, your hands traveling down to his waist. You felt his body tense slightly when your fingers began to dance along the bare skin under the hem of his shirt.

"Well, I have a surprise for you," you said, looking up at him with a mischievous smile.

He raised an eyebrow and gave you a curious look. "A surprise? Well, now I'm intrigued."

You laughed and grabbed his hand, leading him to your bedroom. Once inside, you turned and faced him, taking a deep breath before you began to untie your robe. But then you stopped, looking at him with a naughty smirk.

"Take off your shirt," you ordered, your voice suddenly more confident.

He looked surprised by your words, but quickly obliged, pulling the t-shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

"Hmmm," you smiled as your eyes traveled down his body, appreciating his toned abs and muscular arms, lingering on where a trail of dark hair disappeared into his jeans. "Now the pants."

You watched as his hands moved to unbutton his jeans. He kept his gaze locked on you, his dark eyes filled with lust. Once the pants were undone, he slowly pushed them down, revealing his black boxer briefs and the outline of his half-hard cock.

Your mouth watered at the sight, but you knew this was just the beginning. As much as you wanted to rip his clothes off and fuck him senseless, you had a plan, and you were determined to stick to it.

"Get on the bed," you commanded, gesturing to the large mattress behind him.

He climbed onto the bed, sitting back against the pillows and watching you with curiosity. You untied the belt of your robe and let it fall open, revealing the sheer lingerie underneath.

Elijah's jaw dropped, his eyes widening as they traveled over your body.

"Do you like it?" You asked, teasingly running a finger along the edge of the lace trim.

He nodded, unable to speak, his cock already fully hard and straining against his underwear.

"Good, because I want you to do something for me," you said, your voice low and husky.

He nodded again, his gaze fixed on you.

"Take off your underwear and stroke your cock."

You watched him pull his boxer briefs down and wrap his large hand around his thick shaft, slowly stroking himself.

The sight of him pleasuring himself made your own arousal grow. You let your robe drop to the floor and climbed onto the bed, straddling his thighs.

He groaned, his eyes never leaving your body as he continued stroking his cock.

"Darling, you are a vision," he breathed, his voice deep and raspy with desire.

You felt heat pooling between your legs, your nipples hardening beneath the thin fabric of your lingerie.

You leaned in and kissed him, your tongues battling for dominance as you moaned into his mouth. His other hand came up to grab your ass, pulling you closer.

He was breathing heavily, his eyes dark with lust.

"Touch yourself," he growled, his lips brushing against yours.

"No," you smirked, "I have something else in mind."

You reached over and picked up the rope, which you had placed within reach on the nightstand. You watched his eyes widen, his hand stopping its movements as he stared at the rope.

"Do you want me to tie you up?" He grinned, his hand starting to stroke his cock again.

"I have something else in mind," you repeated.

Elijah raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"Hands up," you commanded, leaning back slightly to give him space.

He paused for a moment before lifting his arms above his head, resting them on the pillow behind him.

You brought the rope over his wrists, looping it around and tying them together. He chuckled, his eyes darkening as he realized what you were doing.

"I never took you for a bondage girl, darling."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me," you replied, your tone playful as you pulled the rope tighter.

"Unfortunately I don't think this silk rope will hold me," he said, smirking as he tugged at the restraints.

You ignored him, continuing to tie his wrists to the headboard. Once you were satisfied with the knots, you sat back and admired your work, enjoying the way he looked helpless and at your mercy.

"Oh yeah?" You questioned, trailing a finger down his chest and abs, watching him shiver.

You slowly shrugged off one of the straps of your babydoll, letting the top slide down, exposing one breast.

His eyes fixated on your bare chest, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

"Mmmm," you hummed, rolling the hard bud between your fingers, teasing him. Then you did the same with the other strap, pushing the top down until your breasts were completely exposed.

Elijah let out a low moan, his cock twitching against his stomach.

"God, you're so fucking beautiful," he growled, his eyes burning with desire.

"Do you want to touch them daddy?" You cooed, running your hands up and down your breasts.

"Yes," he hissed, his hips bucking up involuntarily.

"Go ahead, tear the rope and touch me."

"Gladly."

He tugged at the rope, once, twice, three times. It didn't budge, much to his surprise.

"How the..." he started to say, looking up at the knotted rope.

"It's just a bit of magic," you smirked, your confidence growing as you watched him struggle.

You knew the ropes wouldn't hold him forever, but you planned on making the most of the time they did.

"Now, where were we?" You leaned forward, bringing your breasts close to his face.

He craned his neck up, trying to capture one of your nipples with his mouth, but you pulled away, denying him.

"Uh uh," you scolded, "You can look, but no touching."

You moved forward again, brushing your breast against his lips. He eagerly opened his mouth, trying to suck on the hardened peak, but you kept it just out of reach.

"I will be free soon enough, little one," he growled, his eyes locking onto yours, "and when I am, you're going to be punished for teasing me."

His words sent a thrill through you, but you remained calm, refusing to show him any signs of weakness.

"Oh yeah? What are you going to do, daddy?" You asked, taunting him as you rolled your hips, your wetness coating his skin.

He groaned at the sensation, his dark, lust-filled eyes watched as you began to touch his body, teasing and tormenting him.

You raked your nails down his chest and abs, earning a hiss of pleasure. You licked a hot stripe up his neck, biting his earlobe before moving to his lips. You kissed him roughly, your teeth grazing his lower lip, and he moaned, deepening the kiss.

Your hand went to his cock, stroking it slowly as he tried to buck his hips into your touch. You pulled back, smirking at him.

"You're not going to come until I say you can, understood?"

"Yes, my dear," he breathed, his eyes closing in pleasure as you tightened your grip on his shaft.

"Good boy."

You kissed him again, your tongues dancing together as you pumped his cock. He moaned into your mouth, his hips thrusting upwards, desperate for release.

You broke the kiss, looking down at him with a smirk. You couldn't wait any longer, you had to have him.

You positioned yourself over his throbbing member, lining him up with your entrance. You felt a flash of nervousness, not knowing how well you would be able to take him, but the excitement overrode the anxiety.

You lowered yourself down slowly, his thick cock stretching you open, filling you inch by inch.

"Fuck, Elijah," you moaned, burying your face into the crook of his neck, the feeling of him buried so deep, making your legs shake.

He hummed, his biceps straining against the rope as he struggled to break free. You placed your hands on his chest, using him as leverage as you began to ride him.

You knew right away that you were in trouble. Usually Elijah would take the lead, getting you all wet and worked up, he always took his time, and the pleasure he brought was slow and delicious.

But this, being on top and having all the control, was something you hadn't experienced before. It was intense, and you weren't sure if you could handle it.

Your thighs were burning as you lifted yourself up and down, but you were determined to keep going. Your eyes met his and the sight of his pupils blown wide with desire was enough encouragement for you to continue.

You rode him faster, your breath coming in short gasps. You were getting close, so close, but it was somehow all too much and not enough. You didn't think it would be this much work, and you could feel your energy waning.

It was a terrible feeling, finally getting what you wanted and being disappointed by it. You had been so confident, but now your thighs were burning and you were struggling to keep up a steady rhythm.

You looked at the ropes, seeing that they were still secure. There was no way you would be able to finish this yourself. You were going to need help.

"Eli," you whimpered, your nails digging into his chest.

"Yes, my dear," he groaned.

"I-I'm not sure... If I can keep going," you admitted, panting as you struggled to continue, a frustrated tear rolling down your cheek.

"Well, I'm still quite enjoying myself. You look absolutely exquisite like this," he teased, his eyes roaming your body.

"Elijah," you whined, "please. I-I can't."

He gave you a knowing smirk. "If you can't keep up, maybe I should be the one in charge."

"Please," you begged, your face flushing as the humiliation of being denied what you wanted so badly washed over you.

"You created this problem for yourself, little one," he reminded, wiping a tear away from your cheek, "but luckily, I'm in a giving mood."

You nodded, grateful that he was willing to help you, even if he did enjoy teasing you about it. You reached up and undid the knots, releasing his hands from their restraints.

As soon as his hands were free, Elijah gripped your hips, flipping you over so he was on top. You yelped in surprise, the sudden change in position leaving you breathless.

"You are such a good girl," he praised, his voice husky with desire. "So eager to please."

He kissed you hungrily, his hands exploring your body, his fingers tugging at the hem of your lingerie.

"And this," he murmured against your lips, "is very pretty. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to tear it."

Before you could protest, he ripped the babydoll in half, exposing your entire body to him. He tossed the torn fabric aside, his dark eyes roaming your naked form.

"But it was expensive," you half-protested, even though you were throbbing at the gesture of dominance and disregard.

He growled and pinched your nipple, earning a sharp gasp, then he soothed it with a swirl of his tongue, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"How much did that little magical rope cost you?"

You shuddered, already realizing this was the price you had to pay. You knew he would punish you for this stunt and it turned you on more.

"N-nothing, it was a favor from a friend," you muttered.

He didn't like the vagueness of your answer and took the rope and tied it around your wrists as he started kissing you again, your tongue clashing with his, while his large hand roamed your body, tweaking your nipples, earning a soft moan, and then traveling down south, running his fingertips along your skin, teasing and tickling you softly.

"You are going to do exactly as I say now, understood?" he mumbled against your skin.

"Y-Yes, Daddy," you whined, already desperately bucking against his hand.

Elijah released you, flipping you onto your stomach and dragging you to the head of the bed, tying the rope to the headboard so your arms are stretched high over your head. You were on your knees, and completely under his power.

You heard him rummaging around in his dresser and your heart began beating quickly from nervousness and excitement.

He kissed the back of your neck, the heat of his body warming you, and causing goosebumps to cover your skin. The smell of his cologne wrapped around you and you instinctively arched into his embrace.

"My sweet pet, are you ready to be punished?" he asked as he held one of his ties in front of your face, "Do you have a safe word?"

Your mind raced as he put the tie over your eyes. You quickly selected a word, just in case you needed it, though you sincerely doubted that would happen. Even when he was dominant like this, he always put your pleasure first, but you wanted him to believe you were scared.

"Coffee."

"Excellent," he replied as the smooth fabric was tied tightly around your head.

You tried to lean forward but couldn't move an inch with the rope around your wrists. This rope has successfully restrained Elijah, there was no way you were getting free until he cut you loose.

"I must say… that magic rope is quite a dangerous weapon, a threat to my family." He whispered against your ear, a hint of danger in his voice, sending an excited tingle through you.

You suddenly felt his strong hand wrap tightly around your neck. He wasn't squeezing yet but he was definitely letting you know who's in charge.

"You and I both know how I handle threats to my family," he said, pressing a kiss against your neck.

A moan escaped your lips and you could hear him chuckle. You were so wound up, you weren't sure how long you could take this.

"Stay quiet," Elijah commanded.

As if in punishment, he withdrew his hand from your throat, and you almost immediately missed the feeling of his warm hand against you. A sudden slap to your ass made your body jolt.

It burned from the force of it, his large, powerful palm practically covering your entire cheek. Every sensation was heightened by the tie around your eyes and you felt your whole body heating up, your blood rushing in anticipation of what was to come.

He hit you again, on the same cheek, harder than the last time. The sound of his hand hitting your flesh seemed to fill the room. Tears pooled in your covered eyes, the burning sensation making your body hum in pleasure, mixed with a bit of pain.

You weren't sure if you could handle one more of his heavy-handed swats. Your arms hurt from being pulled high above your head, and your wrists were already chafing.

You heard him reach into your night stand, searching for something that would bring you a different kind of pain. He found what he was looking for, trailing it down your spine. It was cold and smooth, and it made your stomach drop when you realized what it was.

"Eli- wait," you protested, none of this night was going to plan, but this? You had fantasized about it, sure, but this was-

Your mind went blank when he pushed it inside you, and without mercy, he switched it on. It buzzed to life and the sudden onslaught of the vibrations made your legs shake uncontrollably, your wrists burning slightly as you pulled on them.

It was like you were filled with electricity. And the noises you were making? They were a mix of moans and pleas for release, your body already nearing its limit.

His hand was gone, no more spanking and yet- the buzzing didn't stop, you had no release in sight and that's when you realized your mistake. He wasn't going to let you finish, the intention to drive you near your peak only to take you back down.

It was torture.

And you were absolutely loving it.

The minutes seem to tick by, maybe hours. Who knows anymore. All you're aware of is your trembling thighs, sweat glistening your back and your voice, cracking slightly as you scream and moan, writhing at the touch of his hand, then the hard buzzing once again.

"Hmm, we've never tried this setting before," he mused.

"Please Eli-"

He increased the intensity, a loud buzz echoing the room, and a series of vulgar curses escaping your lips, making him laugh.

The vibrator inside you was now pulsing at a rapid pace, the pleasure blinding, building, and there's nothing you can do to prevent the inevitable.

"Don't you dare come," he ordered.

"I can't-" you began, already starting to crumble under his control.

He gave the end of the vibrator a small twist and it hit a new spot that was pure euphoria. You tried to hold on, but it was impossible, your vision went white as an orgasm rocked through you, stealing your breath away, and all of the pent up tension that was burning in the depths of your core.

You let out an ecstasy-laced scream, every fiber in you igniting, every nerve firing at once as an immense surge of pleasure washed through your trembling body, shaking you to the core.

In that moment there was only bliss. The kind of sweet bliss that washes over your exhausted form, turning your limbs to rubber and melting your insides.

Your wrists ached, and you expected Elijah to untie you, but he had gone perfectly still behind you. Your heart began to race, suddenly filled with worry about whether he had become angered by your release. You honestly couldn't undergo another round of his erotic torture and live through it.

The silence and inaction was far worse than any punishment and you felt fear creep up your neck. Suddenly the vibrator turned back on at the max setting and his hand came down hard on your ass once again, leaving it stinging and burning, and tears brimming your lids, even as your body reacted with arousal.

You weren't even sure if your wrists could survive another round and it didn't help that the orgasm had made you sensitive to the point of numbness, but you can already feel your legs shaking, threatening to buckle underneath your exhausted form.

"Daddy, please I can't. I'll pass-" you started, the warning cut off with another slap.

You couldn't do it anymore, your wrists hurt more than the spanking. You remembered Davina had said that the rope could be undone with one word from you. Just as another spank was about to rain down, you rasped out 'confractus' and the rope fell off your wrists. You didn't waste a second, the moment you felt your hands free, you were tugging the blindfold down and pulling the vibrator out of you, tossing it across the bed and collapsing.

Elijah looked a bit shocked by your sudden escape, but that didn't stop him. With you no longer held in the bindings, he took it as another reason to keep punishing you and he grabbed your hips and pulled you underneath him.

His eyes were hard and wild, almost black, and his lips were curled up in a delicious smirk as he locked eyes with yours. The blindfold was held tight against your neck with one hand, keeping the pressure just enough to cause slight discomfort.

But then his eyes flicked to your wrists and the damage that had been done. The burns were deep, almost red and his demeanor changed instantly. His expression went soft, filled with remorse, but his dark, lust-filled eyes didn't change, still heated and primal, and needing release.

"I sometimes forget how delicate you are," he said softly, taking one of your wrists into his hand and giving a gentle kiss.

You flinched a little from the sting of it, watching his apology fill his eyes. You knew his guilt and self loathing was about to start, but before he could pull away, you reached up and grabbed the back of his neck and smashed your lips against his.

"I love when you get like this Eli," you admitted as the kiss broke, "Punishing me, fucking me, owning me. So don't start beating yourself up."

His response was an immediate hot sigh against your lips, relieved that he didn't hurt you.

"You do like the attention, do you?" he teased lightly, nuzzling your nose.

You nod, giving another kiss to the tip of his nose. "Always, but can you make this punishment worth it? It better end in a long, hot shower together or I might pass out," you whispered with a cheeky smile.

His shoulders shook from a silent laugh and his arms moved to either side of your face, caging you in with his warm presence, and you couldn't help the blush that spread through your cheeks as the emotion on his face flickered between the self-hating Elijah to the sweet one that you were in love with.

He ran his hand down your leg, then he lifted your thigh and held it against his hip and slowly, gently eased himself inside you. His lips were inches from and you couldn't look away. His eyes had softened now, and your heart melted at the devotion in them, only meant for you.

He slid his hand to the back of your neck as you clung to his shoulder, meeting him thrust for thrust as the pace gradually quickened. Your toes curled as waves of pleasure washed over you, but you held on this time, waiting for his permission, wanting to find release together.

His lips caressed your neck, his breathing ragged, and his movements became more erratic as his own control began to slip. The low, animalistic sounds rumbling in his chest nearly set you off, but somehow you managed to hang on.

Your mind is a fog, filled with everything Elijah; his smell, his warmth, the feeling of his skin against yours, the sound of his heavy breath, his low voice in your ear, his hips moving in a perfect tempo. It was overwhelming, dizzying, and intoxicating. You weren't sure how much longer you could hold out, especially with the way he was whispering your name like a prayer.

Your legs began to tremble again, Elijah knew you were close, and you were being so good for him. He could see the effort your restraint required in the furrow of your brow and the desperation in your eyes, he saw it in the twitching of your fingers and he felt the small spams from the place the two of you are joined.

"You've been such a good girl, come for me sweetheart," he cooed, nipping at your ear.

You closed your eyes and threw your head back. It felt like the earth beneath you cracked open and molten pleasure coursed through your veins, pouring into every cell and nerve, bathing you in absolute bliss.

Elijah kept rocking, dragging out your orgasm and making his own release finally explode throughout every part of him. As the both of you shook from pleasure, he didn't stop kissing you, kissing your cheeks, neck, and nose as the both of you tried to calm down. You clung to his biceps, relishing his touch, trying to calm down your raging heartbeat.

He released you and flipped onto his back, tugging you along, and making sure that you stayed close. You cuddled into his side, giving his chest small, gentle kisses.

He took your wrist, seeing the faint redness where the rope had burned your skin and gave it another tender kiss.

"Don't tell Klaus about the rope, he would not be very pleased to know you and Davina are making weapons behind his back, love."

You snorted and placed a soft kiss on his cheek, "how did you know it was Davina?"

He chuckled and rested his chin on the top of your head.

"Call it an educated guess," he teased and his hand playfully smacked your butt.

You both gave out a little chuckle before falling back into a comfortable silence. Your body had officially given out on you and exhaustion had taken over your form.

Elijah lifted you up out of bed and brought you to the shower, making sure that you were clean of any sticky sweat or traces of what had gone down moments ago. He wrapped his strong arms around you once you were dressed and both cleaned, bringing the covers around both of your bodies before kissing your forehead, and drifting off to sleep, holding you possessively against him.

This night didn't go as you planned, but you did not regret a thing.

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ae-azile · 3 days

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Working Title: The Non-Newtonian Newborn (Or How Kim Theerapanyakul Became a Virgin Father and Got the Guy of his Dreams)

Summary:

Kim’s fans can be a little…intense. Ever since Why Don't You Stay was released, Kim's fame has continued to rise, but so have the inappropriate comments and flirtations, number of stalkers, and the number of strange gifts. And none of those things matter when Chay has yet to say more than a few words to him. He doesn't want any of the excess attention, propositions for sex, or gifts unless it comes from Chay.

He's so pathetic. He doesn't know why people leave him gifts in front of his apartment building. But none of those compare to the confusion he feels when he finds a newborn baby outside his front door. It's the strangest “gift” he has ever received and it's one he has to contact the police over.

Again.

And again.

When the baby appears at the foot of his bed out of thin air, Kim figures he may need help that no cop can offer. But until he can find the kind of help he needs to get this baby out of his life, he is moving back to the compound for the first time since he was seventeen. He hates the thought of it, but he's not staying in his apartment with a cursed baby. At least Khun and Kinn are at the compound, as well as guards who can tend to this thing so Kim doesn't have to.

As for Chay’s presence? It's a big building. If Chay truly doesn't want to see him, Kim will stay out of his way, deal with this problem, and Chay will be none the wiser.

Pairings: KimChay, side Armkhun, side KinnPorsche, side VegasPete+Macau

Rating: M

Warnings: forced parenthood, stalking

Key Tags: Magical/Cursed babies, crack treated seriously, KimChay reconciliation, KimChay as co-parents, friends to crushes to enemies to co-parents to lovers.

Fic Preview Below Cut:

Kim can fully admit he once loved the attention he received from his music career, at least for the most part. The obvious lust some fans had for him could be a source of discomfort. Regardless of the charisma and occasional flirtatious disposition he would exude on stage, that wasn't really Kim. That was WIK.

After his fall out with Chay, it's harder to be WIK, which is a shame. His catapulting fame expects him to be WIK more than ever. However, “Kim” and “WIK” are no longer two sides of the same coin, not like Kim thought they once were. Kim and WIK are two very different people. Every day, it's gets harder and harder to be WIK, especially when both Kim and WIK remember what Kim had done.

He had been so fucking stupid. Why couldn't have he just asked Chay to talk privately when Chay confronted him outside the compound? Expressed why he did what he did? Done anything but admit his wrongs in the worst possible way, leave Chay a crying mess in front of the compound, and fuck up his own heart in the scheme of things? Despite Chay meeting him as WIK, Kim had felt like he could be himself around Chay - or at least the version of himself that Kim strived to be. Chay brought out a side that Kim could actually tolerate, one that wasn't forced. It was a side that felt affection, kindness, and hope, and it had been so easy to be and feel that way when he wasn’t reminded of why he was tutoring Chay in the first place.

He ruined everything. He may be more successful than ever, but he ruined everything.

“Khun K…Wik,” Clyde says, his voice coming out in a grunt as he holds a woman in a hold from behind, “You have another unwanted vis-”

“P’WIK!!!!!!!!"

Kim lets out a sigh and walks over to the woman, bending down slightly to make eye contact with her.

He hates eye contact.

“Thank you for your continued support,” Kim tells her as she struggles in Clyde’s arms, “But this is my home and I need to maintain boundaries for my continued safety-”

“I LOVE YOU, P’WIK!” the woman screeches in his face, trying to drop herself down to the floor. When she succeeds to an extent, she begins kicking at his ankles. Does she expect sudden love and devotion from him if she kicks his ankles?

“I am giving you a chance to go home without further action taken,” Kim tells her calmly, taking one step back, “Leave. Now.”

The woman’s breath is heaving as her kicking legs gradually come to a halt. She looks up at him with tear filled, adoring eyes and lets out a cry.

“I will show you we are soulmates, P’Wik. I swear I will.”

“Again, thank you for your continued support. Go home.”

The woman slowly gets to her feet and promptly launches herself at him. Kim really does not want to fight her. That isn't what he wants as he stands stiffly in her hold. But when she yanks at his hair and gets several stray fingers caught in between her fingers, Kim gives Clyde a nod and she is promptly tased.

“It's the third time she had come by this week,” Clyde says as she lies there in a daze, “She came in telling me you were meant to be together and that you were thinking of proposing soon.”

“What is her name again?” Kim asks, glancing down at her.

“Hom Thepnakorn. I suggest if you don't want to contact your father and have her taken care of the way he would insist on, then you should get a restraining order.”

One is brutal, but swift and can be swept under the rug. The other is a process that will likely attract some level of media attention.

But when Kim looks down at her, it's clear this woman is sick. Not evil, not a murderer. Sick and in need of help.

“Call the police, mention my father’s name if needed,” Kim says to Clyde, “Tell them that a woman who is in need of psychiatric support is at our address. Any other incidents today?”

Clyde lets out a sigh, puts on some gloves, and starts bringing up things from behind the desk, “You have been left three bouquets of flowers, two bras, four pairs of underwear, a jockstrap, a pizza in the shape of a heart, and a very large egg.”

Kim jerks his head back at the sight as Clyde opens the box, “A very large egg?”

Clyde nods Hom, who is still on the floor, “She wanted to give it to you. It doesn't seem to be a bomb.”

Kim looks down at the egg, then picks it up out of the case.

“Khun Wik, we don't know what substances could be on it.”

“Why would you give me an egg?” Kim says, looking down at it. It's green. It's also glowing.

“Will this blow me up?”

Hom blinks, then shakes her head, “Never, P’Wik. You are my soulmate. I would never hurt you or anyone you care about.”

“Hm,” Kim acknowledges, then promptly lets the egg fall to the ground. Clyde lets out shout and takes cover, all while Kim looks down in fascination at the swirling orange, green, purple, and white substance. It swirls around Kim’s feet, never mixing in color, yet is rapidly swirling around him.

“What is this?” Kim asks more directly, entranced and confused by the sight.

He had dropped it in hopes of breaking the woman’s heart. When he broke Chay’s heart, Chay pretty much blocked Kim out of his life. It's Kim's biggest regret and the rare dinners Kim has to go to that Chay also attends are a source of intense pain, but also the one thing Kim looks forwards to. It's pathetic. Kim had thought this woman might banish him out of her life for doing the same. At least it would be wanted.

But that doesn't seem to be the case. Instead of screaming or crying with heartbreak and disappointment, the woman squeals with delight, kicking her feet against the floor as if she is the happiest woman on earth. She crawls over just far enough to release the stray hairs from her fingertips, letting them fall into the swirling circle. Kim can't help but be disturbed by the happy and satisfied glint in her eye, all while Clyde takes on the task of calling the police for the assistance of removing a mentally ill woman. As they wait, the woman just stays on the ground while she watches the swirling liquid with fascination. When Kim tries to step out of the circle that has formed around him, it follows and forms a circle around him once more.

“It's pink!” She shouts, pointing at the circle, “That's exactly what I wanted!”

Kim glances down at the liquid in absolute confusion. If anything, those colors should have mixed into a murky brown or gray. But sure enough, the circle around him is light yet vibrant pastel pink. It only stops and disappears through the floor seconds before the cops arrive.

“You’ll love me soon, P’Wik,” the woman says, smiling brightly as two cops pick her up off the floor, handcuff her, and escort her through the door, “I promise. We will be tied together forever. We’re soulmates, I know it-”

“Come on, ma’am,” one of the cops say, “To the car. You are lucky this man isn't taking further action against you-”

“I LOVE YOU, P’WIK!!!”

Kim makes sure he says nothing in return, focusing on giving his statement on what happened before addressing Clyde directly.

“I'm sorry for the added stress that my…admirers have caused you recently-”

“Khun Kim, with all do respect, she and several others who have stopped by the building are stalkers.”

Kim clears his throat, “I feel like that's a bit harsh-”

“If I may speak out of turn again, it really isn't.”

That's probably fair. On top of that, Clyde is mostly dealing with these visitors independently. Prior to the release of his new album, Kim saw no need to have excess security for the building. Logically, he knows he should have it, considering his job, as well as when he is reminded of whose son he is. But having guards on every corner reminds him of a childhood he didn't want. He sometimes fantasizes of a childhood where his mother lived past Kim's ninth birthday, one where Kinn could pursue music like Kim has, and one where Khun could have stayed popular, charismatic, academically gifted, and safe.

Pa never makes the cut for these fantasies, and they never take place at the compound. The family home Kim often dreams up strangely looks like the one Chay grew up in.

“I will hire a few more guards,” Kim says quietly. He hates the idea of it, but Clyde has been his doorman for a long time, and an employee of his family’s even longer. He was Ma’s guard, so when Kim was required to have at least one guard as a staff in this building, he chose him. He doesn't want him to leave, nor does he want him to get hurt.

“I apologize for the chaos and stress people have brought you,” Kim continues, “I know you didn't sign up for this when you first started here-”

“I signed up to protect you, Khun Kim, which is why I am concerned about the influx of these behaviors coming from various people,” Clyde says, then points at the floor, “We don't even know what that liquid was! I could be a health hazard! It swirled around you, changed colors, then got absorbed by the floorboards! If I thought I was seeing things!”

“It was probably just some…non-newtonian fluid.”

“Lava is a non-newtonian fluid, so is blood. Both can be harmful.”

“And some aren't,” Kim says, “Like ketchup.”

“That was NOT ketchup-”

“I’ve had a long day,” Kim says, walking towards the elevator, “I’ll look into more guards. Make sure the doors are locked tonight before your shift is over. Unless the are a tenant, make sure Red knows not to let anyone in.”

Clyde breathes out, “...Yes, Khun Kim. But if I may make one suggestion.”

Since the elevator hasn't arrived yet, Kim nods his head.

“Go on.”

“Stay at the compound for a while. It's safer there, and you will have more people who can come to your aid if something like this would happen again. Your address has clearly been leaked, and it has been attracting people you frankly don't want to attract. Even if they figure out you are staying with your family, it will be so much safer and you will likely avoid running into any of these stalkers at all-”

“No.”

“Khun Kim-”

“I said no,” Kim says, his voice more stern, “This will pass, Clyde. No one has come here with weapons. The most this woman did was lightly kick at my ankles and pull a few strands of my hair. That's it. I will get you more support staff, and I will even let you take some time off if that's what you need. But I am not moving back there. Ever.”

He could swear that Clyde is grumbling under his breath and rolling his eyes, but Kim isn’t going to call him out on it. He has a right to be frustrated. Kim understands the current situation is annoying.

But it still won't make Kim budge. He doesn't want to be around Pa, and Chay doesn't want to be around him. So he sticks to his decision, gets inside the elevator when it dings, goes to the top floor, and plans for a relaxing night.

It's easier said than done. It's hard to relax during any downtime he has. Silence brings on thinking, and thinking brings on obsessing over Chay. It has been about nine months since everything happened with Tawan. Nine months since Chay figured out who Kim really was.

It fucking hurts. Nine months later, and it still fucking hurts.

When the memories and regrets get to him this much, he has a habit of skipping dinner. He knows it isn't good for him, and he will sometimes find ways to climb his way out of this habit by cooking for himself. But last time he did that, he he squirted a smiley face on his plate with Sriracha sauce and it was a downward emotional spiral from there.

He chooses not to eat tonight, although maybe he should have. By the time he is ready for bed and brushing his teeth, a bout of sudden nausea hits him so intensely that it has him diving in front of the toilet to heave up the little he ate for lunch. It's painful, confusing, and frustrating. He never throws up.

He wonders if he is getting sick. Maybe it's stress from the stalker. Maybe the swirling, non-newtonian fluid omitted some sort of poisonous gas and now he's suffering the consequences.

He's probably overthinking it. Soon enough, he feels better. Slightly sore, but better. He's fine.

And even if he's not, so be it.

However, he can't help but worry slightly when he wakes up just as the sun is rising, feeling queasy again. He tries to push off the nausea for as long as he can until it becomes unbearable and he find himself throwing up in the toilet once more, spitting up a mixture of water and yellow bile.

He ends up not going into the studio. He usually would, but he doesn't have any pressing matters to attend to or any rehearsals scheduled. In fact, his people have been hinting to take advantage of the downtime. They think he has been stressed, and they say that his stress in particular is contagious.

So Kim will stay home today. He wouldn't want his employees and colleagues to catch this bug, or whatever stressful aura he has been giving off.

But when he hears something on the other side of the door, he wonders if he should have gone after all. It sounds like a cat. Maybe it belongs to one of his neighbors. That's the last thing Kim needs to do right now, call around and ask his neighbors who is missing a cat.

Regardless, he gets up and checks anyway. He likes cats, and one feeling stressed out by accidentally finding itself on the top floor isn't something Kim wants until he opens the door, takes in what it actually is, and wishes it were a cat instead.

“Why?” is all Kim asks, staring down at the baby, who is loosely swaddled in a pastel pink blanket, “Seriously. Who are you and why are you here?”

The baby gurgles happily and brings their arms out of the blanket, lifting them upwards. If Kim didn't know any better, he would assume the baby wants to be picked up. But this baby doesn't know him and Kim doesn't know this baby.

“No,” Kim says, then immediately shuts the door, leaving the baby in the hall. He can only keep up with that for about ten seconds before opening the door again, stepping out into the hallway, and begrudgingly lowering himself to the ground. As he looks at the baby, he feels extreme reluctance before reaching over to feel around their blanket.

“Who left you here?” Kim mutters to himself, looking for some kind of clue, “Do you have a tag or anything?

The baby just gurgles happily and lifts their arms again. Kim practically jumps out of his skin when the baby grabs a hold of his pointer finger and just…keeps holding it.

“I need that back,” Kim says stiffly, but lets them hold his finger until they let go on their own accord. Once they do, he calls down to the front desk.

“Have we had any visitors yet today?” Kim asks as soon as Clyde answers the phone.

“No, Khun Kim. It has been quiet so far.”

“I need you to go through the security footage and check,” Kim says, giving the baby a wary glance, “Someone left something outside my door.”

“What?”

“Look at the live feed and see for yourself.”

Kim waits silently as Clyde clicks whatever he needs to click to view Kim’s hallway camera feed. As soon as he does, Clyde clears his throat.

“Is that a baby, Khun Kim?”

“Yes.”

“A living and breathing baby.”

Kim shifts over to peer at the baby’s face, “Seems to be.”

“...I see. I will rewind the footage, see when they were left by your door, and then call the authorities. If you would like to bring them down, they can just pick the baby up out front.”

Kim really doesn't want to pick this baby up. But he would rather not invite people he doesn't know up to his floor, so he supposes he will suck it up and do it.

“You didn't take any breaks that would have left the front desk unoccupied?” Kim asks, holding the cellphone in the crook of his neck as he hesitantly and carefully lifts the baby into his arms.

“Of course not. Not with what happened yesterday.”

“What about our tenants? Are there any new parents?”

“No, Khun Kim. I am just as confused by this as you are. But I will make sure the child is handed over to the proper channels swiftly.”

“Good,” Kim mutters, staring down at the baby as he hangs up the phone. When he steps into the elevator, he sees the hint of a white piece of paper, nestled between the pink fabric and the baby’s stomach. Kim reaches in to grab it, then unfolds it with one hand.

Meet our beautiful love child.

You are my soulmate, P’Wik.

This proves it.

May our baby girl tie us together forever.

Love, Hom.

Only a part of Kim takes in the fact the letter is written in blood.

…This morning is stupid. All he wanted was a sick day.

#kimchay fic #fic preview #kimchay fanfic #one-shot preview #it shall be a long one-shot #but it WILL be a one-shot #I am manifesting #kid!fic #tw: stalking #tw: forced parenthood #kimchay #magic baby

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