#smart bricks house

[misteria247]

Me laying in my bed

My brain: Zenigata

Me blushing: Yes

[mawofthemagnetar]

Throwback to my first time cheating at multiplayer minecraft. Put your torches down, let me explain. And no, I haven’t done it since.

I don’t remember what version it was, only that it was a very long time ago. Food healed hearts directly, and- this is the important part- mossy cobblestone could not be crafted or mined anywhere in the overworld save the floors of dungeons.

It also was a brilliant, vibrant green, so much more aggressive than its current gentle texture, but that’s neither here nor there.

I was playing on a survival server I’ve long since forgotten the name of, and I was putting the finishing touches on my lovely brick house. But the floor, no no. I was a picky child; only the finest of flooring would do.

I wanted mossy cobblestone.

Immediately I was at an impasse. I could strip mine and explore caves in the hope of finding one dungeon; but I needed two whole stacks of it for my floor. There was no /locate command at the time, and I knew nobody else well enough to ask for it. And at the time, chunkbase and other seed scanning tools didn’t exist; not that it would have helped, since I didn’t have the world seed.

Perplexed, I logged off and consulted with friends at school the next day.

There, I was advised to try an x-ray texture pack.

So I did.

And it worked a treat! The dungeons were rendered perfectly visible to me, and I easily dug straight down (smart and subtle!) and raked in the precious mossy cobblestone I needed.

At one point, one of the mods asked me in chat if I was x-raying. Having just turned off the pack minutes before the message came through, I cheerfully said no and skipped off to finish my floor.

At no point during this entire exercise did it occur to child me to use the x-ray pack to mine for the diamonds I could clearly see.

[mariasont]

Talking to a Brick Wall - A.H

a/n: rip erin strauss you would've hated this fic

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader

summary: in which you overhear your boyfriend aaron's phone call

warnings: hurt/comfort, angst, miscommunication, self-doubt, happy ending but also a terrible ending bc i SUCK at endings xoxo

wc: 2.3k

You had called out your boyfriend's name multiple times as you wandered into his house. He had asked you a while ago if you wanted to come over for a movie night tonight and hell would have to freeze over before you ever declined that offer. However, upon arrival, you were greeted by silence; no response to the doorbell, his phone, or your voice. Thankfully, the key he'd given you last year jingled in your pocket as you let yourself in.

You had a pretty strong suspicion he'd be in his office--after all, this was Aaron Hotchner, a man who definitely did not believe in leaving work at the office. 

And sure enough, his voice filtered through the slightly ajar door, the rich hue of his mahogany desk framing the gap. You were about to move towards the living room, assuming he was on a work call of some sorts, but his words stopped you dead in your tracks. 

"It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm speaking, but the understanding isn't there. You know what I mean? It's like the concepts just float in one ear and out the other."

You caught your bottom lip between your teeth, brows drawn together, as your hand found the wall, leaning towards the door. He couldn't have been talking about you, right?

"I try to share details, to get her involved, but it's met with this vacant nod. As if the depth of it all just doesn't register."

Oh. Her. You tried to fan away the wetness that threatened to fall down your cheeks, each rapid motion a desperate attempt to convince yourself you were imagining things. 

"And I'm patient, I really am. But when you're met with that blank look, it's... disheartening. You start to wonder if it's worth explaining at all. It's like talking to a wall."

Okay, that stung. It was like an immediate punch to the gut, your heart seeming to drop into the pit of your stomach. Your shoulders slumped slightly as you tried to rationalize his words, but nothing was really making sense right now.

The internal battle was a cruel one: stay and endure the sharp sting of his words or leave and miss more of what he had to say. The latter won, pulling you away from the door. 

You knew you were never going to be the smartest person in the room, and in the past, it was a source of deep-seated insecurity, always a silent specter in the corners of your mind. But then you met Aaron. And he made everything just better. His own intelligence and impressive job never became a yardstick for your worth; he ensured you knew you were more than enough, just as you were.

He had always been the voice reminding you that you were smart in your own right, telling you that your worth transcended any numerical measure of intelligence like a stupid IQ score. But now you were questioning everything. 

Anger seemed like the appropriate response, right? But it was hard to be when his words carried a weight of truth to them. 

You did have a hard time keeping up when he talked about the complexities of his cases, sometimes feeling like an outsider looking in. But, even if you didn't understand, his passion for what he did was infectious, and you hung on to every word when he explained all the ways his smart brain was able to deduce things about people. 

Still, a part of you imagined it was hard for him, that it probably got old fast when you weren't able to hold an intelligent conversation. 

Your knuckles were white against the steering wheel, and it somehow took you only ten minutes to get home when it should've taken you twenty.

It was only when you had taken a shower, put on your favorite pair of pink sweats, brought out some Ben and Jerry's, and turned on Legally Blonde, did you check your phone.

Hi honey. What time are you coming over?

You tried to ignore the sensation of an invisible band drawing tighter across your chest. 

so sorry, not feeling good. rain check? xoxo

You hated lying to him. Hated lying in general, save for the occasional white lie to protect someone's feelings. The fact that you weren't lying to his face was a small mercy, because obviously he'd be able to see right through you.

Do you want me to come there? I can bring food.

You wanted to be with him, you really did, you had been counting down the days to this movie night all week. But the thought of sitting beside him, wanting to ask about his day, about his work, now seemed like an intrusion. Knowing that your well-intentioned questions might be a chore for him or a source of frustration. The realization pressed down on you, a heavy weight that threatened to snuff your light.

no that's okie! thank you though <3 i don't want to get you sick!

Your phone was ringing, his name lighting up the screen for a FaceTime call, it felt like a betrayal of your own making. It was a skill you had recently taught him (which took forever), and of course now he was using it. Your finger jabbed at the red button, your cheeks turning the same color. 

i look & sound disgustinggg rn

I know for a fact that's incorrect. You have a magical talent of looking incredible no matter what.

I want to see your pretty face.

you can be so flattering when u want to mister!

im going to take some medicine & then ill call u l8, k?

Hmm, okay.

love u! xoxo

I love you too, pretty girl.

You hated this. Your eyes were puffy, swollen and wet as you discarded the phone onto the nightstand. He deserved someone who wasn't so pathetic. 

You wallowed in self-pity all night, and then all day, and then all week. You went through the motions--getting up, going to work, and then making up some lame excuse when Aaron asked to see you. Name it, and you had probably said it. In reality, you had been holed up in your room, trading glossy magazine pages for confusing behavioral books.

The subject matter was as dull as dishwater, making paint-watching seem thrilling. But you were committed to bringing some depth to your next conversation with him.

Today's excuse had been some half-truths about being buried in work--which in hindsight seemed comical, given you worked at a bakery and there wasn't much that could take up your time outside of contract hours.

You were splayed across the couch in an upside-down sprawl as you attempted to focus on the scholarly gibberish that filled the pages. 'Homology,' 'dichotomy,' and 'typology' melded into a migraine-inducing blur, tempting you to slam the book shut. You were fighting every urge to throw it out the window and paint your nails with that new glittery polish you've been dying to try.

At the insistent knock, you clapped the book shut (thank god) and stood, brows knitting, as you navigated to the door with a soft scuffle of slippers on polished wood. 

Flinging it open, you halted, breath caught. "Aaron? Oh, hi, what are you doing here?"

The words sprang forth before you could catch them, your hands scrambling up to smooth the evidence of your couch-induced disarray. 

He fixes you a pointed stare as he steps into your apartment, invitation be damned you guess. "I find myself repeating this, yet it seems necessary--peephole first, then the door, sweetheart."

You clamp your teeth onto your lip with such force, you're convinced you've tasted blood. "Oh, right, sorry... I should've remembered."

A flicker of foolishness and a heavy dose of self-consciousness threaten to surface. However, you quickly subdue them, tucking them away as you wrapped your arms around your body, offering him a small smile. Despite everything, your heart leaps at the sight of him. You missed him.

His face softens, his touch soft as he tilts your chin upward. "Look at me. It's fine. I just want to make sure my best girl is safe, that's all."

The temptation to simply crumble there and then, to forget everything and cocoon yourself in his arms, was overwhelming. 

You leaned into his hand without thinking, which now claimed the entire area of your cheek. He was always so warm. 

You watch as Aaron glances around the room, no doubt noting the absence of work-related clutter. "Still working?"

"Oh, I was, I told my boss I'd help with inventory reports." That part wasn't totally a lie, but it still made your conscience squirm with guilt.

"Do you want help?"

The proposal touches a raw nerve, sparking a defensive reflex. Did he think you were incapable?

 "Thanks, but I'm actually all done with them," you lie, your a smile a little too rigid as you head into the living room.

You're keenly aware of his approaching footsteps as you hastily stash that stupid book under a magazine, silently praying he didn't notice. You settle onto the couch, and he joins you, casually drawing your legs over his lap as you recline against the cushions.

"How was your day?"

You wince internally at the automatic question. 

"Not too bad," He replies with an easy shrug, his fingers sneaking under your sweats at the ankles, tracing lazy circles on your calves. "We wrapped up some paperwork, had a couple of briefings, and oh, we were introduced to our new consultant today. She specializes in crypto linguistics--really fascinating stuff."

Your eyes flutter briefly, a constriction forming in your throat, a twist in your gut. The mere mention of the consultant being a she amplifies your feelings of insufficiency. It leaves you wondering, why would Aaron ever be interested in someone like you?

"Crypto linguistics?" you repeat, trying to sound curious rather than lost. 

He leans in closer to you. "It's a specialized area of linguistics focused on decoding encrypted languages."

You offer a nod, managing a convincing "Yeah, of course," even as your eyes unwittingly drift away from his unwavering stare, betraying a hint of your confusion.

Aaron's hand cradles your head, his fingers sifting through your hair. "Hey," he murmurs, drawing your attention back, "what's going on in that pretty head of yours?"

Your chin touches your chest as you mumble, barely audible, "hardly anything."

Aaron's expression turns to a frown, his broad hands guiding your ass and thighs as he positions you atop his lap, face-to-face, leaving you exposed with no place to hide. Your name escapes him with a sigh. "I don't believe that for a second."

You match his frown with your own pout, nestling your face into his neck, concealing the rosy hue that has claimed your cheeks. "Just a rough week is all."

"Is that so?" His voice was a gentle murmur, his hands soothingly moving in gentle sweeps across your back as you breathed out unsteadily. "Funny, that's been my week too. My gorgeous girlfriend seems to have been avoiding me all week."

"Have not," you mumble, your breath warm against his skin, fingers weaving through the hair at the nape of his neck.

He hummed. "Why don't you tell me what's wrong."

"It's silly."

He guided your face back to his, eyes searching yours. "Listen to me. No, it's not. I don't like when you try to diminish your feelings. Talk to me, honey."

That was your tipping point. A wobble in your lip betrays the onset of tears as your voice breaks.

"I just--I know I'm not as smart as the people you work with or even your past girlfriends. I know I don't get things right away especially when you talk about work, and I see how everyone else is so quick, and I'm here, always a few steps behind. I know that it must be frustrating for you, and I'm scared that one day, you'll get tired of explaining, and your patience will run out, and well, you'll see... you'll see that--"

"Baby, whoa, slow down," Aaron urges, his palms tenderly framing your face, a frown plastered over his face. Your heart hammers against your chest, its rapid beats almost audible, as if it might jump from your body. "Take a deep breath, okay? Can you do that for me?"

You draw in a breath.

His thumb delicately erases the tears that have made their way down your cheek.

"When there is something about my work you don't understand, I will gladly go over it as many times as you need. I don't expect you to know everything about that stuff, why would you? That's not why I'm with you. I'm with you because of your incredibly kind heart and the way you see the best in people. I love you because you are you. What is making you think this way, honey? It's breaking my heart."

"I overheard you Aaron," you said, "saying that sometimes it feels like you're talking to a wall when you talk to me."

"What?" he questioned, but his confusion was quickly morphed into concern. "Oh, sweetheart, no. I was talking about Strauss and her lack of understanding of our fieldwork."

"Oh."

"I would never speak about you like that, you know that, right? And if, in some alternate universe, I did, you need to break up with me, or better yet, set me straight." His hands stayed firmly on your face. "You should never tolerate that from me or anyone else, understood?"

You bit down on your lip, hands resting on his shoulders as you nodded. "Yes, sir."

He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, sending fireworks to every inch of you as he mumbled against your mouth, "that's my girl."

taglist: @hotchhner

[riality-check]

DILF!Steve concert saga, featuring Eddie POV for this part! part 1, part 2

"I have to open it."

"Nope."

"Gareth. I need to open it."

"The vault is sacred," Archie says.

At the same time, Jeff chimes in, "The vault was your idea, Eddie."

Eddie thunks his head against the wall. "I know. But I need-"

"They're on the last song," Archie says, putting a hand on Eddie's shoulder. It's probably meant to be comforting, but it feels patronizing as shit.

Eddie is a good friend, though. He doesn't shrug him off.

"Once they're through, I'll unlock it," Jeff says, dangling the key slung around his neck.

"But you could do it now," Eddie protests.

Gareth sits protectively on top of the black lock box. "Absolutely not."

Eddie sighs and waits for the guitar solo onstage to end, nodding his head along to the beat.

It's what he usually does when they're backstage, but this time, it brings a smile to his face. Miss Anna was a natural yesterday for her first time headbanging, and her dad is the reason Eddie wants to break the sacred vault tradition.

He wants, no, needs to know if he got the note. If he decided to write something. If he wants to go a little further than PG flirting.

Eddie for sure wants to go further than that. God. Steve's handsome face and his big hands and his thick thighs (deliciously exposed by his shorts in the summer heat) are all wonderful incentives to skip a few steps and go straight to ramming him into a mattress.

Or, with how that shirt clung to Steve's biceps and how his shorts clung to his ass, let him ram Eddie into the mattress. He isn't picky.

(He isn't desperate, either, thank you very much, Gareth. And no, he won't admit how long it's been since he got laid.)

From the house, the audience roars, and Eddie jumps off the arm of the couch he was laying on.

Gareth sighs and gets off the lock box.

"Jeff, open it," Eddie says, staring at the vault and subconsciously making grabby hands toward it.

"Is that how we ask?"

"I could always yank the key off you."

Archie sighs and, ever the peacemaker, takes the key from Jeff and unlocks the vault. The second it's open, Eddie snatches his phone and turns it on.

Please please please let the DILF text back, he thinks to himself as he waits for this stupid metal brick to turn on and give him a resolution to this whole ridiculous situation.

Because, first, Eddie doesn't really jive with kids. Sure, they flock to him in the same way they flock to every other vaguely cool-looking person, but aside from asking if he has to draw his tattoos on every day or if his mommy is okay with him having his hair that long, they generally leave him alone.

And that's okay. Eddie easily made his peace with not having kids about ten years ago. Between his strong preference for men and the way that significantly decreases those odds and the choice to not pass on his truly abysmal family history of mental illness and addiction, it seemed obvious and a lot more selfless.

But Anna was cool as hell. Smart as hell, too, in a way that made Eddie feel like he was looking back at a time before school punished him for being bright and verbose and energetic.

Anna didn't make him want kids. Again, the whole family history thing is a real vibe killer. But she did give him enough fuel, for just an instant, to think that dating someone with a kid might not be a deal breaker anymore.

Or maybe Steve was just that hot.

He whined a lot yesterday, in the hotel, about how hot Steve was.

His phone turns on, and, front and center, is a text from an unknown number:

I guess I don’t have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we’re even on that front, I’m a teacher, and Anna’s full time job is preschool.

Eddie grins so hard he feels like his face will split in two.

"Is it him?" Jeff asks, trying to look over Eddie's shoulder.

"Of course it is," Gareth scoffs. "Look at his face."

"What did he say?" Archie asks.

Eddie takes the easier way out and lets him have the phone.

Gareth and Jeff crowd over Archie's shoulders, and Eddie watches their faces change as they read the message.

"Oh, he's bitchy," Gareth says.

"That means he's perfect," Jeff says, with a pointed look at Eddie.

Eddie shoots Archie a clear "back me up" look and gets a shrug in return because all his friends are assholes who know his type way too fucking well.

"What do I say?" he asks.

Archie tosses him the phone. "I don't know. Flirt back."

"I don't know how!"

"You ground against a guitar-"

"And kissed me onstage," Jeff continues. "But you don't know how to flirt?"

Eddie puts his head in his hands. "I didn't have enough sex in high school to know how to do this!"

"That's not an excuse when none of us did!" Gareth says.

Jeff barks out a laugh.

"Just ask if he's free tomorrow," Archie says, like the rational, wonderful friend he is. "This was the last stop of tour. It's not like you have to get anywhere else at a specific time."

"Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that," Eddie says, hyping himself up. Before he can second guess himself, he writes back.

Since it's summer, I'm assuming you both have off. Can you fit it in your busy schedule to have dinner with a humble musician tomorrow night?

"Oh, shit, did you send it?" Gareth asks, snatching his phone.

"Wait," Archie says, like the rational, horrible friend he is. "Do we know if he's single?"

"Oh, shit," Jeff whispers.

Eddie takes his phone back and refuses to look at it. He wants to shut it down. He wants to drop it. He wants to drive to nearest river and throw it there.

"Am I a homewrecker?" he asks absently.

"Only if you succeed," Jeff says.

"He might have a wife," Archie muses. "He might be straight."

"Okay, dude, enough," Gareth says. "This was supposed to be exciting! Eddie was supposed to get ass!"

"He might be ace."

"Archie, shut the fuck up."

He holds his hands up in surrender, and Jeff pats his shoulder, a little comfortingly, a lot condescendingly.

Eddie sits down on the couch. Puts his head in his hands. Breathes.

He's flirting with a married man. He's absolutely flirting with a married man. This is a new low. This is worse than the time he licked the floor of a restaurant, drunk, for five bucks. This is worse than when he greened out in the parking lot of a Chuck E. Cheese. This is worse than when he accidentally told the gas station cashier that he loved them and immediately walked into the glass door behind him.

This is. So bad.

And then his phone rings, so it'll get worse. It has to. That's how these things go.

Eddie has always been self-destructive, so, of course, he looks at the screen.

I can't swing dinner, but how's lunch? Fair warning: it might be a playground picnic if my babysitter bails.

"Holy shit, I'm not a homewrecker," Eddie says.

"I didn't think you had it in you," Jeff says.

"He's single!" Gareth cheers.

"Can I talk now?" Archie teases.

"I'm not a homewrecker!" Eddie says, and he launches off the couch to hug the nearest person, who happens to be Jeff.

They have to get out of the venue. He has to figure out the logistics of the date and how to be normal by the time he gets there and what to wear and everything else.

But, right now, Eddie is over the fucking moon that Steve is even giving him a shot. And he hopes, giddy as all hell and hanging off of Jeff's shoulders, that Steve feels even a little bit like this.

He writes back, once he's calmed down:

Lunch might just become my new favorite meal.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Leveraged buyouts are not like mortgages

I'm coming to DEFCON! On FRIDAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

Here's an open secret: the confusing jargon of finance is not the product of some inherent complexity that requires a whole new vocabulary. Rather, finance-talk is all obfuscation, because if we called finance tactics by their plain-language names, it would be obvious that the sector exists to defraud the public and loot the real economy.

Take "leveraged buyout," a polite name for stealing a whole goddamned company:

Identify a company that owns valuable assets that are required for its continued operation, such as the real-estate occupied by its outlets, or even its lines of credit with suppliers;

Approach lenders (usually banks) and ask for money to buy the company, offering the company itself (which you don't own!) as collateral on the loan;

Offer some of those loaned funds to shareholders of the company and convince a key block of those shareholders (for example, executives with large stock grants, or speculators who've acquired large positions in the company, or people who've inherited shares from early investors but are disengaged from the operation of the firm) to demand that the company be sold to the looters;

Call a vote on selling the company at the promised price, counting on the fact that many investors will not participate in that vote (for example, the big index funds like Vanguard almost never vote on motions like this), which means that a minority of shareholders can force the sale;

Once you own the company, start to strip-mine its assets: sell its real-estate, start stiffing suppliers, fire masses of workers, all in the name of "repaying the debts" that you took on to buy the company.

This process has its own euphemistic jargon, for example, "rightsizing" for layoffs, or "introducing efficiencies" for stiffing suppliers or selling key assets and leasing them back. The looters – usually organized as private equity funds or hedge funds – will extract all the liquid capital – and give it to themselves as a "special dividend." Increasingly, there's also a "divi recap," which is a euphemism for borrowing even more money backed by the company's assets and then handing it to the private equity fund:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

If you're a Sopranos fan, this will all sound familiar, because when the (comparatively honest) mafia does this to a business, it's called a "bust-out":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bust_Out

The mafia destroys businesses on a onesy-twosey, retail scale; but private equity and hedge funds do their plunder wholesale.

It's how they killed Red Lobster:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

And it's what they did to hospitals:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/#charnel-house

It's what happened to nursing homes, Armark, private prisons, funeral homes, pet groomers, nursing homes, Toys R Us, The Olive Garden and Pet Smart:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

It's what happened to the housing co-ops of Cooper Village, Texas energy giant TXU, Old Country Buffet, Harrah's and Caesar's:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/14/billionaire-class-solidarity/#club-deals

And it's what's slated to happen to 2.9m Boomer-owned US businesses employing 32m people, whose owners are nearing retirement:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/16/schumpeterian-terrorism/#deliberately-broken

Now, you can't demolish that much of the US productive economy without attracting some negative attention, so the looter spin-machine has perfected some talking points to hand-wave away the criticism that borrowing money using something you don't own as collateral in order to buy it and wreck it is obviously a dishonest (and potentially criminal) destructive practice.

The most common one is that borrowing money against an asset you don't own is just like getting a mortgage. This is such a badly flawed analogy that it is really a testament to the efficacy of the baffle-em-with-bullshit gambit to convince us all that we're too stupid to understand how finance works.

Sure: if I put an offer on your house, I will go to my credit union and ask the for a mortgage that uses your house as collateral. But the difference here is that you own your house, and the only way I can buy it – the only way I can actually get that mortgage – is if you agree to sell it to me.

Owner-occupied homes typically have uncomplicated ownership structures. Typically, they're owned by an individual or a couple. Sometimes they're the property of an estate that's divided up among multiple heirs, whose relationship is mediated by a will and a probate court. Title can be contested through a divorce, where disputes are settled by a divorce court. At the outer edge of complexity, you get things like polycules or lifelong roommates who've formed an LLC s they can own a house among several parties, but the LLC will have bylaws, and typically all those co-owners will be fully engaged in any sale process.

Leveraged buyouts don't target companies with simple ownership structures. They depend on firms whose equity is split among many parties, some of whom will be utterly disengaged from the firm's daily operations – say, the kids of an early employee who got a big stock grant but left before the company grew up. The looter needs to convince a few of these "owners" to force a vote on the acquisition, and then rely on the idea that many of the other shareholders will simply abstain from a vote. Asset managers are ubiquitous absentee owners who own large stakes in literally every major firm in the economy. The big funds – Vanguard, Blackrock, State Street – "buy the whole market" (a big share in every top-capitalized firm on a given stock exchange) and then seek to deliver returns equal to the overall performance of the market. If the market goes up by 5%, the index funds need to grow by 5%. If the market goes down by 5%, then so do those funds. The managers of those funds are trying to match the performance of the market, not improve on it (by voting on corporate governance decisions, say), or to beat it (by only buying stocks of companies they judge to be good bets):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/17/shareholder-socialism/#asset-manager-capitalism

Your family home is nothing like one of these companies. It doesn't have a bunch of minority shareholders who can force a vote, or a large block of disengaged "owners" who won't show up when that vote is called. There isn't a class of senior managers – Chief Kitchen Officer! – who have been granted large blocks of options that let them have a say in whether you will become homeless.

Now, there are homes that fit this description, and they're a fucking disaster. These are the "heirs property" homes, generally owned by the Black descendants of enslaved people who were given the proverbial 40 acres and a mule. Many prosperous majority Black settlements in the American South are composed of these kinds of lots.

Given the historical context – illiterate ex-slaves getting property as reparations or as reward for fighting with the Union Army – the titles for these lands are often muddy, with informal transfers from parents to kids sorted out with handshakes and not memorialized by hiring lawyers to update the deeds. This has created an irresistible opportunity for a certain kind of scammer, who will pull the deeds, hire genealogists to map the family trees of the original owners, and locate distant descendants with homeopathically small claims on the property. These descendants don't even know they own these claims, don't even know about these ancestors, and when they're offered a few thousand bucks for their claim, they naturally take it.

Now, armed with a claim on the property, the heirs property scammers force an auction of it, keeping the process under wraps until the last instant. If they're really lucky, they're the only bidder and they can buy the entire property for pennies on the dollar and then evict the family that has lived on it since Reconstruction. Sometimes, the family will get wind of the scam and show up to bid against the scammer, but the scammer has deep capital reserves and can easily win the auction, with the same result:

https://www.propublica.org/series/dispossessed

A similar outrage has been playing out for years in Hawai'i, where indigenous familial claims on ancestral lands have been diffused through descendants who don't even know they're co-owner of a place where their distant cousins have lived since pre-colonial times. These descendants are offered small sums to part with their stakes, which allows the speculator to force a sale and kick the indigenous Hawai'ians off their family lands so they can be turned into condos or hotels. Mark Zuckerberg used this "quiet title and partition" scam to dispossess hundreds of Hawai'ian families:

https://archive.is/g1YZ4

Heirs property and quiet title and partition are a much better analogy to a leveraged buyout than a mortgage is, because they're ways of stealing something valuable from people who depend on it and maintain it, and smashing it and selling it off.

Strip away all the jargon, and private equity is just another scam, albeit one with pretensions to respectability. Its practitioners are ripoff artists. You know the notorious "carried interest loophole" that politicians periodically discover and decry? "Carried interest" has nothing to do with the interest on a loan. The "carried interest" rule dates back to 16th century sea-captains, and it refers to the "interest" they had in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

Private equity managers are like sea captains in exactly the same way that leveraged buyouts are like mortgages: not at all.

And it's not like private equity is good to its investors: scams like "continuation funds" allow PE looters to steal all the money they made from strip mining valuable companies, so they show no profits on paper when it comes time to pay their investors:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/20/continuation-fraud/#buyout-groups

Those investors are just as bamboozled as we are, which is why they keep giving more money to PE funds. Today, the "dry powder" (uninvested money) that PE holds has reached an all-time record high of $2.62 trillion – money from pension funds and rich people and sovereign wealth funds, stockpiled in anticipation of buying and destroying even more profitable, productive, useful businesses:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2di1vzgjcmzovkcea8f0g/portfolio/private-equitys-dry-powder-mountain-reaches-record-height

The practices of PE are crooked as hell, and it's only the fact that they use euphemisms and deceptive analogies to home mortgages that keeps them from being shut down. The more we strip away the bullshit, the faster we'll be able to kill this cancer, and the more of the real economy we'll be able to preserve.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/05/rugged-individuals/#misleading-by-analogy

[aft3rhrs]

— pastel pink ღ

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: forbidden romance, step!father au

warnings: dead dove, yandere, pseudo incest, cheating, age gap (the reader is always 18+!), corruption, porn, cnc themes, mentions of masturbation, choking, dub con, fingering, daddy kink, rough sex, humiliation, praise, dirty talk, allusions to sadism & masochism, multiple orgasms, use of triggering words in an erotic and degrading manner* (listed under the cut), creampie, aftercare

*use of the words “rape”, “abuse”.

masterlist

Namjoon used to think that you didn't quite understand the consequences of playing with fire. It was not surprising, after all, considering your young age. You were but an inexperienced cub compared to the wolf that raised you, not yet having grasped the unbridled nature of all things wild.

Sooner or later, though, inching too close to the flames was bound to get you burned. Somewhere in the darkest depths of his heart, Namjoon craved to inflict the pain of the heat on you, mark his territory with a swirl of scars.

Wasn't every father's daughter his most precious gift? Pretty like a doll, with a heart that had flowers and thorns tangling through it. A bricked, bleeding house that welcomed no intruders. He wanted nothing more than to keep it safe.

It was those protective instincts that had always kept him in check, tamed, in constant agony over something he could never have.

Until tonight.

Until it turned out your doe eyes and the pastel pink of your bedroom were misleading lies; and you yearned for the burn of the fire, simply too afraid to dive into its scorching depths.

And what was his duty if not to help you experience life, fulfill all your soul's desires? With immense love and a guiding, fatherly hand, now stuck in between your soft thighs.

"Is this what you like?"

The hoarse whisper made you clench. You whimpered in response, your eyes growing warm.

"No."

You knew it was pointless to lie; he could feel you soaking his fingers, pulsing around their thick girth. But it was too much handle, and the filthy video playing on the screen made you want to shrink.

"Yeah," Namjoon coaxed, breathing into your ear. "You like watching old men fuck their daughters? Like watching them abuse their good little girls?"

Relentless, he pumped the digits in and out of your poor cunt, and the tears overflowed, a dangerous combination of the shame and the orgasm rippling through you. From deep inside your tummy, all the way through your spine, prompting your thighs to tremble on top of his.

What a stupid mistake; to lie down and let your eyes flutter closed right after coming. You weren't even sure when you drifted off, your laptop barely shut, still resting by your side. Namjoon came into your bedroom to check on you, tuck you in and turn off the light, as he'd done a hundred of times before.

The website on the screen caught his eye.

Dreams were safe; reality was different. No one was ever supposed to see this side of you. Especially not the man whose name was stamped all over the walls of the private, forbidden rooms that took up the space in your head. Not the man you looked up to, respectable and smart, all warmth and dimpled smiles, with such deep, kind eyes behind his pristine glasses.

Not Namjoon.

"Fuck," he cursed softly, one arm curled around your waist, grounding you. "That's it..."

Hips stilling, you attempted to catch your breath. Dizziness washed over you. You've never felt this good before; and perhaps a part of the reason why was that you were doing something very bad. The thought of your mother coming home still lingered at the back of your mind — no longer an imminent threat, the bullet dissolving in the haze of the bliss, though its existing chill persisted.

This would be quite a sight for the poor woman to witness; her husband's fingers buried deep in her only daughter's cunt, legs spread wide open on his lap. The lewd porn playing on your laptop only served as the final nail in the coffin.

You winced as Namjoon slipped out of you gently, disoriented. Your legs felt like jelly, but his hold on you was secure, your only safety net.

He stood up, lifting you with him. He didn't try to lead you back to your bed, instead placing a large palm on the small of your back and pushing forward.

You let your cheek rest on the cold surface of the desk, trying to ignore the dirty sounds of sex coming from the screen. Maybe it was the emotions muddling your brain, but you couldn't move, helpless as an animal with their leg caught in a trap.

In spite of the carelessness on your part, you've never imagined Namjoon reacting this way. You'd thought he would have been disgusted, concerned — embarrassed at the very least — and the topic would never be brought up.

Yet here he was, unzipping his pants, about to fuck you on the same desk you occupied to complete your homework every night. In the same room that used to be adorned in plushies and fairy lights, saturated with all of your innocence.

It was different than any taboo feeling or thought you might have entertained in secret; the forbidden fruit no longer a fantasy, but a sin weighing down on the palm of your hand, ripe for the tasting. Its only price was being cast out.

Namjoon caressed your ass, the foreign sensation causing more slick to dribble down the apex of your thighs.

"Such a good slut," he breathed.

The word whipped through you, leaving your skin stinging and lungs emptied of air. He hasn't addressed you with anything but respect before; in fact, you didn't think you've ever heard him use such vulgar language.

You clenched, as though the degradation chipped away at your brain, dumbed it down to a blissful void.

"No," you whined out in protest; of what, you weren't sure anymore.

You felt his hand lock around your wrists.

"Yeah, you are," he cooed. "You're my little toy, and toys get played with. I may be too old for that..." he slid your underwear down your thighs, "but you're not, are you, baby?"

A shiver ran through you, arousal mingling with a tinge of fear the moment he leaned over you, his chest resting firm against your back.

"Don't you want daddy to play with you?" He whispered, flooding your nape with goosebumps. "Seems to me that you do."

This wasn't the Namjoon you've grown to know; this was something different, sinful and ravenous. The rattle of the cage was nothing compared to it being set loose, claiming ownership over you, corrupting and consuming.

But you were wetter than ever, slick flowing like honey and coating the heated, swollen tip of his cock as soon as it pressed against you.

Namjoon was faring no better; his collar open and tie loosened, shirt wrinkled with the memory of your fingers grasping at it. All of his self restraint was gone, the cracked lock broken and the dented cage empty.

You did that.

He had a wife, a job, a good reputation. He worked hard to achieve success, however, the path laid out before him has always looked rather bleak without you in the picture.

And any doubts that troubled him in the past went up in the flames the moment he peeked at your laptop. Of course it was him you longed for, his cock you needed in your little pussy. You were daddy's perfect little girl, all too aware of your purpose. To be ruined and loved and owned by him.

His hand encased your neck, a grip that instantly made your head tingle. He pulled you up, letting you sink into his chest. His breath tickled your ear, and the girthy cockhead pushed against your slit once more, leaking.

"Why are you shaking, baby?" he inquired, sliding his free hand up your stomach. Palm wide open, only to close around your breast and squeeze. "Isn't this what you wanted?"

No. Yes? No. It was so wrong. You shook your head, like that would change anything; turn back time, conceal the truth, get you out of trouble.

Namjoon chuckled.

"It is," he husked, plush lips brushing against the shell of your ear. He moved his hips, rubbing himself against your nub teasingly. "You wanted daddy's cock, just like all these dirty girls on screen."

He eased his hold on your throat, but his hand remained around it; a reminder that he was in control.

Your head was swimming as more oxygen rushed in, but it made almost no difference. His words, his touch, they had a hold on you too, squeezing your lungs, making your clit throb beneath his touch.

"Wanted to be mine..." his tone mellowed out to silk, seductive and light. "Wanted to be my pretty, little angel, and take it behind mummy's back, hm?"

Eyes teary and barely open, you gasped.

"Even better if I just make you take it, right? You won't have to feel so guilty, and you can still slobber and cream all over it."

Your knees were close to giving out, wetness gushing obscenely onto his thick length. As if he could sense it, Namjoon tightened his arm around you, lifting a hand to wipe away the tears that fell.

"Oh sweetheart," he shushed, "see? Daddy knows what you need. Your eyes are wet, but your pussy is wetter. Bet it's tight, too. Tighter than your mother's."

He palmed his cock, at last positioning it back at your small entrance.

"Not that I ever wanted hers anyway."

It seemed your soul left your body the moment he sank in, and he swallowed all of it with his kiss. Any remnants of your thoughts, integrity or coherence; all swiped away with the lick of his tongue and the delicious stretch that left your cunt clenching and insides churning.

The noise he let out sent a thrill through you. He broke the kiss, broke you, his gleaming eyes hooded and adoring, staring deep into yours. Time seemed to fizzle out of existence.

Then he thrusted.

"Fucking whore."

A croaky whisper, followed by a moan you barely recognized as your own.

"I tried to stay away, but my baby just had to be a fucking whore. Couldn't help wanting daddy to rape her."

You shuddered, breath caught in your throat and hand clutching his bicep.

There was no going back, and at this point, it didn't matter. At this point, exposed and full of him, you ached for more; and like a good dad, Namjoon was there to cater to your needs.

He pulled out, only to slide back inside the velvety heat, pleasure bursting and simmering through. No more teasing; just shivers, and long, deep strokes that made his balls slap against your skin.

His breath fanned your neck, unsteady, edged with soft groans. He barely fit inside you, but your pussy took him so well, as though it was always meant to be his.

The way he fucked you drowned out whatever porn was still playing on your laptop, long forgotten, nothing compared to the depravity happening right in front of it. He pounded into you harder, keeping a steady pace. The desk began to thud, repeatedly hitting the wall behind it.

"Like that?" He mumbled into your cheek, his thumb lazily rubbing your stiff nipple. "Right there?"

He required no verbal answer. Not when you were so soft and pliant in his arms, the rush taking over. Still, he enjoyed the way you squirmed at the questions, eyes closed and luscious lips wide open, making the most heavenly little sounds.

He wasn't going to last; there was no time to waste, besides, the simple fact that your warm, wet hole was taking his cock — raw — was enough to push him close to the edge.

Desperate, he took a hold of your jaw and turned your face towards him. His lips were an inch away from yours, the intimacy of it tender and aching, like a bruise.

"Say, 'thank you, daddy,'" he murmured. '"Thank you for fucking my tight, little cunt.'"

You responded with a mewl, your muscles tensing along with the knot in your tummy.

"Gonna—"

Namjoon groaned. Too out of breath to finish the sentence, too fucked out, you let yourself go limp as he pummeled into you.

"Come?" He suggested, wanting to laugh at how quickly you nodded, but your walls were getting so tight only a moan came out. "Fuck. Good girl, making daddy so proud." His forehead touched yours, as if he could get any closer. "You deserve a reward."

The moment you clamped down on him, he muffled the cry that broke through with his lips, crashing them into yours. He kissed you hungrily, tongue and teeth, reaching the peak of his limit as your cunt quivered, effortlessly massaging his cock with the convulsions. He couldn't resist its pull sucking him in, trapping him in place to do what it was made for.

He groaned loudly, letting his seed spill as deep as it would go, letting you see stars right there on the ceiling; like the glowing stickers he used to put up there for you, just an old father and daughter tradition. Your eyes rolled back, and it had him gritting his teeth, grinding into you until you couldn't stand, and his own legs barely kept him up anymore.

He panted softly, gulping as you melted into him, both of his arms hugging your waist. Slowly, the heat was receding, and in its stead serenity crept in.

It was quiet when he washed you up, his hands gentle, wiping the mess in between your thighs and the sweat off your brow. Dressed in a clean shirt and underwear, you climbed under your blanket. Beyond sleepy and sated, your heart still felt heavy.

The edge of the mattress dipped as Namjoon sat down beside you, extending his arm to cup your cheek. Only then did he meet your eyes.

"I love you."

He's said it to you before, but it felt different now. It was different. And it made him hesitate, reduced his voice to a whisper.

"You're the best thing... that's ever happened to me. That's never gonna change. You know that, right?"

You nodded, wondering how in such a messed up situation a few words could feel so comforting. Perhaps it was because they were coming from him. Would that always be enough? Will it feel the same when you wake up in the morning?

Namjoon bent down to press a lingering kiss onto your temple, coaxing your eyes to shut.

"Don't worry about anything, okay? Just trust me, baby. And get some rest."

You relaxed, acknowledging the request with a small sigh. He watched you fall asleep, stroking your hair, trying not to dwell on how much he wished he could stay. At least he'd be able to get into bed before his wife came home.

In the darkness of his bedroom, he settled into the cool sheets, his glasses set aside and clothes neatly folded. He heard the front door unlock, the keys jiggling, and closed his eyes.

Time to sleep.

Time for a change of plans was awaiting him tomorrow.

taglist 💌: @baalsgurl1913 @httpsbts @hoseokshobagi @pynkgothicka @art-3-miss @sweetempathprunetree @blueberryarchive @messyjk @themochiverse @minyoongiboongi @chimmisbae @crisle19 @bangtans-momma @get-that-brain-working @babycandy111 @mother2monsters @whipwhoops @svnbangtansworld @ane102 @stellalovesstarss @jksteponme @httpjeonlicious @iceprincessviviane

[radiance1]

Killer Croc and Jack Fenton are brothers.

Killer Croc was the first born, just a about 5 years older than Jack. Their father was a large man, much larger than should be possible considering he never had a meta gene.

But oh boy would it have not surprised them if he did. Because that man was strong, 10 feet tall, and shrugged off things that would injure most people.

Like a brick to the head.

Anyways.

Croc was entranced with his younger brother; he was so small so much tinier than he had any right to be, and cuter than a button. He babbled like most babies do, but Croc wouldn't think twice before calling his baby brother the best baby of them all.

His dad could fit him in the palm of his hand easily! Which was just one of Jack's many great qualities in his opinion!

Croc and Jack's parents weren't really on the best of terms, Croc could tell. He didn't know why, really, but he didn't want his baby bro to feel unloved in any sort of way, and it's not like he really had friends to hang out with, plus his parents were busy with jobs.

So he mostly spent his time taking care of and playing with Jack. Changing diapers, feeding him, lifting him up and down with his tail, just the normal sibling stuff.

He feels kind of bad for his dad though, whatever kind of job he had didn't even let him come home most days, and when he did he could barely even walk upright without falling asleep and jolting awake. He still made time for them, however, when he got those rare few off days.

He's honestly surprised that man managed to drive a car properly in the state he was in.

Their mother was often out of the house, Crocc didn't know what she was doing but he just thought it was like his dad. Unlike his dad, however, she didn't really like him. He didn't really know why, nor did he really care either if he was to be honest.

Around a year later the tension between their parents got so thick it could be cut with a butter knife. Then it turned to arguments in the rare times they both were in the house, he didn't even know his parents could make such cutting remarks to each other, and then both of them being in the house less than before.

Then when he turned 10, and Jack 5. They got divorced. Croc was left with his mother and Jack got taken by his father. His mother didn't take the divorce well, really, probably because at the same time she got fired from whatever the hell she was doing and was left jobless.

Then she dropped the bomb on his that his dad wasn't even his actual dad and Jack is only his half-sibling and then promptly abandoned him in the sewers with the rats and what was most likely very poisoned water due to it being the sewers and Gotham.

Well. Fuck.

Croc thinks that Jack doesn't even remember him due to how young he was, nor did he ever see his dad again cause, y'know, being abandoned in the sewers and all.

Then multiple years later he ran into his brother again and got DAMN was he tall. Not taller than him, but it was basically the equivalent of a gut punch to Croc, because he remembers his baby bro being so tiny, so baby.

He blames his father's genes for him being 8 feet taller now. A head shorter than him, sure. But he wants back his small baby bro alright.

Then he finds out his baby bro has a family.

And fuck did he not want to involve himself anymore in fear of being a catalyst for tearing said family apart due to being, well, him and all. Then he was promptly (quite literally) dragged over to meet said family despite his stance on the matter.

Then he finds out he's just treated like a normal person with zero amount of fear. His wife? She had to have a giant in her family too because she was 7 feet tall and was smart enough to kick his ass.

His daughter? 6 feet tall and their first meeting she accidently became his therapist. Also, he was sure she was a meta of some kind, probably something to do with wolves.

Then finally, their son.

It felt like he was thrown back to his childhood when he saw him, he looked so much like Jack did, and he was so, so tiny just like his baby bro was. He had to physically hold himself back from doing anything with the kid because he feared he would accidentally break him or something.

Then he found out that apparently his nephew was half-dead and that his brother and his wife hated ghosts with a passion, built a portal to the other side, had their city attack by the ghost king and then promptly found out about their son's half-dead status and had to do a major revamp of basically everything they knew and acted upon.

Which they're still working on.

Oh and also their daughter is a werewolf, she had a meta gene from someone of his dad's side and only recently activated it.

All of that which was a lot to take in for old Killer Croc, also he knew his niece had something to do with wolves.

So, Killer Croc in all of his life from the point of being abandoned at up to now, decided to go screw the bats and whatever they're attempts of figuring out what the fuck's going on with him (look at you Red Hood.) and decided to try and integrate himself into this family and brother's life again as best he can.

[redroomreflections]

Silver Lining

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Natasha dies, Wanda helps reader with raising her baby. They didn't know they would fall in love

W/c: 4.2k

Ellie needs diapers.

It’s a simple text. A message you’re used to these days. It’s straightforward and to the point. Ellie needs diapers. Though there’s no other meaning behind the simple sentence it's a bit unsettling. You stare at the message watching as the text bubble for typing appears. You wait with a finger over your cursor for the sender to say something else. Just as quick as it appeared it leaves your screen.

Are you okay?

You want to send it back. You quickly delete the message and tuck the phone into your pocket. Guess you’ll be going to get diapers. You start the engine of your car, glancing to the bar in front of you, before pulling out of the parking lot. Wanda’s been weird lately. Distant.Cold. a little testy. You have a bit of an inkling of what it could be but your mind won’t let you go there. You’ve just come from a pretty awesome late-night dinner with your coworker, Danny. It’s the second time she’s asked you out and you accepted. It’s about time you hang out with someone other than Ellie these days. Not that Wanda isn’t a good company but You’d be an idiot to say no. Danny is kind, sweet, smart, and so damn sexy. She’s tall, runway model tall, with legs that never seemed to end. Most of all she listened. She’s the only one in the office that understands a bit of what you’ve been through so you go to her for things. It was only a matter of time for your relationship to progress. Right?

You can’t help the deep-seated guilt at leaving Wanda in the dark. She takes care of Ellie as if she’s her own. She helps whenever you need it and despite her own grief and pain, she’s always there for you. This is why you are unsure of her recent behavior. It must be something you did. Maybe she’s not comfortable with you leaving her with Ellie to go on dates? If so you’d be happy to find a babysitter to relieve her. Was she upset that you forgot to put the laundry in the dryer? Did you forget her birthday? No, that can’t be it. Wanda was so gracious and plentiful with her forgiveness. Which is why you are so confused.

The only thing open right now is the 24 hour CVS. Simple enough. You step into the store with a purpose. You find the baby aisle with ease. You’ve been here plenty of times before. The Honest Company brand is the first you spot. You’re not too keen on being loyal to a specific brand but Wanda always insists that it’s really good. You grab a pack of diapers in Ellie’s size and tuck it under your arms. You pull out your phone again to check if Wanda has messaged about anything else. You’re the only one in the store beside the cashier so you’re not in much of a rush. You step around to the second aisle where there are trashy magazines and other assortments of books on display. You grab a crossword puzzle book for you and Wanda to finish together. Maybe then she’ll tell you what’s been on her mind. You make your way to the front where you spot her favorite candy. You’re not intentionally trying to make her feel better, you technically haven’t done anything wrong, and yet you can’t help but feel that you need to make things right with her. You grab the turtle's candy from the shelf and hand it to the cashier. She bags with boredom ready to clock out of work herself. You give her thanks before taking the items and leaving the store.

It doesn’t take long for you to get home. You sit in the driveway with the lights off for a minute. You’re looking up at the house. It’s beautiful. Two-story, brick, a white picket fence. It’s everything you’ve wanted in a home. Everything Natasha wanted. It’s been a little over a year since she’s died. A little longer than that since you’ve seen her face. Ellie never got to meet her. You were eight months pregnant when Natasha and the rest of the team decided to do the mission to reverse what Thanos messed up. Your wife, a natural leader and a true hero sacrificed her own life for the greater good. Natasha was always good. Which is why you resent her so much. In her haste to save the rest of the world she left you with a baby who would never know her name, never know her smile, and never feel her arms around them.

A life you planned together was over before you could start it. You’re here with the house that you chose together and sometimes you can’t make yourself go in. It hurts to see Ellie smile and laugh knowing Natasha would never get to see that. It’s a silhouette in the front window that breaks you from your thoughts. Wanda seems to be cleaning. She hasn’t closed the curtains which you have to remind her to do often. She moved in after you had given birth to Ellie. She was no longer Avenging. She wanted something else for herself. Wanda is your rock and you’re incredibly thankful for everything she does for you and Ellie. Suddenly, as if she senses you’re home, she turns to the window to peer out. She finds you easily and gives you a small wave. You wave back.

You unbuckle your seat belt and grab your items from CVS along with your briefcase. You take slow steps up the walkway. Wanda’s planted new flowers in the garden. They’re beautiful. She opens the front door for you and takes your briefcase just as she does every day.

You plant a kiss on her cheek in hello before stepping over to allow her to close the door. Briefly you think about how domestic the greeting is. She’s your best friend. It’s always been like this.

“Hey,” Wanda greets. She rubs her arms to warm herself. It’s the middle of August. It’s not too warm but Wanda always seems to be freezing. “How was work?”

“Work was work,” You shrug. Wanda lowers her hands to take the diapers. She places them on the front steps. “I need a long vacation. What do you say about taking Ellie to Montana or something?”

“Montana?” Wanda questions. She raises a brow.

“I know there’s nothing there but that’s the point.” You say. You follow her into the kitchen. Wanda rolls up her sleeves to get started on cleaning Ellie’s dishes. She’s sleeping by now with it being way past her bedtime. The eleven-month-old is full of energy. You find yourself missing her whenever you’re away. “How was she today?”

“She was great. She has another tooth coming in so she was a bit fussy before bedtime but a bath and a song fixed all of that.” Wanda scrubs a bottle with care and precision.

“How were you today?”

She pauses to look up at you. “I’m fine.” She drops her head back to the dishes.

“Her first birthday is soon,” Wanda begins another conversation.

“Yes, I can’t believe it,” You smile. “I think we should have a small party. Nothing too flashy. Danny thinks we should do a princess theme. I’ll probably ask her to plan it since she’s good with those things.” There it is. Wanda’s frown appears and she doesn’t try to hide it this time. “Is that not a good idea?” You lean against the counter to wait for her answer.

“No, no, it’s a great idea.” Wanda shakes her head. “I was just thinking that we would plan that together. Danny doesn’t know Ellie. I mean she’s never met her and you’re not dating.” Oh. There it is. She’s upset about you spending time with Danny.

“We can plan it together.” You placate her. “I didn’t think you would want to considering you’re already so generous with your time.”

“Are you kidding? I’d love to.” Wanda sets the last cup aside. “Ellie has been the highlight of my life for a while now. I can’t believe you’d think I wouldn’t want to help with such a milestone.”

“Okay then, we can plan it next week.” Wanda nods.

“I brought these.” You hold up the bag with the crossword puzzle and candy. Wanda eyes it before rolling her eyes.

“I’m going to have cavities because of you.” There’s no real malice in her tone. You grin before shaking the bag.

“Go change and I’ll make us tea.” Wanda takes the bag before waving you off. You plant another kiss on her cheek before running up the stairs to your bedroom. You make a pit stop at Ellie’s bedroom. Her door is cracked and the light from her night light castes the room in a light blue glow. You push it open gently. You tiptoe over to the bed where you take a second to look at her. She’s on her stomach with her hand resting near her face. Her favorite plushie, Boris the monkey, is inches away. You’re sure she fell asleep with it in her arms.

Sometimes you wonder how life with Natasha would be. How different would it be raising Ellie together? If you let yourself think too long you’ll become depressed. Natasha was the love of your life and you’d probably never be over her death. Does one ever get over that? Looking at Ellie, you’re constantly reminded of how much is being missed. You reach down to brush a hand over her head. You lean to press a kiss to her head. She twitches in her sleep before settling again.

You leave the room, closing the door behind you, before making your way to your bedroom. Deciding that a quick shower would feel amazing you step into the bathroom with that purpose. You don’t even bat an eye at Wanda’s towel resting beside yours. You take your time in the shower, allowing all of your stressors to melt away, before stepping out feeling refreshed. Wanda would be ready with the tea by now. You quickly dress and make your way downstairs to meet her in the living room. She’s already tucked under a throw blanket and she’s added a cardigan to her outfit.

“It’s amazing how you’re always so cold,” You say before joining her under the blanket. She adjusts it so that it’s covering both of your legs.

“If you kept the house at a reasonable temperature maybe I wouldn’t be.” She quips. She takes a sip of her tea before setting it on the coffee table. She grabs a pen and the crossword puzzle. She doesn’t hesitate to lean further into you so that you both can see the page. Despite her being cold, her warmth is comforting. She smells amazing. Clean. It sounds weird but it’s Wanda.

“Okay this one is literary lingo,” Wanda begins. She tucks the pen against her bottom lip as she reads across the page. “Two across says an exaggerated statement not to be taken literally.” She glances to you for help before turning back to the page.

“Hyperbole.” You answer. Piece of cake. She scribbles the answer onto the page before going to the next question. This is how much of the night goes until you finish the entire page. Wanda sets the book down in triumph. She picks up the turtle’s package and rips open the paper. She hands you one before biting into one herself. The candy is sticky and tough but delicious.

“Have you been back to the compound recently?” She asks you.

“Not really, I can’t bring myself to.” You shake your head. Going back there would only remind you of Natasha and Vision. She nods her head. She feels that way too. She chews before swallowing thickly.

“I think I want to start volunteering somewhere,” She says and you sit up a bit straighter in interest. Wanda adjusts herself so that she’s fully facing you. “I know I spend a lot of time with Ellie and I love her but I need some adult human interaction.”

“Wanda, if it’s too much please tell me, I can bring her to work with me some days and-”

“No,” She cuts you off. “It’s not that. I just want to do something good. I want to help other orphans maybe. Growing up in Sokovia without parents and then joined Hydra. I know it probably won’t be as dramatic here in America but I want to help them onto the right path. Whether with homework or reading.” Wanda’s hands move excitedly as she speaks. She’s passionate about this and you can’t help but smile seeing her so happy. She notices your look and smiles back. “What?”

“You’re a good person, Wanda Maximoff.” You reply. Her smile widens. It’s all she’s ever wanted to hear.

“Thank you, y/n. I think you’re pretty good too.” She grins cheekily. “So you think I should do it?”

“I think you should. I can get Steve or Peter and MJ to watch Ellie and I’ll come with you some days.” You suggest. NYC is only a train away so you figure it won’t be too bad.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod. Suddenly your arms are full of Wanda as she hugs you in gratitude. You think you're a bit touch-deprived as the feeling of Wanda in your arms is heaven-like.

“You’re the best.” Wanda smiles as she pulls back. “Are you too tired for a show?” She tilts her head towards the tv.

“No, put it on.” You watch as she grabs the remote, settling into your side again, as she finds her favorite episode of BEWITCHED.

**************************

The next few days are weekend days so you and Wanda attend a play date with another mom from the neighborhood. Her son, Tyler, is a month older than Ellie and they’re still a bit young for any real play but it’s more of a social thing. Tyler’s mom, Terry, is serving you and Wanda finger food as she talks about a new committee that’s happening in the neighborhood. They want to plan events for the coming year.

“I know things are hectic but it may be fun,” Terry shrugs as she sits across from you. “Mike probably won’t enjoy it but I’d figure us wives will.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Gives us something to do being stay-at-home moms.” This time she looks to Wanda. You don’t bother to correct her. This wouldn’t be the first time someone mistook you two for a couple since moving here.

Wanda nods, she might be considering the idea. You don’t think it sounds bad either. You’re just about to ask Terry about the type of events when Ellie crawls over to you with a toy block in one of her hands. She uses your knees to stand on her own feet. Her eyes are wide and trusting as she shows off the toy.

“It’s so nice,” You feign interest. You wonder if this is like a parent requirement. To give praise or encouragement to something your child wants to show you.

“Mama!” Ellie pushes the toy into Wanda’s lap. There’s a gasp but you can’t quite tell who it’s from. Wanda looks to you for the next step. “Mama!” Ellie is insistent as she pushes the toy further into Wanda’s lap.

“Go ahead, Mama.” You find your voice. You emphasize the title with a gesture to Ellie. Wanda swallows thickly before nodding. She looks down at Ellie before pulling her into her lap. The slipup was forgotten as she inspects the toy and puts on a voice for the toddler.

“Is this her first time saying it?” Terry asks with a smile noting your reactions.

“It’s the first time she’s directed it towards either of us.” You inform her. It’s true. Ellie has said Mama before in passing but she was never so indicative about whom she was talking to. Seeing her direct it to Wanda was startling but heartwarming. It brings tears to your eyes. Seeing the other woman respond and play with Ellie with such care. Wanda looks over to you with a smile before turning her attention back to Ellie.

Whoa. What was that you’re feeling? Butterflies. You haven't felt those in a while. Suddenly you feel as if you’re suffocating. The room feels smaller and you need space. You stand, excusing yourself from the room, to find a bathroom. You go to the one Terry directs you to. Wanda watches as you leave with a frown. Did something happen? You push the door closed leaning your head against it as you take harsh, breaths.

Wanda. Wanda Maximoff. Your best friend. You’re in love with her. It’s a thought that makes you want to puke. You don’t know how it has happened or when it’s happened but suddenly all of your feelings make sense. How happy you are to see her. Even on your date with Danny, all you could think about was Wanda. Coming home to Wanda. Spending time with Wanda. Kissing Wanda. Making love to her.

You gasp. This can’t be. You shake your head hoping it will rid you of the thoughts. Wanda lost the love of her life. You lost yours. It could be nothing more than what it was. She probably didn’t even feel the same way.

Life is crazy.

The car ride home is ridden in silence. Ellie has fallen asleep after the playdate. You glance at Wanda every few minutes. You don’t realize she’s looking at you too. You park in the driveway, helping her with Ellie’s bag when your hand brushes against hers. You pull away hiding the effect it has on you as you walk into the house. You put Ellie to bed on your own while Wanda does god knows what downstairs. You take your time dressing in a t-shirt and shorts before sitting on the bottom step to tie your shoes.

Wanda steps into the foyer to ask where you’re going. You both only just got home. She didn’t know you had plans to do anything.

“For a run,” This surprises her even further. You don’t like running. You despise it and yet here you are gearing up to run.

“You hate running,” Wanda points out. “In fact, the last time Steve suggested you run you told him you would rather have crows poke your eyes out and eat them for breakfast.”

Damn. You did say that.

“I’m trying something different,” You shrug. You stand to stretch before heading for the front door.

Wanda follows after you. Before you turn the knob she calls out to you.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” You pause and turn back to her.

“Overstep? Why would you think that?” You question her.

“Well, Ellie called me Mama and I know that’s what she would have called Nat. I’m not her mother.” Wanda folds her arms under her chest. A nervous move. “I thought you might be uncomfortable with that.”

“No, Wanda, that’s not it at all,” You assure her. “I’m so happy that Ellie views you as her Mama. There’s no one I would rather have that title. You are her Mama.” Wanda nods with tears in her eyes. Maybe she’s wanted that without really knowing. You find yourself wanting to kiss her tears away. Again. Whoa.

“Okay,” She gives you a small smile. “Have fun on your run.” She tells you and you nod. She watches you exit the front door. You do a few final stretches before you plug your headphones into your ear. Guess it was time to run.

It’s been two hours the next time you walk through the front door. The lights off save for the foyer. You kick off your shoes, rubbing your forehead with your sweaty shirt before you make your way upstairs. Wanda must be asleep. You check on Ellie as you do every night. She’s sound asleep. You hop into the shower and allow yourself to stand under the scalding hot water. You’re going to regret running so much in the morning. Your thoughts are riddled with Wanda as you shower, when you dry off, and when you dress. You can’t stop thinking of her. You don’t know what prompts you to do it but you suddenly find yourself in front of her bedroom door. Her lights are off but you knock anyway. No answer.

You twist the knob to find the door unlocked. You open the door and call her. She’s on her side facing away from the door. Her posture is a bit stiff.

“Wanda?” You question.

“Yeah?” She whispers into the darkness. She turns over just as you climb into the bed. You’re under the covers now and briefly you think about how comfortable her bed is. You can see her through the light emanating from her window. Her cheeks are stained with dry tear tracks. She’s been crying. “Y/n?” She tries to hide the shake in her voice as you look at her. It’s now or never.

Your eyes fly down to her lips then back to her eyes. You lift a hand to caress her cheek as you lean to plant a chaste kiss against her lips. She gasps, quickly recovering, before kissing you back. You pull back keeping your eyes closed. If you open them to her being angry with you, you don’t know if you’ll forgive yourself.

“Y/n,” Wanda asks.

“Wanda,” You whimper.

“Open your eyes, Malysh.” She raises her hand to rub her thumb against your hand still caressing your face. She takes hold of it before lowering it to lie on the covers between you. She never let's go. You open your eyes slowly to find nothing that you were afraid of.

“I wasn’t mad that Ellie called you Mama,” You repeat your sentiment from earlier. “I was confused. Her calling you Mama made me realize a few things.” Wanda listens. “You’ve been here through it all and yet I’ve never seen you for you until now. My selfless, sweet, Wanda.” You don’t know what you’re saying at this point. All you know is you want Wanda to know how much she means to you.

“I feel the same,” She doesn’t need to you say the words. She knows.

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize all of this time what was right in front of me,” You frown. “I can’t believe how long I wanted to kiss you and I didn’t see it as anything other than platonic.”

“I realized a couple of weeks ago.” You lift your head to rest on your elbows. “When you went out with Danny for the first time. I couldn’t figure out why I was so angry about it. Then I knew why. I wanted it to be me.”

“Wanda, why didn’t you say something?” You ask. “If I knew I wouldn’t have gone out with her.”

“I didn’t want to stand in the way of you finding love again,” Wanda shrugs.

“I don’t love Danny,”

“But you could,” Wanda points out.

“No, I couldn’t.” You say firmly. “Not when I love you.” It’s the first time you’re verbalizing this. “Don’t be a martyr when it comes to your heart, Wanda. Even with me.” You squeeze her hand. “It took me some time but I want you.”

“How do you know that after only a couple of hours?” She asks.

“It hasn’t been a couple of hours,” You shoot back. “It’s been months. The late nights with Ellie. The dinners we have. Our crossword nights. I enjoy them. I look forward to them. We’ve been spending a life together without us even realizing it. I want more with you. If you want it too.”

Wanda surges forward pushing you onto your back as she kisses you with a passion that has you moaning against her lips. The weight of her on top of you is pure bliss. All you can think, feel, and smell is Wanda. Reluctantly she pulls back to take in a deep breath.

“I want it too.” She doesn’t wait for you to answer as she kisses you again.

Five years later

“Mama, Mama, we got ice cream.” Ellie races across the park with your golden retriever, Max, in tow. She’s hanging onto the leash very loosely as she waves around the popsicles she has in her hand. Wanda looks up from her book to inspect the items as Ellie pushes them into her hands. You’re a few feet behind watching as Wanda interacts with the little girl.

“Do you think the baby likes fudgesicles?” Ellie asks as she drops down on the picnic blanket.

“I don’t know, Kiddo, you have to ask him.” You say as you sit next to Max. You watch with pure adoration as Ellie takes it upon herself to lift Wanda’s shirt to expose her swollen belly. Wanda looks over to you with amusement in her eyes.

“Hi baby brother or sister,” Ellie begins. “Mommy told me to ask you if you like Fudgesicles. I bought some for you.” Ellie waits as if she’s truly expecting an answer. “Baby says yes.” She looks up at Wanda for confirmation. Wanda takes the Fudgesicle with gratitude as she licks into it.

“I think baby made a good choice,” Wanda grins. She runs her free hands over Ellie’s brown ringlets to smooth it down a bit.

“Me too,” Ellie says in between licks.

“I think I made a good choice,” You say and Wanda nods. Her too.

[canthelpit0]

Enemies (with benefits)

Pairing: Cold!Chris x Reader

Word count : 1,489

Summary: Chris and reader have always been enemies ever since they’ve known each other. neither knew why they had this burning feeling in their gut. So one day they decide to fuck it out. Until, eventually doing it regularly

Warnings: smut, p0rn with plot, a LOT of plot, angst, name calling (bitch, slut, etc.), p in v, rough x, mentions of safe word (not used), rude/cold!Chris, degration, friend with benefits, awkward, (implied) RichKid!reader, no love (😔), unprotected, creampie, no after care, no use of y/n, no oc

(A/N: this is my first ever fanfic that I’ve posted on tumblr. So ya, I’m shitting bricks. Please give me feat back on my writing, and what I can improve. Also English is not my first language so I’m sorry for any mistakes. Hope you like it!! :D)

PT1 PT2 PT3 PT4 FINAL

Ever since I can remember, I’ve known the triplets. The sturniolo’s and my family were always really close. And ever since I can remember, I’ve hated Chris.

Now, enemies was a harsh word. A bit of an exaggeration. It wasn’t like we were at war for opposing countries. We were more like rivals. In every aspect.

Sometimes it felt like the only reason Chris studied for school, was to beat my grade. He wasn’t really stupid, but he was definitely not book smart.

The problem wasn’t that. We’ve always lived normally, simply hating and avoiding each other. After all he was my longtime nemesis.

Until that one fateful night where we’d been at my house. My parents have a big business so they’d frequently be on business trips. And it just so happened that that night my younger siblings were not home, both of them being at their separate sleepovers with friends.

We’d been paired for some project. And naive me thought, that it’d be fine. We could be civil for a few hours. But I thought wrong. The hatred was too strong and the tension was too thick in the air.

Seemingly everything I did made him agitated. And vise versa.

Until he finally snapped and we got into a full fledged argument, wich turned into a yelling match. However it all went quiet when he crashed his lips onto mine.

Breathing heavily I had kissed back, hard. It was easier to battle about with a kiss, rather than screaming. And like hell was I gonna be dominated by Christopher fucking sturniolo.

So the night progressed. He had me, my face buried in the sheets babbling out nonsense and screaming his name. But not in anger like I usually would.

It had been months since that happened, and it still haunted me. The idea that it even happened. That his lips had been on mine, his dick literally inside of me, that I was literally under him, disgusts me to my core. But it didn’t matter. It was one of many times.

Sometimes it was a quickie, sometimes an all nighter. Sometimes Chris was dominant other times he was not. Sometimes it was at my place other times at his.

And it wasn’t like those cliché stories of friends with benefits where one fell in love. This felt more like an urge. Like neither of us wanted to actually hook up but we were irking to. This was better than having a yelling match. And on the rare occasions I was dominant it felt great making him shut up and take it. It felt equivalent to winning an argument. The whole point was to teach a lesson, and express annoyance and anger without directly doing that.

“Chris-“ I let out a sharp cry, even the pillow that my face was buried in didn’t really make the scream sound quieter.

His hips keep drilling into my core hitting all the right spots to make me weak in the knees.

Sex with him, objectively, felt good. In the moment. He knew how to please a woman. But he also knew that he was pushing it right now.

“Don’t fucking tell me to slow down.” He snaps his tone, and words as harsh as his breathing. “You have a safe word. Use it if you need to. And other wise, shut, the fuck, up.”

I only let out a sharp whine when he seems to pick up pace even more. He’s made a mess of me. We’ve been at this for hours. Literally.

I’ve come more times than I can count and Chris wasn’t showing any sign of stoping anytime soon.

My back arches perfectly, but I’ve been in this position for too long for it to be comfortable. Him leaning over my back occasionally leaving harsh slaps on my ass while his other hand stayed firmly im my hair.

His hand being tangled in my hair as he was both pulling it, but also pressing me down into the pillow under me.

I feel the ache in my cunt subside again, as a knot starts to form. I’m close, again, and I don’t know if I can keep going after.

“Chris” I scream his name loudly panting and moaning. “I’m- close” I can barely form a sentence. His thrust are hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs every time.

“Oh ya?” He harshly slaps my ass causing me to moan loudly. “How much more you think this pussy can take?” He huffs his tone ever so cocky.

He always did this. He liked being dominant and absolutely wrecking me as much as he can. And he knows I’m close to breaking, and that’s what makes it worse. I just know he gets a wired satisfaction out of exerting me.. using me, like this.

His hand stays firmly in my hair tugging harder. His other hand trailing from my ass to my clit as he starts to rub on it harshly.

I clench instinctively, my whining and moaning getting even louder. “I’m gonna-“ a harsh slap on my clit catches me off guard.

Chris keeps going. “Fucking slut. You like getting destroyed like this?” he mocks, his tone condescending as his pace doesn’t let up.

“Go on bitch, cum on my cock. Come again.” He urges. And the rubbing of his fingers on my clit and the relentless torture to my cunt is threatening to push me over the edge.

“Can I come in that pussy again?” He asks his voice coming out strained and harsh from the pleasure.

“Yes-“ I’m cut off, again. As i am physically not able to speak with the pace he’s going at.

And the combined pressure of everything pushes me over the edge. Suddenly the knot in my stomach snaps and my body goes limp after loud moans. He goes for a few more thrusts before I feel the familiar hot liquid fill my cunt.

After a minute where we catch our breaths he slowly starts to massage my scalp knowing he’s been pulling on it for at least half an hour straight.

He pulls out not really gently, but not harshly either.

Hook ups with Chris always felt like one night stands, when they were really regular.

I let my body fall limp fully laying on my stomach as I sigh, content in my position, not attempting to move.

I can practically feel Chris watching me.

Normally I wouldn’t be this much of a mess. But than again normally we didn’t go for hours. Normally Chris used a condom. But today was not one of those days.

Sometimes chris had enough common sense to at least pretend to care.

But right now he was just staring.

“You okay?” He asks his tone gentler and more quiet than usual. He knew he was pushing it, but did he really care tho?

I shiver as I feel his hand start to rub over my back. Ever so gently pinching the skin to ease some tension.

“Ya”

My breath is short as I’m still calming down not doing or saying anything else.

After a while I turn around slightly, wincing as I lay on my back. My back hurt from the previous uncomfortable position I was in.

I opened my tired eyes, looking up at him, my eyes meeting his. I knew I probably looked like a wreck right now. My hair a mess because of all the moving and position changes as well as his pulling. My face having dried mascara and tear stains on it from when I’d been crying.

I was too tired to even hide my body. I just turned around not bothering to hide my chest as I did, I was too fucked out to care.

His lips pursed, looking over my face. But he wasn’t concerned. But rather disgusted at the sight. He was glad he made me look like shit, but I could see in his eyes that he would much rather be anywhere else right now.

After sex was the worst for us.

The arguments leading up to it were normal. The sex itself was great. But afterwards…

Usually he’d leave. But today he had gone far. He’s done worse before. But every time he did he felt like he should give me proper after care. But I can see the annoyance radiating off of him, and I just know he does not want to be here.

And as harsh as it sounds, he couldn’t really care less what state he left me in. He’s told me multiple times.

“You can leave.” I mumble sighing. My throat felt horse from all the screaming, crying and moaning, that I’d been doing. I’ll need to get a water soon.

He gives me a simple nod, quickly changing, then going to my bathroom to fix his appearance.

And than he leaves.

The room is quiet. Nothing to be heard, nothing to be said.

Masterlist

A/N: hope you liked it, this was literally my first time writing smut🫣 also I don’t have a taglist yet, so i just added my moots. Tell me if u wanna be added, or removed :D

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist : @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns

[cregansdingdong]

ɢᴜᴀʀᴅᴇᴅ.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Wife!reader | no use of y/n | warnings: he does get snappy for a second so very slight angst, his boo thang doesn't tolerate that so don't worry, period-typical misogyny, gets a tiny bit suggestive at the end but nothing crazy hes eating her coochie out off camera; lovers spat but he can't resist her this is so Honeymoon by lana del ray also love and war by Fleurie

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Aemond was not a man of many words. His wife knew that upon their marriage. She knew he had a fortress around his heart and his mind in order to better protect himself, and it wasn’t something she took complete offense to—there was no point in taking it personally; the walls would not come down because they took vows in front of the High Septon. Day by day, she would have to chip at him, speck by speck, brick by brick, until all that was left…well, she had yet to figure that part out. But still, she persevered. Their nuptials were built on a political agreement in the night—like everything else among the highborns—her father brutally negotiating his terms to bend the knee to King Aegon. She remembered what it felt like being stirred out of her sleep by her handmaiden, dressing in the dark to make an appearance for their princely guest. There had been little explanation at the moment, and even her sisters hadn’t a clue.

Until they saw him. One-eyed and formidable; standing there, the silver-haired Targaryen Prince didn’t need to do much to strike fear in the hearts of Borros Baratheon’s five daughters. Lined up like prized cattle, they waited for him to take his pick. She thought he’d pick Cassandra—the son they’d create together would most likely be the heir of the Stormlands. That was the smart choice. Instead, as she stared ahead humiliatingly, a gaze of amethyst locked onto the slope of her shoulder, trailing the silhouette of where her jaw met her neck. Her throat. It was predatory, almost, the way he inspected her. A viper choosing the most appetizing little mammal it could find. Then he approached her, somehow even taller than he seemed—he stood close enough that she could feel the heat of him emanating into her chilled skin, his even breath fanning lightly against her cheek. “This one.”

The words were so final. There was no arguing, no further negotiations to be made. He’d chosen her. That was all. A year passed, and it was a long one. His betrothed did her best to ignore the whispers of the men of her father’s court. One-eyed Kinslayer, they’d say, the youngest is his bride. He’ll come to claim her soon. The day did arrive when the Targaryen prince returned on dragonback to collect what he was entitled to. There had only been the bare warning of a raven just a day before, leaving her enough time to decide what she wanted to take to King’s Landing and send her trunks ahead. Vhagar arrived after dawn, her rider as stoic and unyielding as he’d been the last time they met. Saying goodbye to her sisters was difficult, but she managed, remembering the very firm prompt Lord Baratheon had given her about crying in front of the prince. And she didn’t, despite the indignation that came with being sold like a broodmare. Her entire life she’d known her birth would only be useful as a bridge between Houses—but being a bride of war felt shameful, vile, and held no pleasantries.

Meeting the dragon churned her stomach terribly. Other than a few of the quiet shushes in High Valyrian, Aemond hadn’t said much during the exchange. The ancient beasts hadn’t cared to eat her, thankfully. The first hurdle was over with. She rode on the back of Vhagar that morning—which was somehow more terrifying than it sounded…and a tad humiliating for how long it took her to actually climb to the mount. She’d expected him to rush her, to make a comment, but he remained silent and unusually patient. The journey itself felt longer than it was, her fists clenched around the hem of his doublet, but it was over soon enough. They’d married within the week, barely having said a word to each other. Every day after that was a power struggle. Aemond must’ve thought she’d be meek, or perhaps quiet, but he’d been either sorely mistaken or genuinely misled. But the deed was done, the marriage consummated thoroughly. He made his bed and he had to lie in it. Whatever the case was, their shared chambers—his idea—worked dually as a bedroom and a battlefield. While she was successful at times in penetrating his armor, the circumstances did not change even after half a year of marriage.

“What is wrong now?” She hummed, watching him stare down into the flames of the lit hearth, hands pensively behind his back. She knew his habits like they were imprinted in her skin. He only stood like that when something was bothering him. Her embroidery was paused in her lap as she waited. Aemond turned his head slightly, his eye flicking over to her. He said nothing for a few more moments, as if he was debating entertaining such a question at all. Sometimes he liked when she pushed at him. She wasn’t sure if this was that sort of evening. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with, wife.” There wasn’t as much bite to his words as she expected there would be, but if he wanted to start, she would finish. “I would like to concern myself, thank you, lest you go blind staring into the fire before our anniversary. What has you in such a foul mood, husband?”  She puts her craft down on the table, staring at him impatiently. He stiffened at her words, and she knew then that she struck a nerve. It seems to work though. Aemond’s features harden, the slightest bit of the real him seeping through his endless stoicism. “Small Council.” Was all he said. She gets the gist of it. “I see. Would you like to share anything else?”

“No.”

Something about the blatant rejection thrilled her. She was no fool as to what probably happened—the King was drunk, angry, or plainly at odds with whatever it was that her husband and the rest were trying to suggest to him. She’d heard from the Dowager Queen they had begun talks of making a match for young Jahaera. Aemond was a hard man to read, but he wasn’t completely indecipherable. “I’m going to offer you my council then.” She doesn’t wait for him to respond, legs uncrossing upon her standing. He doesn’t move as she strides toward the fireplace, as unyielding as she’d been the moment she entered the sept and became his wife. “His Grace, the King, is courageous and inspiring. He’s a man of the finest breeding and a formidable, yet merciful, attentive ruler–”

“If you’re going to give council that I did not ask for, at least speak plainly.” He grumbles, irritation emitting from his poreless face. “In this room, it is only you and I, and neither of us wish to lie. I care not to hear compliments of my brother fall from the lips of my wife.” She considers her words for a few moments. “Alright. The King is a drunk who lives in his own world—but he is still the King, and that means the ideas of his advisors can be very easily dismissed by a mere word if he so wishes. Attempting to speak sense into him, or to convince him, will never work when he has such power.” 

“If you’re suggesting I play into his drunk delusions, I will not.” He scoffs, eye narrowed in reproach. She tries not to get angry right away. “That is not what I’m suggesting. Before you so rudely interrupted me, I was going to say that your best chance is convincing the second highest person in the realm. The Queen.”

“This is a matter between men. Helaena is just as much in her own deluded world as he is—worse, even. She is dreaming her life away. Speaking to her is not unlike catching a cloud, wife.” Aemond says, walls coming back up to ignore her again. His coldness returns in an instant. “Your council has proven useless as I knew it would be. You should return to your embroidery.” And now she was angry. “We’re the perfect pair then, aren’t we, my prince? You dismiss me as Aegon dismisses you.” Her words came out like a challenge, daring him perhaps to actually consider what it was she was trying to say. He reacts accordingly. A long, slender hand wraps itself around her arm in an inflexible grip, yanking her to him seemingly to remind her of their roles. It didn’t hurt. The words were gritted from between his teeth. “What did you say to me, wife?”

“You heard me. Your unwillingness to accept another perspective of how to get what you want will be your downfall. And to think I was almost about to offer to speak to Helaena on your behalf. Perhaps she is a cloud to you, husband, but she’s quite tangible if you treat her like a human being.” She huffs. Aemond pauses at that, in thought as his hand loosens ever so slightly. “I should bend you over my knee for speaking to me that way—you’re lucky I’m not in the mood for it. Talk to Helaena then. Tell her Aegon is behaving like a stubborn fool and convince her that the Lannisters are the strongest choice for Jahaera if she cannot produce another male heir—I’m not asking.” His gaze stared down into her face, imploring her to refuse and see what was going to happen.

“Is my husband demanding my help?” She grins, something absolutely infuriating to him. Help. He loathed that word. “You said it yourself. You’re not asking. My idea must truly be valuable to you—my bond with Helaena even more so. I thought it was a matter between men?” The taunt in her voice was exhaled against every nerve in his body urging him to act. To show her how maddening she was. To fuck the teasing out of her right there beside the fireplace. He was itching to have her do as he wished, and to do with her as he wanted. “You’re testing my patience.” He warns, something uncompromising burning behind his eyes. So different, and yet exactly the same. His wife leaned in closer, undeterred. “If you’re not willing to say please verbally, husband, you can do it another way. Or, of course, you can hurry along to the next council meeting if you’re so eager to be at Aegon’s mercy. What will it be?”

“Another way?” He murmured, eyes locked down at the juncture of her throat. “Hmm. It seems we’ve come to an understanding, wife. Lift your skirts.”

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[look-at-the-soul]

Every little thing you do- Part 2

Tommy Shelby x reader

Series Master list

Thank you so much for giving this little idea so much love 💕 it means a lot! Thank you for taking the time to read and share your thoughts

Word count: 2,695

The house was quiet, it was probably pretty late by now, but at least the initial commotion was calmer now. Tommy’s eyes focused on the flame flickering on the bedside table, the room was quiet. Then his eyes darted to Y/N… his best friend seemed so vulnerable, so small. He had seen the marks her father left on her back it was a horrible sight and now it looked worse. As if her life wasn’t complicated enough by the unplanned pregnancy, Y/N would have to deal with the physical pain as well.

He studied Y/N’s face for a minute, taking in the swollen eyes from crying too much, his heart aches for her, she didn’t deserve to be treated like this. She held a special place close to his heart since they were kids.

“Do you’ve a minute?” Polly asked.

As she realized the doubt in her nephew’s eyes, she assured him that Y/N would sleep for a while. After cleaning her injuries and adding a strong ointment to the wounds on her back, Polly checked the baby and gave Y/N a tea to help her sleep.

Tommy gave Y/N one more look and covered her arm with the thin sheet, but was careful enough to not hurt her before he walked out of what was once Ada’s room in Watery Lane.

“What happened?” He found Polly downstairs stomping her cigarette on the ashtray. Earlier, she didn’t ask questions, she just rushed to take care of Y/N’s wounds just she had done so many times when they were kids, and eventually teenagers on the brick of trouble every time.

“Y/N is pregnant, the son of a bitch told her he wasn’t sure the baby is his.”

“And that’s why her father hit her like that?!” She asked scandalized. “He’s an animal.”

“How’s the baby, really?” He asked with genuine concern.

Polly sighed. “She was smart to offer her back, so the belt wouldn’t hit in any compromising area, but I’d keep her in bed just in case.” She suggested.

“Tommy,” Scudboat apologized for the interruption, “we found the vehicle, Scott has been hiding in the house, do you want the men to enter and get him?”

Leaning on the counter, Tommy considered his options for a few seconds. “No, keep someone watching his house at all times, he might try to escape.”

As the blinder left him again alone with his aunt, Tommy expressed out loud a decision he had already made.

“We can’t leave her alone Pol.” He clenched his jaw. “She’s on her own, that bastard just used her and her family won’t help her with the baby yo-you saw how they hurt her.”

“I know.” She added breathlessly stopping for a second as she got the kettle. “They turned their backs on her when she needed them the most.”

“Sort a doctor tomorrow morning to make sure they’ll be fine.”

“And then what?” Pol stared at him.

“I just got a house, still needs a few things… I can take Y/N there, because if she stays here, she’ll see her parents all damn day.”

“In the meantime if she needs another place, there’s my house as well.”

Tommy folded his arms against his chest and nodded profusely.

“Poor Y/N… she’ll have a hard time with people pointing fingers at her all the time.” Polly shook her head.

Tommy remembered the long stares and whispers over Ada, when she suddenly got married and started showing no long after. He had been forced to walk around with the gun in his hand for several weeks. They even kicked her out of a boutique once she tried buying a dress and Tommy had to stop by with a few men until his sister got the dress that she wanted.

“I’ll blind anyone who dares to do something against Y/N.” He stated firmly pouring some whiskey finally.

“What happened?” Finn asked looking from his brother to his aunt.

“If anyone asks,” Tommy pointed a finger at him, “you haven’t seen Y/N here alright?”

Finn frowned. “But I haven’t seen her.”

“Exactly.” Tommy agreed walking towards the fireplace, he added a few pieces of wood and then took a seat in front of it. Pondering on the previous events, worry installed on his shoulders of what might happen. Anger spreading on his body at the thought of his best friend being humiliated by her useless boyfriend, after all she had done for the prick and he had the audacity to doubt the baby was his. Thanks to her, Scott got the chance to be a blinder, and with that endless benefits.

One of his men knocked desperately and as Tommy went to see what was happening he heard the best news of the day.

“We followed Scott, he was at the train station.”

He took the remaining of his drink in a swing. “Was?”

“The boys took him to the warehouse, he had a ticket to escape.”

Tommy gave his aunt a look. “If Y/N wakes up, send someone to let me know.”

As Polly saw them disappear, her eyes darted upwards, in a silent prayer. She knew Scott wouldn’t live a day without regretting his decision. Taking her cup of tea with her, she decided to look for some clothes and clean sheets to provide to Y/N while they sorted everything out.

Y/N was considered part of the family, she and Tommy had always been close, in a way Y/N was the only person who could understand her nephew. The one who he trusted the most.

She decided to go to the church the following morning to light a candle and pray for Y/N and the baby.

Taking a deep breath and one of her eyes cracked a bit open. As everything started to hurt so bad, her chest felt heavy as memories from what had happened hit Y/N hard. Word by word her parents had said replayed in her mind.

A single tear rolled down from her eye to her nose. With trembling fingers, Y/N moved one of her hands to the yet non-existent bump. It was still early to start showing but she couldn’t help but think her baby was starting to grow inside her.

Despite the circumstances, Y/N felt like giving her own life for this baby. It didn’t matter that Scott or her family decided to leave her.

Tommy opened the door carefully to not wake Y/N up, but to his surprise she was already awake.

“Go on… say it.” She was waiting for Tommy’s lecture.

Scott had turned his back just like her parents. All the people she thought she could rely on showed her to not take them for granted.

But Tommy shook his head.

“How are you feeling?” He asked taking the chair in the corner to place it next to the bed.

“Like a total failure.” She admitted with tears in her eyes.

“Y/N.” Tommy didn’t know what to say to make her feel better, to help her. “Hey, look at me.” He spoke softly and covered one of her hands with his own.

Y/N started biting the inside of her cheek to prevent more tears to come out. But looked at her best friend anyways.

“You’re not alone, I know you’ve a lot to take in at the moment… but you can count on me for everything.” He offered sincerely.

She didn’t feel worth any of this, she felt dirty, stupid for believing in Scott’s love words. How could she have been so naïve?

“Why?” Her voice broke. “Why do you want to help me when I’ve done everything wrong?”

“Don’t do this to yourself.” Tommy swallowed hard. “Don’t let them get in your head, I know how it is, but this isn’t your fault.”

“Of course it is! I gave myself away to Scott, I’m just another whore.”

Tommy lost his control, he didn’t want her to feel this way.

“You’re not a whore. You did it out of love and that’s not something to regret.”

“I deserve this, my father is right.” Y/N shook her head, she angrily wiped a tear away.

“No, you don’t deserve this shit happening. Y/N you’re a good woman an-”

Y/N’s grandmother asked if she could walk into the room. Tommy felt grateful for the interruption because he didn’t know how to deal this situation. He didn’t want to say that he had warned Y/N about her now ex boyfriend and make her feel worse than she already did.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

At least he got a chance last night at the warehouse to make the bastard pay for playing with Y/N’s heart. Tommy made it very clear he better disappear from her life for good because if he ever saw him again, he wouldn’t let him walk twice alive.

He had been a few punches away from killing Scott. But the image of Y/N holding a baby in her arms stopped him… he wouldn’t be responsible for killing that baby’s father, even though Scott definitely deserved it. So he limited himself to leave a little warning, a message.

“This is a mess, Y/N feels so guilty for getting into this.” Tommy announced walking into the kitchen. He found his sister and aunt making breakfast.

Tommy’s eyes fixed on Karl and he was taken back in time to when Ada thought he had betrayed Freddie. He was a lot of things, but he’d never cause a pain like that to a child. At least not one of his own people.

From the beginning, he knew Scott was a piece of shit, but Y/N seemed so happy and thrilled, how would he step in to destroy her happiness? He never imagined he’d have to help her pick up the broken pieces of her heart. The sudden presence of Polly close to him made him snap back into reality, she stepped closer to help him light the cigarette that was hanging from his mouth.

Tommy moved his eyes towards his nephew, he was playing with a truck on the floor. Perhaps he was overthinking but he didn’t know what would he answer when Y/N’s child asked about his or her father.

“Ada would you talk to Y/N?”

“About what?”

“When you got pregnant…” he began with embarrassment in his eyes to talk about that. “It’s something similar.”

They’ve come a long way ever since, but Tommy still regretted the time they spent apart. Family was everything to him.

“And what do you want me to say Tommy? Her boyfriend dumped her, it’s not the same I got married.”

He sighed in frustration. “I just want Y/N to feel our support.”

“You’re going to make her feel overwhelmed! I know how noisy you can be.” Ada protested.

Tommy scoffed, he felt offended by his sister’s words. He just wanted to help Y/N.

“I’ll talk to her.” Polly intervened placing some food on a tray to give Y/N.

“Thank you.”

Ada clicked her tongue and crossed her arms. Her eyes boring into her brother.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

But Ada turned the corner of her mouth down and shuddered. “Nothing it’s just strange to see you go above and beyond for someone.”

As she walked out of the kitchen, Tommy found himself thinking of her words. She was telling the truth but… but how could he stand there and do nothing for Y/N?

He knew her like the palm of his hand, she had been by his side since forever, encouraging him to follow his dreams, telling him the truth right in his face when he messed up. Even he didn’t want to hear it.

There was no other way to do this, she’d have his entire support through the pregnancy and whatever she might need afterwards.

“Mr. Shelby!” Y/N’s grandmother shouted from upstairs.

Tommy skipped a few steps and when he reached Ada’s old room, he found Polly holding Y/N’s hair back, she had been sick and her grandmother was trying to hold her trembling body.

“I’m sorry Pol. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry for? With everything you’ve been through it’s not a surprise your stomach can’t handle food. Tommy help me here.” His aunt asked him to take her place so Y/N could use his strength as support. “Take her to that chair, while I sort this out.”

Following Polly’s instructions, Tommy lead Y/N carefully to the chair in the corner while his aunt and Y/N’s grandma changed the bedsheets. Ada joined them a moment later with a glass of water. “Try some crackers, it helped me with sickness during my pregnancy.” She offered taking the sheets downstairs.

Y/N groaned feeling embarrassed and mortified for everything. As soon as she smelled the food her stomach protested, but she felt bad for telling Polly something so she decided to just eat the food. But the moment she got the first bite, she couldn’t help it and it ended in her throwing up and making a mess.

“I want to thank you for taking care of her.” Y/N’s grandmother admitted taking her hand.

“I was just thinking…” Tommy started to say, “You could come with me to the new place I got.” Then he turned to face her grandmother. “It’s outside the city, away from curious eyes and it’s surrounded by trees.”

“No.” Y/N stated.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea dear.” Her grandma smiled at Tommy. “Fresh air could help her.”

Y/N sighed frustrated with herself, with the situation.

“Think about it, yeah?” Tommy suggested. “That way you won’t run into your parents everyday, and you can walk to the lake to relax.”

“He’s right.” Her grandma approved. “You’ll feel grateful to be away from the drama.”

“Perfect! Looks like you got it all figured out Tommy.” She snapped. “Just like my mother who wanted to send me to her aunt’s farm.”

She knew this wasn’t fair, he was the only one offering support, but she couldn’t help it, she felt on the brick, like everything was falling apart. And she was angry with herself.

Polly pushed Tommy away and gently grabbed Y/N’s arm. “Sweetheart all of this worry isn’t right for the baby. For the first time, I think going to that house is the best idea.”

“Unfortunately your choices are limited my darling.” Y/N’s grandma spoke softly. “But you should know that these wonderful people are trying to help you.”

She was trying to be strong, to pretend this didn’t hurt her, but truth is he world was crashing down. And this was only the beginning.

That seemed to click on Y/N’s mind because she gave a small nod, her lower lip gave in and it started quivering, then the tears started to fall down her cheeks.

“Thank you so much.” Y/N sobbed. “I’m so sorry.” Emotions took over her.

Her grandma pulled her in for a hug, wrapping her arms protectively around her just like she did when she was a child. “The Lord removed some people from your life but look at the angels he placed right away.”

Tommy saw Polly dabbing the corner of her eyes with her sleeve.

“This baby will grow surrounded by people who really love him or her.” He assured her.

“Now how about I help you take a bath? The doctor should arrive shortly.” Polly offered rubbing her back.

Her grandma squeezed between them. “I better go, said I was going to church.”

“Thank you for coming gran.” Y/N gave her a tight hug.

As they moved to get things done, Polly stopped her nephew before he could walk downstairs. “You’re brave for helping her like this.”

“I can’t leave her on her own.” He tried to explain, but Polly interrupted him.

“Your mother raised you right.” She then, in an unexpected move touched his shoulder. “She’d be proud of you.”

Part 3

Master list

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[azrakaban]

I love the Smiths - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: It's short. I know. I'm just in shock. #4 in jkrowling?! HELLO? TYSM I LOVE YOU AAAALL

Summary: Mattheo finds a non depressing person who listens to the same depressing music as him

Music suggestions: Back to the old house (2011 remaster) - The Smiths, There Is A Light That Never Goes Out - The Smith

Warnings: Mentions of drug use (not Mattheo or reader), cursing, fluff

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT DO DRUGS. I never have and never intend to, all descriptions of the effects of weed are brought to you from compulsory PSHE lessons (That's all I'm basing it off of so may be inaccurate) :) 

Pronouns mentioned: The reader has she/her pronouns, but feel free to change it in ur mind, it's not plot relevant xxx

...

Mattheo's POV

Sometimes all you need at the end of the bad day is rain and a smiths vinyl.

And fortunately for a certain younger Riddle son, that's exactly what he had. Well, that and a pack of cigarettes. 

He lit one as he sat back against the cracking stone bricks of the tower walls, just as A There Is Light That Never Goes Out came on. He exhaled the smoke, feeling partially guilty about the health effects he'd been so dubiously warned about by the posters plastered across the school walls. 

It's not like professor sprout didn't mean well by growing medicinal cannabis for some students, it's just that some slightly more raucous Ravenclaws and Gryffindors saw it as a personal invitation to get high. 

Not Mattheo though - he didn't like the stuff, knew it fucked with your head in the worst way possible, so he steered clear of it. He stuck to depressing 80s music to keep him happy. Ironic really. 

He looked up at the stars, trying to spot patterns before drifting off into his mind. 

'Because it's not my home, it's their home

and I'm welcome no more...'

"I love the smiths." Came a voice from the doorway, and Mattheo spun sharply. "What?" He said quietly. 

"I said I love the smiths." Came the voice again, and this time it registered with him that it belonged to a gorgeous girl standing in the doorway.

He grinned, returning the nervous smile on your face. "Yeah?? Well, you've got good taste then." He said, taking a puff of his cig. You flicked it from his hand with a small smile. He looked up at you, confused. 

"Why-?" He said, raising an eyebrow. 

"I heard you complaining about it in transfiguration earlier. At least, I think it was you. Sounded like your voice. It was a deep voice, whining something like 'Theo I wanna quit but you keep putting them on my bedside so I caaaaaan't.'" You imitated him perfectly, and Mattheo laughed. 

"Yeah, sounds about right." He said, smirking to himself. 

You laughed with him. "I imagined you looking at him the way a toddler looks at you before asking if you have games on your phone." You admit, smiling as you sit beside him. 

Mattheo stifled a laugh. "Really? I think I was more looking at him like how a kid looks at their parent before they ask them to watch them do something really bad, like a backflip that turns into an A&E trip." He replied, trying to light another cigarette. You flicked that one off the tower. 

He nodded, mouthing a quick thanks. You laughed. "I'll take those." You stole the cigarettes from his pocket, leaning across Mattheo. Instinctually, he sniffed, smelling your shampoo. You pulled back, looking confused.

"Did you just sniff my hair?" You said, half laughing. He flushed. "It was right there! What was I gonna do? Smelt good though." He acknowledged. "Some kind of spice?" He guessed. 

"Cinnamon." You replied, smiling. He ah'ed in acknowledgement, before he looked up at the stars. You mirrored him. 

"Look. Taurus." You pointed up at a cluster of stars. Mattheo looked up, not seeing anything. "Is it really?" He replied, raising an eyebrow. You giggled. "No idea, but it could be. Why, did it make me seem smart?" You replied, looking over at him.

"Will you push me off of here if I say no?" He laughed. You gently pushed him. "Debating it. If I push you I can steal your vinyl and player." You smirked. 

"Ah, but without me, you'd have no-one to listen to them with." He gently shoved you back. 

You nodded, agreeing with him. "True that."

He smiled, and you sat in silence for a while, before he broke it. "So, what brings you up here at midnight?" He queried, looking at you with a strange expression. 

"Friends. They're driving me insane." You replied, laughing a little. He nodded with you. "Same here." He sighed. 

You looked at him. "What did yours do?" He laughed. 

"Nothing much... they have good intentions it's just..." He grimaced.  "They're trying to set me up with this girl I've never met. She sounds great it's just... I want to know someone before I ask them out, you know? God that sounds corny." He groaned, and your mouth quirked, eyes seeing the stars but not registering them.

"No, I agree. Blind dates are awkward." You shuddered. "Have much experience?" He teased. You shook your head, smiling. "I'm going off of several cheesy rom coms." You shrugged.

"A romance girl hmm?" He smirked. You shoved him. "Loud and proud, tease me all you want, at least my standards aren't the bare minimum." He looked surprised. "It's not a bad thing you know. In my cheesy romance movies, the romance book girls tend to be the best love interests." He shoved you back gently as you gasped. 

"You watch romance movies?" You said quietly. "Don't give me that look, Blaise's mum loved them and I spent summers with them. You learn to tolerate them." He chuckled. You smiled.

"Do you have a favourite?" He gave you a look. "Don't be ridiculous."

You gave him puppy eyes and he relented. "10 Things I hate About you." You smiled happily. "Good choice." 

And then something hit you. "Did you call me a love interest?" He looked confused. "What?" 

"You said the romance book girls are the best love interests are the romance book girls directly after i said it. Do you see me as a love interest, Mr Riddle?" You teased, and he flushed again. 

"You know who I am?" He said quietly. You nodded. "Then why for Salazar's sake are you still here?" He raised an eyebrow. 

"You didn't ask me to leave, so why would I go?" You looked confused. He shook his head. "If you know who I am you've probably heard the rumours about what I'm like. That I'm like... him." You got the implication. 

"Well, you haven't tried to kill me, and you've had plenty of opportunities to push me off the tower, so I'd say you're pretty good in my books." You smiled. He gave you a weak one, clearly still processing. 

"So, do you see me as a love interest?" You repeated, smiling as he blushed slightly again.

"Maybe I do." He murmured. You smiled. "You're cute when you blush." You kissed his cheek before you stood. "Where are you going?" He said, looking crestfallen.

"I prefer to get to know people before I cast them as my love interest." You replied, smiling. 

"See you in transfiguration." And with that, you made your dramatic exit. 

He smiled to himself as you left, and sat there for a few moments in contemplation. What in the fever dream?

...

Mattheo was just leaving charms as he saw a head of (y/h/c) hair leave the history of magic classroom. He looked closer, spotting your gorgeous eyes that he'd been lost in the previous night. And then, in horrifying mortification, he realised he didn't know your name. 

"HEY! SMITHS GIRL!" He yelled, pushing past people to catch up with you, you span around, smiling. 

"Hi." He said a little breathlessly, and you giggled. "We umm, only listened to Side A of my vinyl last night, you wanna do Side B tonight?" He asked, crossing his fingers in his robes. You nodded, smiling, as his friends caught up. 

"I'd love to. But i don't want to keep you from your friends. Hey Theo." You waved to the guy standing behind Mattheo. Mattheo froze as Theo smirked. "Hi n/n. Mattheo, this is the girl I was telling you about. Y/n, Mattheo, Mattheo, Y/n. Though it seems you two are already aquainted?" He raised an eyebrow. 

You flushed. "A little." You murmured. Mattheo nodded sheepishly. "See you tonight, Smiths Girl." He smirked. 

"I have a name!" You called as he left with his friends. "SEE YOU TONIGHT Y/N!" He yelled back, laughing. Theo smirked at him. 

"Don't."

...

Over the next few weeks, you two grew incredibly close. Yapping about people, buried trauma... everything and anything that came up under the moonlight. 

"I love the moon." You said after a particularly deep talk, which had Mattheo nearly on the verge of the tears for the first time in he couldn't remember how long. He turned to you, giving you a sad smile.

"Why's that?" He murmured, watching your features illuminated by the light. 

"It's known you your whole life, through every bad fringe, through every cringy Twilight era, and still loves you. It still doesn't go away, except during the day, which is when the sun watches you. You don't need it then. But as soon as you do, it's there. It only goes when it has to, not because it wants to." You said thoughtfully. Mattheo chuckled slightly.

"Sure you're not over personifying it there?" He whispered, gently nudging you. You shook your head. 

"Look at that and tell me you don't think it can feel." Mattheo looked. And this time he saw. 

He saw what you saw in the moon. He saw what it represented in you. And he decided in that moment, he would stay. He would be your moon, if you would be his sun. But how could he tell you that? He couldn't, god no. 

So he just let his hand inch closer to yours, getting close, so unbearably close and then moving away, like magnets. 

"Y/n?" He murmured. You turned to look at him. "Yeah?" You whispered. 

He swallowed the words he wanted to say, instead opting for something that wouldn't probably make you turn and run away from him. 

"Thank you for telling me about you. And thank you for hearing about me." He said, giving you a small smile. 

"Don't thank me for something I'd willingly do whenever." You replied, watching the stars, and Mattheo wasn't sure if something inside him healed or broke. 

"You'll be the death of me." He chuckled lowly. You smiled. 

"I'd rather be the life of you." You replied, giggling before standing and going to leave. He reacted on instinct, grabbing your hand and pulling you back. 

"Stay? Please." He murmured, pulling you back down. You let him pull you, and found yourself sat between his legs, back against his chest, watching the stars. 

Another song came on, and you smiled. "I love this one!" You said, and stood again. For a moment, Mattheo panicked, before you held out a hand for him. 

"Dance with me?" You whispered, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. Well, to Mattheo, your eyes sparkled all the time, but more under the starlight. 

He stood, smiling as he took your hand and fake bowed, wiggling his eyebrows as he gently rested his hands on your hips, pulling you a little closer. 

You smiled, dancing  in silence for a while before he spoke. "It's a little cold." He said, and you nodded, shivering a little. "Mhm." You said. Damn, you should have brought a jumper. He noticed you shivering. "Come here, y/n." He murmured, outstretching his arms for you. 

You hesitated, and he worried that he'd pushed you too far, before you conceded, moving into his arms. He rested his chin on your head, happy to be a source of warmth if it kept you happy. You snuggled into him and Mattheo physically felt his heart ache, like it wanted out of his chest and into yours. 

"Honestly, fuck you." He said, groaning. You looked up, seeming surprised. "What?" 

"You come up here, where I was fine alone, and share all these things, and  that make me share things that I haven't told anyone before, and what's fucking more, you don't make me feel bad about it, you help me, and suddenly I'm not fine alone, and I need you."

"And I don't like needing people, it just gets you hurt, but you're not like other people, and I'm okay with needing you, because everytime I see you, you heal some tiny part of me, and fuck you because I am so hopelessly, desperately, in love with you." He said, walking back and forth infront of you as you tried to process. 

"I'm sorry." You whispered, smiling. He groaned. "And now you're apologising for it, and you look so fucking pretty and all I can think about it how much I want to kiss you." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair, damp from the rain, and a raindrop fell down his face like a tear. 

"You should. Kiss me I mean. I'd like that." You whispered, and you were barely through with your sentence before his lips were on yours, and you were kissing him, and his one of his hands was cupping your face and another one held your waist.

Mattheo kissed like a man starved, but oh god was it amazing. He kissed you, because you were his oxygen, his everything. 

When he finally broke apart from you, he grinned, then laughed softly, and so did you. 

"Merlin, I love The Smiths." He exhaled, still laughing quietly. You giggled. "Me too. But they share my heart with this one guy, can't think who." 

He laughed at that too. "Can't imagine who you'd be talking about." 

You smiled. "Yeah, it's this stranger I met on the astronomy tower, who likes the same music as me, and is super nice when you get to know him, and who i think loves me too. Oh, and he's also really cute." You added as an afterthought. 

"He's definitely in love with you, given he's usually a little shit to everyone else, including his best friends. OH SHIT. Theo. He's going to be so smug. We CANNOT tell him. I'm begging you." Mattheo fell to his knees, pleading with you in  mocking way. 

"Tell him what?" You smiled innocently, and Mattheo rolled his eyes. 

"That I am yours, Y/N, if you want me, and you are mine if you want that." He replied. 

You nodded. "I want that."

Mattheo kissed you at that, and before you left the astronomy tower, and before he said goodnight to you.

...

The next day, Mattheo saw you outside his charms class, and you shot him a smile. He gave up at that, walking over and giving you a short kiss, smiling into it when you kissed back before the two of you pulled apart. 

"What happened to staying secret?" You murmured, giggling at the surprised expressions of your friends and the surrounding students. He shrugged. "I love my smiths girl." There was a cough behind you, and you turned to see Theo smirking. 

"HA." Theo coughed loudly, his smirk growing more cocky by the second. 

"DON'T." Mattheo glared. 

"Okay, I won't, jeez." Theo put his hands up in mock surrender. 

Mattheo relaxed. 

"Just call me cupid." 

"SON OF A-"

A/N: WOAH. Azra uploaded twice within a month, is she okay? NO GUYS. I have a new crush. YIPPEE. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this crack fic and didn't cringe too much reading it. xxxx

REQUESTS STILL OPEN FOR ALL CHARACTERS <333

K THX BYEEEE

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 5: Heads Or Tails, Fairy Tales In My Mind]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Are We The Waiting” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

“I know he has a scalpel in his bag,” Baela says, meaning Aemond. You are sitting with her on the front steps of a two-story house—1970s construction, split foyer, pale blue siding and rust-red bricks—on Trux Street in Plymouth, Ohio. This town was named for the place where the pilgrims stepped off the Mayflower over four hundred years ago, pioneers who crossed through the doorway of an unfathomably changing world to die of disease, cold, accidents, starvation, violence. You wonder if you are so unlike them. “He’s assisted with c-sections before, if it comes to that. And he has needles and surgical thread. But he doesn’t have any way to anesthetize me.”

Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the silver Chrysler Pacifica parked at the end of the driveway and surveilling the road. Everyone else is inside tearing the house apart as they try to find the keys. You don’t know what to say to Baela. There is no way to console her except by lying, and she’s too smart for that. “How far along are you?”

“I don’t even know.” She laughs like she’s on the verge of losing her mind. You don’t blame her. “The doctors calculate it based on the date of your last period, but mine was all over the place. I had tried a few different birth control pills and had all these side effects, weird spotting and cramping, no sex drive, feeling depressed, so I just figured I’d go all natural for six months and give my body a chance to reset. And we all know how that turned out.” She skims her palms over the globe of her belly, hidden beneath the flowing periwinkle cotton of a maternity dress she found at the Walmart back in Shenandoah. “I’m officially due in four weeks.”

“But it could happen at any time.”

Baela nods miserably. “My mum had me and Rhaena the…you know…the natural way, and it was smooth sailing. But she needed an emergency c-section with my little brother. What happens if that’s how it goes for me? Do you ever think about all the ways people can die now? It’s not just the zombies. I could get murdered, or fall and crack my skull open, or get a cut that turns septic, or rupture my appendix, or get frostbite or heatstroke, or get bitten by a snake. It never ends. We’ll be balancing on the knife’s edge for the rest of our lives.”

You wish you were better with words; you wish you were someone who spoke effortlessly like Rio or Aegon. You reply with the only thing you can think of. “Humans have survived for hundreds of thousands of years, and for the vast majority of that time with no modern medicine. It was dangerous, and it was painful. But there have always been people who made it. We wouldn’t exist otherwise.”

Remarkably, this seems to help. “I know Aemond will do everything he can for me,” Baela says, more steadily now. “He’s always been the most dependable one. So serious, so protective. Daeron was visiting us in Boston when everything shut down, and Aemond wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight for weeks…then Aemond almost died when he lost his eye and Daeron proved he could take care of himself with his compound bow.” Baela unwraps a Twizzler and takes a bite out of it, gazing vacantly at the sky, calm and overcast now that the storm has passed, breezy, mid-80s. She doesn’t even like them, but she’s been eating through a pack of Twizzlers Luke had been carrying in his backpack for Jace, slow mindless chewing like a cow’s. “Aemond feels responsible for you now. And that’s difficult when there’s so little control he actually has over what ends up happening.”

“Baela…I’m so sorry about Jace.”

“Drowning isn’t so bad, I guess. I hope he drowned. I hope he was dead before he washed ashore and they ate him.” Baela turns to you, eyes glazed. “Do you think we should have shot him before we left the river? To make sure he didn’t die in pain? You could have done it if you wanted to. Your aim is good enough.”

“No,” you say, horrified but trying to soften it. “I think that would have been…immoral.”

“I don’t even have a picture of Jace to show the baby, everything was online or on my phone, and now that’s all…gone. Just gone. Like he never even existed. How am I going to explain to my child what Boston was, or law school, or aerospace engineering, or grocery stores or shopping malls or Instagram, or anything else about our lives before this whole fucking disaster? All they’ll ever know is running from monsters, scrounging for shelter and supplies from the ruins of civilization.”

“The world is going to come back, Baela. Maybe not for five or ten years, and maybe looking a lot different than it did before, but humanity will recover. The Black Death wasn’t the end, and neither were the World Wars or the Mongol invasions or the colonization of the Americas, or famines or floods or volcanic eruptions. The zombies won’t end us either.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I want to. “Yeah, I do. We just have to hold on until the tide turns. We can’t give up.”

“In that case, I’ll try not to go completely insane in the immediate future. Thank God Rhaena and Luke are still here. Do you have any siblings?”

You smile vaguely. “Four.”

“Wow,” Baela says. “Do you know where they are now?”

There is an interruption before you have to decide how to answer: a roaring high above in the sky, a remote mechanical growling. You and Baela both look up to see a jet zooming by, just below the steel grey cloud cover and leaving a trail of condensation behind it like a comet’s tail of eons-old cosmic dust. From where he is perched atop the Pacifica, Luke is pointing at the jet to show Rhaena. Aemond, Rio, Aegon, and Daeron come rocketing out of the house to find the source of the noise. After a moment, Helaena moseys onto the front porch as well, tucking flashlights and napkins into her burlap messenger bag. Meanwhile, Aegon is filling his pockets with packs of Marlboro Golds and orange prescription bottles labelled Percocet.

“Is that an airplane?!” Aegon gasps. “People are flying again?! Oh, we are back, baby! We are so back! I’m catching the next flight to SFO, peace out bitches, no more Oregon Trail for me!”

“It’s a jet,” Aemond says flatly. “Not a passenger carrier. Probably military.”

“Doesn’t look like one of ours.” Rio turns to you for confirmation.

“No, I don’t recognize it.”

“Then who the fuck is up there?” Aegon says. “Canada? The U.K.?”

Rio sighs, ruffling Aegon’s already quite disheveled blonde hair. “Who knows, Honey Bun. Maybe it’s China or Russia swinging by to drop nukes on any survivors.”

“Fortunately, nobody’s going to waste a nuclear bomb on freaking Plymouth, Ohio,” Baela says, watching the jet vanish into the west, the droning of its engines replaced by the breeze through the sugar maples and sycamores, the screeching of cicadas and chirps of robins. “No luck finding the keys?”

Aemond frowns as he shakes his head, tapping his chin anxiously. He knows she can’t walk much farther.

“How do none of us know how to hotwire a car?” Aegon demands, exasperated.

Rio replies cheerfully: “Well, Chips and I have been diligently serving this glorious nation since we were eighteen years old, and you’re all clueless rich kids. So…I think that just about sums it up.”

“I need more arrows,” Daeron says, clutching his compound bow. All the ones he had are now speared through zombies along the river where Jace died. When you snuck away from the farm at dawn, Luke used his binoculars to check the shores; they were still swamped with zombies, even more than the night before. They are pack animals; alone, they are aimless and easily confounded, their memories calamitously short. As part of a group—if they were crows they’d be a murder, if they were camels they’d be a caravan—zombies attract and guide each other, moving symbiotically like planets and moons locked in orbit.

“I think you’re going to have to start making them the old fashioned way, kid,” Rio tells Daeron, accompanied by a rough pat of encouragement on the back.

“What, like with sticks?!”

“Yeah. Use a knife to carve one end to make it pointy and you’re good to go.”

“Love it. Very pioneer.” Aegon holds up a Sony Walkman, pink and covered with Disney stickers, Ava spelled out across the top in glittering rhinestones. “At least I found this. Helaena, do we have any more AA batteries?” She fishes around in her bag and hands him a pair.

Baela gapes at him, but she’s smiling. It’s horrible, it’s absurd, it’s something you can’t help but find a macabre humor in. “Aegon, you cannot use that poor eaten kid’s CD player. You know it’s haunted.”

Aegon sings like a jingle from a commercial: “Little Ava died, RIP. Now I get to listen to my CDs.”

“Oh, that is so fucked up!” Rio cackles.

You say, grinning: “Aegon, I’m really going to miss you when we’re all in heaven at the bowling alley made of clouds and you’re downstairs in the fiery version of the afterlife.”

“Don’t feel bad for me, Chipmunk. You’re the one who’s going to die without ever having an orgasm.”

“You don’t need a man for that, Aegon,” Baela says.

“You definitely don’t,” you agree. Aemond glances over at you, intrigued. You stare dauntlessly back. What? You said you weren’t interested. The corners of his lips curl up in a reticent smile; he looks down to try to hide it. He’s touching his chin again. His cheeks flush pink as his mind wanders.

Rio chuckles. “Oh yeah, I remember your little experimenting phase. Lots of trips to the Spencer’s in the Tysons Corner mall when we were stationed at Anacostia.”

You raise your eyebrows, though you’re not annoyed. “I thought you were never going to tell anybody about that.”

“It’s the end of the world, baby. No time to be shy.” Then Rio asks Aemond: “Since we’re here and it’s quiet, you want to go ahead and check every house that has a car with the fuel cap still closed? There are some minivans and SUVs down at the other end of the street. Even a few gallons of gas will take us farther than days on foot.”

Aegon adds, checking his map: “A half tank would get us all the way to Decatur, Indiana.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Aemond says. He offers Baela a hand and helps lift her to her feet. “You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you down at the driveway with the black…what is that, a Honda Odyssey? You know the one, the van in front of the yellow house. Don’t go inside until I get there.”

“Yup!” Aegon agrees as he speeds off, racing Daeron to the house. Rio—not one for sprinting—jogs after them with his Remington in hand, ready to bash rotting skulls in at a moment’s notice. Baela toddles down to the Pacifica to tell Luke and Rhaena the plan, her periwinkle dress billowing in the wind; then they climb down to walk with her. Helaena floats across the sidewalk like a ghost, pausing to pick buttercups that grow up between the cracks in the cement.

Aemond has been waiting until the two of you are alone. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.” A few houses down, a female zombie—early-twenties, white bikini top, red Ohio State shorts—staggers across the yard and in her attempt to snag Aegon falls and impales herself on the white picket fence. She is suspended there, clawing and yowling, her blackening intestines and dark clotted blood staining the wood. Aegon takes his time getting into a stance and swings his golf club like he’s at a driving range. He hits her dead-on, caves the front of her face in, takes a few more shots just to be sure.

“I get what’s in Oregon for Rio,” Aemond says. “Sophie, the baby, his parents. But why are you going there?”

“Rio’s my best friend. He might be my only friend who’s still alive. And when we left Saratoga Springs, he made me promise that I wouldn’t let him die alone. So before anything else, I have to make sure he gets to Odessa and finds his family. And then I can figure out what’s next for me. But if it really is safe there, I don’t see why I’d leave. I’ve never wanted to be on my own. Maybe I can end up having a family in Oregon too.”

Aemond rests his elbows on the porch railing. He’s teasing you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m still alive.”

You tease him back. He deserves it. “I’m not sure about you and me.”

“I’d like for us to be friends.”

“Would you?”

“Resoundingly.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

He considers you. “You know, Kentucky might have been a good place for you to hide out. And it would be a lot closer than Oregon.”

You stand up, throwing on your backpack full of bullets for your Beretta M9s, beef jerky and peanut butter crackers and granola bars, lip balm, bottles of water, Kleenex tissues, Juicy Fruit, miscellaneous treasures from the road, practically worthless trinkets made so impossibly valuable. “We’re done here, right?”

Aemond is disappointed, though not with you. He has committed an error he cannot understand. “Yeah, we’re done.” He walks with you to the yellow house, your sneakers pounding in tandem on the sidewalk, squirrels and rabbits darting through the overgrown lawns, eastern tiger swallowtails swooping between blossoms.

Aegon says when you and Aemond arrive in the driveway, nodding to the once-attractive blonde zombie pawing and licking at the glass of the living room window: “Who wants to take care of Ryan Seacrest?”

“Got it,” Rio replies immediately. He kicks down the front door, macerates the zombie’s skull with the butt of his Remington, then sweeps through the kitchen and dining room searching for any other monsters in need of hasty euthanasia. He doesn’t find any. He drags the corpse outside to lessen the stench of decomposition and opens all the downstairs windows.

“Commence Operation Find The Minivan Keys,” Aegon says as he rummages through drawers and cabinets. Helaena joins him, seeking so delicately she is almost soundless, her large blue eyes flicking from place to place. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron stay outside to keep watch. Baela collapses into a recliner in one corner of the living room and is dozing within seconds.

“I’ll clear the upstairs,” Aemond volunteers, then asks you: “Watch my blind side?”

You can’t help but smile; it is a generous invitation. It is an honor. You shadow him up the staircase of olive green carpet, through the hallway, into each of the three bedrooms and one full bath. When you are certain it is safe—exploring the back of every closet, under every bed—you and Aemond begin searching for weapons and car keys. The main bedroom is like a forest: blankets pattered with trees and deer, wood furniture, paintings of the Battle of the Wilderness during the Civil War. You investigate every drawer of the nightstand and dresser, then go to leave.

“Wait.” Aemond peeks out into the hallway to make sure no one else is around, then closes the bedroom door. Your eyes track him quizzically, shy skittish optimism, your head tilted, your fingers finding the dresser behind you, cool rust-hued oak, a color like dried blood. You slip off your backpack. Then Aemond comes to you like a returning comet—once in a lifetime, once in an eon—and holds your face in his hands as he kisses you, soft, careful, unhurried, then turning famished, sweltering incurable hunger. You lift yourself up onto the dresser; your thighs have parted, and Aemond is between them, still fully clothed and leaving yours in place too, so innocent, so spotless, and yet in your mind you are imagining what it would feel like to lie beneath him as he opens and fills you, to be so irredeemably close to another person, to watch and listen as he teaches you what to do.

Right here? Right now?

It suddenly strikes you as too soon; you want this but you aren’t ready. Your heart races, you can’t catch your breath. “I am obligated to make you aware that according to your own calculations, I am likely dangerously fertile at the moment.”

Aemond grins as he bites playfully at your lower lip. “Relax. We’re not rounding all the bases this time.”

His voice evaporates your panic, lulls your rushing blood. Your muscles turn to seamless rippling water. Your bones crave the weight of his. “Yeah, totally, good, that’s good. Just making sure.”

“I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

In reply, you unbutton your denim shorts and pull down the zipper, slowly, very slowly, your gaze linked with his like torn flesh stitched together. He’s close enough to kiss you again, but he doesn’t; he takes your chin gently and turns your face to the side, admiring the curve of your jaw. Then his lips are on your throat and his right hand is skimming down the front of your shirt, over your belly, under your shorts. You gasp—the foreignness of another’s hand here, the disorienting vulnerability—and Aemond stops.

“No, I’m okay,” you assure him, smiling. You kiss him deeply, your fingertips tracing his scar, the work of his careful, gifted hands. Aemond does not flinch away. He presses his face into your palm, offering himself fully, taking shelter in you. And everything other than him—this house, this world, this age, this westward journey, this apocalypse—goes quiet, quiet, quiet, like when you are shooting, like when you are hammering nails under the sun. Aemond makes everything horrifying disappear. It is the greatest sort of magic you can imagine.

“So,” he says. “What did you buy at Spencer’s?”

“Green Day t-shirts.”

“Sure.”

“And some, uh, battery-powered companionship.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s fingers are moving against you; it is increasingly difficult to respond to his questions. “Internal or external? Or both?”

“Oh, definitely…um…I stayed on the outside, mostly. I tried…oh wow, okay…inside a few times, but I didn’t get much out of it. It was mostly just uncomfortable.”

“No problem. We’ll work up to that.”

“Will we?” You hope you don’t sound too desperate. The warm coiling pleasure is swelling, strengthening, begging to be released, loosed like an arrow or fired like a bullet. Aemond’s fingers slip through your wetness, circling and pressing down harder, insistently, masterfully. It feels different than using toys: it is more gradual, less sharp, helplessly overpowering.

“That’s my plan. If you’ll allow it.”

You exhale a threadbare ghost of a whimper against his throat and then reach for his shorts, fumbling blindly for the button and zipper.

“No, don’t do anything,” Aemond murmurs, soft and pleading, almost like a prayer. “Let me take care of you. Please let me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re doing a lot right at the moment.” You’re close now, your breaths quick and panting. You throw your arms around the back of Aemond’s neck and fold into him, feeling the thudding pulse of his carotid artery beneath your fingertips, the softness of his lips and unscarred cheek as he nuzzles the side of your face. It’s so quiet, but there’s no need to fill the silence, no words, no uneasiness. You’ve always wondered what you would have to do to please a man, what premeditated motions and praises you would offer him, niceties, perhaps even lies. But this is effortless. The shimmering golden glow like sunlight is here, and he is the one drawing it out of you, water from a well, blood from a tapped vein. The only sound you make is a shuddering inhale, but Aemond knows immediately. He closes his eyes, relieved, proud, beaming, resting his forehead against yours.

He asks: “Can I try…?”

“Yes, do it, please, I want you to.”

Aemond’s hand shifts between your thighs, moves lower, and there is a sudden jolt of pain like a pinch, like a bite. You wince before you can think to disguise it. Immediately, Aemond retreats, kissing your lips and your cheeks. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You were incredible.”

You reach for his shorts again and unbutton them. “Show me what to do.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

He takes a shaky breath, drags his tongue over the fingers he touched you with, moans so quietly you can barely hear him. He frees himself from his clothes: long and thick, harder than you believed flesh could be. Aemond grasps your hand and places it, demonstrates how to move and how much pressure to apply. Then his own hands drop to grip the edge of the dresser as you stroke him. You nip at his throat, his jaw, the shell of his ear; you coax euphoric sighs from him, feel a high in your bloodstream like something illicit and lethal.

“I’ll be honest,” you say. “I have no idea how that’s ever going to fit inside me.”

Aemond chuckles, distracted. “Women stretch, just like men do. It might take time, but it will happen. And I’ll make sure it’s as good as it can be.”

“I want it to be you, Aemond,” you whisper, and you can feel him throbbing in your hand. “You and no one else. Teach me how to do everything.” Make the world go away.

He gasps as he finishes, a thunderous trembling all over, a gush of white heat that flows over your hand. Curious, you lift it to your mouth. “Don’t—!”

But he’s too late; you lick him from your palm and then recoil at the taste, pungent, bitter, salty.

Aemond laughs hysterically, kissing your mouth and then your forehead. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“I hope I taste better than that.”

“You definitely do.”

You peer up at him, dazed, dreamy. “I really like you, Aemond.”

“You can’t fall in love with me.” It is a taunt; it is a warning.

“If I do, I won’t let you know,” you promise. “You’re on first watch tonight, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll stay up too.”

“Rio already volunteered to do it.”

“Really, I don’t mind.”

“No,” Aemond purrs, brushing your hair back from your face, marveling at you. “I can’t have you sleep deprived. You’re our best shot.”

“I can handle it.”

“You want to be honest with each other, you want to communicate? I like knowing you’re rested. I like knowing you’re safe.”

The door flies open with a bang; Aegon stands in the threshold. “We’ve got three-quarters of a tank of gas!” he announces ecstatically, jangling car keys in the air. Then he registers what he’s looking at. “Come outside when you’re done fucking.” Aegon slams the door shut; you hear his Sperry Bahama sneakers drumming on the staircase.

“I guess we should go,” you say reluctantly, untangling yourself from Aemond and sliding down from the dresser.

“Wait.” He gets a water bottle out of your backpack, soaks a handful of Kleenex tissues, and gives them to you to clean yourself off. When you’re done, he wipes himself down too. “Make sure you always take a piss after any…activities. We don’t have antibiotics if you get a kidney infection.”

“I know, doctor. I’ve read Reddit threads.”

“Not a doctor. Just a lowly intern.”

“You seem like an anatomy expert to me,” you say, then head downstairs.

The black Honda Odyssey is idling as the last of the supplies are loaded, the windows down, Baela adjusting the driver’s seat so she can accommodate her belly. Everyone piles inside and she steers the minivan out of the driveway and onto Trux Street. Aegon pops one of his mixtapes into the CD player. The song that pipes through the speakers is Prayer In C:

“Yeah, you never said a word

You didn’t send me no letter

Don’t think I could forgive you…”

“So,” Baela says casually, grinning at you in the rearview mirror. “How was the sex?”

“Stop,” Aemond begs, his face going red, smiling involuntarily.

You say placidly: “I appreciate your interest, but that’s not what we were doing.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Do you know what sex looks like or not, dumbass?”

“They were doing something, okay! Those were not virginal activities!”

“See, our world is slowly dying

I’m not wasting no more time

Don’t think I could believe you…”

You rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder and watch the abandoned houses pass by in a blur.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Odyssey arrives in Decatur, Indiana just a few hours before sunset, gas to spare and plenty of time to find a safe place to spend the night. You break into a house on the outskirts of the west side of the city: a rancher with a screened-in porch, beach décor, bowls of seashells on tables and spray-painted aluminum dolphins on the wall. Baela plummets into sleep immediately, sharing the largest bed with Rhaena and Luke. Helaena writes in her spider notebook for a while before curling up on the living room couch, Daeron sprawled on the floor beside her with a couch cushion for a pillow. Aegon is in what was once a child’s bedroom; you have the bedroom of a teenage girl, perhaps spirited away to friends or relatives in some other part of the country, perhaps dead, perhaps lurching around out in the night somewhere, mad and murderous. Everything is purple, the walls, the blankets, the stuffed animals that form a mountain on the other half of the bed.

You are exhausted, but you can’t sleep. Your thoughts won’t stop racing, stop craving. Aemond and Rio are in rocking chairs out on the porch, keeping watch and working their way through the case of Sunny D they found in the kitchen pantry. You go out to join them, then stop at the screen door that separates the linoleum-floored dining room from the porch. They are discussing you. You sit, legs crossed, listening in the dim silvery light, stars and moon and nothing else.

Aemond is saying: “She doesn’t talk much about where she came from.”

Rio chuckles, a low baritone rumble. “She doesn’t talk much in general. But yeah, don’t expect any juicy revelations. That’s not how she does things.”

“Do you know what her life was like before?”

“I know some of it. I don’t know a lot.” Rio pauses; you can envision him shrugging and running his fingers through his dark curly hair, weighing what you would be okay with him sharing. “I know that when I met her, her mother was calling all the time telling her to send money home. And she’d do it, because she felt like she didn’t have a choice. Then she never had cash for drinks or anything, I was always paying her way, and one day I was finally like ‘Chips, how much do you actually have in your account right now?’ because I figured she must be down real low. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe it when she showed me the balance, she had like three bucks left until her next paycheck, and of course then her mother would be calling again. She sent tens of thousands of dollars home that disappeared, poof, gone, without a trace.”

Aemond sounds stunned. “What did they spend it on?”

“Who the fuck knows with those people. Lottery tickets and cigs, probably. Trips to Virginia Beach. Benny Hinn Bibles. And when she tried to hit the brakes, her mother and siblings got nasty, calling constantly and telling her how awful she was and that they were going to starve. I convinced her to stop picking up the phone, but it took forever. I think she knew by then she was going to have to cut them off if she didn’t want to end up back there, but she needed somebody to give her permission. That was my job. As far as I know, she hasn’t spoken to anyone from home in years. Hell, Sophie was her AOP.”

“AOP…?”

“Oh, sorry, Arrears of Pay. It’s the person you designate to get all your benefits if you die in the service. I guess she figured that if our base got bombed or our plane went down or something, at least it would end up with my family.”

Aemond is quiet, thirty seconds, a minute, maybe two. “Obviously my circumstances were a lot different. But I understand having to choose between other people’s expectations and yourself.”

“Why are you asking me all this?”

Another pause; silent thoughts under glimmering stars and the shrieks of short-lived summer cicadas. “She takes me out of this world for a while. She makes the guilt and the fear go quiet. I want to know everything about her.”

When Rio speaks, he is gentle, compassionate. “The hard truth is, the details aren’t my business. They aren’t yours either. When people enlist, they’re starting over. It’s a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It gets them away from home, but it also gets them away from whoever they were before.”

“She said something like that once. Back at Fort Indiantown Gap.”

“It’s a polite way of telling you to shut up.” You know from his voice that Rio is smiling. “If she wants to forget her old life, you have to let her. If you care about her, you’ll want her to be able to move on.”

“I care.”

“She likes you,” Rio says. “But you could still fuck it up. She’s good at finding reasons not to trust people.”

“It’s a bad way to live.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know. I’m the same way.”

There is quiet now, only the sounds of Sunny D being slurped and cicadas screaming through the darkness. You have intruded enough. You stand and walk back down the hallway, then remember something Aegon said outside a Burger King in Pennsylvania. You go to his bedroom, illuminated by a flashlight pointed towards the ceiling, casting long deformed shadows.

Aegon is lying on his back with his head hanging upside down over the side of the bed—dinosaur blankets, bright red and blue pillows—puffing on a cigarette and listening to his new CD player, previously Ava’s, with both earbuds in. Then he spots you. Still upside down, Aegon hits the pause button on his CD player and says: “Hey, Microchip.”

“What did you mean about people pretending to love you?”

He smirks, shrugs, takes a lazy drag off his Marlboro Gold. “Every friend I’ve ever had has used me for money, mansions, yachts. Every girl I’ve ever fucked has wanted something in return. Mother prefers Daeron, Grandfather prefers Helaena, Criston prefers Aemond, and Father prefers his real estate empire and his model ships. Can you imagine loving a miniature replica of the Titanic more than your own children?”

“No,” you say, honestly and with heavy, gore-red pity. “You shouldn’t have to go back to people who make you feel that way. I wouldn’t.”

Aegon takes another drag as he watches you. “Aemond mentioned you’re from Kentucky.”

“I am.”

“But you won’t be returning.”

“No.”

Aegon nods, like you’ve answered an important question. “Aemond talks about you a lot. It’s cute. It doesn’t make me sick like when he was with Alys. Playing her games, breaking himself in half to follow her rules.”

You peer down at your fingernails, short and functional and unglamorous. You don’t want to hear about the older woman who was his lover, his obsession, his cure, his venom. She was poisonous to him, surely, and yet she was experienced where you are uninitiated and unversed, she had a PhD to compare with your high school diploma. Surely in those seven years he shared moments with her that were divine. Surely even a curse is woven from magic.

“Anyway.” Aegon rolls over, props himself up on his elbows, and extinguishes his cigarette in an empty plastic Sunny D bottle. “I have no particular affinity for my old life or the beach house in California, but that’s where Aemond is going. And I have to be where he is. I have to make sure he’s alright, you know?”

Yes, you do know; that’s how you feel about Rio. “What’s it like? That house up on a cliff all by itself?”

Aegon grins, like he’s caught you in a mouthwateringly compromising position. “Why? You thinking about visiting someday?”

“Just wondering.”

He squirms over to one side of the bed to make room for you, popping in an earbud. “Come listen with me.”

“What is it?”

“Just come over here!”

You cross the room and kick off your sneakers, climb onto the bed, lie down and take the other earbud that Aegon offers you. What you hear when you listen is Don McLean’s American Pie. “Oh, this is ancient.”

“It’s a classic. I wish I’d gotten to live through the 70s.”

“We’ll reinvent them when the world starts up again. Disco and lava lamps and shag carpets. We’ll shoot heroin and listen to vinyl records. Jimmy Carter can be president if he’s still alive.”

Aegon snickers, and then he sings along, hushed but surprisingly melodic, solemn, tender. He’s looking at you expectantly, eyebrows raised, nodding, beckoning for you to join him. You adamantly refuse. You don’t sing in front of anybody, not even Rio.

“I met a girl who sang the blues

And I asked her for some happy news

But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store

Where I’d heard the music years before

But the man there said the music wouldn’t play…”

Aegon shoves your shoulder. “I could be dead tomorrow. Don’t ignore me.”

Self-consciously, but smiling a little bit, you begin to sing with him, so softly you can barely hear yourself. Aegon is beaming, small even white teeth beneath sparkling eyes, a murky cool blue like storm clouds, like the ocean, waves lapping at the shores of Diego Garcia, the Gulf of Tadjoura off the east coast of Djibouti, Corpus Christi Bay, places you once never knew existed.

“And in the streets, the children screamed

The lovers cried and the poets dreamed

But not a word was spoken

The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most

The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost

They caught the last train for the coast

The day the music died.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

headcanon- steve secretly being insanely good at something, maybe chess or something similarly associated with intelligence. when everyone finds out they are surprised and doubtful leading steve to have the realization "oh. you guys genuinely think I'm stupid."

Steve loved seeing how things worked, he had since he was too young to actually figure things out by himself.

He got caught pulling apart his dad’s office calculator when he was nine, insisted he could put it back together, and did.

It took him a week, but he did it.

Then it was the house phone.

Then his desk lamp.

The toaster.

He always got them back together and working, but his parents weren’t very pleased if they caught him in the process.

Still, he loved the feeling of understanding how certain wires connecting meant something would light up or how one color wire would make something produce a number and another would produce power.

He continued doing it with random objects for years.

The concussions made it harder, his vision going blurry if he focused a little too long on a small part of the technology, his frustration making it even worse.

When Eddie found out, he gave him an old amp that wasn’t working anymore, said it probably would never work again but he could take a look inside.

Steve got it working in two days.

Wayne gave him their VHS player when it stopped rewinding, didn’t want to have to buy a new one even if they did have the money for it now. He had it fixed in four hours.

The oven in the new Munson home randomly stopped working, so of course Steve was called.

He came during Hellfire, ignoring the strange looks as he waved and made his way straight to kitchen.

He got to work, humming to himself as he made sure electricity was cut off from it, that there was no gas hookup anywhere, and pulled it from the wall.

The wiring inside was relatively straightforward, and he saw the problem almost immediately.

A loose wire connecting from the heat source to the controls. Easy fusing. Done.

He tested to make sure it was fixed, and ten minutes later, he was calling Wayne at work on the house phone to let him know it was fixed.

When he turned around, Dustin and Lucas were standing in the doorway, mouths open.

“You’ll catch flies like that. You know Eddie leaves the windows open all the time.”

“You fixed the oven?”

“Uh. Yeah?”

“By yourself? Like the inside of it?”

“Yeah?”

“How? That’s so many wires and stuff.”

“It’s not that hard.”

“That’s like, electrical engineering shit.”

Steve realized what was happening just as everyone else walked into the kitchen.

“Oh. You guys don’t think I’m smart enough.”

He felt like he hit a brick wall.

“What’s going on?” Eddie came to stand next to Steve, arm wrapping around his waist.

“We didn’t know Steve was smart.”

The words were unintentionally harsh, but Steve and Eddie flinched anyway.

“Steve’s incredibly smart. He fixes all kinds of things.”

“Eds, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. They know better than to make assumptions about someone based on grades in school or how they understand certain things.”

Steve shrunk into Eddie’s side, doing his best to hide his face while he held back tears.

“You can all apologize or you can leave.”

There was silence for a moment and Steve was almost convinced that they’d all left.

He turned his head to see everyone staring at him.

“We’re sorry, Steve. Really. Eddie’s right. We shouldn’t have assumed you weren’t super smart just because you didn’t do well in school or don’t understand us when we ramble.”

Will was always a good kid, maybe his favorite at the moment.

“‘S okay guys.”

Eddie’s fingers tightened on his waist for a moment.

“So do you fix all kinds of stuff or just appliances?”

“I like to take stuff apart and put it back together. Sometimes I just end up fixing something along the way.”

“So you could look at my walkie?” Max piped up. “It keeps going to static in the middle of me talking.”

“Sure. Probably just a disconnected wire between the speaker and the button.”

Max beamed back at him, not just happy he would try to fix it, but proud.

Everyone started asking if he could fix things they had, surprised when he agreed to it all.

They filtered back out to the dining room area where they played, except for Dustin.

“What’s up?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that you’re stupid or anything. I know you’re not stupid. I was just surprised. I shouldn’t have been; you’re always finding the crossed wires with us and fixing those.”

Steve pulled him into a hug.

“People aren’t nearly as easy as electronics, dude.”

“Yeah, but you make it look that way.”

Steve quickly became the group’s engineer, always fixing what was broken, whether it was a flashlight or a bad day. He was pretty good at putting things and people back together.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This is how to restore a Victorian. 1888 beauty in St. Joseph, MO. 4bds, 4ba, 5,062 sq ft, $765k.

Front doors open to a small foyer that completely surrounded by wood and amazing floor tile.

Gorgeous glass, millwork and ceiling. Can you imagine if some fool came in and painted this white?

The entrance is a stunner- stairs are so beautiful, as well as the fireplace, floor, windows, and light fixture. This would've been the place for callers to wait. I believe it would be called the reception room, rather than a keeping room.

Very large sitting room is on the other side of the entrance hall.

This home is so well-preserved and restored, it's like a jewel.

Across the hall there's a magnificent dining room. Look at the inlaid in the floor.

Incredible fireplace.

Beautiful fame parlor. I would dance thru this home, it's so beautiful.

Directly off the game parlor there's a roomy vintage 1/2 bath. This is like stepping in time.

They did their very best w/the kitchen. Victorian kitchens are tricky to configure sometimes. But, all of the original wood is here and they put the stove, sink, etc., in that alcove. The black does imitate an old cast iron stove.

Out here, the cabinet looks original, and they put a farm sink in the island.

Going upstairs, there's a beautiful stained glass window on the landing, and look at that wood ceiling. When you reach the top, there's another landing, plus gorgeous arched doorways and wainscoting.

I must say that this large, primary is one classy bedroom. It is stunning.

And, it even has doors to a private terrace.

This bath. Now, this is how you redo a Victorian bath. The shower has similar new tile that is close to what it may have looked like originally, the fixtures are reproduction, and the door is non-invasive looking clear glass. This is classy- it's an en-suite, which you don't see much in older homes.

The closet is as beautiful as any modern closet could ever be.

Linen closet in the hall.

Wow, look at this room- it has an absinthé holder.

Very smart looking bedroom with dark wood.

Another vintage shower room.

Stairs to the staff quarters. Fridge & microwave in the corner. Good idea, b/c it's probably a hike down to the kitchen if you're hungry at night.

The bedrooms are plainer up here.

There's another lovely bath. I wonder if the tiny sauna conveys. Shoot, I don't even know if I could get in there. It looks like it's for a child.

This home is huge. Look at all the a/c units.

Nice brick garage.

1.57 acre lot provides lots of privacy around the house.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/631-Hall-St-Saint-Joseph-MO-64501/110497130_zpid/

[zorrasucia]

Teach Me Tonight - Part 1

Part 1: [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy, Masturbation, Mutual masturbation, P in V sex, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary: He scratched his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassment taking over desire. "Would you teach me? How to- I wanna make you feel good."

It had all started five months ago.

You had finally found a good spot for your vintage clothing store. It used to be a bar, right next to a sandwich place called The Beef. Things lined up so that the new restaurant, The Bear, opened a week before your store did. You were thankful - fine dining brought just the kind of business you wanted.

After weeks of eyeing the delicious looking desserts through the window, you decided to close early and get one of each and a coffee.

"You have a sweet tooth, huh?" the server joked amicably. "Have I seen you around?"

"I own the store next door," you replied.

"Of course!" he smiled. Then added: "Do you sell anything denim?"

You eyed his all black suit, guessing his size.

"Yeah, I just got a few pieces you might like."

"Oh, it's not for me," he laughed. "I've been telling my cousin to visit for weeks but he hasn't listened. I'll send him your way tomorrow."

You hadn't thought much of it. But the next day the cousin showed up. He was short, pretty, with blue eyes and built like a brick house.

"Carmen," he offered you his hand to shake; his arms were covered in tattoos.

"Your cousin said you are looking for vintage denim?"

"Yeah."

You showed him the new arrivals and a few of the most popular pieces - everybody wanted Levi's 501s. But he surprised you asking about specific models and the lining on jackets. You didn't know it at the time but Carmy found a way into your heart and mind from the moment you met him.

He was smart without being cocky, with an offbeat sense of humor and the nicest profile you had ever seen. He started bringing you (exquisite) leftovers for your lunch, stopping sometimes for a little talk. You called him to show whatever new pieces arrived to the store. It became a thing.

You were friends until you weren't. Until he got comfortable enough to touch your hand and hug you. Until you got the nerve to ask him out and kiss him.

It had been three months of seeing each other as much as your schedules allowed, kissing at closing time and talking way too much about jeans.

Today was a rare instance of Carmy taking the day off from the restaurant, and even rarer that it had lined up with yours. The afternoon was spent in your living room, eating take out from his favorite place, your legs on his lap, talking about the frantic week he'd had and your plans of going to a estate sale next weekend. You ended up tangled on your bed making out, the song of the city playing outside your window, his tongue eager in your mouth and your hands carding through his hair. You felt electric, like anything Carmy did could light the spark within you. You writhed in his embrace and found that Carmy was hard against your hip, grinding slightly.

"Are we doing this?" you asked against his mouth. You were leaning back and pulling him towards you.

"Now?" he sounded surprised.

"I mean, yeah," you chuckled. It felt right. And you had thought about it for weeks. But he seemed genuinely taken aback so you added: "If you want."

There was a long silence. Was it too soon? You looked away, feeling mortified - this was all a mistake. You tried to disentangle yourself from Carmy's embrace to give him space but he held on tighter.

"No, I do, I want to," he said softly. "It's just-"

His thumb soothed the skin on your cheek and you realized he wasn't surprised, not really. His eyes were half lidded - it was a weird look on him, a combination of embarrassment and desire.

"Do you like kinky stuff? Is that it? Because we can talk about it-" you stopped in your tracks when you saw his face contort into a grimace. "Sorry."

"It's fine," he reassured. "Actually it's the opposite problem," he mumbled. "I'm- I'm new to this. I have done none of it. Ever," he confessed. You caressed the hair on his temples.

"Oh. That's okay," you said and he avoided your gaze. You tilted your head to look him in the eye. "It is. I promise."

"Would you-" he scratched his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassment taking over desire. "Would you teach me? How to- I wanna make you feel good."

You smiled. "I mean, sure, but hopefully we'll both feel good."

He laughed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. You settled on the bed, lying face to face, just kissing, taking your time, warming the space between you once again. Carmy followed the pace you had set, his lips were gentle against yours. There was a nervousness to him though, he was too still. You took one of his hands and placed it on your chest, cupping your breast over your shirt. He gasped into your mouth and paused the kiss.

"Just touch me," you nuzzled your nose against his. "Anywhere you like."

His hands hovered above you, settling on your waist, lifting your shirt a little. His fingers were cold and you shivered.

"Sorry- I-" he stopped.

"Hey, you're just a little cold," you kissed his cheek and ran your hands over his chest and around his shoulders reassuringly. "I'll let you know if anything feels wrong."

"Promise?"

You nodded and placed his hand back on your waist. His fingers tickled up your sides and you hummed contentedly even though your clothes were getting in the way.

"Want to take it off?" you asked.

You lifted your arms so that he could push the blouse off of you. He cleared his throat at the sight of you, his eyes wider than you had ever seen them, and you could feel yourself melting into his beautiful hands as he touched and touched.

"Can I?" you had started tugging at the hem of his pristine, white shirt.

"Yeah," he replied breathlessly. You helped him out of it, and started tracing the lines of muscle on his arms.

"You're so beautiful," you said and he flushed down to his neck, the way he looked after a long day in the kitchen.

"Well, right back at you," he replied earnestly. "Wh- What should I do next?"

"Kiss my neck?" you proposed. He nodded eagerly and buried his face in the crook of your neck. "Keep going," you pleaded.

His hair tickled you as he went down your collarbone and the top of your breasts. You trembled with pleasure. This was new to him but also new to you. You had gotten used to men that never asked what you liked - this was different. Nice.

"I'll show you something," you guided Carmy's hands to your back, over the clasp of your bra. "There's a hook back there, feel it?"

"I think so," he furrowed his brows in concentration.

"You bring the sides together and it opens," it took him a couple of tries but he managed. "Good," you praised and Carmy smiled wide, carefully taking it off.

He continued kissing down, noticing how your breath hitched when he got close to your nipples.

"Feels good?" he asked, his breath on your skin hardened your nipples and made you arch your back.

"Yeah," you carded a hand through his hair, keeping him close and moaning when he kissed each side.

His lips and hands roamed all over your chest, so diligently, so thoroughly, that you thought you might come from that alone. Your thighs kept rubbing close together to find some relief. Carmy saw you and placed a hand on your hip.

"Show me," he said.

You took one of his tattooed hands and placed it between your legs, arching into it. His fingers pressed around aimlessly. It wasn't terrible but it wasn't good either.

"I have an idea," you said after a little while. Carmy looked up at you. "Come, let's sit."

He settled with his back to the headboard while you undressed all the way. Then, you sat between his legs, your back to his chest.

"This is nice," Carmy said softly, one of his strong arms surrounding you. You put his hand back between your open legs, his fingers over yours.

"I'm going to touch myself the way I like it," you explained, your index already tracing the outlines of your folds. "And then you try."

Carmy cleared his throat behind you. "Okay."

You closed your eyes, focused on the feeling of Carmy around you - his sculpted chest to your back, his long fingers echoing every move you made, and his breath caressing the side of your face. Carmy's hands were bigger than yours, more calloused - the feeling of them, almost in unison with yours, was making you dizzy.

"Here," both of your middle fingers touched your clit. You moaned. "Here is good."

"I can hear that," he teased.

When your hand moved around, his stayed there, drawing tiny circles on it.

"Oh," you gasped in surprise and pleasure. Your free hand started squeezing at your breast only to be replaced with his other hand. "Fuck," you cursed under your breath as he kept going. "That's good. That's so good. Don't stop."

"Wouldn't dare," he managed to say.

He sounded just as worked up as you were, his breathing laboured. You could feel his nose buried deep in your hair and his erection poking at your back. He started grinding against you, and you leaned into it a little. He groaned.

"Please," he begged.

You reached behind, palming him over his trousers. It was hard to keep a steady pace from that angle and he was already making you lose control but you tried.

"Shit, shit," he fucked into your hand, messy and desperate, every sound from his mouth pushing you over the edge.

"Carmy," you called his name over and over as your orgasm washed over you. It was hot, blinding, and it made it hard to breathe. You realized Carmy had come too once you regained your bearings and found the bit of his trousers you were holding was damp and warm.

He rested his forehead on the side of your face.

"I could die right now," he mumbled, blissed out.

You hummed in agreement. You stayed in content silence for a while, Carmy's arm keeping you close and his thumb caressing your shoulder.

"We can go over the rest next time," you offered.

"I, uh," he shifted where he sat, "I kinda hoped I'd see you when..."

You twisted a little to look at him. He was back to that embarrassed-horny state, cheeks flushed.

"See me...?" you prompted.

"When you came."

"Oh!" you touched his thighs gently. "I mean, if you can go again-"

"Yeah," he chuckled breathlessly. "Yeah. Just give me a minute."

"Alright."

You got up from the bed to rummage through your bedside table for condoms. You placed them by your pillow. When you turned, you found Carmy with his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, one hand caressing his neck and one on his crotch, moaning softly. It was the hottest thing you had ever seen. You got back on the bed in front of him, and reached for the closure of his trousers. He stopped abruptly.

"Shhh," you soothed. "Keep going. I'm only taking these off."

"Thanks," he replied.

You took his trousers and boxer briefs off, trying your best to not stop his rhythm. He took his cock in his hand and started caressing the head.

"You look so fucking hot, Carmy." He let out a chuckle and picked up a little speed. "Can I help?" you asked after a while.

"You don't have to-"

"I want to," you said. You moved to kneel beside him and started kissing his neck, mirroring his hand on the other side. Then, you pulled on the hair on his nape. You could feel the vibrations on his throat when he moaned.

"So nice," he said softly.

"What else? Tell me what you'd like me to do."

"Just touch me, please," he echoed your reply from before.

You did. Over his chest, flicking at his nipples, down his stomach following the trail of hair and back up, your nails leaving red lines in their wake. Carmy was already hard again but you still wanted to give him pleasure, so you put your hand next to his on his cock and he groaned.

"Slow, please," he begged.

You moved on the bed until you were between his muscular thighs.

"Let me know if you want me to stop," you said right before you kissed the tip of his cock and made him growl.

You left small pecks wherever his hand couldn't reach - the inside of his thighs, the curls under his navel, and his head again. Then, you licked along his shaft.

"Stop," he pleaded, the veins on his throat were bulging, his hand had stilled completely. "I still want to fuck you."

"Okay," you cupped his face tenderly. There was something vulnerable about him that you had only seen a couple of times. "Had you imagined anything?"

"Uh, not really," he hesitated. "Just you. I want to see you."

"We could do it like this," you proposed, nudging his legs close so that you could straddle him. He was still leaning against the headboard. "Either you or I can take over, so-" you let it float, the reassurance that you were there for him but he could do as much as he was comfortable with.

"Yeah. Sounds- sounds great," he ran his hands over your bare back.

You reached out for the condom beside him.

"May I?" you touched his thigh reassuringly. He nodded. "So, opening these with your teeth looks sexy but it's dumb as fuck because you can break it," you explained, maneuvering the wrapper carefully. Then, you rolled it over his length, his head tilting back with a moan. "There's flavored shit, and textured ones. We can try some later, if you want."

"Later," he smiled, the idea of more nights together but also the need he had for you right now - his pupils were blown.

So you got closer, hovering just above his cock.

"You can use lube too," you whispered. "But I'm soaking for you," Carmy groaned, "so we won't need that right now."

You lined him up to your entrance and lowered yourself slowly, your hands holding his shoulders for support. He felt so right inside of you, filling you up, hurting just enough. His jaw went slack as you took him completely.

"Holy fucking shit," he cursed, head tilted back, exposing his neck so you could lick up and kiss his Adam's apple. He tasted like sweat and sex. "You're killing me."

You grinned devilishly. "I'll start slow."

You started riding him, the pace was almost gentle. He buried his face between your breasts and held you close. You felt safe, cared for, adored. Was this what lovemaking felt like?

Carmy started to leave sloppy kisses on your skin, using his teeth in some of them. You started picking up speed, holding tight to the back of his neck.

"You feel perfect," Carmy said against your skin. "Fucking perfect."

You moaned in response, it sounded whiny and desperate. He seemed to love it, trying to make you repeat that sound by kissing your nipples and touching your clit.

"Jesus, Carmy."

You didn't know how long you'd be able to keep the frantic rhythm you had set, your legs were already shaking. Feeling you falter, he started fucking into you, hard thrusts that hit you just right and made you scream. He stopped.

"Are you okay?" he asked, mortified.

"I'm fine, Carmy, I swear. Please, please, keep fucking me," you begged. And he did. And you were becoming more of a mess as he did.

"You're doing so good, Carm. So fucking good. You feel-" you let sweet nothings burst out of your lips. It made him go faster and harder. You wouldn't last long.

"I'm- Carmy, I'm going to come," you mumbled.

"Look at me, please," he ran his hands over your spine, soothing even as he fucked you. His blue eyes searched for yours. "Look at me."

You held his gaze as long as you could, your nails digging into his shoulders and every thrust making it harder to think. All of a sudden, you went slack and fell on him, trembling with pleasure, and seeing stars. A few more thrusts and he came too, biting on your shoulder to drown a scream. You stayed there, breathing hard for a little while.

"Is it always like that?" he asked. His voice was hoarse and his hair was wet with sweat.

"No," you replied. "No, it isn't."

"Good to know," he quipped and you laughed. You untangled yourself from Carmy, leaning back to see him, his droopy eyes and blissful face.

"Fuck," he said. "You are so beautiful."

You traced the curve of his nose with your finger. "Right back at you."

[Part 2]