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sunnyhvnny · 1 year

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It’s not my usual toxic four but switching the Aegons makes sense. (Also, thank you! I'm glad you enjoy my writing I thrive off of compliments)

Tw: Breastfeeding, mentions of child death, mentions of suicide

Maegor Targaryen (The Cruel)

Maegor is never seen without his newborn daughter. Whether he is in the nursery with her or taking her with him when he goes to small council meetings. It’s guilt, he thinks. Many of his wives had been able to carry the babes he put in them but in the end, the child never survived, while his wives did. The mother of his daughter did not have the same fate. She had blessed Maegor with a living and healthy child of his own, only for her to pass away a few short hours after giving life to her child.

When he looks down at his little Aelora, he sees her mother. He knows it’s a trick of the mind because she resembles him in most ways. He was fond of Aelora’s mother. It wasn’t love. He had married her for the same reason he married most of his wives and that was to give him children, but that didn’t mean that in the years that she had been around he hadn’t found an easy companionship with her.

He still goes to his other wives at night, in hopes that his seed might stick and they would give him a child. After all, only one child for the King is a precarious situation.

On a night, he doesn’t visit any of his other wives in bed and instead stands over the cot holding his little girl that he truly notices her for the first time. He had vaguely been aware of his child’s wet nurse but he hadn’t given her much thought. That was until she walked into quiet room just as his daughter had started to squirm and fuss. She had lifted her gently to her breast and angled away from Maegor as she nursed his child.

Maegor watched her the entire time and wondered how he hadn’t been more aware of her. She was gentle with Aelora, singing a song too soft for him to make out the words as she stroked the little tufts of silver hair. He had forbidden his other wives to care for his child. Feeling as though it would be a betrayal to the woman who had died bringing Aelora into the world. As he watched the wet nurse soothe the fussing baby and smile as she suckled from her, Maegor realized that he was only depriving his daughter of a mother.

He didn’t stop his curious eyes from trailing down the woman’s figure. From what he could see through her rough and old dress, she had soft curves that Maegor wanted to grab ahold of. It was hard not to stare at her breasts, they were supple and full. Maegor also couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t flinch away from him or seem afraid to be in his presence like many of the people in the Red Keep.

He said nothing to her as she placed his daughter back into her cot and tied her dress up. He only inclined his head in acknowledgment as she curtsied and left the room. He watched as she walked out and decided to ask his Master of Whispers about the woman.

The following night, they were in the same positions again. Him standing beside his daughter's cot and the wet nurse feeding her. The only difference was that now he knew about her past and how she ended up in the Red Keep. He looked on as she rocked the little girl and wondered if she pretended that it was the child that was taken from her.

His Master of Whispers had informed him that she had come to the Red Keep after her parents had taken her newborn daughter from her. Claiming that a woman without a husband was unfit to raise a child. She had become pregnant from a stranger after spending a year in The Blue Pearl, trying to help her family get out of debt.

He thought of the woman in front of him in a whorehouse, selling herself to men and women she didn’t know to help her family, and found himself hardening at the thought. Not just because he wanted to know what she looked at felt like beneath that disgusting gown but because this was a woman who would do anything for her family and he admired that.

When she goes to leave again, this time he stops her with an arm around her waist. She doesn’t meet his eye as he looks at her hungrily but she doesn’t pull away either. “I would like for you to go to my chambers. I want you naked and ready for me when I arrive but if you are not, I will not push the subject and we will forget that this happened.”

She nodded and Maegor waited a few minutes before going to his rooms. He wouldn’t have given any other woman he lusted after a choice in the matter but there was something gentle and different about her that he didn’t want to change by forcing himself onto her.

When he walked through the doors of his chambers, he saw her. She was folding her dress and placing it on the table in the room. She stood in front of him naked and unashamed as he took her in. He was right, her curves were plentiful and he wasted no time in going to her and grabbing her hips, pulling her against him. Her full breasts pressed against his chest as she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. He leaned down and captured her mouth. He lifted her against him and carried her to his bed.

He spent the entire night fucking her, feeling her soft skin against his as he ground his hips against hers. Her soft gasps and moans filled the room as he took her in every conceivable way.

He fell asleep buried inside of her, preventing his seed from leaking out of her wet tight cunt. When he awoke the next day, with his large hand cradling one of her breasts and himself hard again, he had decided to act on a thought that had been plaguing him since he first saw her interacting with his child.

He woke her by thrusting lazily into her. He knew she was awake enough to listen to him when she ground her hips back against him. He kissed her shoulder and whispered to her his plan to marry her. She had only nodded her head and reached behind her to dig her hand into his silver hair.

Before the moon could complete its cycle he had taken her as another wife of his. As he carried her over his shoulder with her giggling the whole time he knew this marriage was different. He did not care if she bore his children, although he would like to see her swollen with his babe very much, he only cared that she was his wife and that she was happy to be so.

When they stopped by the nursery before going to her new chambers, to see his daughter, he watched as his new wife cooed down at the little girl and realized that what made this marriage different was love. He loved her.

Daemon Targaryen

It had started out as purely physical for Daemon. She was a wet nurse, a servant, someone that was there to take care of the needs of him and his family.

He had noticed her when she was brought to Dragonstone to nurse his youngest son, Viserys. She was a vision, even in the garb that the servants had to wear. It wasn’t long until after one particular fight with his wife, he found himself in the room of the new wet nurse. She hadn’t protested as he ordered her to remove her clothes. She hadn’t squirmed or blushed when Daemon climbed on top of her. Instead, she moaned and ground up to meet his thrusts as he fucked her.

After that night, he had found himself in her bed more than his wife’s. If Rhaenrya had noticed, she hadn’t said anything and pointedly ignored it when Daemon would watch her heavy tits as she walked by him. It doesn’t take long for their physical relationship to turn into something different. He finds himself waiting in the nursery, playing with Aegon, his young son, and keeping an eye on Viserys until the wet nurse enters. When she does, Daemon says nothing and only watches her as she feeds his child.

It’s a rather intimate act, he finds. She must think so as well because it’s one of the few times her eyes flutter away from him as she blushes. When his older boy falls asleep on the settee in the nursery and Viserys is comfortable in his cot, he leads the beautiful woman out of the nursery and into his room. It’s late and most of the castle is asleep, his own wife sleeping in her chambers again. He asks her to stay with him for the night and tries to hide the surprise he feels when she agrees.

Nothing happens at first, he only wraps his arms around her and pulls her back to his chest so they can fall asleep peacefully. It seems the woman in his bed has other plans, though, as she wiggles her rear against his barely clothed cock and within minutes he’s buried deep inside of her. The sounds of her moans and the slamming of the bed against the stone wall are so loud he wouldn’t be surprised if anyone awoke but if they did, they do not interrupt him as he spills his seed inside of her warm cunt over and over again that night.

After a few days, that night is mainly forgotten. Daemon doesn’t want to reflect on his moment of weakness where he found not just lust but intimacy and comfort in a servant. She seems to catch onto his sudden tonal change because she no longer glances his way and goes about her duties attending to his sons. It’s only after two moons have passed that she meekly goes to the princess and informs her that the young prince Viserys will no longer take her milk.

Daemon is there when she delivers the news and thinks nothing of it. While he doesn’t want this woman who has shared his bed with him to leave, he knows that it would be no effort at all to find a new wet nurse for his son. Perhaps he could convince Rhaenyra that she is still needed. Perhaps as a handmaid to one of his daughters.

It’s only when his wife asks the young woman if she has been to see the maester that has taken residence at Dragonstone, that he tunes back into the conversation. He hadn’t thought about that. If his son has suddenly stopped nursing from her, perhaps she may be sick without knowing it.

She nods and hesitantly looks at Daemon before turning her head to the floor and informing the princess that the maester told her that the young prince would not take her milk because she is with child again. Daemon can see the moment that his wife freezes at the realization that her husband has impregnated the woman that stands before her.

Feeling the tension begin to rise, Daemon stands and ushers the young woman out of the room. He tells his wife that he’ll handle it and brings her to her small room. For the first time since he has seen her, she looks small. Her eyes are red and she’s a shade of grey. He knows that it isn’t only the unplanned babe that he put inside her that is making her act like this. After all, when he was younger many women had come to him after he had bedded them and begged for help, claiming that he left a babe in their womb. Some had cried, some had raged and some had only asked for money and to never see him again. The woman in front of him now looks like a ghost.

Before he has to ask her again, her story begins to tumble out of her mouth. He learns that she was close to giving birth to her child, alone as her family had abandoned her after her husband had spread rumors that she was a whore and would spread her legs for any man with a silver coin, and that the babe that started to grow inside of her wasn’t his. Her husband had fallen into the cups and her parents wouldn’t talk to her, so when she went into labor early there was no one there to help her and her child was born small and silent.

She sniffles as she tells him that she can’t go through that again and that she rather throws herself into the sea than watch as she kills another child of hers. Daemon does his best to soothe her and when she finally calms down, he has her wrapped in his arms and reassures her quietly and soothingly that she won’t be alone.

As the moons pass and she grows larger with his child, Daemon makes sure that any duties of hers can be pushed onto someone else. Another wet nurse is brought in to feed his young son and he doesn’t give her a second look as all of his attention is on the woman carrying his babe. The maester had suggested bed rest and so Daemon finds himself in her chambers, keeping her company. He tells her stories of his youth and of his daughters. His life in Pentos and finally settling down here at Dragonstone. For each of his stories, she shares a happy one from her childhood and soon they find themselves bonding and growing a connection stronger than Daemon thought possible.

He knows his wife isn’t happy that a woman carrying her husband's bastard is living in her home but Daemon refuses to hear any complaint when it comes to this.

On a rainy night, on a day where at any moment she could start her labors, she grasps Daemon’s hand suddenly and looks at him pleadingly. She begs for him to care for the child if she dies in the birthing bed and if it is the other way and her child dies, he asks him to not stop her if she attempts to take her own life. Daemon shakes his head at her requests but she only squeezes his hand tighter and forces him to agree. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth when he says the words but he knows she will have no relief until she tells her what she wants to hear.

A few hours later, her labors begin and Daemon is ushered out of the room by a group of midwives and a maester. He passes the halls as he hears his paramour scream and cry and it isn’t until his sweet daughter Rhaena, comes to sit with him. He wonders why this time is so different. He wasn’t as panicked when his darling Leana birthed him his twin girls or when Rhaenrya brought Aegon and Viserys into the world, so why was his heart racing at his lover in the childbed.

After a few hours, his other daughter, Baela emerges from the room with a smile on her face and beckons her father in. He is met with the stench of blood and sweat and immediately thinks the worst. That is until he hears cooing from the other side of the room and sees his young lover in bed holding a bundle. He takes quick strides toward her and their child and smiles down at them. He kisses her on her still-soaked forehead and she smiles dazedly back at him. He then looks at the bundle in her arms and sees his child. Silver hair like his and large violet eyes that blink up curiously at him.

“I was thinking that perhaps we could name him Aerion?” She asks, hesitantly and Daemon can only nod and take the newborn in his arms. He doesn’t register as Baela places a dragon egg into his new son's cradle or the bustling of the midwives.

He can only look at the woman who used to only think of as a servant and kiss her soundly on the lips before pulling back slightly to whisper something only she could hear, “you did an excellent job, my love.”

Aegon II Targaryen

Aegon doesn’t know her story. He had never cared to ask. He was fine with watching her as she came to nurse little Maelor.

He had noticed her almost immediately. He was never one to partake in his children’s lives but one random day he found himself in the nursery. Truth be told, he was most likely hiding and hadn’t thought of the room he slipped into until his twins had run and latched onto his legs. He stood frozen, not sure what to do. He looked up for help and saw her, the dress unlaced in the front and his infant son latched to her large milky breast. He had decided to stay longer than he had originally intended to after seeing her.

When he finds himself in the nursery, he always makes sure it’s when Helaena won’t be there. He may not love her in the way a husband should but he doesn’t want her to see him eyeing another woman in front of her.

When one of the servants comes for the twins to take them away to play in the gardens, Aegon is left with the beautiful wet nurse. Her face warms at his heavy stare and she keeps her gaze on the infant in her arms as he nurses from her. Aegon watches the whole thing and finds his mouth dry. All of the fantasies he had when Helaena was pregnant but was never able to fulfill started to come roaring up as he watched the wet nurse. He wondered how it would feel to wrap his lips around her nipples and suck, drinking from her as she brushed his hair from his face and whispered softly in his ear.

Aegon is shaken out of his daydreaming when the wet nurse places Maelor in the cot after he had dozed off. She bows respectfully before trying to leave but Aegon quickly grabs her forearm. She looks down at him and he asks quietly for her to sit with him. Just for a moment, in case his son wakes, he lies, but it does the trick and she sits beside him with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

It doesn’t take long for him to convince her to untie the top of her gown. He knows that he’s abusing his privileges as the prince but ever since he saw her doing her job, he had wanted to wrap his mouth around her darkened nipples and suck. When she pulls the last tie free, Aegon doesn’t hesitate in pulling her heavy breasts free. He meets her eyes and is surprised to find acceptance and something softer in her gaze that he can’t quite place. He leans down and latches onto her breast. He sucks softly at first and then when the liquid starts to flow, he feels like a man in the desert and she is his oasis.

Despite the fact that anyone looking in from the outside would take one look at the pair of them and think of this as a sexual act, it wasn’t. Not when she brought her hand up to his hair and scratched his scalp soothingly as milk dribbled from the side of his mouth. She whispered soft words and reassurances and he hummed against her. He felt warm, light, and comfortable in her hold.

After that first night, it had become a habit for the two of them to stay together after his son fell into a milk-induced sleep, and have the wet nurse pull out her milky breasts for Aegon to drink from. As the nights passed, the more comfortable they became together, and more often than not, Aegon found himself falling asleep against her before he had finished. She would only hush him and kiss his forehead as she pulled her nipple from his mouth.

It had started something curious he wanted to try and then into a nightly comfort but as it continued, and he started to take in her reactions, he began to wonder if it comforted her as well.

One night, Aegon doesn’t fall asleep against her and instead asks her a question that has been on his mind as his son continued to grow. What would happen to her when his son no longer needed a wet nurse? What would she do when her milk dried up?

She smiled at him warmly, but it didn’t hide the sadness in her eyes. That was the night she finally told him about her stillborn babe. How she was already an unmarried woman and carrying the child of a man she hadn’t known had only made people look down on her. She spoke wistfully when she told him about how excited she was to not be alone anymore when she gave birth to her child. The excitement quickly turned into sorrow and deep depression when the babe came out blue and cold and without a single cry.

She told him that a friend of hers was a servant in the Red Keep and found her a place in the castle where she could be a wet nurse. Where she could pretend for a little while that the babe that fed at her breast was the one she lost.

She looked at Aegon and smiled sadly. “I imagine that when Maelor no longer needs a wet nurse or my milk dries up, I will either be thrown out or offered a position as a normal servant.”

Aegon frowned as she spoke. He had grown close with her, safe and loved by her. He didn’t wish for her to leave him when his son no longer needed her. He thought that perhaps he could fill his wife with another babe perhaps but as much as Helaena loved their children, he knew she dreaded him going to her bed.

Without thinking, Aegon kissed the wet nurse for the first time. She hummed against his lips and returned his kiss immediately. Her lips tasted sweeter than her milk, Aegon thought as he dipped his tongue into her mouth. She opened her mouth slightly wider and allowed him to push her onto her back. He had grown to care for her and he refused to let her go.

He would give her a child, he decided. She longed for one of her own and Aegon longed to keep her around. Her milk wouldn’t dry up if she was carrying his child, he rationalized as he pulled himself out of his trousers and spread her legs. She was panting heavily under him and had pulled her breasts out of her dress again. Aegon leaned down and kissed both nipples softly before he thrust into her heat. When he was pushed into the hilt and had his mouth around her soft flesh, he wondered if perhaps this was love. If it was, it was not something he would let go of without a fight.

Aemond Targaryen

It doesn’t take long for Aemond to see how good the woman is with his infant. She was only meant to come and nurse his son and then leave and go about her other duties but he often caught her humming to him as the babe suckled milk from her. His two other children had taken a liking to her as well, and would often talk about whatever their young minds had fixated on that day. Aemond watched as she nodded and listened to them with a smile on her face.

His previous wife had rarely given their children the time of day. She had them out of a sense of duty and after they had entered this world with a loud cry, she refused to look upon their sweet faces, instead gesturing for the midwives to hand the children to her husband. Aemond had taken the children gladly. Loving them since the moment they were conceived and it hurt him to know that their own mother didn’t care for them. After the birth of their most recent son, Aelyx, she disappeared in the middle of the night. Most likely with the knight she often shared looks with. It didn’t matter much to Aemond, he had only been worried for his children, but they had barely noticed their mother’s absence and quickly latched onto the beautiful wet nurse.

It doesn’t take long for Aemond to ask her to stay around when he visits his children in the nursery. He visits them every day after he is done training and most of the time the servants and wet nurse would leave so he could be alone with his children, but he found her presence comforting. His two children seemed happy for her to join their special time with their father. As he held his infant son so his other two could cling to her legs and demand stories from her. Aemond couldn’t keep the smile off of his face at the giggles from his children or the silly voices of the wet nurse as she told them story after story. She eventually caught his smile over their heads and returned it with one of her own.

Soon, he doesn’t just ask for her to stay when the children are around. After Aelyx has fallen asleep after a feeding and she goes to leave for the night, Aemond asks for her to stay and keep him company. She looks hesitant and Aemond knows why. He reassures her that he just wants company as he sits by the fire and that he doesn’t wish to be alone. She indulges him and takes the seat across from him.

It’s on one of the many nights that they sit in silence, just enjoying each other's company that Aemond asks her how she came to be a wet nurse in the Red Keep.

For a moment, he thinks he won’t receive an answer. An anxious seizes him just for a second as he starts to think that their companionship has been one-sided. He can’t really blame her if she doesn’t tell him. There’s a chance that what he asked for could have a deeply personal answer.

Just when he thinks she has chosen to ignore his question, she looks over at little Aelyx, whose safe and asleep in his cot beside Aemond’s bed, and begins to talk. She tells him quietly about her husband and daughter. How they were a happy and loving family, and how she was even expecting another child by the Spring when the Shivers ran rampant through the city. Her tears glisten with tears as she goes on about how her husband and daughter were lost to it and she had hoped that the Stranger would take her too so that she may be with her family again, but had only taken her unborn child instead of her.

She wipes a few stray tears from her cheeks and finally looks at Aemond and he is startled to find that tears had begun to form in his own eye. He couldn’t begin to imagine losing his own children.

She continued, telling him that after the city was washed clean of the sickness and she was healthy once again, her breasts were still full of milk and ready to feed the child that she lost. She tells him of how men from the Red Keep had come to the city and how she hadn’t thought twice about it before taking them up on their offer to leave her now empty home and work in the bustling castle.

Aemond doesn’t say anything when she finishes her story. He doesn’t think there is anything he can say to her that could possibly heal the wounds of her past, so he only reaches over and places his hand on top of hers. She smiles sadly at him and he feels a deep sadness, one that he never thought he’d ever feel.

Eventually, she leaves for the night and Aemond is left still sitting in front of the warm fire. He doesn’t notice as the hours go by and the sun breaks over the horizon. He’s so lost in his thoughts that he can’t think about anything but her. The more his mind wanders back to her the more he begins to realize that he’s fallen in love for his son’s sweet and tragic wet nurse. He can’t remember ever feeling this way before for someone. When he married his wife, he had hoped that duty would eventually lead to love but it never did.

The feeling in his chest, though, when he thinks of the woman’s kind smile and the way she’s soft and stern with his children. How she looks at him with kindness and not pity or fear. Well, that feeling is a whole new monster.

He decides to resolve it when the Red Keep starts to wake. He’ll go to his mother and inform her of his intentions on marrying the wet nurse. Yes, she is a servant but he has already done his duty and provided children from a highborn Lady. A Lady who disappeared one night and who no one knows if she is alive or dead. Meaning, he is free to marry whomever he wishes.

He can only hope that when he tells his love of his plans on marrying her, she is happy because he doesn’t think he can have another woman shackled to him that does not love him.

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sykosugu · 2 months

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on the run | four

♤ summary: she's an infamous bank robber, and he's the only detective that's been able to get close to her. he was never apart of her plans. but he's got his clutches in her and she can't let go.a geto suguru au

♢ warnings: this story will contain descriptions of violence, destructive behavior, toxic behavior, illegal activities, sexual content, death. use of weapons. forbidden romance

♧ aw: violence, guns used, minor character death, blood mentioned

♡ currently: completed

♤ taglist: closed

♢ wc: 1.9k (its short I know)

♧ carlile speaks: hi my babies. this one's a shortie, but the drama has come to a head. I hope you all enjoy. only one more chapter for our pair here! thank you all so much for coming along with me so far on this journey. it's been a wild ride and I can't wait to show you what else I have in store! <3 and lastly thank you to my love Nici for finding the amazing fanart up there. If anyone knows who made it pls let me know! Check out Nici’s story Symptoms & Causes!

♡: previous part | you are here | next part

“Surprised to see me, sweetheart?” the man before you asks. Standing in an all black suit with all black accessories. Dark pink hair spiked; face and neck tattoos fully on display.

“He’s alone. He never goes anywhere alone unless he’s dealing with a problem,” runs through your head.

“What are you doing here?” leaves your lips in a whisper. He doesn’t satisfy you with an answer, just a smile. Such a smug asshole. Always had to be the one to control everything, including conversations.

“Where were you and your new.. friend heading off to?” he finally speaks again, nodding his chin near the bags on the floor; his voice surprisingly calm compared to the look of rage behind his eyes.

“We–uh, we were actually coming to you.” you stutter a little, his questioning of Suguru throwing you off guard. “How did he know about Suguru?”

“Oh, were you now?” he asks, sauntering in a little further into the suite until he stands opposite you at the island, leaning against it with both hands.

“I–I need your help,” you admit softly, playing with your hands in your lap. He had a way of making you feel small with just a few words and a look. You were dead set on never wanting to see his face again, but he was the one to ask if you needed help disappearing. When you told him you were leaving, he’d told you that you could disappear without warning if you wanted to, you declined his offer at the time; wanting to exasperate as many banks in the area as you could; in the end, making him look foolish because his teams weren’t the ones taking the scores anymore; it was a one woman show.

“You want my help after what you did to me? You left me. You made a fool of me, and left. The king and queen are supposed to rule together, not apart,” he sneers. “You left me and made a bed with the enemy. A cop?! Are you actually that dumb?!”

“It wasn’t like that!” you yell back at him. “Not at first. I was using him for protection. I fell for him along the way.”

“Such a stupid girl,” Sukuna growls. “You think I couldn't have protected you?” “No, you would have kept me prisoner”, you think to yourself.--”Ah, but–,”

Sukuna wanted to keep you in a cage. He knew you were great at your job; but he didn't want to chance you getting the notoriety that he had. The king and queen are supposed to rule together, but the King is supposed to do all the grunt work. In his eyes at least. He wanted to keep you locked away in the Casino Penthouse where you could have your little shopping sprees, have your airheaded friends come over; whatever you wanted. As long as it wasn’t what you actually wanted. You wanted the chaos. You thrived with a gun tucked under your belt. The thrill of it all was what you wanted.

You loved Sukuna, or at least you thought you did. Sukuna could provide the life you wanted; lavish and luxury. You wanted for nothing. Anything you mentioned wanting, it was in your room the following morning in every color possible. It was his way of keeping you occupied so you wouldn't ask about a job. You itched for a job, but the parties and your “friends” kept you at bay.

Until you heard a conversation you weren't supposed to hear. “Of course she’s more than qualified, but I don't want her anywhere near the jobs anymore. I can train anyone to be like her so she can keep my bed warm every night,” you heard sukuna roar with laughter into the phone as it lay tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he typed away on his computer.

He knew you were good but wanted you away from the jobs for what? Because you were a good fuck? That’s when your plan started. You found one job you knew would make him proud and did it yourself, without backup.

Was he proud? Absolutely. But did he show it? Absolutely not. He showed anger. Irritation. “How dare you make a fool of me, doing this without any kind of backup. Have you no mind?” He roared at you. Making you feel small. It was his specialty.

“I wanted you to see how qualified I am.” You try to protest, but you’re met with a slap across the right side of your face as you fall to the floor.

“I know how qualified you are. If I wanted you on jobs, you would be,” he offers you a hand to help you off the floor. “Now, go back to being the pretty housewife I know you can be.”

And that’s when your plan really went into motion. The bank, done. Now you just needed the perfect moment to come clean, telling Sukuna of your plans to leave, knowing he’d hear none of it and dismiss you, just as you planned. But when he stopped you on your way out, he asked if this was what you really wanted, to leave. You said it was, so he let you go. Offering his help to make you disappear permanently but you’d declined at the time. You wanted some notoriety before you disappeared. You wanted what he kept from you. Wanted what was owed to you.

But now here you are, making beds and playing house with the actual enemy; law enforcement. He couldn’t let that slide.

–”Ah, but if you hadn’t left me in the first place, you wouldn’t have needed his protection,” sukuna says under his breath.

“What do you mean?” you ask a little too quickly, almost embarrassingly fast.

“Sweetheart, who exactly do you think is the one that’s after you right now?” Sukuna tilts his head to the side.

“T-Toji.”

“Mm, not quite. How would Toji know what to tell an assailant on how to find you at the bank yesterday? Why would Toji care about your treasonous act? Toji knows of my plans, but does not exactly agree with them. But he’s sworn to secrecy. I know how.. friendly you two were.”

Toji was supposed to be your best friend. He was the only one of Sukuna’s business partners that was always nice to you. He’d been your friend long before you became the red queen; long before you’d joined Sukuna and had been operating on your own. Toji was your ally before he was Sukuna’s. So to hear of his betrayal like this has your heart in shambles even more than when you thought Toji was the one behind this.

As your thoughts begin to take you hostage, you notice the door start to creak open. Sukuna is fast on his feet, pulling his gun from the holster across his chest, quickly firing a shot into the door. The person behind the door groans, falling forward into the wood making it fly open. You meet Suguru’s eyes as he falls into the room; his eyes look panicked.

“Well, that solves one problem,” Sukuna says before pointing his gun at you now.

Satoru bursts into the room, taking Sukuna off guard. Satoru lunges towards, fighting Sukuna for his gun. You survey the scene as safe to move, so you rush to Suguru's side, making sure he’s still with you. Suguru grins at you as you look at him with sad, teary eyes. Begging him to stay with you. “Why are you laughing?” you ask him, panicked. Suguru pulls his dress shirt from its tucked position in his dress pants as he reveals the bulletproof vest he doesn't leave without these days.

“Can never be too safe,” he whispers out.

“So you weren’t hit?” you ask, tears flowing from your eyes.

“Nah, just had the wind knocked out of me,” he forces out a laugh.

“Stay here for just one more second,” you grab his gun from his holster, standing quickly and ducking behind the counter. You poke your head around the corner, to see Sukuna’s back towards to, and satoru in front of him, as they fight for the gun in Sukuna’s grip.

Standing up, you take aim pointing directly at Sukuna’s back, and take the shot. He howls in pain, falling to his knees on the floor. “You bitch,” he roars out. “You metaphorically stab me in the back, and now this?”

“I don’t like unfinished business,” you seethe out, shooting him again execution style; his blood splattering on your front as his body falls lifeless on the floor.. Satoru just watches with widened eyes as you drop to the floor next to Suguru as if nothing just happened.

“Swear you’re not hit?” you pull his shirt open, surveying the area.

“Promise,” he winks at you.

“I was prepared to bring you back to life just so I could kill you again.” you slap his chest, “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” Scolding him felt right; the look in his eyes when his knees hit the floor took your breath away as much as the bullet to his chest took his away.

“Swear i won’t get shot by your psycho ex again,” he holds his right hand up as he speaks, “Mostly because you just killed him.” he attempts to chuckle, but it turns into a coughing fit.

“Sugu, he was the one after me, not Toji.” tears begin to form in your eyes as you help suguru to his feet.

“So what does this mean?” he asks, leaning his weight into the island, taking his gun back from your extended hold.

“It means our plan just changed. I want revenge.” you wipe the tears from your eyes, looking over at Sukuna’s body on the floor.

“What kind of revenge?”

Satoru clears his throat in the corner, pulling both of your attention to him in the middle of the room. “So I was right?” he smirks.

“Of course you were right. You’re always fuckin right, Satoru. Why do you think i was so pissed you were put on the case with me?” Suguru turns and faces his friend, and colleague. “You gonna turn me in now? There is a right answer by the way.” Suguru pushes you behind him as he talks to Satoru.

“Oh, Is there?” Satoru asks, reaching for his gun, leaving it in his hand at his side.

“Indeed.”

“And what would that be?”

Suguru cocks his gun in response, “I’ll let you decide that,” he raises it slowly, pointing it at the man in front of him. “You won’t take her from me.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game here, Detective Geto,” Satoru grins, “You won’t shoot me.”

You emerge from behind Satoru, your gun pointed directly at his head. “No, but I will.” Forever the ninja.

“Woah now, let's all calm down here,” he raises both hands up slowly. “Nobody has to shoot anybody. Except that guy, you already shot that guy.” he attempts to make the situation lighter.

“Twice.”

“Right, twice, how could I forget. I’ll help you with whatever you need, just make sure I get home to my girlfriend, Nici, afterwards, alright?”

“Right, I should believe that why?” Suguru questions.

“I did mention my girlfriend, right?”

“So, you’ll help us?” you lower your gun, still keeping it pointed in his general direction

“So long as I never see either of your faces around here again, I’ll help you.”

“Well, that’s all a part of our plan anyways.” you tuck your gun back into your waistband, taking a stand with Suguru at the island. “And now i have a new plan,”

“Well, let me hear it,” Satoru joins the two of you at the island.

♡ tags: @celestie0 @lostfracturess @carlacujo @alwaysfreakingout @shervinss @jaelahh @gojolvrr34 @shesplendl @phoenix-eclipses @nanasukii28 @mylifetold @bakuhoethotski @4y3sh4 @whereflowerswenttodie @drakenswifeyy

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animeomegas · 3 months

Note

do you have any thoughts on what L and Light's 'type' for an alpha might be? sort of like their ideal partner (or if they'd even have one). they're both incredibly stubborn omega's who prefer to operate outside of traditional roles so i imagine an alpha who is similar that way would be most appealing

- 🖤

This is a very interesting thought exercise, because you're right, both Light and L are very... ah... unique? Lol. I'm just going to do Light, because I'm blanking on L right now... Okay, here are my thoughts:

Light:

Light does not have an 'ideal alpha', not really. He certainly pretends to have one. If someone asks, he'll say something about having an alpha that works hard and takes care of their family, but that is only part of his 'perfect omega' façade.

I think for him to get with an alpha, he'd need someone that he'd known since childhood. Someone who had seen him before he'd been able to keep his perfect image up. Someone who had seen the real him and then been able and willing to love him anyway.

Light wants someone that he can trust 100%. He wants to be able to tell them he's Kira, and have them help him.

He wants someone that is decently intelligent, so that others can't easily take advantage of them, but they don't have to be as smart as he is. Average to above average intelligence is fine by him.

I think he wants an alpha that swings non-traditional in their opinions and views, but is still capable of holding up the traditional alpha façade to match his. He would want them to have a good job that pays well, ideally in a respectable industry. He would want them to dress well in socially acceptable fashion. He would want them to be comfortable doing 'alpha' things like ordering for him in restaurants, even pulling out his chair for him. Anything that helps Light's image in the early game.

If Light ever gets to legendary ruler status, then the perfect alpha thing can slip. Light would probably prefer for his alpha to raise his two children at home. (I think Light would want two because of the whole heir and spare thing, yikes.)

Light also probably wants an alpha that's a good speaker. Not necessarily giving speeches or anything, but with the people in their lives. A good actor wouldn't go amiss either.

Light's ideal type would also be obsessed with him. He definitely reciprocates though. He thrives in a weird, toxic co-dependency.

#light #death note #omega light #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha!reader #headcanons

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arabellasleopardcoat · 9 months

Text

MAD (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Chapter summary: Aemond makes his move. You change the game.

Warnings: Non consensual kiss. Rough grabbing. Mature language. Manipulation. Accidental knife kink. Toxic dynamics.

A/N: It's a wrap, folks!

Previous parts here.

It’s not like you have been playing Aemond. Or at least, not on purpose. It’s much easier to forget that you are not meant to love him when you don’t have him right in front of you. Through letters, it’s easier to detach the calculating prince from the young man who’s interesting and witty.

Without him in front of you, you do not feel as defensive. It’s easier to let slip tiny details about your daily life. He is not winning any awards for the most devout knight or something, but he is both entertaining and thoughtful.

After the fast-paced weeks of life at court, you find yourself missing the hurry that came with it. There was always something to do, a bug to catch, a Prince to hide from. While you love Honeyholt and thrive among the good weather and your family, you do miss the constant stimulation of life at the Red Keep.

Aemond proves himself to be a master of distraction. He has a great memory, never forgetting any of the things you tell him. You wonder if he saves your letters as you do his. In your mind’s eye, you see him hunched over his desk, rereading your letters, searching for a passing remark to make a note of.

You are not in love. But you certainly are struck with love’s arrows. It is a wonderful feeling. One that makes your days more entertaining, and it’s only that why you allow it. It warms your body inside out, fills your stomach with nerves each time a messenger reaches you, has you hurrying out of dinner to read his letters.

In time, he gets bolder. Begging you to be his mistress, for an evening only. Begging to be able to hold you to him. Those sorts of letters anger you. You like pretending you are friends, or perhaps something more. But all the allusions to bedding you are like being drenched in cold water.

Aemond doesn’t want you. He just wants to ruin you, that’s all. When confronted with the fact that you are no more than a piece on a Cyvasse board, being played by him and Otto Hightower, you feel dirty. Used and discarded.

It hurts more than it should. His attention is flattering, but your rational mind knows that this is a bad idea. It’s a confusing feeling. The things he speaks about in his letters, even the more crude ones, hold a certain appeal. After all, you are a young, unmarried woman. Just like anyone else, you do feel desire. How could you not? Aemond is handsome and smart, and always paying attention to you.

One week, the letters stop. You do not hear of him for a few days, and while you should be relieved, you can’t help but worry. Has he simply grown tired of this game and decided to give up? Are you worth so little to him? Or are they planning something?

Bad luck, for you, always comes in threes. And three unusual things happened in Honeyholt that day. One, a letter from King's Landing arrives, and it’s not from him. It’s from your grandfather. Two, Lord Hightower appears on your doorstep and prevents your father from reading the letter, imposing his presence on your hall. Three, it’s raining.

The whole ordeal, in all, it’s very dramatic. It’s an unusual choice for a liege lord to decide to hold court in one of his vassals' halls. But Lord Hightower does. That ensures Honeyholt’s hall is filled with people that come to petition him. The perfect public for what it’s to come.

Unable to go out in the grounds due to the rain, you find yourself drawn to the hall. Your father says it’s good for your education or something, to watch him and Lord Hightower pass judgment.

It’s around mid-morning when a great commotion is heard outside. You get up from your chair, and walk towards a window. Dread fills your stomach when you realize what lies outside.

A dragon. And not just any dragon. Vhagar. Aemond’s.

“My lord!” One of the servants rushes inside. Both your father and Lord Hightower stand. Not even the servant knows whom to address, his eyes moving panicked between the two men. “There is a dragon outside!”

More and more people rush towards the windows, looking outside. Most of your tenants have never seen a dragon before, but have heard of them. The sight scares them as much as it fascinates them.

Your father’s face morphs in a second. From benevolent lord, to utter rage. He has known of your correspondence with the prince. It’s sort of hard to miss, considering there is a new letter for you each week. Safe to say, he doesn’t approve.

“Stay here!” He barks. “Do not go outside.”

You nod, helplessly. One part of you wants to rush outside and greet him. You weren’t aware of how much you missed him until you had him in front of you and found yourself unable to go to him. Another part of you knows, though, that your father is right. It’s not in your best interests to go to him.

Lord Hightower gives him a polite smile. He looks uncannily like his brother when he does so.

“Is there something wrong, Beesbury?”

“Just an unexpected guest.” But stopping to answer him has slowed him down, and soon, another startled servant appears.

“Prince Aemond Targaryen.” He announces, wide-eyed. Your father looks like he is sucking a lemon.

Butterflies flutter in your stomach. Your heart beats harder in your chest. Impulsively, you smooth your hair down and fix the bodice of your dress. Then, you feel silly for doing it and fix it again, so it lays just as it did before.

Aemond enters the room, barely acknowledging your father or his great uncle. He is in his usual leather attire, even with the pouring rain. Some things never change, you think fondly.

He crosses the room in two large strides, standing right in front of you. The look in his eye makes your smile falter. Pure, cold determination. Nothing else. Aemond grabs you by the arms, pulling you to him.

Your hopes are crushed. You know that whatever it’s about to happen, it’s going to hurt. And the worst thing? All your tenants and the minor houses from The Reach are going to watch it happen.

“How long has my heart longed for you.” His voice is loud, yet flat. As if he doesn’t really men the words he is speaking. You raise your hands, trying to push him away. You only make contact with his shoulders before he is kissing you.

His mouth. On yours. Hungrily, demandingly. Trying to coax you into melting into it. Your shock buys him a few precious seconds that he doesn’t let go to waste, even taking the chance to grope your rear.

It’s that, more than the horrified sound from everyone in the room, what shakes you out of it. You push him away and slap him, uncaring of the consequences. The crunch your hand makes when it hits his cheek is as satisfying as you had hoped for.

Aemond takes the hit with pursed lips. He stares at you, darkly.

“Forgive me, my Lady. For I could not contain my passion for you. Your letters have awakened…” The words, again, are spoken loudly. It’s very well executed. It would be impressive if it weren’t for the way you have just been thoroughly ruined.

Mutters break around the crowd. You can barely make out your father’s voice, calling your name. You gather your skirts and run out of the castle.

The first drops of rain against your skin feel cold and disorienting. Your vision is blurred, eyelashes wet. You are uncertain if it is from the tears or the rain.

“Are you insane?” Aemond is hot on your heels. His tone is one of concern. Bitterly, you wonder how much of it is for your audience and how much it’s for his own selfish desire to remain dry. “You are going to catch your death out here.”

“Leave me alone.” You shriek, turning towards him. Surprisingly, he is alone. Not even your father has gone after you. It only makes you feel worse. Does your father think less of you now? Does he think you are ruined, too?

You didn’t know it then. And you are hurting too much to think of it on your own. But Lord Hightower has advised your father to “Let the youngsters fix it on their own.” And being his vassal, he hasn’t been able to refuse.

Aemond steps closer, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. He seems remorseful. His eye is full of compassion for you. It does nothing to appease your anger. If anything, it only makes you want to slap him again. You lift your hand, ready to strike.

His fingers curl around your wrist. His grip is strong enough to stop you, yet not enough to hurt.

“Please.”

“How could you!” You scream, fingers twitching with the urge to slap at him and tear him apart. You want him to hurt. Hurt as much as you do.

Aemond’s grip on your wrist tightens. A warning. It betrays his real feelings. His face, instead, depicts only confusion. The gall.

“I thought… I thought…”

“Save it! I have known what game you're playing since the start, but I thought… Oh, more the fool to me, I guess.” Despite starting out angry, your tone quickly turns pitiful. You pinch the bridge of your nose.

“Game? What are you talking about?” Aemond keeps playing dumb. It makes your insides burn with fury. He could come clean now. There is no point in denying, the deed is already done. The Hightowers have their revenge. There is no point on stretching it further.

Unless… Unless he wants to salvage what he had with you. The hope that blooms in your heart makes you feel stupid. Oh, what a fool, what a fool you were. Thinking you had control over this, you were not in love.

If you were not, would it have hurt this much?

“I know this is a political ploy against my grandfather.” You answer, bitterly. How you long for him to deny it, yet you know it’s not coming. He is either going to lie or admit it, without any feelings of guilt. You wonder what’s that like. To be so self possessed, so convinced of your importance, you do not mind toying with other people to get what you want. “What’s next, then? How else will you two corner him so Princess Rhaenyra doesn’t become Queen?”

“I… You will marry me.” Aemond looks flabbergasted at being caught. The words are uttered in complete shock. For once, he is wordless. As if the thought of anyone discovering his plan was an unusual one. Good gods, how much of a fool did he think you were? He would have never even looked your way were it not for your grandfather’s position at court.

“No!” Because whatever this is, you won't allow him to ruin your life further. Marriage is too big of a commitment to enter with someone like him.

The rejection seems to finally break his patience because Aemond grabs your jaw, roughly.

“You sure seemed to want it, the past few weeks.” His eye glints dangerously. He leans in, trying to use his height to intimidate you. “You will marry me, make no mistake.”

“No! What is this, even?” You try to squirm out of his grasp, but Aemond refuses to budge. Your jaw throbs, slightly. He is starting to hurt you. You give a small yelp, trying to get Aemond to stop. “I thought we were friends.”

Aemond's grip on your jaw softens at the sound of pain. His shoulders drop, and his face turns apologetic.

“We were. We still are. But you need to understand, I am not playing. I want you.” His other hand comes up to gently brush your cheek. You do your best not to startle. “I love you.” His voice is sincere. He presses his forehead to yours, looking into your eyes. “I love you.” He repeats, pleadingly.

The words you so wanted to hear. But not like this, never like this. You start to tear up.

“You are playing me, again.”

“I am not.” Aemond kisses your cheek, your eyes, your temples. “Come. Give in. You can't say you don't want me. You need me. I know you do.”

He kisses your jaw, so tenderly you think you might start crying. It's a tempting offer. It would fix your now ruined reputation. Aemond would protect you from others. And you can tell, by the anger at your rejection, he does care about you.

But you can't trust him. Not now. How to know you are not being deceived again?

“I will never marry you.” You push him away, roughly. “I could never want someone like you.”

The words hurt him. You can see it in the way his face drops before his shoulders square up again. His hands grab at your arms, lips curling into a dangerous smile. When he speaks again, his voice is full of venom.

“We will see about that.” Aemond glares, and kisses you on the lips. It's a closed mouthed, cold thing. Then, glancing towards the path. You do too. Seems like your father has freed himself from Lord Hightower. “It seems I have overstayed my welcome. But worry not, betrothed. You will hear from me very soon.”

You do. Not even an hour later, a messenger gets there, carrying a letter from Otto Hightower, authorized by King Viserys. You are to marry Prince Aemond.

You are pretty sure your screams of rage would be heard even in the Red Keep.

“… She let him kiss her, though.” The voice carries through the walls, unmistakably feminine. Aemond lays his head on the arm of the loveseat he is on, groaning.

Why was it that every time he wanted a quiet moment to himself, someone decided to scream in the hallways? It was as if no one had heard about inside’s voices.

“More than kiss her, a lover’s embrace if cousin Oakheart is to be believed. She wrote to me as soon as she saw it.”

The mention of House Oakheart grabs his attention. Once he hears it, his annoyance vanishes, replaced by curiosity. Are these two gossiping about you?

Aemond closes his eye. He has found when he does, his sense of hearing gets more acute.

“No!” One of the women says, in mock shock. “You know, I always thought she was a bit… Wide.”

They can’t be insinuating what he thinks they are insinuating. He would never.

“Do you think..?” The other woman giggles.

Annoyed, Aemond rips out his eye patch and steps out of the sitting room. He looms by the door with crossed arms. It proves very satisfying, seeing them squeal in fear, bow and trip all over themselves in their haste to get away.

Aemond remains leaning against the door frame, giving a satisfied hum. A shame he can’t reprimand them. They didn’t even apologize for the slander they are spreading about you.

Currently, his feelings towards you are complicated. Your rejection stung, but he cannot help but be glad he gets to marry you anyway. It means he has a chance to win you over, again.

Aemond did it once already. How hard can it be to do it a second time? This time, his chances are much better. You are permanently stuck to him, after all. If necessary, he will ask for you two to share chambers after the marriage.

You were sent back to the capital. Aemond saw you arrive this morning, wearing a dark cloak that covered you from head to toe. Your shoulders were tense, and you kept glancing at your grandfather for reassurance, as if hoping that any time now, he was going to tell you it had all been a misunderstanding.

Next to you, Lord Beesbury was the picture of defeat. Never had your star risen so high, never has he been more powerless.

Aemond has heard all about his attempts to get you out of it. He has begged Rhaenyra to help you, but his sister has not. Lord Hightower, as the good overlord he is, refuses to let you out of the contract unless a better match is proposed. It’s an impossible task. There is no way for Rhaenyra to help you, short of betrothing Jacaerys to you.

His sister won’t do that. Not only are you already ruined by Aemond’s touch, but you are also no one in the great scheme of things. You will not help secure his claim to the Iron Throne, nor will you help to make him look less like a bastard.

As for you finding a better match than him, to Aemond seems like a highly unlikely possibility. What were you going to do, if not marry Jacaerys? The only other Prince he was aware of was Qoran Martell, and he was both too old and too proud for you.

Yes, things had fallen into place quite nicely. Aemond would even call himself happy, were it not for the fact that you are avoiding him and haunting the halls of the Red Keep as if a little ghost. Perhaps it’s a bit premature to say, but you seem eager on avoiding him.

Why were you so upset, really? You wanted him. He wanted you. It was a win-win situation. Most people didn’t get the luxury of marrying someone they loved or even liked. You should be ecstatic. Not only did you get to marry the man you loved, but he was also a prince, capable of protecting you. Talk of marrying up.

Even if you weren’t in love, it was an easy thing. Giving yourself to him in exchange for protection and care. A better life, and companionship. He wasn’t asking for anything more.

While the kiss in public might have been embarrassing for you, it had been a much kinder thing than what his grandsire had planned. You weren’t actually ruined, that was just what he had made everyone believe. Your maidenhead was intact.

If you had known since the start, as you claimed, there was no reason for you to be upset. Unless, of course, it was out of loyalty.

Loyalty is a motivation Aemond understands well. He is steadfast in defense of those he loves, like any dutiful man should be. But unlike you, he doesn’t let it cloud his judgment.

Aemond understands what it is like, not wanting to betray someone you love. He would never, no matter how much he and Aegon fight, let his brother be dealt with by Rhaenyra. He would protect Aegon until the last consequences. The same was true for Helaena and Daeron, even his mother and grandfather.

But the thing about his loyalty? It was corresponded. Aegon would fight for him, Aemond knew. The same for his mother and Helaena. Your grandfather had barely even fought for you. Were it his daughter, Aemond would have been knocking on the Martell’s door himself or trying to smuggle you out of Westeros.

Why be loyal to a man that couldn’t protect you? That wasn’t loyal to you? Aemond, as your future husband, would keep you safe until his dying day, and would make provisions for you even after his death. He would kill for you. Your grandfather, instead, had proven himself completely lacking in that department.

Aemond needs to mend things. He liked how you were before, witty and carefree. This woman who haunts the Red Keep, a shy thing, afraid of her own shadow, it’s not you. Unfortunately, there is no manual on regaining your lady’s favor. If that knowledge was in a book, Aemond would have acquired it already.

He goes for the next best thing. Advice.

“May I ask you something?”

Aegon sets down his cup. While the bedroom is not the ideal place for such a discussion, beggars can’t be choosers. Aemond deftly avoids the wrinkled sheets, and sits on his brother’s bed. On the clean side, of course.

“Yes? Since when do you ask permission?” Aegon leans back on his pillows, scratching his belly. “You didn’t even do that when entering my rooms. I could have been busy.”

Aemond fights off the urge to snort. Busy. Bedding a maid, perhaps. He doesn’t say it out loud, too worried Aegon might withhold whatever wisdom he has to spare.

“How do you get your paramours to stop being cross with you?” He says, instead. If anyone knew, it would be him. Women, mysterious as they were, never proved to be a hardship for his brother.

Aegon smiles.

“This is about your bee.” His tone rises a bit at the end of the sentence, teasingly. Aemond frowns, heats starting to heat up. He doesn’t like admitting weakness, but it isn't as if he has another choice here.

“Of course it is.” Aemond scoffs. “Now answer the damn question.”

“Aren’t you meant to disapprove of my paramours?” Aegon lays down on his side. “Pass me another blanket.”

Aemond rolls his eye, but obeys regardless. The more time he spends in Aegon’s presence, the harder it is for him to take his advice seriously. Perhaps this was not his best idea.

But who else to go to? His grandsire was already exhausted by the topic. His mother was angry, and so, Aemond had taken to skillfully avoiding her. He didn’t want a lecture. Even sweet Helaena had taken the time to reprimand him.

The only two people who were not angry at him were his uncle and Aegon. Daemon had even patted him on the back for it, saying that perhaps he was not as much of a cunt as his brothers were. Not exactly a glowing endorsement, but Aemond would take it.

Despite it, it was not like he could ask Daemon. First, he didn’t appreciate hearing Aegon and Daeron were cunts. Aegon sort of was, but it was not allowed for Daemon to say it. Second, Daemon thought what he had done was the right thing. Grab a woman you like and take what you want. It clearly showed the way the older generation thought.

A more modern approach was needed. One that came with an open mind and a bit more understanding of carnal urges. If any, Aegon wasn’t going to judge him. He had done much worse.

“Well, yes. Of course, I disapprove.” He mutters, half-heartedly. In truth, he doesn’t give a shit. It’s not like Aegon is ruining his reputation more than it already is, and the girls are all lowborns. No one cares about what happens to them.

“Yet you want the juicy details.” Aegon laughs. “Worry not, little brother. I will teach you all you need to know to please your little bee.”

Aemond, remembering quite traumatically what had happened the last time Aegon tried to teach him something in that area, shook his head.

“I don’t want the details of your bedroom activities. I just want my betrothed to stop being cross with me.”

Aegon cleared his throat, awkwardly. Whatever he had expected of this conversation, it was not this. He was clearly uncomfortable at the thought of regaining his lady’s favor. Perhaps, Aemond should have reminded earlier that his lady was his sister wife. It was a bit late to backtrack now, though.

Aegon’s cherub face started to turn red. “I do not have paramours, Aemond. I have whores. Money and gifts tend to do the trick. Give it a try.”

“She is not a whore!” Aemond protested, urged to defend your honor. Aegon gave him a pointed look, as if saying it was his fault. Which, fair. If all Westeros thought you were a whore, it was probably Aemond’s fault.

“Of course not.” Aegon squeezed his arm, trying to apologize for his harshness. “But she is a girl. Girls like shiny things, right?”

Without nothing to lose, Aemond decided to follow his brother’s advice. He started by sending you flowers. They were returned to his rooms, after you allegedly said the smell gave you headaches and made you sneeze.

Next, he tries with a slice of lemocake. You leave it on the tray, for the servants to take away back to the kitchens, with no explanations. Starting to get impatient, Aemond sends you a compliment filled letter and a pearl necklace that once belonged to his grandmother, on the Hightower side.

It’s then you make your own, belligerent little move. It happens late at night, after receiving the necklace.

“Prince Aemond.” A servant knocks on his door, meekly. While they are usually frightened of him, it’s highly unusual that it is to this degree.

“Yes?”

“Lady Beesbury sent you this.” The man places a tray near the foot of his bed and scurries out of the room.

“Wait!” Aemond calls out, but it’s too late. The servant is gone.

Aemond approaches the tray. On it, rests a pile of ashes. Among them, there is the pearl necklace. There is a note to go with it.

“Prince Aemond.” He reads, trying to understand your hurried writing. “Please kindly take the ashes of your letter and shove them right up… Oh!”

Your words anger him more than you could have hoped to. He marches out of his rooms, so angry, Aemond fears that if he catches you, he might strangle you. This constant rejection hurts. He is trying to mend things, but you don’t seem to want to mend the bridge between the two of you.

Lucky for you, you are not in your chambers. Or so the guard outside them says. Aemond storms towards the library and finds you there.

It's the first time in weeks he gets to gaze upon you. You hold yourself different, like a hurt animal. Your hair has lost a bit of its shine. No longer are you the happy and carefree girl you once were, rambling incessantly about bees. Instead, you sedately pour over a book on some insect or another, clearly preparing for Helaena’s lessons tomorrow.

You see him. You close the book. He crosses the distance between the two of you, and grabs your arm. Aemond is too angry to know what he is hoping to achieve. Perhaps, shake some sense into you?

But you flinch, and get a panicked look in your eyes. It’s then Aemond realizes exactly how badly he has gone wrong. Your sense of safety, your trust in him, it’s all shattered. No longer your eyes gaze upon him as if he is the greatest man in the world, but instead, they are fearful. As if waiting for him to pounce on you and force you, right here.

You slip out of his grip. Helpless, he lets you go, in absolute mutism. Aemond wants to grab you and force you to stay. He is angrier than he has ever been. Do not leave, he wants to scream. Do not leave and force me to make you stay.

Yet, even with your back turned, as you disappear into the hallway, Aemond can see the heartbroken look in your eyes. It plays again and again in his mind. So, instead of following, he goes to the only person who warned him that he was playing with fire and was about to get burned.

“Mother.” Aemond steps inside her chambers, the picture of defeat. He has not felt this humiliated since he was a child, being presented with the pink dread. “I fear have muddled everything up and have no idea how to fix it.”

His mother looks up from her prayer book. She closes it.

“Aemond. You utter fool.” Alicent places her book down. Despite her harsh words, she taps the space next to her invitingly.

Aemond sits next to her and allows her to gently embrace him. Just like when he was a child, he needs it. Too often in these past weeks, he has felt adrift, but was too proud to come ask for her help.

“I know.” Aemond didn't want to hear his mother tell him I told you so. Because she had, repeatedly. Besides, there was the fact of how terrible, how beastly the whole thing must seem to her.

Alicent is not dumb, after all. She is the daughter of Otto Hightower. She knows something is amiss. And his mother has a weakness for young ladies in tough spots, especially for ones from the Reach.

The care you had shown for Helaena had been enough to win her over. The longing you had shown for him, enough to make her pity you.

Knowing both Aemond and her father, she had not taken long to understand this was a multi-layered plot.

“I will not pity you, Aemond. You knew tricking her would hurt her. And now you trapped her into a marriage she doesn’t want.” His mother rubs his back, soothingly. Her tone remains scolding, which is precisely what Aemond deserves. By the Seven, how could he be so blind? Not only has he disappointed you, but also his mother.

Still, it is not like it is so terrible. We are not talking here of an old man forcing a young woman to marry him, or of a cruel act of coercion and abuse. You had been in love with him, after all. Aemond had just… Hurried things along.

“She does!”

“Does she?” His mother arches an eyebrow. Suddenly, Aemond's resolve and security wavers. Did you truly not want to marry him? His mother, unaware of how much turmoil she is causing, keeps speaking. “You did something terrible.”

“You got married like that.” Aemond half says, half pleads. It's the wrong thing to do. Alicent's face turns gray. “What would you have wanted father to do?”

“I wish someone had apologized to me.” His mother looks away. “A real apology. A nice one.”

And Aemond gets the sense they are no longer talking about Viserys.

“I am so sorry, mother.” Aemond says, softly. “For everything.”

It’s late. You are sitting inside your chambers, the door wide open. To prevent any more rumors from swirling around. You feel miserable. Your wedding has been moved up by Lord Hightower.

You try to focus on your reading, but the words all seem blurred away. Your eyes are full of tears. Despite having the door open, you are not ashamed of your crying. You deserve to feel sorry for yourself.

It is in that state that Aemond finds you. He enters without knocking, and awkwardly clears his throat.

“You weren’t announced.” You say, dumbly. You wish you could do more. Insult him, perhaps. Yet, you can’t because now your destiny is tied to him. Your grandfather has made it very clear, that while you are allowed to make your displeasure known, you can’t enrage Aemond. Not only would it be bad for your health, now that you are little more than property, but it would hurt the rest of your family.

The stunt with the burned letters had earned you a thorough scolding. “Make the best of a bad situation.” Your grandfather had said. “The boy loves you, but he won’t wait forever.”

And he was right. Whatever you had with Aemond could turn even worse if you drove him to resentment. There was no way out of this. Being angry wouldn’t help. You had decided to forgive him. It didn’t mean you weren’t going to make him work for it, though.

“I thought it would be worse.” Aemond speaks again, pulling you out of your musings. What was he talking about, again? Ah. Being announced.

“Perhaps.” You keep reading your book, uninterested.

“Won’t you even look at me, Lady Beesbury?”

You pass another page in your book. Childish, but effective. Aemond sighs. Then, he kneels in front of you. The dull thud of his knees against the rock floor makes you look up. His face is pained.

“Are you alright?” You ask, slowly. You close your book. By the sound of it, it must have hurt.

“Just fine.” But his face is pained.

“Should I get you a rug? Or fetch a Maester?” You get up, intent on exiting the room. It’s as good an excuse as any. You can’t bear to look at him. Not now. Not ever.

You are too afraid of snapping at him. Or starting to cry.

“Stop trying to run from me, dammit.” His voice is raised. Angry. Loud. The guards on your door peer inside, curiously.

Aemond’s eye is narrowed in annoyance. He stays on his knees. It’s that, perhaps, what makes you stop and linger inside the room. As you close the door, your hands shake.

“I beg you forgive me, my Lady. For I have been the biggest of fools.” The words come out in a tumble, rehearsed. Almost as if they were word vomit, more than something he sincerely means. You eye him warily.

“What are you doing?”

“I have broken something sacred, but I hope I can mend it still. If you were so gracious as to allow me to court you again.” Aemond keeps at it, tone flat. You frown even more. It sits wrong with you, as if this apology it’s just part of his plan. It doesn’t feel genuine.

“What use is it? We have to get married anyway. Your grandfather won’t stand for anything else. Nor will the Queen.” You spit out, between clenched teeth. You want to slap him so bad your palms itch for it. Yet, you can’t. Not if you intend to survive this.

“I… I know.” And in that pause, that small stumble in his words, you finally find what you need. A hint of sincerity, of the fragile human that hides behind his armor. “But you flinched when I touched you.”

His voice is pleading. The flinch it’s not something you remember doing. It was a reflex. A passing gesture. You guess it must have been when you met at the library. But no matter that you can’t pinpoint when it happened, it clearly was significant to him. Your fear had rattled him deeply.

Aemond bows his head. His posture is slouched down, so supplicant on his knees, his forehead would touch the ground if he were to lean down any further. It’s a sad sight. Much like a kicked puppy. If puppies were murderous, dishonorable beasts, of course.

No. You have to resist. Aemond certainly didn’t show you any compassion when you were suffering. He just expected you to bounce right back, plaster a smile on your face and pretend nothing happened. Pretend you were honored that he tricked you into marriage.

“Another trick? What for?” You start to pace. “How else will you trap my grandfather?”

“Not to trap your grandfather, my Lady.” Aemond reaches a hand to touch the skirts of your dress. The image remembers you of something, deep and jarring. The way dirty children in the slums of King’s Landing would reach towards Lords and Ladies, begging for a coin. It turns your anger into sadness. You stop your pacing and face him.

“It would still trap him.” It’s said in a subdued tone. Just facts, nothing else.

“I would keep you safe.” He hugs your legs and in truth, it shows how much Aemond doesn’t understand you. Here he is, pleading for you to stay, thinking guaranteeing your safety will be enough. As if when his father dies, it will be enough to whisk you away from the front lines, as if it’s not going to be two of the people you love the most on opposing sides.

Because you love him. Only now you are willing to admit it, but it’s undeniable.

“It’s not enough.” You start to tear up, much to your dismay. “Not enough. Aemond, for the Seven’s sake. No… I can’t.”

Aemond stays quiet for a few seconds, still hugging your legs. His head leans against your thigh. You stay there, frozen.

“I know I do not deserve your forgiveness. But I intend to earn it regardless.” He pulls away and takes his dagger out of his belt. He offers it to you by the handle. “Take it.”

You stare at him, jaw slack. What does he want you to do with the dagger?

“Take it, little bee.” His face is determined. His eye meets yours without any hint of fear.

You take the dagger with a shaky hand. Since the pommel it’s what’s offered to you, as soon as you take it, it’s as if you are holding Aemond at dagger point.

“Actions speak louder than words, right?” He laughs a little, but it sounds off. Too nervous. “You deserve a real apology.”

“And you intend to do so as I threaten you?”

“You hold all the power now. Was it not what you wanted?” And it sounds so damn cocky, coming from him. When he could have you flat on your back if he so wished. You had seen him train with Ser Criston. No matter if you hold the dagger, he has all the control.

You scoff.

“Let’s not delude ourselves. There is still a power dynamic between…”

“So?” Aemond interrupts, and it pushes you beyond your breaking point. You press the dagger to his throat, a hand on his hair, pulling back his head in an almost punishing grip.

“You are our overlords, Aemond.” He goes with the motion, not fighting your grip. It feels good, to have him kneeling and scared for once, even if it’s all pretense. You force his back to arch, almost cruelly.

“It concerns you. And it’s only right. It shows me that you are smart. I wouldn’t have fallen for a fool.” His voice sounds a bit breathless, his pale complexion rapidly coloring. His lips part, his pupil is blown wide. Aemond is not afraid, no. He is aroused.

“Yet you would have married her anyway.” You dig the dagger deeper into his skin, almost breaking it. He pants slightly, but looks at you in defiance.

“I am giving you a choice. I won’t marry you, if that’s not what you want.”

“Oh, if it were up to me, I would leave you standing alone on the Sept.” It’s cruel, you know it is. Your stomach twists at the change in his expression, and you feel filled with the urge to comfort him. From playful to absorbing the blow. Aemond’s eye closes. “I would rather not let your grandfather get the upper hand. But you ruined me already. It’s an impossible dilemma. You backed us into a corner.”

At that, Aemond perks up. You know him enough by now to know he is a problem solver. He delights in thinking himself the smartest in the room, the one that can figure out the ways out of a tricky situation, make the puzzle pieces fit.

Helaena has told you he has always been like this. Proud of his intellect. As a child, he had been brave, bold. But a childhood without a dragon had made for a lonely one, and so, he had delighted in games of wit and inventiveness. He excelled at Cyvasse, too. How much was him, you wondered? How much was the need to prove himself worthy?

“There is no way out of the labyrinth, you say?”

“Yes. I suppose.” You agree because you have spent hours thinking, praying, obsessing over this. There is no way out. Nothing can mend the rift between the two of you. Nothing that can make this a relationship of equals and not a relationship of Liege Lord and the daughter of a Vassal.

“There is”.

And then, he leans in and whispers something in your ear. A secret. Something so bad, it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“And does your grandfather..?”

“No. But I am willing to put it in writing.”

He has just given you the key to the ruin of Otto Hightower. The dagger drops out of your hand, falling to the floor with a dull thud. Neither of you pay it any mind, too engrossed with looking at each other’s eyes.

“You know hold the power of life and death over me, my Lady. It’s in my hope that this will keep you safe and that you will forgive me, one day. But even if you don’t, I will not force you to share my bed.”

“You did a terrible thing.” You brush a piece of hair behind his ear, softly. His eye closes, delighting in the touch.

“I was a fool.” He was. He is still. But there is a path out of this, you know it. The secret he shares is not enough to afford your family’s neutrality in the war to come, but it is enough to ensure that whatever sacrifice Otto Hightower asks of you is a minor one.

If you manage to earn Aemond’s loyalty, of course. If you do not, he will not protect you from his grandfather when you make your move.

“You were.” You drop to your knees too, legs spread over him. Straddling his lap. Overall, it’s not about love, but practicality. You do love him, and you do feel hurt and raw still, but you need to move forward if you want to keep your head. “I have not forgiven you, yet.”

“But it’s a start?”

“It is.” Aemond hugs you to him. He peppers your face and neck with kisses, before hiding his face on the soft curve where shoulder meets neck. As you melt against him, you cannot help but feel as if you are the one who is moving the Cyvasse’s pieces now.

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princesspastel8 · 10 days

Text

• Gentle •

A Sleep token(Vessel) one-shot

No smut, just fluff.

《 First time writing a xreader. So bare with me.》

°this is based on a dream I had. I hope you all enjoy°

~ words used throughout this story: you, your, you're, she, her ~

♡ Story written in Third Person POV ♡

- Life is full of ups and downs. Most go through trauma that shapes and molds them into who they are today. Others seek help. Most live with it. Life is full of trials, some easier than others. You past a few and fail others. Life is full of choices. You may choose good, but everyone is allowed to make bad ones - bad choices.

Life is what you make of it.

But sometimes, life can get lonely. One can surround themselves with family, friends, or maybe even a lover- but most still feel an empty void that no one is able to fill. So you try a different tactic, shopping. This method only hurts your pockets and places others in debt.

Music

A way to express one's self. A way to distract or help concentrate. An alternative method to fill a void.

That is y/n's method. The only one that serves to distract the ache in her heart when the loneliness strikes. Y/n's life is one that most could relate to. Growing up as the middle child, parents constantly arguing, a passive-aggressive older brother, a compulsive lying little sister, and a brother with autism that's a year apart from her in age.

A loving family, on the surface.

There wasn't abuse of any kind, but the weight of responsibility fell onto y/n's shoulders at such a young age. Trying to protect her siblings from hearing their parents fight while watching over her autistic brother. You suffered in silence, thriving for perfection in everything you do to avoid being fussed at and nitpick - while dealing with a little sister that always got her way by lying.

Sure, this life may not be as bad for most - but pain is pain. Trauma is trauma.

As the years pass, the weight of this responsibility grows heavier. Y/n grew up with no friends and not much attention given to her by her parents. You did receive love from your aunts, but that too was cut loose by your jealous mother - having witnessed her daughters grow closer to her sisters.

Middle school came and went, only making two friends - both transfering to different schools. High school came, full of nothing but hardships that caused y/n's trust issues to blossom.

Y/N has been known to be the strong one. Strong and independent - you needed no one, but she did. Y/N struggles to express yourself properly. In times where crying is needed, you'd turn to anger - wrath - until she snaps. Having to deal with a narcissistic toxic best friend, you desperately needed someone - anyone. Y/N couldn't let the best friend go, having been your only friend at the time.

Y/N didn't want to be alone.

But the dating began....

Relationship after Relationship leaves you more battered and bruised than the last, but senior year comes - and you meet him. A man Y/N couldn't get enough of. A man who knew her better than you knew yourself. A man who also hurt her in the end.

He did return, making amends - but nothing comes from this. Your heart, however, still wanted him - but you knew you had to let him go.

Have you ever encountered someone and began to picture how your life would pan out if you were to be with them?

Y/N did, with that man. She could see her life pan out differently, the opposite of what she wanted.

To put it quite frankly, Y/N is terrible at love.

How can she spot a good man when Y/N's father has only ever been an example of the bad? He did try his best, but it wasn't enough.

So here she is, now living with the aunt that showered her in the attention she needed as a child. Life is better, more calm - peaceful. The once suffocating responsibility is light. She has friends who are trustworthy, loyal, and honest. That deep void full of sadness & loneliness should be gone - yes?

No.

She has love. Love from family. Love from friends. Yet she still longs for something she's no longer sure what it may be.

A lover.

Again, her luck in men is poor. She's never encountered a man who has a gentleness to them. Most men try to use her, her last relationship being the worse. The provoking picking leads to pointless arguments. The pressure to perform lewd acts, only to be left disgusted and full of shame.

At this point, she doubts she'll ever meet a man who will cherish her.

Having never been shown proper love from a partner, she stays to herself. She's still so young. She has time to find the right one, but her mental road blocks prevent her from being optimistic.

Music.

Ah yes, the one healthy method to help sooth the ache in her heart.

Music has been the one thing she fully relied on to help ease the tiniest pitches of pain lingering in her heart. It's only a matter of time before she stumbles upon a band known as 'Sleep Token'. Instantly, she's hooked.

Their songs, their sound - his voice.

She's obsessed, deeply rooted in all things involving this band. Their music, the lyrics, captivating her in a way she couldn't explain. Sleep token brings her peace within her clouded void. They're the perfect distraction.

Soon, she goes to see them live. The experience lights a spark within her, making her truly cherish the art that is Sleep token.

Y/N starts from the back rows, with each passing show - bringing herself closer and closer to the stage until she's front row. Mesmerizing. The only word she could use to describe that breathtaking moment.

Watching Vessel prance around, ii banging out on the drums, iii and his wild antics and screams towards the crowd, and iv- making the ladies scream with his sensual hand motions Truly a experience all should bare witness to. A taste of a drug, and she's addicted.

Every show that's near, she's there, front row with the brightest smile - swaying to each song and softly mumbling the lyrics word for word. Watching Sleep token live & up close has become her only means to de-stress.

It didn't take Vessel long to notice her. Sure, he's performed in many sold-out shows, seen many faces within the crowd- but seeing her front row during his concerts brings a joy he struggles to describe. He sometimes finds himself scanning the crowd in hopes of seeing her, though performing in a state too far for her to travel.

He's just as captivated as she is with him, if not more. The way her e/c eyes sparkle when he performs her favorite songs, the way her h/c hair aligns with the swaying of her hips, and how her smile brightens when she believes they've made eye contact- y/n can never tell due to his mask.

Vessel catches himself singing to her rather than the crowd. He can't help himself. Something about her is so alluring. At some point, he can no loner bare just watching her from the crowd. He wants y/n near, closer.

He proposes the idea of backstage passes, adding heavier security to keep things safer for everyone. iii is always the one doing most of the talking with fans while the other bandmates participate in taking photos. It isn't until the second to last fan leaves that Vessel's efforts finally paid off.

There she is, smile so bright, it's blinding. He's the first to approach her, hands clasp together in thanks as he nods his head to her.

"Oh my gosh, Hi! Uh- hello! I'm a huge fan. I hate that I haven't discovered you guys sooner. Your music is amazing, I love what you guys do! I try to come to every show to gather in worship with you all!" She geeks, rambling nervously.

Vessel watches her, his heart light & full of joy. He chuckles, "Yes. I've noticed."

Silence.

His bandmates are surprised, but y/n looks as if she's about to faint. Vessel doesn't speak directly, nor indirectly to the fans. Its apart of his persona as 'Vessel'. Nevertheless, why did he speak to her out of all the fans he's encountered today?

"Y-Y-You have?" She gulps, stammering over her words.

He smiles, taking the pen and notepad from her hands. "Yeah. It's hard to forget a smile as bright as your own." He said, writing his autograph as well as a little note only meant for her eyes.

The others share a look from behind their mask, walking up to the two. iii grins, giving y/n a side hug while signing the next page. ii and iv following suit while iii does most of the talking. Vessel stays near, a smile tugging at his lips. The sparking joy in her eyes makes his heart leap.

Y/N turns back to Vessel, a blush growing on her cheeks. She's gotten a picture with all the other members, except him. "U-Uh...can- I mean, may I have a picture?" She didn't forget the compliment made about her smile.

He nods, moving to stand next to her and places his hands together. He keeps a good distance, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Once the picture is taken, Y/N gives her thanks that turns into rambles again. Noticing this, Adam comes over to inform y/n that time is up.

"Oh! I'm sorry! I know you guys must be exhausted. Thank you...so much!" She smiles, about to turn away.

Vessel stops her, placing his hand on her shoulder. She turns to look at him, eyes wide. "I'll... see you at our next show, right?"

Y/N still isn't used to Vessel talking so freely like this - she'll never be. With a quick nod, she says, "Well, duh! Front row, too!"

He laughs, her enthusiasm contagious. "Looking forward to it." He hums, waving as she leaves.

iii is the first to speak up, "mate, what the hell was that?"

Vessel turns to them, shrugging with a grin. "She waited all that time to meet us. Wanted to give her something worthwhile."

ii nods, understanding his reasoning - but that grin of his tells a different story. "Right... but be careful. Some fans can be pretty -"

"Yeah, yeah." Vessel waves him off, still feeling giddy from finally being able to properly meet you, talk to you.

iv grins, putting two and two together but stays quiet. He, to, has noticed your familiar face in the crowd of their shows. He knows true devotion when he sees it. This goes beyond loyalty. This runs deeper. Whatever Vessel is planning, he's sure it's for the betterment of her as well as himself.

Y/N makes it home, heart full of happiness. She rushes to her room to share her time with yet the same guy mentioned before - the one who knows her better than she knows herself. However, he wasn't amused. He showed no signs in wanting to share her joy. He does that, showing no enthusiasm when it comes to anything he doesn't like - Sleep Token being on that list.

With each passing text, her excitement & joy die down - turning stolis. Wish a heavy sigh, she places her phone down, curling up in bed. She should cut ties with him. They have no future together, so why hold on to hopeless love?

Time.

So much time has been invested into this person. Starting over is out of the question. Going through opening up, being vulnerable to another potential partner isn't a option. Y/N doesn't want to risk having to bare yet another broken heart.

She holds her notepad close to her chest before opening it, smiling sadly at their signatures- until looking at Vessel's. Her eyes nearly bug out of her sockets. She traces her fingers over the writing in complete shock.

".....why would he...me? Of all people.." she questions while staring at the phone number written under his name.

"It's a joke...has to be..."

But Vessel wouldn't joke about this. He wouldn't joke about the risk of exposing his identity. Though a leak did take place, it didn't blow completely out of proportion. However, the Sleep Token members did have to go radio silent until the mess died down.

.....so why would Vessel risk it happening again?

Being skeptical, y/n grabs her phone - putting the number in before shooting a text. "This isn't a real number. As if he'd - "

Her breath is caught in her throat at the immediate reply.

"How long were you going to keep me waiting?"

"....there's no way I'm texting THE Vessel from Sleep token."

[Image attached] "Believe me now?"

"AAAAHHHHHOUVVY8C8RX7RXT- NO WAY!"

Vessel sent an image of himself in their tour van still dressed in his costume, about to prepare for bed. Y/N's head is reeling. This can't be real. It has to be a dream - a sick twisted dream. She gulps, grabbing her phone and gathering courage to read his replies.

"💀"

"I didn't scare you off, did I?"

"Come back, love. I promise I don't bite."

"This is a dream. This whole day is a DREAM! THIS CONVERSATION ISN'T REAL!"

"Its not-"

"IT IS!"

"Love, breathe. This is real. I'm real."

"Ok...ok, I'm breathing, but..why? Why text me? Why even give me, a fan, your number? For all you know, I could leak this and cause from really bad damage."

"Are you?"

"Of course not! I'm just making a part here!"

"I see...well, it's alright. This is a burner phone anyways😊"

"I-"

"🤓 I'm smart enough to know how to cover my tracks."

"Oh? So this isn't the first time you've done this?"

"No love, you're the only one.😇"

"Don't believe you.😕"

"Would looking through my phone help defend my case?"

"Hm...maybe-"

"🚩🚩"

"Haha, very funny. Fucking hilarious🙄"

"🤣 jk jk. But it's late, you should rest."

"Not really sleepy🤷🏾"

"Really? You seemed pretty exhausted to me. Want to discuss what's keeping you up?"

Should she tell him? That's considered trauma dumping- right? Besides, they hardly know each other. She wouldn't want to waste a once in a lifetime moment by chasing him away. So with a heavy sigh, she replies -

"No, no, I'm ok! I'm sure you're far more drained! You were a ball of energy on stage today. You and the others deserve much needed rest! I'll leave you be now, bye!"

And with that, she turns her phone off, to anxiety driven to dare leave him on open. She wouldn't get much sleep that night, still in disbelief of what took place. Nothing about her is that special, so it's hard to believe when he said she's the only one. Maybe looking through his phone will give her a moment of clarity.

Vessel, on the other hand, has the biggest smile on his face. "Damn, she ran away."

iii looks over, taking off his mask. "Who?"

"...bloody hell I didn't ask for her name." Vessel huffs, tossing his burner phone aside as he prepares for a quick, much needed shower.

iv raises a brow, "That girl from earlier? You gave her your number?"

Vessel smiles, looking at his bandmates. "Maaaaaaybe?" Before they can question him further, he dashes away to the bathroom.

Though, after his shower, he's faced heavy interrogation. ii & iii let up only a bit after being told it's a burner phone number. , however, r is still suspicious. Why is his friend being so friendly with a random fan? What about her makes her importance?

It's the next morning, You didn't get any rest. How can you? You're still questioning if last night was a dream, so you grab your phone - turning it on. Her heart thumps as her cheeks grow red.

"Wait, you don't have to share if you don't want to."

"I apologize for intruding."

"Rest well."

"Good morning, love."

"What's with the nickname?"

"Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

"My bad, good morning. What's up with the nickname?😐"

"If I say it's a British thing, would you buy it?"

"No.😐😑😐😑"

"🤣 I don't know your name."

You sigh heavily, pitching the bridge of your nose. Why are you being so rude? Maybe because of the little sleep you got, thanks to a certain someone.

"Oh... right, it's Y/N"

Vessel smiles at her message, finding her feisty & sarcastic messages to be amusing. He hopes he gets to experience this side of her in person. He wants to witness all sides of what makes her - her.

"Pretty name, love. I gtg- just made it to our next stop. I'm looking forward to seeing you gather with us in worship🙏🏻"

You don't reply, needing to get ready to see them again, front row. She's eager to see them perform again. However, her mood is quickly soured by a message from him.

"Another dry text...if he doesn't want to talk.. he should say that.."

She gulps, debating on replying or not. How does one reply to an 'ok' text? So with a heavy heart, she leaves him on open - something she's never done in all the time she's known him. Whenever their conversations run randomly dry, she would send memes or funny videos in hopes it'll start a conversation- but it never does.

A few days before the concert, he tried sexting her, but she wasn't in the mood. It happens sometimes, and normally, he'll bounce back and understand. But this time feels different, like he placed a wall up all because she wasn't in the mode. Maybe leaving him on read will make him see how hurt she is.

Once ready, she drives two hours to the next town - booking her hotel. She gets there hours before the show starts, watching the team continue their set ups. There's only a handful of people there, most still at work since it is a weekday. She doesn't notice that Vessel is watching her from backstage.

Immediately, he knows something is off. The sparkling light in her eyes dimmed. He raises a brow at you, continuing to check your phone only for your eyes to dim even more. She's sad, and he's eager to know what or who is causing it. He just wants to see her smile again.

His bandmates notice his stare, their eyes locking onto you. "Mate, you look like a lost puppy dog," iii snickers.

"She looks sad..." Ves said, pouting.

"Obviously," ii points out.

iv sighs, turning up his guitar. "Then let's do what we do best." He nods.

And they did, performing for the crowd while Vessel performed for her. He can't help the smile that grows from seeing your own. It truly brings a joy that he can't comprehend.

The show went on without a hitch, the crowd cheering with gratitude as Vessel bows. He moves in front of you, bending to one knee with his hands clasp together in thanks. He stays in that position for a few seconds before raising his head, catching sight of your breath taking - dazzling smile.

The view almost makes him break character. He stands, giving the crowd one last bow before leaving the stage - sparing you one last glance before disappearing behind the curtains. A sigh of triumph leaves his lips as he sits down, his crew gathering around and packing things up.

"Her smile is pretty bright." iv admits.

"Did you hear the way she screamed at me? That girl knows how to play the bit." iii grins.

- The classic "ARE YOU IN PAIN LIKE I AM?! -

- iii "I don't think so" -

Vessel opens his mouth to reply, but he hears a 'ding' come from his burner phone that's laid on a table behind him. He picks it up, face lighting up under his mask at the sight of your name on his screen.

"Be careful now, Bowing and smiling at me like that. Wouldn't want word spreading of you having favorites🤭"

"A message from your sunshine already?" iii grins, looking over his shoulder.

Vessel reaches back, placing his hand on his face to push him back playful. "For my eyes only, mate." He chuckles, shooting a reply.

"I have to display my gratitude for your loyalty towards us."

Vessel almost slipped up and said 'towards me,' but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

She smiles, now in her hotel room. She takes a quick shower and settles for bed before replying to him.

"Well, regardless, you guys have made my days a lot more brighter. I wish I had discovered you guys sooner. 🥺"

Vessel didn't reply right away. He took a shower and made his way to the let out bed within their tour van. When comfortable, he opens your message, smiling. But he remembers that distance look in your eyes, a look of hurt shadowed by her forced smile. Something happened. He's eager to know what or who caused you pain, but again, he doesn't want to overstep.

"Thank you, love, but I have to ask. Is everything alright?"

"What do you mean?"

"You seemed...off. I don't know you well, but I know pain when I see it. If you want to share....I wouldn't be opposed to listening."

You feel a bit...blindsided. You're known for being able to mask your pain very well. Its apart of your 'tough girl' act after all. You two don't know each other personally, but for him to see right through you is astonishing. Only one person has been able to do that....and he hasn't sent a text just to check in. Vessel gave her the opportunity to open up, but her instinct is to reject it automatically.

"Nothing is wrong, but thank you for asking! I'm just a bit jet lagged from driving most of the day. Well, it's getting late, and you have a show to do so rest up! Goodnight🤗"

She places her phone down with a heavy heart, curling up in her bed as she sighs. It's ironic how the one that checked in on her isn't the guy she was hoping to do that.

Vessel, too, places his phone down - heart oddly tight. He isn't sure why he has such a longing attraction towards you, but he's eager to know more about you - and to witness more of your blinding smile.

•

A week turns into a month and a month into a year. Vessel & you have gotten closer. You also have gotten to know the other bandmates quite well. iii is a ball of energy that's always ready to start some shenanigans. ii and iv are more mellow but hold great conversation.

Then there's Vessel. You don't want to admit it, but you found yourself beginning to develop feelings for him. His laugh, silly jokes, and his smile brightens your day. The way he comforts you and is able to tell when you aren't in the best of moods sets your heart ablaze.

Unfortunately, you live in the United States and him in the United Kingdom. Most interactions are done over the phone or video chat. It isn't until you obtain a visa to live in the United Kingdom for a whole year that you've gained more time to spend with them.

But once again, your attention is focused elsewhere. It didn't take Vessel and the others to realize that your attention seems to be stuck on a man you can't seem to let go of. They've tried to get you to open up about him, but you'll brush them off - saying over and over that it's no big deal.

It was only a matter of time before Vessel lost his patience with you. He would've waited, for as long as it took, but the end of your visa is nearing - and the thought of you running into the arms of another man pushed him over the edge. He's longed acknowledged his feelings towards you. He would show his affection discreetly and make jokes on what it'll be like if you two were together. He just wishes you'd give him a chance.

Though you two are on a silent treatment, that didn't stop him from allowing you to attend band practice for their upcoming UK tour. But just like every other band practice, your face is in your phone - tears would sometimes build in your eyes until you look up and force a smile to push the tears back down. The lump in your throat would continue to fill until you rush home and cry yourself to sleep.

And here you are, repeating the cycle. This guy has yet to check in to see if you're well after you left him on open for the second time. Once again, his dry replies leave your heart aching. Two nights before, he was trying to engage in sexting with you once more, and you turned him down. You weren't in the mood. All you wanted was conversation, but he wouldn't give you that.

For the first time in the many years you've known him, you feel used - tossed away when you didn't give him what he wanted. It hurts. The pain makes your heart burn and fill with agonizing loneliness that's too much for you to bare. A lone tear slips from your eyes, bringing an abrupt halt to Sleep Token's band practice.

"Who do I need to go fuck up aye?" iii huffs angrily, stretching his long limbs.

"Huh?" You question, not realizing a tear fell from your eye.

"You're crying..." ii points out with iv joining your side.

You force a tight smile, waving them off as you set your phone down. "I'm fine, you guys! I-I just uh...saw a sad video on snapchat, that's all! Keep playing. You guys are doing amazing!" You cheer, not fooling anyone.

The band shares a look of worry, Ves finally speaking up. "Let's take a break. Why don't you guys go grab pizza? I'll set up Elden Ring."

The three picked up what Vessel is putting down. He wants to be alone with you. iii grins, nodding his head as his long legs take him out of the room. ii & iv follow behind.

"Oh wait I'll go with-"

"Nah, we're good! Can't leave Ves alone for too long, or he'll 'accidentally' break or get stuck in something." iii snickers, further pushing the theory of Vessel being a cat at heart.

"Fuck off!" He laughs, shooing them away.

The moment they're gone, the tension rises instantly - becoming too suffocating. Vessel looks as calm as he can be while setting up the game, while you look stressed & bothered. You take in a deep breath, glancing down at your phone to still see no messages from the man you're still trying to hold onto.

She releases a shakey sigh, the lump in her throat building. This isn't fair. She invested so much of her time, so much of her heart into this person. Why is he suddenly treating you this this? It hurts. It hurts it -

"It hurts." You say aloud, drawing Vessel's attention.

"What hurts love?" He asked, moving to sit cross leg on the ground in front of the tv - his back turned to her.

"My heart...it hurts. I put so much time into him. Time I can't get back! It isn't fair! I don't give him what he wants, and he just tosses me to the side?! He had never been like this before! I-I just..." her throat closes in, her eyes beginning to build with tears.

Ves keeps his eyes trained on the screen, trying to defeat a boss. "Keep going, I'm listening." He said calmly, wanting you to get it all out. He wants you to finally open yourself up to him. He's been aching to cross this line with you.

She bites her lip, shaking her head as she sniffles. The thought of having to start over, be vulnerable again to someone else, is far too scary. She can't. She won't. She swallows the lump with force, blinking her tears away. You can't handle being rejected anymore.

So you smile, a smile Vessel has grown to hate. A smile used to mask your pain while your eyes screamed for mercy. He's not your hero, nor is he a savior - but he's willing to do what he can to fill your world back up with the joy you deserve.

"No..N-No it's nothing. I'm fine."

Hearing that, he pauses the game, standing to his feet. He turns to you, walking towards you. You raise a brow, reminded of the height difference between you two as he gets closer. You take a few steps backward, feeling the atmosphere shift to something... you're unfamiliar with but not apposed to.

"Whoa- what are you -"

He places his hands on your shoulders, carefully pushing you against the wall. You're not given a chance to process what's happening. His lips now press against your own. Your eyes widen, body frozen in shock - but you don't push him away. Vessel moves closer, one hand moving to your waist and the other to her cheek - making you tilt your head to kiss him back.

This...isn't anything you've experienced before. His hands are rough, yet his touch is so light, feathery. He pulls you even closer, body pressing against your own. He deepens the kiss, hoping to convey his feelings through this - praying they finally reach you.

You feel yourself melt against him, closing your eyes as you kiss him back - the shock fading. You fall deep into his tenderness, his touch so serene. Most men are forceful when it comes to their advances towards you. You thought that's how it's supposed to be. You weren't shown the rights and wrongs of dating. Therefore, you experienced so much hurt - feeling pressured to please your partners until you can't take it anymore.

Never once have you had a man touch you as if you were the finest glass - a man holding you so gently as if you were a porcelain doll. This....is all so new. A lone tear slips your eye, your heart exploding with so many buried wounds and fragments kept deep inside - too scared to face, but Vessel brought them out with a simple kiss.

He pulls away, chuckling at her daze expression. He moves his thumb over her eyelashes, drying her tear away. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. A part of her feels light, calm - but the other is hurting, trying to twist this intimate moment into something it's not.

"Why?" Y/N question as he pulls further away. "Why did you do that?"

"I've been pining for you since the moment I saw your beautiful smile. That smile sparked something in me. The joy in your eyes made me smile. I wanted to know more about you, see more of you, and get to know you." He sighs, shaking his head. "But you continued to turn me away, your foucs stuck on someone who doesn't deserve your fragile - clement heart."

Vessel steps back, moving to sit back down on the ground - resuming his game. He figures you'd need a moment to process his words, and you did. However, that other part of you is polluting your thoughts - telling you he's feeding you lies. No man can show such genuine emotion without hinting at a ulterior motive.

"Stop...stop lying to me, Ves. Don't feed me false hope!"

"What reason would I have to lie?" He questions, not turning away from the screen. "I risked so much just to have you this close to me. iv could've been right. I could've ruined this band by being so open and willing to let you into our world, my world. You could've exposed so much of us, but you dudnt. And that...that made me fall more for you, love." He pauses the game, turning around to look at her but doesn't leave his spot on the ground. "All I want in return...is for you to trust me. Trust me with your heart Y/N. Open yourself to m-"

"I can't!" Y/N shout, the tears breaking way - your sobs racking through your body. "I just can't! I can't start over! It hurts too much! I've been hurt... so many times, Vessel. If I open up and get left again.. I-I don't think I'll be able to handle another heartbreak. Please just let me g-"

"I gave you a taste of what you deserve. Are you willing to give up so easily? I, too, have been hurt. I take what I've learned from that pain, heal, and continue with my life. Yes, it gets hard. Yes, some days are worse than others , but I push through. I push through in order to gain what I know I deserve. My love, you can do the same. Until you're able to, just lean on me."

His words only make her sob harder. He opens his arms, a smile on his lips. Her body moves on its own, moving onto his lap and allowing him to hold you as you cry onto him - opening up about everything.

"We're only human, love. We're flawed creatures. We aren't meant to be strong all the time. You should've never been placed in those positions you were forced into. You deserve to be pampered, loved, and cared for. You aren't an object for men's pleasure. You're a woman who desires love. Nothing is wrong with that."

You nod, leaning your head up to look at him. "I'm sorry..." Y/N whisper.

"What for?"

"That stupid argument, undermining your feelings, and just overall being so mean to you at times. You dont deserve that...gosh, I'm such a mess." You laugh, smiling sadly.

He smiles, bringing his hands up to dry her tears. "It's alright, I apologize for snapping at you. I just... couldn't take the thought of you leaving and returning to that...fucking jerk."

You giggle, his pout making your smile brighten. "You were jealous?"

"Yes! Your face would sometimes be in that phone, wanting for that idiot to reply to you with something meaningful! Bloody hell, I almost snatched your phone so many times." He grumbles.

You lean forward, pecking his lips. "I'm sorry. I'll block him...for real this time. It's time to let go...."

Vessel stares down at her, her smile making his heart skip and eyes fill with so much adoration towards her. "Be mine."

Your heart skips, but your happiness dies down as quickly as it comes. "I want to...I want to give you a chance, but I have to leave to the US. You have another tour coming up. I don't think -"

"No. I'll make it work. We'll make it work. I've waited so long for you, and I won't let you slip through my fingers. Not anymore."

He captures your lips again. This kiss filled with passion yet holds so much gentleness. Both melt into the other, their feelings finally reaching the one another. Vessel's patience and understanding have truly paid off. You will work on yourself. You will work to become the best version of yourself, not only for yourself - but for Vessel too. The both of you deserve happiness and a life full of love.

"Ahem." iii clears his throat, a cheeky grin on his face. "Ooolala! Did we interrupt a precious moment? ii you got that on video, right?"

"Yup." He said, still holding up his phone.

iv holds his hands up, displaying he has no part in their antics. Vessel huffs, gently moving you off his lap. He pecks your forehead before charging at iii, chasing him around the room - eventually wrestling him. ii would join in, feeling iii out numbered, but Ves doesn't back down.

You laugh at their shenanigans, iv moving next to you to watch as well. "I should apologize."

"For?" You question him with a smile.

"For misjudging you. He's been happier ever since encountering you. You have my thanks." He nods.

Your smile widens, heart swelling with no much joy you can barely take it. She can't remember the last time she's felt this light. "No, no, I understand. Some fans are just badshit crazy. You're just looking out for your friend."

Ves gives up, walking back over to you and lays his head on your shoulder. "Fuckers." He grumbles, hearing them laugh and tease the two of you.

You giggle, kissing his cheek. "I'm sure a bit of food will fix you right up."

He beams, making a dash into the kitchen. He knows if iii gets his hand on the food first - he'll swallow everything whole. Soon, everyone is sitting at the table, talking about the upcoming tour and your departure from them until your visa is renewed.

Though you'll miss them terribly, you'll be leaving on such a high. Having made friends with her favorite band and opening yourself to Vessel has been the highlight of your life.

Every day will now appear far more brighter, thanks to that illuminating smile of yours that started it all.

《 I just want to put a disclaimer. Though I love Sleep token, I'm not some crazed fan that ships myself nor write fanfics or sumt of the members on a daily Occurrence. (No shame to the ones that do. That's just not my cup of tea) I was going through a rough patch of loneliness and decided to watch live shows of them on YouTube to help ease that pain. I ended up falling asleep by doing so - hence the dream I had. Only the second part is my dream. The first half is just a story building.

《 Thank you all that read this, and I hope it helps any lonly girlies out there that are turn to Sleep Token for comfort.

《 Likes and repost are very much appreciated. Much love to you all! 🫶🏾❤️🖤🩶🤍

#Spotify #sleep token #vessel #iii #ii #ivy #sleep token vessel #sleep token iii #sleep token iv #sleep token vessel x reader #sleep token jaws #romance

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sharptoothed-gaze · 3 months

Note

o//

So after watching vods and bads stream and clips:

When things calm down or they get a moment.. I NEED for qTubbo and Sunny to actually sit/chill with qPhil Chayanne and Tallulah and TALK. Okay?

I am so sad/upset.. concerned of things in seen within the chats and stream. And I make this clear every character is valid their own feelings and pov but we as the audience are able to see more than one pov. And when we CHOOSE to ignore other povs or closed minded things can/have gotten a bit toxic.

"..you have phil chayanne and tallulah.."

Tubbo chat: they don't care...

Hallo?? Qphil cares for Sunny!!! Her God sibblings including tallulah cares!! Just like any other egg. Yes lullah was worried in the beginning but anyone paying attention can actually see they are closer than they were. They are children and sometimes things need time. Happens. Lullah adore her God father, she was there for his bday and talks to him when can. But just like sunny she can choose who she wants to talk and be around. She has a comfort level just as sunny has one. Chill. When tubbo died it was not clear to Phil, even chat was confused but once Creation came up, he understood it was real. He even apologized because seriously didn't know it was real.

On top of having to deal with his friends death he has to assure his kids have cookies. And at that point the cookies were expensive and he could not afford them. Chayanne had to assure him things would be okay. Fast forward this week he has more than enough and can help any egg if need be. Since Tubbos death qphil has had to assure the kids theyvwould get tubbo back and to not worry of sunny because they will make sure she is taken care of. But note he will not force Sunny to hang around, she is free to what she needs to thrive for now.

The miscommunication between these characters is strong. On purpose or not. Story wise I love it but as viewer I don't know... concerned now?

I just want everyone to be better and happier than the day before on the island. And the audiences to be more understanding and open minded of the ccs/characters and admins

Sorry for the novel. Sorry OP

Please never be afraid to send a long ask! I promise that it’s not a bother, and I genuinely enjoy reading people’s analysis/thoughts on both characters and the fandom.

But yeah, I totally agree with you that miscommunication and unintended pov bias are at the core of the issue here! It really sucks to see people who legitimately think that Philza hates Sunny when it just isn’t supported by canon.

Sunny might /feel/ hated or disliked, which makes sense for her pov, but that doesn’t mean qPhilza actually hates her. He’s given no indication that he hates her being around him, his children, or his home. (His only concern about her hanging out has always been the potential safety issue of 1 adult watching 3 eggs.)

So far, qPhilza has always been very direct with his language, so I don’t think there is a reason to assume Philza is secretly lying when he tells Sunny she can stay over or ask for help whenever. He might be stressed about his own capacity to protect and care for three kids, but that doesn’t mean he wants her to be alone.

Everything in canon says that Philza wants the eggs to be safe and happy just like everyone else on the island. Nothing has contradicted that. He might prioritize his own kids the most and sometimes fail to understand some social/emotional situations, but the eggs’ safety is everything to him.

Plus, canon shows again and again that qTubbo trusts qPhilza and loves his godchildren dearly. Tubbo knows that if Sunny really needed help, Philza would do everything in his power to do so. Even if all he can do is direct her to someone more capable of getting resources like bbh. That’s him thinking of and trusting the island’s collective parenting to ensure that the kids have everything they need. Considering he logs on the server an avg of 3 times a week I think that’s fair enough.

I don’t mind conflict between characters, but yeah, fans claiming things that canon doesn’t support can annoy me. Canon pretty much says that Philza /does/ care, but he can do a shit job of showing it. He’s not meeting Sunny’s emotional needs, and I think that can be worked on with communication. There’s truly no reason to assume that qPhilza is maliciously harming Sunny.

#qsmp #qsmp discourse #qsmp fandom neg #qsmp text post #Someone asked Sharp!

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lazydoodlesandfanfic · 2 years

Text

Stubborn Like Me (Tony Stark X Teen!Reader) *PLATONIC

Characters: Tony Stark X Teen!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: None

Request: Tony Stark x teen reader. The reader is the second best genius mechanical engineer behind Tony. The reader can basically build anything they can think of. (He has a IQ of 267) One day after a contest the reader school beats Tony old school. Tony tries to recruit the whole team including the reader. The reader says "No I want to build my school up by being the best." (The reader is on their school own debate, robotics, athletic, etc team.) That's when Tony stops by the reader parents house and they make the reader goes to Tony's old school m

Tony wasn’t really one to dwell on his earlier years, or to check in on those back then unless they actually meant a lot to him, and with his messy history, there wasn’t many of those people. However, one thing that he always ended up checking on was his old school. He had a lot of good memories there, and it was his refuge from his toxic homelife with his dad. It was a place where he could be himself, have friends, and where he was able to thrive.

One of the aspects that he kept up to date on with his old school were their competitions that they reigned supreme in. Since his turn around into a hero, the school often asked him to come, give speeches, be judges for inward competitions and to give out rewards for projects he put funding in. With it being the best school not only in New York but also in all the neighbouring states, he had handed out a lot of rewards and gone to give a lot of speeches. So he was fairly surprised when he found out that his school came second in an mechanical engineer. To a public school. An average public school that had never even passed the initial round before now. It was shocking to everyone, and it wasn’t long until it ended up in the local newspapers. It also brought a lot of light to the winning school- mostly the mystery group that ran and won the championship without breaking a sweat. Tony was one of those people, and he spend an afternoon and night doing his research into the group. Several members had been in the group a few years, not long from graduating, and while smart, clearly hadn’t been the winning force, so he looked at the newer faces to the team. He didn’t have to look far until he stumbled onto you- the newest recruit to the team.

Y/N L/N, 15 years old, also on the school debate team, Robotics, and also in your school’s sports team, and in each you had gotten yourself an important role by working hard, managing all that in just a year of being in high school, and in that year of you joining these groups, you had boosted their success. In fact, the robotics team were in the middle of a local compeition with some other local schools that could go to the championships, and the debate team were now successful enough to be able to compete as well next year, and your sports team had their first winning streak in quite a while. It all revolved around you.

Tony sent a letter to your family’s address to congratulate you and offer a transfer to the best school in New York- his school, letting the school know of this and why, only to hear back from the school a few weeks later that you hadn’t applied or got in contact with them, and you hadn’t contacted Tony either. He double checked the address was right and that the letter sent, and it had. Unsatisfied, he decided the next action was to reach out to your school, saying he wanted to meet the winning team, and they weren’t gonna turn that down.

And so here he was, at your school which was a major downgrade to the school he attended many years ago, in a small classroom next to the parking lot which was apparently where your group operated… along with the robotics group. As soon as the group walked into the room to see him, they were all surprised, but in awe to see him… except you. Tony looked right into your eyes, and the look you gave him told him alot. It told him you already knew why he was here, and you weren’t falling for it.

Still, Tony persisted, keeping a smile on his face as he congratulated the team on their success, how he always kept up to date on the competitions and how impressed he was with them. After softening them up, he made his proposition. “So, this place is a bit cramped, and that’s not considering you’re sharing with the Robotics team. Well, I spoke with the school your won against, and they were impressed by your potential, and they want to start a program where your class with have access to the garage they assist at you you’ll have better tools, a larger work place and more vehicles and such to work on. If it works between your two schools then there’s talk about doing it for your other neglected classes, maybe combining your school’s extra-curriculars, and since it’ll be the big guys funding it, that’ll show on your records so you’ll have a better rep when it’s time for you to look into colleges, universities and jobs.” Tony informed you. He watched the group look amongst each other with excited grins at the proposition that was too good to give up.

“What’s in it for our school? How does it benefit?” You spoke up, your arms crossed, sat on the edge of a desk.

“Other than having students have access to better activities that they won’t need to fund so they can put that little into other things to better the school?” Tony responded, copying your pose but on the teacher’s desk. Your friends noted the silent argument happening between you two, and split to give you both a clear sight of each other, but also allowing them to watch the interaction like a game of tennis.

“I know the rules and regulations for the competitions for school competitions. If we use the other school’s resources- which by the way is biased because it’s the school you went to and you’ve been funding them essentially ever since- then our school technically can’t compete. We’d have to compete under the name of the other school, which means any trophies, rewards, certificates, and more importantly money that can be spent by the school to improve, would go to that school, not ours. In the larger image, that doesn’t seem fair.” You pointed out. Tony didn’t speak immediately to rebuttal your comment, because honestly he wasn’t expecting it. You pointed out a flaw in his offer that no one would have spotted without prior information- like the fineprint of the competitions rules and regulations.

“While that is a negative, I believe the positives outweigh it.” Tony reasoned with you. “But that your decision. Please decide amongst yourself and let your principal know your decision.” Tony spoke, before leaving the classroom.

He heard back the following day from his school that the offer had been accepted. With one problem. You dropped out of the program. If you didn’t remind Tony of himself before, you did now. Stubborn and determined to not give in to something you didn’t agree with, even if it meant self-imploding. It took a few hours of pondering, talking with his teammates and Pepper, before he formed a new strategy, this one being far more personal, and an offer you couldn’t justify turning down or sabotaging, and to ensure you couldn’t just rip up a letter or delete an email to ignore it, he decided to personally show up at your house. Needless to say, when you opened the door and saw him there, he sent you a shit eating grin and your face… oh if looks could kill. However, you kept in any curses for him to turn around and leave you alone, your manners overruled you and you stepped to the side to let him in. He stepped inside, noticing how quiet it was.

“You have an hour until my parents come home. Make it quick.” You answered his silent question, brushing past him to walk deeper into the home, sitting down at the dining table, leaning back and crossing your arms. Tony followed you, keeping his eye contact with you as he came and sat down opposite you.

“I heard about you dropping out of mechanical engineering.” He started.

“I’ve got several other extra curricular to sparkle up my resume, dropping that one isn’t that big of a deal.” You brushed off.

“We both know that’s not why you dropped it. You were the brain of that group, the reason they won. Without you they’ll go back to being mediocre and the merging of the schools will be cancelled.” He pointed out.

“If that means we can claim our own prizes and we can reap the reward for our hard work instead of having to hand it over to a school that doesn’t need it, that’s fine by me.” You retorted, and Tony could feel his frustration bubbling in his chest at your refusal to even consider, before he remembered why he was there.

“I have a new offer for you.”

“I’m not transferring or doing anything for your little private school.”

“I want to offer you a paid internship.” He told you bluntly. You paused, staring at him for a moment, blinking several times.

“What?”

“Fully paid. And you can still go to your school. Since you dropped Engineering, that might clear up some of your busy schedule, and since there’s no major competitions for the next few months, I’m sure your other extracurricular activities won’t sink if you only do every other class. You won’t be the only intern either- I have another bright mind called Peter working for me, but you’ll be working in different roles. I’d like you to be more hands on, right beside me with major projects.” He explained to you. You remained quiet as he spoke, waiting for a catch. Any catch.

“What do I need to sacrifice?” You asked of him. Tony paused his ramblings, looking at you. You were slumped now. Almost defeated. Almost. He could still see the fight in you- the urge to support your school and your peers.

“…Nothing. You don’t have to sacrifice anything… You clearly love your school, enough to give up on a hobby you’re talented in and give up a chance to go to the best school in the area. I guess it’s because you know you’re the thing keeping all the other extracurricular activities running. Without your success, your school would have to shut them down- and by doing so, those other students lose important notes on their record for college and university.” You didn’t say anything, and that proved to Tony he was right. He leant forward, resting his arms on the table. “I’m going to start a new project. One that funds the activities in the smaller schools. That includes yours. If there’s any you’re only doing to keep them running and you don’t enjoy it, you can drop it. It’ll be safe, I promise. All I want from you is your cooperation. You have an amazing mind, kiddo. You’re going to do some amazing things, and I want to give you a boost to the top. We could really do with someone like you with us.” He spoke softly. Your ears perked up as you glanced up at him.

“Us?”

“The Avengers. SHIELD. Those are the projects I’m talking about. You’ll be on the payroll. Of course, you won’t be able to tell your folks about what exactly you’re doing, but that’ll just make them more impressed, right? What do you say?” Tony offered, holding out his hand. You stared at it, looking for any loopholes he might have made, but soon finding nothing, you reached out and shook his hand. “Welcome to the team, Brainiac.”

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my GIF

TAGS: @klanceiscannon14 @marvelhoeingismyhobby-blog @bellamyblakemorley @dummiesshort @freyathehuntress @abbybills22-blog @mutantjediavenger @theoraekensnotsosecretlover @alicedanganh @sleutherclaw @sleepy-coffee-bean @stawwpp @hello-love-youre-pretty @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @bellero @originalpottervengerlock @supernatural-pan @esoltis280 @lady-of-lies @lenaswritingandstuff @macbetheliza @mandywholock1980 @cdwmtjb8 @caswinchester2000 @determinedpines @huntheimpossible @automaticbakeryfreakshoe

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dailydragon08 · 9 months

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I hate the “no attachments” rhetoric so much and I hate that both Ahsoka and Luke in Mando and TBOBF fell straight back into it. Cuz they especially should know more than anyone that the feelings of isolation, feeling like you’re not in a safe space to healthily process your emotions—which requires actually feeling them and being in an environment where you’re allowed to feel them—and feeling like you have a support system where you can speak your feelings without judgment to get guidance and support is REQUIRED for Jedi to stay on the light side. Cuz loneliness, feeling like a burden, feeling like if you have one bad emotion it makes you all bad because of rules around feelings that are unrealistic and too rigorous makes you way more susceptible to the dark side.

Trying to beat bad emotions out of people completely is unrealistic. Expecting literal children to not feel those feelings and just know what to do with them cuz you’ve created a space where those feelings are forbidden is unrealistic. Pushing feelings and emotions down and “burying” them (re: obi wan telling luke “bury your feelings deep down” in ROTJ) and expecting those people to be perfectly healthy is unrealistic. Wanting this level of control over people, their thoughts, and their emotions, and this black and white thinking is not only toxic and dangerous, but is akin to cult culture. The PT era Jedi were extremists in this way and just too blind and couldn’t accept any criticism enough to see it because for some reason, a bunch of old guys decided evolution was not allowed and they’d just keep running the system the same way they always had with no room for change and that would somehow be this foolproof path to survival—which is a complaint a lot of people have about our current irl political system and is causing a lot of damage, btw.

Like wasn’t that the whole point of showing the Jedi’s fall? And doesn’t clone wars especially show how this thinking created all these cracks in the system that Palpatine was easily able to exploit and manipulate and Anakin was just someone who wanted change in the order and he was ostracized for it, so Palpatine latched onto him and Anakin was like “oh finally someone values me,” just to be manipulated and abused and have his whole life blown up to the point that he thought the empire was his only option (obv not excusing the atrocities, just saying I can see how he got to where he did mentally by ROTS)? Like he literally tells Luke that they can team up to overthrow the emperor and in ROTJ, when Luke tries to get him to run with him pre-throne room battle, he says “it’s too late for me,” so he KNOWS this is bad and only going to get worse, but has resigned himself to it.

Like wasn’t the whole point of the OT and the “I can’t kill my own father/there’s still good in him/I can turn him back to the good side” meant to prove that Jedi DO NEED healthy connections in order to thrive and stay on the light side? If they wanna forbid anything, they should be forbidding possession and control, but the PT Jedi Council instead used that for their own benefit and lacked any self awareness to see they’d just become what they were preaching against.

Like give me a post-OT Jedi council who teaches healthy connection and letting things go that aren’t meant for you to control and that friendships and relationships can be powerful things that bring you back to the light in your darkest moments, and a more Legends-esque New Jedi Order that values emotional health and well-being and is a safe space for not only the galaxy, but Force sensitives, no matter how they’re built instead of trying to force everyone into the same box. This is the order I wanted to see Luke cultivate in canon and I will forever be salty that this isn’t what we got.

#luke skywalker #star wars #star wars discussion #anti sw sequels #anti disney star wars #anti jedi #anti jedi council #anti prequel era jedi #new jedi order #anakin skywalker #darth vader #anti no attachment #the mandolarian #tbobf #mandolorian spoilers #the book of boba fett #tbobf spoilers #the book of boba fett spoilers

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year

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Psychomanteum / Chapter 11

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC (2nd POV)

Chapter 11: Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings

Chapter Summary: The first day in LA is a mixed bag.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 11.8k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, insecurities, mirror, angst, fluff, acting career things idk, video call, awkward/nervous speech patterns, toxic mother/family of origin issues, food/eating/hunger, argument, mentions of: infidelity, addiction, death, and infertility, crying, comfort sex, dirty talk, eating ass, oral sex (both r) face fucking, deep throating, squirting, anal play and sex, impact play, hair pulling, maybe a hint of degradation

Notes: Chapter title from "Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings" by Father John Misty. Oooo a new banner, who is she?! I apologize for how long this is, it really got outta hand. Thank you for reading!!!

[ Tag List ] [ AO3 ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ Series Masterlist ]

“Holy shit, Dee,” you breathe, squinting as your eyes adjust from the darkness of the garage to the bright, open home.

Dieter walks ahead of you, tossing his keys and sunglasses on a glass console table, kicking his shoes off onto the gleaming hardwood floor. Each noise seems amplified in the jarring silence.

It smells like lemon pine-sol, and, based on how uncharacteristically spotless everything appears, you guess that he has someone come in and clean while he’s away.

“It’s–I mean, wow–” you stammer, shaking your head as you examine your surroundings.

The vaulted ceiling’s stained teak backbone stretches from one end of the house to the other, rafters extending from the beam like wooden ribs. On one side of you lies a dining room and kitchen, on the other, a living room and patio entrance. Light pours in through the living room’s floor-to-ceiling windows like giant frames showcasing the greenery of the patio, all lush with palm fronds and waxy-leaved bushes.

The home’s décor is quintessential Dieter.

Eclectic. Moody. Maximalist.

Jewel- and earth-toned furniture, in all different finishes and fabrics, fill the open floor plan. The white walls are cluttered by art, a hodgepodge of creations. Prints and acrylic paintings and black ink illustrations, including some of Dieter’s originals. Plants are scattered around, next to windows and on tables, thriving in their glazed ceramic pots.

Your fingers twitch, longing to experience every texture this buffet of materials has to offer. You feel yourself getting a little moon-eyed as you marvel at the place he calls home. It’s surreal.

And, if you’re being honest, daunting.

When Dieter spends time with you in your domain, you feel you know him at his core. A loveable, chaotic, free spirit, who busies himself sketching and “taste testing” while you bake. Which mostly just means he eats cookies off the cooling rack when he thinks you’re not looking, but sometimes he draws pictures of you while he does it.

You know him as someone who watches shitty TV and shittier movies with you just so you can make fun of them together, someone who theorizes out-loud about existentialism and Garfield in the same breath, who wraps himself around you when you sleep because, even when he’s dreaming, he wants your skin clinging to his.

You don’t know him as Dieter Bravo, Academy Award Winning Actor.

No.

To you, he’s Dee. The man you fell in love with so haphazardly, it sometimes makes you question your own sanity.

The existence of this other part of his life, with film sets and photoshoots and interviews and stylists and red carpet premieres, all these stringent show pony requirements, so paradoxical to the person you know and love… It makes you uneasy.

Is he different when he’s here?

Is Dieter Bravo, Hollywood Movie Star, the same man as Dee, Bubble Bath Connoisseur?

It’s something you’ve largely been able to ignore.

But, since you’re being honest, you can admit that the disparities between his life and yours make your skin crawl sometimes.

Like right now, when you’re standing here in the entryway of his gorgeous home, whose property value is probably greater than your lifetime’s gross income, holding the handle of your ratty old carry-on suitcase. Your piece of shit suitcase, with its broken zipper, and this big tear in the side.

Which, really, has never bothered you before. It’s a goddamn suitcase. It holds things from point a to point b, and this works just fine.

But Dieter has this ridiculous fucking suitcase with a heavy-duty metallic shell, and 360-degree wheels that glide effortlessly through airports, and a fucking phone charger. A fucking phone charger in a suitcase, seriously?

It’s just so… exactly how you fucking feel standing next to him sometimes.

And, as if to prove your point, when you release the handle of your piece of shit carry-on, it topples over sideways against his space-age phone charger on wheels.

All you can do is sigh. Stare at luggage. Try to ignore the voice that bombards your thoughts, telling you he’s obviously out of your league.

Sneering at you, saying, “Get real, this fucking guy is way too rich to be humoring you.”

Saying, “Louella Rose, once he knows you’re trash, he’ll be gone for good, I can tell you that much.”

“Want me to show you around?” Dieter asks, the low timbre of his voice a butter knife cutting through the thick fog of your thoughts. He steps closer and plants his wide palm on the small of your back.

You turn to him with a smile you know is flaccid, but nod, “Lead the way.”

He studies you for a moment, dark eyes darting around your face, no doubt sensing the apprehension you can’t shake, and proves your suspicion true when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Your throat tightens and you drop your gaze to the colorful entryway rug beneath your feet, shaking your head as you admit, “I—I don’t know. I’m… kind of freaking out, I think,” your voice cracks, and words start to tumble from your mouth, “I just keep thinking that I don’t belong here, like I’m too fucking poor to be doing this, I mean, to be here, and-and I’m so fucking nervous that I’m gonna fuck this up somehow—”

“Hey, come on,” Dieter coos, one hand settling at your waist, the other brushing against your cheek, “Look at me, Lua.”

You do.

His eyes bore into yours, unblinking and sincere, “It’s gonna be ok. I promise.”

Your brows press together and you swallow hard, then nod.

“We’re gonna do this stupid interview, which you’re gonna fucking nail–”

You look away.

He tilts your chin towards his face again, refusing to let you hide, repeating, “Which you’re gonna fucking nail. You know why?”

You just stare at him, half-expecting him to say because you have to or I won’t love you anymore, but instead, he says, “Because you are fucking amazing, Louella. You are brilliant, and gorgeous, and genuine, and hilarious, and capable of fucking anything. Ok?”

His words, so sure and earnest, soothe your inflamed sense of worthlessness.

A burning sensation works up your throat, then spreads behind your eyes. Hot tears roll down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your hand and croak, “Don’t say things like that to me, it’s too sweet and makes me cry.”

“Listen here, doll,” he cups your face and raises his eyebrows, a mischievous grin playing on his lips, “I’ll compliment you as much as I goddamn please.”

You let out a wet, nasally chuckle and link your hands behind his neck, then sniffle, “Fine. I guess. If you say so.”

“That’s what I thought,” he mumbles. His thumbs work against your damp cheeks as he brings his lips to yours, gentle and soft.

When he pulls back, he clears his throat and turns back to the vacant house, “Alright, sweet cheeks, let’s give you the official tour.”

The term of endearment makes you laugh and shake your head, “Dieter, I swear to god–”

He grabs your hand and tugs you onward, ignoring your feigned protest.

At the tail end of the tour, Dieter swings open the door to his spacious bedroom. You recognize the tall, chartreuse walls and the puffy white linens tucked around his bed.

Of all the rooms in his house, including the art studio set up down the hall, this is the one that feels the most like Dee. It’s a little messy, but in a lived-in way you expect from him. Relatively no-frills. Comfortable. Homey. It smells like him, not like lemon pine-sol.

You gravitate towards a chest of drawers that sits opposite his bed, grinning at a pile of rings, lighters, coins, and crumpled up cash. A big, rectangular mirror mounted on the wall above it catches your attention.

All kinds of paper mementos are stuffed into the mirror’s frame. Your eyes wander along the edge, stopping to study a picture of him, much younger and more angular than he appears now, with a woman whose bright, dimpled smile matches his.

“Is that your mom?” you ask, pointing to it.

“Yeah,” he walks behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, tucking your shoulder under his chin, watching you through the mirror as your eyes leapfrog to each little piece of him.

A ticket stub to a Prince concert at Madison Square Garden in July 2004.

An old polaroid of two dark-haired young boys roller skating.

“Tomás?”

“Mhmm.”

You tilt your head and frown, “Can I ask you something?”

“No,” he deadpans, blinking at you through the mirror.

“Shut up,” you snort, then ask, “Why the fuck are you named Dieter?”

He laughs at this, throwing his head back to boom at the ceiling before returning to your reflected gaze.

“I mean, I’m sorry—It’s just so…”

“White?” he smirks.

“Yes!” you laugh, covering your mouth, “Is that your real name?!”

“No,” he grins, then shrugs, “Well, legally it is. But my parents named me Manuel Diego Soto Flores. Diego is what everyone called me.”

“Stop it, oh my god. You are blowing my fucking mind right now,” you shake your head at the whiplash this information gives you, then pause, “Wait, why did you change it?”

“My agent suggested I use a stage name way back when. Dieter Bravo sounded cool,” he explains, and chuckles a little as he tells you, “I got in an argument with my folks about it when work started picking up, and legally changed it just to piss them off.”

“Wow,” you raise your eyebrows and laugh, “That is… truly petty.”

“That it is,” he sighs, his smile faltering.

“So, what am I supposed to call you? Diego? Dieter?” you smirk, meeting his gaze in the mirror.

“Dee,” he answers, “I like Dee.”

“I can do that.”

You hold his gaze for a few moments, relishing the heat that swells in your chest, then resume your study of his artifacts, squinting to read the faded black ink of a few movie stubs lined up together: Eyes Wide Shut, Donnie Darko, The Departed, Fight Club, Whiplash, Titanic, Toy Story 3.

Next to them, you spot a wrinkled brown paper square, etched with unruly black ink strokes into a blueberry branch. You tilt your head at it, then glance down at the blueberry branch tattooed on your forearm.

Your eyes flick to the reflection of Dieter’s face and find him already staring at you. A question creases your forehead, and he answers with a shrug. Tingles spread across your belly. You smooth your hand against his and leave it there.

“Look, I printed the ones from the elevator,” he chuckles, pointing to a picture of the two of you stuffed into one side of the mirror’s frame, stone-faced, black grease paint and mascara co-mingling with red lipstick, smudged all over your mouths and cheeks. Below that, the shot Dieter took a second later when you both broke, faces lit up with laughter, eyes bent up into barely visible crescents.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, hand flying to your mouth, “Come on, we have way cuter pictures than those.”

“Those are my favorite, though,” he smiles, kisses your cheek, then tucks your shoulder back under his chin.

You shake your head and sigh, grinning as you tell him, “Fuck, I like you.”

“Yeah?” he snorts, “You think so?”

You nod, rubbing your thumb against his.

“I like you, too,” he murmurs.

“Thank god, or this would be really awkward,” you joke as you return your gaze to the relics framing his mirror.

A snapshot of him, a generation younger, all gaunt and baby-faced, leaning against a high top table crowded with half-empty cups, ice cube islands rising from brown mixed drinks. Two young men across the table from him, his arm draped around a young woman’s shoulders. All four of them glow with a boozy shine, wide and carefree smiles stretched across their faces.

“Who’re these people?”

“Old friends from my theater days in New York,” he murmurs, “I don’t talk to them much anymore. There’s Glenn, you might’ve met him.”

He points to a tan guy with a brown pompadour and a very punchable face, who’s wearing a baby blue polo shirt and holding up his middle finger.

You sift through your memory for someone who might have looked like that fifteen or twenty years ago, but come up blank and shake your head, “I don’t think so.”

“He was at Katie’s party that one night, and, uhh… actually, I almost brought him up to your apartment the first time I met you, but he was being an asshole and wouldn’t get out of the car.”

“Not ringing any bells,” you frown, “Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve met any of your friends.”

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, then he mutters, “Well, I would certainly introduce you to them. If I had any.”

You try to think of a contradiction to this statement, racking your brain for an instance of him at least hinting at the existence of a friend.

“What about all the people you party with?”

“Haven't done much of that lately. Besides,” he cocks an eyebrow and curls his lip, “Those aren’t friends. Never were. And, uhh… I did a solid job alienating my real friends a long time ago.”

You look at him through the mirror.

His eyes are all dull and forlorn. Far away.

A sharp pain splits your sternum.

You wriggle around to face him, cupping his cheeks, brushing your thumbs against his patchy beard until he meets your eyes again. Then you tell him, “I’m your friend. Parker’s your friend. You’re not alone anymore, ok?”

His shoulders slump and eyebrows thread together, molding his features into this tender expression that makes your stomach flip and chest ache.

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls you into a hug, squeezing you tight. You slide your hands to the back of his head to comb your fingers through his soft curls.

A commotion erupts at the other end of the house. The front door opening and closing. Rustling and conversation. A feminine voice echoes down the hall, calling, “Hello?”

“That must be them,” he murmurs, and starts away, but you pull him back. You wrap your arms around his midsection and bury your face against his t-shirt.

“Wait, just… a little bit longer,” you say, closing your eyes to soak up the warmth from his body. It seeps into your bloodstream and feels like sunshine in your veins. He rests his head against your hair, taking a deep breath in, and you feel his body relax again.

The clack-clack-clack sound of heels against the hardwood floor draws closer, but the two of you just stand there, all wrapped up in the other, until someone crosses the threshold to his room, comes to a stop, and says, “Oh, you are here.”

You part and turn towards the intrusion: A neatly made-up, petite, brunette woman wearing a fitted navy blue pantsuit.

“Darlene,” Dieter greets, crossing the room to envelop her in a one-armed hug. They press a chaste kiss into the other’s cheek. He returns to your side, palm sliding against the small of your back, and introduces you both, “Darlene, Louella, Louella, Darlene.”

You meet her meticulous hazel eyes and smile wide, outstretching your hand to shake hers, “Hi, so nice to meet you.”

She reaches out and accepts the invitation. Both your gazes drop to study the contrast of your hands. Hers are dainty, soft, blemish-free; adorned with shiny, blush pink fingernails smoothed to rounded tips. Yours bear the scars and calluses earned by over a dozen years of baking, your naked, short fingernails hosting jagged edges from nervous biting.

When you step back, heat creeps up the back of your neck. She looks so… unimpressed. Annoyed, even. The barely perceptible twitch of her thin eyebrow cocking, lip curling, eyes flicking around your person like she’s identifying weak spots. Then she plasters on a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and asks, “Do you prefer Louella or Lua?”

“I don’t care,” you chuckle nervously, “Lou, Lua, Louella, whatever you want.”

You glance at Dieter, swallowing hard. He smooths his thumb against your spine.

“I’ll call you Louella,” Darlene decides with a quick nod, then looks from you, to Dieter, “Should we get started? We have a lot of work to do.”

On your way to the dining room, you cross paths with a short, curvy woman whose brown, tightly coiled hair bounces around her round face as she hauls two thick garment bags into a bedroom. She peaks over the luggage and calls, “Oh, hi!” when she spots you.

She spins on the heel of her beige pumps to face you, shifting the bags to one hip, “Louella, right?”

“Yeah,” you smile and wave at her.

“Kelly,” her hot pink lips stretch into a bright smile and she shakes your hand, looking you up and down before diverting her dark eyes to Dieter, “Nice catch, Bravo.”

Dieter smirks at the comment, eyeing her tenuous grip on the bags, “Need some help?”

She just scoffs and raises an eyebrow at him before spinning around and starting down the hallway. Dieter shrugs after her, then ushers you into the dining room, where a frantic looking young man is setting out three labeled mint green to-go boxes on the stained oak table, assigning seats to you, Dieter, and Darlene.

“Lua, this is Lincoln, my PA,” Dieter gestures between the two of you, “Lincoln this is Lua, my girlfriend.”

“Hi,” Lincoln tucks a strand of dark blonde hair behind his ear and leans his tall frame across the table, extending his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Lincoln,” you meet his ocean blue eyes as you take it in yours and shake it. Dieter settles into his assigned dining room chair, leaning back against the burnt orange suede. You take your seat next to him.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Lincoln flashes a quick smile, then glances from Dieter, back to you, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh yeah?” you grin over at Dieter, who’s crossing his ankle over his knee, watching you with amusement, and tell Lincoln, “Good things, I hope.”

“Terrible things,” Dieter teases, letting his head dangle to one side.

“Nothing but the utmost praise,” Lincoln insists.

A nutty aroma wafts up from the box with your name on it. You recognize the briny sharpness and name it, “Oh, fuck, did you get us pad thai?”

“It’s from that place you wanted to try,” Dieter tells you.

You wiggle and clap your hands together, reaching for the box as Darlene approaches the table. Lincoln scurries into the kitchen and makes himself look busy. She sits down with a sense of urgency that makes you fold your hands in your lap and sit up straighter.

“Here’s the plan,” she pushes the takeout box away, leaning over her open notebook, “Interview with DIRT at 4:00 today. Louella, we’ll practice your answers for a bit, then Kelly will help you pick some clothes,” her eyes flick from the notebook, to you, then to Dieter, and she says, “While you’re in town, I think it’ll be good for the two of you to be seen in public together, but I have some ground rules—”

“Jesus Christ, Darlene,” Dieter groans, scrubbing his hands over his face as he leans his elbows onto the table, “What are we, teenagers?”

“Well, Dieter, play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” she blinks at him.

“What the fuck does that mean?” he scoffs.

“It means,” she snips, zeroing in on him, “With all the bullshit you’ve pulled in the past year, you’re not exactly rolling in prospects, are you?”

He doesn’t say anything in response, just clenches his jaw.

She continues, “It’s a goddamn miracle you managed to land that Mike Flannigan job—”

You turn to him and gasp, “You got it?!”

This big, giddy smile spreads across his face when he meets your eyes and nods, “Yeah.”

“But he could lose it if this doesn’t go right,” Darlene advises, pulling your attention to her. She shoots a glare from you to Dieter, “So we’re going to follow my direction, right?”

Your face falls and you clear your throat, then stammer, “Y—yeah, of course.”

Dieter shifts in his seat, pressing his mouth against his clasped hands.

“As I was saying,” Darlene continues, raising an eyebrow as she drops her gaze to the notebook, “You’re both to be on your best behavior while in public. No drugs, no parties, no more than a glass of wine, no public fornication. We’re going full Disney rules of conduct, ok?”

When Darlene blinks up at you, you nod, “No problem.”

“Alright, let’s rehearse some Q&A,” she sighs, turning her attention back to her notebook.

She runs through questions the interviewer might ask, reconstructing your answers from nervous ramblings into practiced statements. It’s like a mental boot camp the way she attacks this, and, honestly, it’s quite impressive.

When Darlene is confident you won’t respond to questions like: “How did you and Dieter meet?” with answers like: “We dropped acid in a closet with my best friend,” the drills cease. Just when you think you’re safe to open that mint green box with your name on it, Darlene stands from the table, “Alright, let’s go see what Kelly has for you.”

You have to physically restrain yourself from pouting as she starts off down the hall.

“Here, quick,” Dieter shoves his open container of pad thai in your hands. You manage to take a few bites before Darlene comes back to see where she lost you.

“Coming, sorry,” you swallow and give it back to him.

Darlene and Kelly decide you’re wearing a balloon-sleeved white silk blouse and a high-waisted, billowing, floral skirt that comes down to your ankles.

Once your makeup and hair are styled, and you're all done up and presentable, not unlike a feral mutt turned show dog, Darlene holds her hand out to you, palm facing the ceiling, and says, “You’ll have to take off your wedding ring.”

“Oh,” you frown at her, then at the simple gold band on your left hand’s ring finger. With a heavy blue sigh, you slide it off your finger, and drop it in her extended hand.

When you emerge from the bedroom, Darlene trailing behind you, Dieter is pacing the length of the living room, dressed in a short-sleeved white button-up and navy blue slacks. He spots you and stops in his tracks. A grin spreads across his face, “Oh wow, look at you.”

“Look at you,” you counter, matching his smile as you look him up and down.

He wipes his hands on his pants, then strides over to you and kisses you. His lips are eager when they meet yours. You link your hands at the nape of his neck and arch your back into him, losing yourself momentarily. When he pulls back, he presses his forehead against yours and murmurs, “You look like… a sexy kindergarten teacher. I like it.”

You laugh and shake your head, “Oh yeah, this is doing it for you?”

“Fuck yeah it is,” he rumbles, then grips your waist and kisses you again.

“Alright, it’s almost time,” Darlene prods impatiently from a few feet away, “Where’s your laptop?”

Dieter mutters something under his breath, then steps back from your embrace and tells her, “I’ll go get it.”

As he goes off down the hall, you plop down on the overstuffed couch. Its deep, rich brown leather feels buttery soft against the small sections of your exposed skin. You cross your legs, smoothing the soft fabric of your skirt over your knees, “Is it a video call?”

Darlene takes a cursory glance in the direction Dieter went, then sits down next to you, her words hushed and serious as they flee her lips, “Louella, his career is teetering on the edge of a cliff right now. One more blow could send the whole thing crashing down. Do you understand how important it is that this goes well?”

An icy rush of panic floods your veins. You meet her hazel eyes and nod.

“Good,” she says, searching your face, “Don’t fuck it up.”

Lincoln and Kelly leave for the day once everything is set up. Darlene stages you and Dieter hip-to-hip in the middle of his couch, then starts pacing behind the laptop, occupying a strip of the living room’s black- and white-striped rug between the glass top coffee table and a black brick-faced wood fireplace.

Pixelated face pops up on Dieter’s laptop screen. You can make out David Alterman’s egg-shaped bald head and thick-rimmed glasses. He says, “Hello hello, how are we doing today?”

“Pleasure to see you,” Dieter gives a nod and drapes his arm over your shoulders. You flash a smile to the computer and wave.

David continues, “I just want to start by saying thank you for meeting with me today. On the phone earlier, Darlene said that there were some things you wanted to discuss regarding your new friend.”

“Girlfriend,” Dieter corrects, glances at you, then back at the screen, “There was an article by your, uhh… publication speculating who she is. We wanted to go on record and introduce her, get it all out in the open.”

“Fantastic. Well, the floor is yours.”

Dieter clears his throat and squeezes your shoulder.

“Oh, ok—um, hi, my name is Louella,” your voice comes out too loud, and your heart starts pumping heat through your body, up your neck, across your face. You wriggle in your seat and explain, “Sorry, I’m really nervous, I’ve never done anything like this before.”

David chuckles, “That’s ok, dear. Why don’t you start by telling me how the two of you met?”

Your eyes flick to Darlene in the background, following her moving form. She gives you a nod of encouragement. You take a deep breath.

“We met at Katie’s party in February. My best friend, Parker, convinced me to go, and, yeah, I ended up meeting Dee there,” a big smile stretches across your face as you explain, “I remember meeting him, and I felt this connection to him like,” you snap your fingers, “right away. It was fucking bananas—er, sorry, regular bananas. But. It was like I had known him my whole life or something, you know? We—me, Parker, and Dee—spent the night together,” at this, you see David’s bushy brown eyebrows perk up, and your cheeks start burning, “N-not like that, like sexual or anything, we just talked and joked around. Instant friends. It was so much fun. And, you know, it’s funny, because I didn’t even know he was an actor—”

“You didn’t?” David frowns.

“No,” you chuckle, “The next morning when we were all getting breakfast there was this guy taking pictures of us eating pancakes, which I thought was fu—um, weird, but then Dee and Parker explained… Well, y’know. Paparazzi and all that.”

“Is that when you started dating?”

“No,” you shake your head, glancing down to your hands, “We were just friends for a few months before that started. My, um… my husband died about a year ago in a car accident, so I was… not in a hurry to start any kind of romantic relationship.”

Your thumb rolls along the seam of your finger that’s usually covered by your wedding band.

“And yet, here we are. What changed?”

“I fell in love with him,” you explain, flicking your gaze from Dieter, who squeezes your shoulder, then straight into the camera, “You know when you meet someone and it’s like… they vibrate on the same frequency as you or whatever? Like they were made to be in your life? It was like that. I don’t know, it was fucking crazy. Shit, sorry for swearing—”

“It’s fine,” David says, “I’ll edit it out.”

You release a relieved sigh, “Ok. Well, anyway, I wasn’t—I mean, neither of us were expecting this to happen. But it did. So I took a chance on him, on us, and… yeah. I’m so glad I did.”

“That’s great,” David smiles at the camera, then looks down at his notes, “So you said the two of you met at Katie’s party—Is that Katie Wainwright?”

“Yes,” you answer. It takes all your energy to remain neutral. To keep your body from twitching in discomfort at the mention of her.

“Are the two of you friends? Do you run in those circles?”

“Oh, no,” you snort and shake your head, “Parker is a drag performer, under the stage name Jackie Lantern, and knows quite a few theater folks in New York. It’s all him. I was just tagging along.”

“I see. And what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a baker.”

“Pastry artist,” Dieter interjects, leaning forward, “She makes some of the best goddamn pastries I’ve ever had in my life.”

You beam at this. He gives you an encouraging little wink that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Oh, you have a bakery?”

“No,” you say with a little too much haste, then stammer, “Well, not really. It’s not a brick and mortar store or anything. I run it out of my apartment. But, I’d love to—you know, someday, open a bakery.”

“Sounds like a good investment for your boyfriend to make,” David hints.

“Oh, no, I’m not,” you clear your throat and shake your head, “I want to do it myself.”

“Independent,” David observes, then looks down to his notes, “Dieter has had a lot of big changes in his personal life this past year as well, with his divorce to Anika, and the scandals surrounding it. Do you worry that those patterns are bound to repeat themselves?”

Dieter’s body tenses beside you.

You furrow your brow and frown slightly, then glance up to Darlene, whose stare can only be described as a warning.

Downshifting your face from confusion to thoughtfulness, you answer, “I think… We both have pasts that present challenges in our relationship. It’s not exactly easy-breezy all the time, but that’s the thing with love, right? You take the person, demons and all, and choose to love them anyway?”

David jots down some notes. Your guts twist when you recognize the opportunity to do what you came here to do.

“And, you know, speaking of which, one of the things I wanted to bring up during this interview is that I—um, I have a criminal record,” you swallow hard and turn to look at Dieter.

He takes his arm from your shoulder and closes his hands into fists, thumbs pointed upward as he presses them together and draws a circle with them.

Together.

Warmth washes over you and you smile at him. He slides his palm against yours and interlaces his fingers with yours.

“Oh?”

You turn back to the laptop and sigh, “Yeah. I was arrested in 2018 on drug trafficking charges. I was convicted of a felony—and, you know, I didn’t have to serve any hard time or anything, just probation, thank fucking god, and I’ve changed a lot since then, but it’s still… still a factor,” you drop your gaze to your lap and shrug, “And, of course, the dead husband thing is a considerable amount of baggage. We live across the country from each other. There’s—there’s a lot that’s difficult about this. But I still think that what we have together is so fucking worth it.”

“It is,” Dieter confirms, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze.

“Thank you for being so open about this, Louella. This must be hard for you to do,” David says in a monotone voice, not looking up from his note taking.

“You have no idea,” you release a big, elated sigh, “But, like mentioned Dieter earlier, we don’t want people to think we’re trying to hide any of this, because we’re not. We’re just trying to move forward together.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” David says mildly, looks down to his notes, then squints up at the computer, clicking around as he tells you, “Now, after DIRT published the article questioning your identity, we received a call. I’m going to play that for you now…”

You glance from Dieter, to Darlene. Their confused expressions match yours.

“My name is Hannah—”

Your stomach drops to the floor. You whisper, “Fuck.”

“—I hear you’re trying to figure out who this woman is with Dieter Bravo. Well, I can tell you, that’s my daughter. Her name is Louella Rose Friedman. Now I don’t know what the hell she thinks she’s doing with this man, but I do not approve. I mean, really now, her husband died less than a year ago!”

Static tingles in your ligaments and fills your lungs. Your head shakes back and forth in protest, but her shrill voice continues to project across the room, scraping against your eardrums.

Dieter releases your hand and leans forward, trying to speak over the recording, warning, “Ok, David, that’s enough—”

“And this man? Dieter Bravo? Just like him from what I can tell. And I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but—”

Everything moves far away in an instant as your mind disconnects from your body. A high-pitched ringing noise dulls the noises around you.

From far away, your mom says, “He had a problem with drugs, you know, big problem, had other women, too.”

“Stop,” Dieter grinds out over your mother’s recorded voice.

“Lost his goddamn mind, tried to kill them both—”

Darlene scrambles over to the laptop and turns it towards her, “David, this is Darlene—”

“I just don’t understand what that girl thinks she’s doing getting involved with someone like this again, especially so soon?”

“No, nope,” Dieter stands, then booms, “This ends right FUCKING now!”

The sudden snap of him slamming the laptop shut and the dead silence that follows jolts you like a cattle-prod.

You flee the living room, down the hallway, into Dieter’s bedroom, then dial her number.

She picks up on the second ring.

“Louella Rose, what in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” your mother’s heavy midwestern accent pierces your eardrum.

“Are you fucking kidding me, mom? What do I think I’m doing? What the fuck are you doing?!” your teeth grit and and hiss, “Calling a fucking tabloid, really?”

“I only wanted them to know the truth—”

“That is fucking bullshit and you know it,” you growl, crossing an arm over your belly, pacing the floor, “You wanted fucking attention. Well, you’ve got it, congratu-fucking-lations!”

“I’m just looking out for your best interest. That man is bad news, Louella.“

“How the FUCK would you know?!”

“I know he has a cocaine habit, and that he cheated on his wife, does that sound like anyone else?”

You clench your jaw and shake your head.

“I’m sorry for caring—”

“You don’t fucking care! You have never fucking cared! If you cared, you would have talked to me, not a fucking tabloid. That shit you told them—” your voice cracks, but you swallow the lump in your throat and continue, “Mom, that’s not your story to tell. It’s mine.”

An exasperated sigh crackles in your ear, then she says, “You shouldn’t get tangled up in his world, Louella—”

“What I do, who I date, is none of your fucking business. It’s not your decision. I am a grown ass woman.”

“You might be a grown woman, but you’re still my baby girl, and I don’t want you to wind up dead this time,” she clicks her tongue against her teeth, “I’d say you’ll understand someday when you have your own kids, but that’s just another thing Ethan ruined, isn’t it?”

Your entire field of vision floods with red.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“When I hang up the phone, do not contact me ever again. You are fucking dead to me. Do you understand?”

“Oh, come on, Louella, don’t be dram—”

You end the call.

Dieter hovers a few feet from his open bedroom door. His nerves tingle with anticipation. Hushed sobs call out to him and grip his heart.

How long does he wait before going in to comfort you? Would you rather have time alone?

Part of him feels terrible for eavesdropping. Well, eavesdropping might not be the right word, considering how your heated words reverberated from one end of his home to the other effortlessly. It’s not his fault the goddamn place is like a resonance chamber.

Dieter hears Darlene in the living room chewing someone out over the phone. The words “so fucking unprofessional” echo down the hall, filled with venom. She’s in full tirade mode. Out for blood.

It gives him a smug sense of satisfaction hearing her wield this rage towards someone else.

If he knows anything about Darlene, it’s that this will take a while. She won’t stop until she’s had her fill, until her belly is swollen and ripe with vindication. Then she’ll lap the sticky blood from her hands, smoke a cigarette, and say, “Here’s what’s next.”

He raps a knuckle against the doorframe and asks, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

The word is soggy and muffled. He enters the room, closing the door behind him, and finds you sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, face buried in your hands. You don’t look up at him.

He crawls onto the bed behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing his forehead against the nape of your neck. Warm notes of vanilla and macadamia nuts waft off your hair. You feel so rigid under his touch.

“Talk to me, baby,” he murmurs, tugging you closer.

“Did I fuck it all up?”

Your voice comes out in a squeak, like you squeezed the words from your throat. Wet sobs bubble up your throat and shake your shoulders.

“No,” Dieter frowns, “Do you really think that?”

You shrug and release a shattered breath.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he assures you, “Hey, listen to me. You were fucking amazing.”

“But—”

“No, no buts. You were perfect. And—and brave, so fucking brave,” he nuzzles into that perfect space between your shoulder and neck and says, “I’m so proud of you, Louella.”

“Really?” you sniffle and wipe your eyes on the sleeve of your shirt, smearing black makeup onto the luxurious white silk.

“Holy shit, yes,” he chuckles, pulling you closer, relishing the way your hunched up muscles seem to slacken, “Before the bullshit that rat fuck pulled, you were perfection. Killed it, I swear to god, doll. And—and none of that last part was your fault. David shouldn’t have sprang that on us, and your mom,” he scoffs and shakes his head, gnashing his jaw back and forth as he tries to choose his words carefully, then finally says, “I’m sorry, but that was fucking despicable. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” you sniffle.

“No, I definitely deserved that,” he mutters, glancing up to the mirror, meeting his own eyes only for a moment before diverting his gaze.

Your hand slides over his and you move your thumb in gentle strokes against his skin, “She’s the fucking worst, Dee.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then inquires, “Was that her on the phone?”

“Yeah,” you answer, and your voice comes out all quivering and squeaky, “I, um… I told her to never talk to me again.”

“I heard,” he confesses.

“Oh,” you breathe.

His pulse jumps and he stammers, “I—I wasn’t trying to or anything, I swear, the noise just carries—”

“I know,” you squeeze his hand, “It’s ok.”

Your crying wanes in intensity, but the air around you is still dense and stormy. Dieter kisses your shoulder and asks, “What can I do to help you right now, baby?”

You ponder this for a long moment. When your response comes, it jolts his insides. Sucks the air from his lungs.

“Fuck me.”

He’s not sure he heard you right, and shakes his head, “Wait, what?”

Then you reach back and run your fingers through his hair. Unravel against his chest. Let your head roll back on his shoulder.

Dieter cranes his neck to search your face. It’s all tear-drenched, your makeup smeared, eyes puffy and red. He reaches up and squee-gees the mess with his thumb, wiping the excess onto his white comforter as you quietly tell him, “I need to get out of my head. I want—I want you to fuck me. Hard. I want it to hurt. Use me. Please.”

His insides coil and twitch. Your lips part as you scrape your nail along his jawline, beckoning him closer.

He smooths his palms along your torso, drinking in the heat of your body through your silk shirt. Your mouth draws him in closer: a bright flame, and he’s just a moth.

That’s how it is with you, Lua, you have to know that by now. He’s just a bug, and you’re this all-consuming fire that could burn him alive and he’d say thank you, my love, thank you for your light.

When your lips meet, his vocal chords crackle. Your mouth, plush and pliable, so delicate, he almost feels bad for the force he uses in response.

Almost.

You have to understand how difficult it is for him to restrain himself with you. How the tether between his humanity and deprivation pulls taut when you writhe beneath his touch.

What you’re asking, to make it hurt, use me, please… it electrifies him. Calls to the part of him that bucks against the restraints. Is that what you really want? For him to unchain that beast?

His teeth catch your lip and you gasp, but you don’t stop kissing him. In fact, you ball his shirt in your fist and kiss him harder.

You fucking love it.

He palms your breast and tastes the sweet whimper on your breath when he grips your flesh. Digs his fingers in, squeezes harder. You moan down his throat. Arch your back. Roll your tongue along his, soft and wet and hungry.

“Fuck,” he growls through grit teeth. Grabs your jaw and licks the gasp from your mouth. You grind back against his cock and an intoxicating rush of heat rolls through his body, clinging to his bones, sinking into the folds of his brain, tinging his vision with this thick scarlet fog that makes his heart pound in his chest.

Dieter buries his fist in your hair and sits up on his knees, ushering you to do the same. His lips hover at the shell of your ear and he murmurs, “Is this how you want it? Want it fucking rough?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and he slides a hand to your neck, spreading the webbing between his thumb and index finger on your esophagus.

“I wanna pull up your pretty little skirt, and bend you over—wanna play with that tight little asshole—”

You let out this throaty moan that vibrates against his palm. It makes his cock jump.

“Would you like that?” he rumbles. Clamps down on your earlobe. Grinds the flab between his teeth.

“Oh my fucking god, Dieter, please,” you whine, hips rolling against him, urging him to make good on his word.

He shoves your face into the mattress and you just prop your ass up for him, pushing back as he rucks your skirt up to your waist. His hands slide up the soft, warm flesh of your thighs, feeling the weight of your ass in his palms.

You arch your back, presenting yourself to him, whimpering for attention, silk underwear all damp with want, clinging to your cunt.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he rasps, hooking a fingertip around the wet patch of fabric, dragging his knuckle through your arousal, “You fucking love this, don’t you?”

You let out a throaty, delirious laugh that quickly morphs into a moan when he rubs the knuckle against your clit, then slaps your ass with a sharp smack.

“Fuck yes,” you gasp. Your hips roll against his touch, seeking stimulation. But he doesn’t want you to have it yet. Not like that.

He pulls away, and you whine, going to get up on your hands in protest, but he closes a fist around your hair and pushes you back down, grinding out, “Don’t you fucking move.”

Another airy, depraved laugh.

Dieter grips your hair tighter, explaining in a whisper as he tugs your underwear down your legs, “You’re gonna stay right here, ass in the air like a bitch in heat, and let me do whatever the fuck I want to you. How’s that sound, love? Hmm?”

“Please,” you breathe. He hears the wet gulp of your throat. The hair between his fingers pulls taut when you nod.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, releasing your hair, tossing the underwear from around your ankles across the bed.

He slides his palms over your ass cheeks. Parts them just long enough to gather a pool of spit on his tongue and let it land on your asshole with a wet splat. Rolls his thumb through the spit, smearing it around, making you gasp, “Fuck, that’s good—”

His cock twitches. Electricity writhes around his insides. He licks his lips, then purrs, “Yeah? It feels good when I touch your asshole, hmm? You fucking like that, princess?”

“Yes—”

Dieter spreads you apart, brings himself closer, throat rumbling at the scent of your heat. At the way your swollen, needy cunt is just fucking dripping, coated in a shiny layer of your slick.

Fucking beautiful.

He drags his tongue through the arousal pooling at your entrance with a depraved groan.

You unleash a moan and try to wriggle around on his tongue, still trying to exert control, still not letting go.

He raises a hand and lowers it on your ass cheek with a smack, talking at your cunt as he holds your hips steady, “Stop trying to run this, doll, let me fucking use you like you need me to.”

The response that comes is a whimper, but your muscles stop working under his grip.

“Good, that’s it, baby,” he coos, then returns to your cunt, licking along all the soft ridges and valleys of you, savoring your nectar gathering slick on his tastebuds.

“Oh my fucking god,” you croak, but you don’t rock against his tongue. Doing just as he asked. Heat surges through him, all that pride commingling with lust and love and need.

He licks up your middle, painting you with short, broad strokes, all the way up to your tight, puckered asshole. Saliva pools as he laps away, rubbing back and forth, in a circle, flicking his tongue against you in wet little slaps.

All the while, you’re whimpering and moaning, legs trembling, sweat coating your hot skin, damp against his palms.

He brings the tip of his index finger to the center of your asshole, wriggling and applying pressure until the tight ring gives and allows him entrance. Your choked moan fills his ears and he moves slowly, carefully, letting you adjust to the sensation.

One knuckle disappears, then another, and when buried as deep as he can go, he ruts it in and out, the hot pool of spit lubricating his movements.

You start to slacken, your sharp little gasps for air drawing out longer, surrendering to pleasure, whimpering and nodding, eyes fluttering.

Dieter pauses and wiggles another thick digit against your tight hole, panting, “Fuck, you’re doing so good, baby. Fucking amazing. That’s it, baby, just relax for me—”

It slides past the barrier and he moans in unison with you, burying his fingers again and again, spitting thick, gooey wads of saliva where he fuses with you, making his movements easier, more fluid, while the hot, smooth inside of you grips around his fingers.

“Fuck me,” you beg, “Please—please fuck my ass.”

“Take your clothes off for me, baby,” he sits up straight and begins to unbutton his shirt. You roll over onto your back and start to strip down while he throws the shirt on the floor, then lays back and takes off his pants.

He reaches into drawer of his nightstand and pulls out a bottle of lube, then squirts a dollop of it into his hand and glances up at you. You're laying on your back, propped up on your elbows, lust-blown eyes glued to his cock. When he spreads the slick along his length, your pink tongue rolls across your lips, stoking the hot coals in his core.

Dieter crawls across the bed to you, murmuring, “Open your mouth for me, baby.”

Your gaze locks onto his as your jaw drops open. He moves up your body and straddles your chest, holding his throbbing, aching cock out to you, “Wanna fuck that pretty face of yours, is that ok with you?”

You nod, threading your brows together, batting your lashes, eyes all half-lidded and hungry, and purr, “Use me like a fuck doll.”

The request makes his cock pulse in his fist. You curl your tongue against a bead of pre-cum hanging off the tip of him and wiggle it around. His head falls back when the delicate touch floods his body with pleasure and he groans, “Holy fucking sh—”

The words evaporate from his throat when your lips pull taught around his girth, the wet heat of your mouth engulfing him. His lubed-up hand falls to the wayside and he snaps his gaze back to yours. You hold eye contact and move at a slow, steady rhythm, taking more and more of him with each renewed bob.

Dieter moans at the sight of you, lips all shiny and stretched out around him, eyelids fluttering. He brushes the sweat-dampened hair from your forehead, gathering what he can reach in his fist. Tightens his grip. Pushes his hips forward.

When he breaches your throat, you gag. A hot rush of spit pours from your mouth. Twitching muscles squeeze around him, protesting the intrusion. A wave of ecstasy rushes up his spine and pulls a moan from his stomach.

“Are you ok?” he rasps, meeting your watery eyes.

You pull off of him, panting, strings of saliva hanging between your reddened lips and his glistening cock, and nod, “Don’t fucking stop,” before taking him in your mouth again.

So he thrusts forward again, carefully, every muscle in his body tensing with restraint. Your palms slide up his thighs, around to his backside, where you dig the tips of your fingers into his skin, urging him forward, and he knows now that you fucking meant it: Use me like a fuck doll.

He nods with understanding, “You want more, hmm?”

The hum of approval from your throat ripples across his body and makes him groan. You bat your lashes up at him, eyes creased like you’re smiling but your mouth is all crammed full of his cock so it’s hard to be sure, but he can tell you’re just fucking loving this shit. Jesus fucking Christ, it’s almost more than he can handle.

“Want me to fuck that pretty fucking face?” he growls, closing his fist around your hair tighter, rolling his hips, dragging his cock in and out of your mouth.

You moan and it makes him moan, the vibration of your throat writhing beneath his skin.

He adjusts his angle, releasing your hair to grab both sides of your head and plunge deeper, down past the back of your mouth, letting out a sharp groan as the firm ridges slide tight around him. His hips work forward in a quick, short burst of wet thrusts that light up every nerve in his body, then he pulls from your mouth. While you gasp for breath, he grips the base of his cock with one hand while the other grabs your spit-covered chin, “Is that what you fucking want? Fuck your face just like that?”

“Fuck yes, just like that,” you choke out, voice all gritted and airy.

“You pinch me when you need to breathe, ok?” he instructs, searching your flushed, messy face, “Pinch me right now so I know.”

This big smile spreads across your swollen lips and you squeeze a chunk of his ass between your fingers, “Like this?”

“That’s it, baby, do that and I’ll let you come up for air,” he nods, “Now stick out your tongue.”

Your tongue stretches down to your chin, and he slaps his cock against it with a smack-smack-smack before sliding it back into the hot cavern of your mouth. He cradles your skull in his palms and thrusts forward, cramming himself down your throat. Your vocal chords buzz against him, and your mouth emits this sick, wet glug-glug-glug that sets him on fucking fire. You pinch him and he pulls out, both of you gasping and moaning.

“So fucking good, fuck,” he rasps, waiting a moment for your breathing to be less desperate, then asks, “Ready?”

You hum a little mhmm and open your mouth, welcoming him back to fuck your throat. He can barely fucking stand how hot you look with your face all shiny with sweat and tears and spit, how your eyelids flutter then snap open to meet his gaze, how your body wiggles around beneath him, hips bucking against nothing, thighs rubbing together.

If he didn’t have you pinned down like this, you’d be touching yourself, he just fucking knows it.

The ecstasy tingling at the base of his spine starts to spread and you pinch him just before he loses control. He pulls out, but doesn’t dare grab himself this time, for fear that any stimulation will push him over the edge.

He gets on his hands and knees and leans down to press his lips to yours. You throw your arms around his neck and arch your back into the kiss, pulling him closer, rolling your tongue against his as soft whimpers flutter from your mouth. One of his hands trails down your body, between your legs, and he groans at how fucking wet you are.

You gasp against his lips, throwing your head back as he plays with your clit, working you at a rapid rhythm that makes your face twist and flush, nodding in approval, quick little gasps and squeaks escaping your throat.

He grins when he realizes how close you are. So fucking worked up from sucking him off, already coiling up, ready to burst.

“That’s it, baby,” he husks, kisses you, then presses his sweaty forehead to yours, “That’s it, let me see you fucking cum, baby.”

“Fuck fuck fuck, Dee, don’t stop—fuck—”

Your words disappear with a sharp inhale, muscles tensing up, hips arching against his hand. He continues to move against you, fast and steady and firm, until you find your voice and release a choked sob. You collapse into yourself, body shaking violently, legs clamping shut, gasping for air.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe, and your body starts to slacken, but jumps like a live wire at his slowing touch.

Dieter slides down your crease, through your arousal, propping himself on one arm to watch how your cum clings to his fingers in thick, heavy strands as he draws his hand away.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he murmurs, licks you from his fingers, then drags them along your warm, gooey seam again, “But I’m not done with you yet.”

Your eyebrows press together and lips part with a whimper, but you don’t appear adverse to the suggestion. In fact, you bring a hand to your chest. Cup your breast. Pinch your nipple and gasp.

His body surges hot with want. He grazes his nose against your face, rumbling into your ear, “How’d you put it? Like a fuck doll?”

Your throat lets out a little whine and your lips pout out into an O as he sinks two thick fingers into your cunt. You prop yourself up and watch him slide in and out, whimpering and nodding, “Fuck that’s so good, Dee—oh my god, yes—”

The hunger roiling at his core grows. He adds another finger, stretching you wider, and you release a choked moan.

“Is this what you want, Lua? Want me to fuck you like a little slut, hmm?” he pants, shifting himself to hover above you, pumping his arm, cramming his fingers into your tight, wet heat over and over again.

“Yes yes yes yes yes,” you babble, and start moving your hips against him, “Do that thing—”

Dieter smirks, knowing exactly what thing you’re referring to, and pulls his hand up towards the ceiling, rubbing the pads of his fingers hard against your g-spot, “That?”

“Fuuuuuuck yes, baby, just like that,” you moan, “That’s so good, baby, such a good fucking boy, fuck me so good—”

He lets out a groan and wiggles his fingers faster, “Yeah? You like when I make you squirt all over the place? Wanna soak my fucking bedsheets?”

Your response is a strangled noise, but you nod your head frantically, and your limbs start to tremble. And, fuck, the sight of you all shaking and whining, skin slick with sweat, makeup running down your pretty, flushed, contorted face, it’s enough to send his insides fluttering, barreling towards oblivion once again.

Dieter has to close his eyes, swallowing hard as he tries to reign himself in, forcing himself to fill his mind with mundane thoughts about what to eat for supper, how this disaster of an interview will get resolved, whether or not he’ll wake up early to attempt making breakfast for you, all while trying to ignore the liquid hot squeeze of your pussy around his wiggling fingers.

When he feels he finally has a grip on his pleasure, he snaps his eyes open and moves between your legs. Buries his face in your cunt. Rolls his tongue on your swollen clit.

“Yes, fuck,” you breathe and anchor your hands in his hair, pulling his curls into tight fists. Your breathing starts to come in shallow gasps. The muscles of your thighs tense and twitch.

“Don’t stop, baby, don’t fucking stop,” you whimper, and he works you faster, moving his tongue in a circle, tickling the inside of you, groaning as you rub yourself against him, smearing your juices all over his face. You moan when the sound hits you, so he continues, humming from the back of his throat, and it’s just the push you need.

Your hips stutter and still. A wild, ragged noise tears from your chest. You convulse around his fingers, and he pulls them out, sliding his mouth down to your opening just as a hot wave of pleasure gushes out. It splashes against his face, and he tries to catch as much as he can on his tongue, moaning at the taste of you. Grabs your waist and holds you there, lapping away at your cunt as you gasp for air, body jerking at the stimulation, but unable to move from his vice grip.

He climbs your body and kisses you, hard and messy, letting you taste yourself. You rake your fingers through his hair, whining into his mouth when his tongue slides across yours.

His cock aches with neglect. The steady inflow of pleasure burns between the layers of his skin and begs to be released.

He pulls away from your lips and pants, “Flip over for me, love. I wanna fuck your ass.”

And, you… fucking hell, Lua, you smile at this like he told you he’s buying you a brand new car. He sits up and you roll over onto your belly, then stick your ass up into the air, “Is that good?”

“Fucking perfect.”

Dieter grabs the abandoned bottle of lube, squeezes some into his palm, then requests, “Spread for me, baby.”

You reach back, pulling your ass cheeks apart. He squirts some of the lube on your puckered hole and you yelp, then giggle, “It’s so cold.”

He chuckles at this as he strokes his cock, smearing the slick lube along his length, then he asks, “Have you done this before? Anal sex?”

This isn’t the first time he’s ventured into ass play with you, but only with tongues, toys, fingers. You look back at him and shrug, “Well, yeah, but,” then you drop your gaze to his dick, “You’re, um… a lot bigger than anyone else…”

The comment makes his ego swell, and he can’t help but grin, spreading the lube across your tight hole with his middle finger. Then he applies pressure to its center until it allows him access. Your eyelids flutter and you whimper, licking your lips, pulling your cheeks apart further.

“I’ll go slow, but if it’s too much, tell me and I’ll stop, ok?”

“Ok,” you nod.

He wriggles another digit inside you. You gasp and nod, “Fuck, that feels really good.”

“Good,” he purrs, rutting into you slowly, flicking his gaze between your face and ass, watching the way your lips part and eyelids drift closed, feeling the muscles inside you start to relax.

You arch your back into the stimulation, breathy little whimpers and moans floating from your mouth like music to his fucking ears. Lust pools hot and needy at his center, making his heart thud and his cock ache.

“Are you ready?” he asks, studying your face as you open your eyes and look back at him.

“I’m ready,” you confirm, holding his gaze as he pulls his fingers out and brings the head of his cock to kiss the tight, lubricated hole.

Dieter pushes forward cautiously, pausing when your asshole surrenders to the very tip of him and you let out a sharp cry. After a moment, you nod, “Keep going.”

So he does. The tight ring squeezes the ever loving fuck out of him as he slowly, tediously, makes his way inside you. His forehead breaks out in a sweat, muscles quivering from the effort it takes to move at this pace. Your face pinches up with what could either be pleasure or pain, he’s not quite sure, but it’s accompanied by whimpers and nods, signaling your approval.

Once the head of his cock is fully engulfed, though, and you adjust to his width, acclimate to the feeling, things start to go faster. He pushes your hands away and spreads your cheeks himself, hissing, “Fuck, this looks so good, baby. Love seeing your sweet little asshole stretched out around my cock—”

“It feels so fucking good,” you breathe, propping yourself up on your elbows, “Give me more.”

The request squirms around inside him and makes his throat rumble. He drives his hips forward steadily, and it’s a fucking vacuum of suction, pulling him in, swallowing him whole. You sputter and moan in reaction, croaking out quiet little whines of “oh my fucking god” over and over again.

“Fuuuuck, you’re so fucking tight, holy fuck, Lua,” he groans, throwing his head back, then starts to roll his hips, still moving at a languid pace, sliding his length along that ring that, even when your muscles loosen slightly, grips him so fucking tight it makes every ounce of sanity flee his brain.

“Do you like that? Like when I fuck your ass with my fat cock?” he asks through grit teeth.

You whimper and nod, “Yes yes yes yes—”

“Tell me,” he demands, snapping his hips, heart jumping at the moan you choke out.

“I like it wh—when you fuck my ass—” he snaps his hips again and you gasp, then continue, “with your big, fat cock—”

“Yeah you fucking do, don’t you?” He increases the tempo, moaning at the squeeze of you, how fucking good you feel wrapped around him, and grinds out, “Little fuck doll likes being used, hmm? Just like this?”

“Holy fuck, Dee,” you groan, raising yourself up onto your hands, pushing back against his thrusts, “I fucking love it, yes.”

The force of your body moving with his, burying him to the hilt inside you again and again, fills him with fire. Sweat drips from his forehead onto your back, heart fluttering in his heaving chest, hands tingling, limbs trembling, ecstasy pooling thick and hot at the base of his spine.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me fucking cum,” he warns, but doesn’t let up his pace.

“Cum in my ass, baby, please please please,” you moan.

The request tugs at the edges of him, and he wants you closer, wants to feel the heat of your skin against his.

“Get up here,” he grunts, leans forward and hooks an arm around your torso, pulls your back against his chest, cradling your neck in his palm. Your head falls back onto his shoulder and your mouth is hanging open slack, frantic little moans fleeing your throat as he fucks your ass deep and hard, rumbling into your ear, “Cum in your fucking ass, hmm? My little slut wants her ass filled with cum?”

You bring your hand to the back of his head and grab a fistful of hair, breathing, “Fuck yes, please, Dieter, please—”

“Anything for you, love,” he pants, then you pull his hair tighter, and you start to rock your hips against his, and your whines get all high-pitched and airy, and he babbles, “I mean that, I really do, fucking anything you want, baby—fill your ass with cum, buy you whatever the fuck you want, fucking anything, I swear to god—”

Your lips cut him off, and you’re fucking trembling now, muscles all tight and coiled, squeezing around his cock, and he kisses you back with fire, groaning against your mouth as you whimper, then your breath disappears completely, you let out a strangled moan, and your body shutters from the force of your orgasm. The static buzzing in his center grows wider, deeper, tingling up his backbone, through his limbs, until it washes over him completely.

He thrusts into you one, two, three more times, spilling his load inside you.

His labored breathing puffs hot against yours. You bring your touch to his cheek and draw a circle into his beard with your thumb. He kisses you again, gentler, lips lingering on yours, then murmurs, “I fucking love you.”

A bright, wide smile spreads across your face. You let out this breathless little giggle, kiss him, then say, “I fucking love you, too.”

Dieter pulls out and falls back onto the bed, stretching out, catching his breath. You follow suit and cuddle up to him, laying your head on his heaving chest. He curls his arm around your shoulders and rests his cheek on the crown of your sweaty head.

The silence that settles is comfortable, and he notices that the rest of the house is quiet, too. Darlene must have fled sometime while he was fucking you, no doubt disgusted by the noises that were probably not muffled at all by the barrier of his bedroom door.

His attention draws back to you when you whisper, “Am I doing the right thing? By cutting her out of my life?”

It takes a moment for him to understand what you’re asking. When it clicks, he frowns, “I don’t think that’s a question I can answer.”

You’re quiet in response, so he inquires further, “What’s your relationship like with her?”

“We, um… we butt heads,” you shrug and bring your fingertips to his sternum, start drawing little swirls against his skin, “She’s always been so… I don’t know, self-centered? Childish?” you pause here, and he can hear the gears in your busy mind turning. You lay your palm flat over his heart and say, “It’s always about her. She didn’t come see me when Ethan died, or try to console me, or anything. She fucking—”

A frustrated huff of air blows across his chest. You shake your head, then sigh, “She fucking called me all the time crying about it, and posted all this bullshit online about how sad she was, and—and she fucking hated him. It’s like she expected me to comfort her. She never asked how I was doing. It was… fuck, it was just like when Dad died.”

Dieter smooths circles into your skin with his thumb. Studies the ceiling, waiting for you to say more. Then you do.

“When I would try talking to her about how much I missed him—my dad, I mean—she would get fucking mad at me. Say shit like, ‘Well, how do you think I feel?’ or—or, ‘You’re not the only one who lost him,’ or—this one’s my favorite, the uses it all the time, ‘It’s not all about you, Louella Rose,’” you pause and scoff to yourself, shaking your head, “So I stopped trying to her about it, and then she would get mad at me for not talking about it, so then I would talk to her about it, and she would either get mad all over again or squirrel the things I told her away to use as fucking ammunition against me the next time I made her upset, and—and, I don’t know. That’s just how it is with her.”

Dieter’s mind whirs as he sifts through the million thoughts pouring through his brain, trying to find the right one to tell you. It feels like finding the hay in the needlestack, and when his mouth opens, all that comes out is, “Fuck that.”

“Yeah,” you snort, then comb your fingers through his hair and murmur, “I love your curls, they’re adorable.”

He almost takes the subject change you dangle in front of him, but something lingers at the base of his throat, begging to be known.

“Look,” he starts, shifting to meet your gaze, and sighs, “I really don’t think you’re making a mistake by cutting her out of your life, Lua. And-and not because she said those things about me, but because she treats you like shit. And, I know it’s not my place to say shit like this, but,” he shakes his head, searching your face, watching the tears pool in your eyes, “She might be your mom, but that’s not family, you know?”

Your face crumples up.

He starts to fumble out an apology, “Fuck, I’m–”

You kiss him.

When you pull back, you whisper, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he breathes, brushing his hand against your cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you scoot closer, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. A few peaceful moments go by before your stomach growls so loud it makes both of you start laughing.

“Let’s get you some fucking food, huh?”

#dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo fic #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #psychomanteum

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perpetualexistence · 3 months

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Tell us about your other Alenoaheather AU(s). I know you have them. 🔫

- Totally not Ophe

Hello completely random anon whose identity will forever be a mystery!

See, with the way you've phrased this, you've actually opened yourself up to a few options. I'll tell you a little bit about each one and you can tell me which one you want to learn more about first.

Currently unnamed G/T Alenoaheather

Definitely the most detailed AU of the bunch. It's got backstories and character arcs for each of the three. Probably the best way to describe it is Urban fantasy since none of them are (completely) human, but they pretty much live in a modern setting.

It does get dark at times. Think Beastars-adjacent in terms of vibes. Including the murder bits. But it's mostly self-defense or being forced into it, so take that as you will. I will say that it's nowhere near the levels of toxic relationships that something like the Sea Monster AU has. And they do actually improve as people. These three still get drama mind you, but it's from keeping secrets rather than being genuinely manipulative. ...Well. Too manipulative. It does have Alejandro and Heather in it. But it's got fluff moments because fluffy giant/tiny dynamics are precious and must be preserved at all costs.

It's got Alejandro who's a giant-shifter able to grow even larger than most other giant-shifters thank to his Burromuerto heritage. The Burromuertos are a completely upstanding giant-shifter family and definitely don't have any incredibly fucked up family traditions they expect Alejandro to continue.

Noah's a were-mongoose. Werefolk come in a large variety, though mongoose is on the far more uncommon side. Unlike most werefolk, this kid genius actually figured out a way to not completely give into his instincts during full moons. This has absolutely no negative repercussions on his wellbeing.

Heather who's a giant-shifter hybrid unable to grow thanks to her human heritage from her father's side. She's the only one of her siblings unable to grow. She definitely doesn't have a complex about this. But she has managed to find her own way of making herself just as much of a physical threat as her two boyfriends. (Aka the day I take away from Heather's inherent badassery is the day I die.)

Serial Killer AU

It's exactly what it sounds like. With exactly the vibes the name implies. Definitely the darker one. They're just a thriving villain throuple with a body count. It's also mostly Noah-focused so far as I haven't figured out Alejandro or Heather's motivations.

Noah stumbles across a body of a serial killer spree, only to be the first to realize that one serial killer is actually two. Curiosity leads him to investigate...but not for the reasons you'd think.

(For this one that's pretty much all I can share before just going into the whole AU)

And then, on the completed side since might as well dump all the Alenoaheather AUs:

Noah and the Beanstalk

Another giant/tiny AU! This one's actually got its own post already. I don't really have anything else that I didn't already mention in that post. But it's my blog, so I'll advertise my own AUs as I please!

Collab AUs

The Royal Court AU

Originally named The Lords In Black AU because it was originally inspired by me watching an animatic of The Summoning from Nerdy Prudes Must Die. Then it evolved into something far beyond that where the name doesn't seem quite right anymore.

It's got Alenoaheather as the worst teens at school and unashamed about it. ...Until Alejandro goes missing, and nobody else really seems to care. Leaving Heather and Noah to investigate and try their best not to be next.

They fail, but hey, at least they get cool eldritch powers out of it!

This AUs also dark because the premise is them being kidnapped to be used as sacrifices. And it's got plenty of eldritch horror in it. The posts for it are scattered because they ended up going into two separate reblog chains with @total-drama-brainrot and @ur-local-brown-multifandomist. If you look up 'lords in black au' on my blog you should be able to find most of it. I'm going to just centralize it for ease of organization one day. It'll just be. You know. Effort.

Also, @ur-local-brown-multifandomist is currently making a fic for it! It's their first one, so feel free to check it out.

Fake Dating Alenoaheather AU

This one's a collab AU between me and @total-drama-brainrot, a person you have never met because you are a completely anonymous anon. Noah gets caught in between Heather and Alejandro's attempts to make the other jealous by each making him pretend to be their boyfriend. Shenanigans and drama ensue. The posts for this are also scattered and tagged on both our blogs, and one day we might make a fic about it. For now, there actually is someone already making a fic about it that you can feel free to read!

I still can't believe two different people decided to start making fic of AUs I helped create. It's wild, and I'm incredibly touched.

"Why are all of these AUs except for one dark in at least some way?"

I honestly couldn't tell you exactly why my brain works the way it does. It just decided that the two canon villains and one-villain coded teenager deserve to be at least a little feral. As a treat.

Maybe one day I'll have an AU with them that's not so dark. That day will be a surprise to us all.

But yeah, that's all of the Alenoaheather AUs I got! The first two I'm more than happy to go into more detail for if you ask!

#perp answers ask #perp rambles #alenoaheather #alenoaheather au #td alenoaheather #lords in black au #giant/tiny #serial killer au #fake dating alenoaheather #cw murder #tw murder #murder mention #currently unnamed g/t alenoaheather au #i've seriously got to come up with a better name for tagging purposes #total drama

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mirroredmemoriez · 3 months

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Lynnmanda And Dedication

Back with opinions and thoughts nobody asked for! Today's topic is well, what the title says? Please be nice, I'm feeling extra silly today and I think a screw has become loose and is rattling with my singular braincell.

Basically, I probably won't be able to explain this well without showing what has prompted me to randomly make this post? Excuse the utter brain mess and nonsensical shit and uh... Try and pick up the themes I'm trying to lay down instead! (And thank you to @arythias for listening to my utter madness)

I see Amanda as needing meaning or a purpose, something or someone to dedicate herself to and just like when it comes to her love- I think it's hard for her to define clearly and almost gets mixed up because the boundaries are so unclear. Dedication to John came before her love for him in my eyes, it's what made some of it in. He gave her purpose and a cause, a reason to live and in some sense a want to as well... Even if that came into question a lot. Their relationship thrived and suffered because of the pedestal she put him on and honestly I could sit here all day and go over the relationship between these two. So anyway! With Lynn, I see it as love before dedication and the way that makes things different compared to the reliance Amanda had on John. Lynn doesn't push Amanda to follow her and would likely even tell Amanda to find her own way when it comes to what she practices and follows, such as maybe religion. This freedom makes Lynn as my associate said, more of a ''lighthouse'' for Amanda. The reliance is there for her to be a safety net, but there is more confidence and space for Amanda to make her own decisions, for trial and error. A choice for once and the independence she had forfeited in her other relationships emerging again. She isn't chained to Lynn and they both know it. This is not an issue for either. If Amanda was tied to John, then with Lynn she is merely holding her- How tight is up to her. BUT LOL THOSE ARE JUST SOME SILLY HAHAHAHTHOUGHTSIVENOTSLEPTIN HOURS NOR HAVE I ATE BUT TOXIC YURI IS ALWAYS ON THE MIND LESSSS GOOOOOOO -MAL OUT

#amanda young #lynn denlon #lynnmanda #shotgunshipping #john kramer #jigsaw #saw #saw 3 #saw iii #saw headcanons #saw movies #saw franchise #sawposting

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chaoticyumelikes · 1 year

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Dark Danny x Gn!Reader

Headcanons

Warning: Toxic relationship, mentions of violence and implied murder.

. The Phantom is a canonically psychopath by human standards. That means while he cannot feel empathy towards you doesn't mean he can't pretend. And he happens to be very good at that.

. If, by the rare chance you don't know him by reputation, he will take his time letting you get to know the version he fabricated for himself. This version being a far more sweet and mellow version of his true self. Basically he will remember and pretend to be his late flesh version in terms of personality. If you DO know him through his (well deserving) infamous reputation, one of two things can happen:

One, you may be a runner, establishing yourself as prey in his eyes. He then will do everything in his power to seem harmless when around you till you gain somewhat of a false safety around him and then he will proceed to lure you to fall for his false "goody two-shoes" personality.

Two, you may try to act tough and ready for a fight which....to him....it'll be hilarious to be honest. He is the strongest of ghost kind, your human strength cannot possibly compare. But he will be patient. He is a dangerously intelligent and tactical individual, this is a chess game he will be very happy to play.

. It doesn't matter how he meets you either. You may be an innocent bystander of his "morning exercises" (basically him going around and destroying everything in his way) and he feels mercy towards you. You may be someone trying to take him down or even someone who set him free whether it was intended or not. His feelings towards you and his strategy is the same. He will consider you as a pet first and an extension of himself as time goes by. Your feelings towards this is irrelevant.

. He does act like you are his whole world and in a certain way he does "love" you as much as he is able. The why he loves you is anyone's guess however, and nobody is stupid enough to even find out. The very fact that you have the Phantom right by your side is a major contribute for everyone to give you a wide "social distancing", by miles... After all, Dan's presence alone is oppressive enough to discourage people and his power well....no one can will ever want to risk it.

. Speaking of his oppressive atmosphere, he tries to tone it down around you but you will get used to it really fast. You can even pinpoint his location when you feel the hairs behind your neck rising. You learn early on you don't have nothing to fear from the ghost....Well at least destruction wise since he considers you his property. Everyone else however is free game for him with little concern and a natural shrug of "they started it".

. He won't usually show his more destructive traits around you however. Not out of care mind you, it just would be a hassle to deal with your mood should it happen. Run away and he can always feel where you are. You could be in the middle of a crowd to try and blend in for him to just go directly to you (while the crowd itself scampers in a panic)."Needed a little fresh air, did you?" he would often smirk before taking you away "Next time just invite me. You wouldn't want me to get the wrong idea would you?". Should you yell at him or try to attack him and he would just go into his intangible mode and pin you to a wall with ecto energy binds 'till you are ready to have a civilized conversation.

. Don't get me wrong however, he will give you your freedom...to an extent. He trusts your safety since no one in this world or the ghost zone will ever mess with you. Not to mention, he has an arsenal of ghostly powers he can use to either find or mess with you. Like you walking down the street and suddenly you hear his voice right next to your ear before he even shows himself to you.

. While Dan Phantom cannot care for your emotions due to his lack of empathy doesn't mean he cannot feel them. Emotions are energy and ghosts thrive in energy. Especially on your stronger emotions such as fear, anger... yes, you are NOT immune to this jerk scaring the living sh*t out of you so he can feel the high of the emotion and then the anger and complaints you give him being only met with roaring laughter. Throw feelings of affection and adoration his way and see this ghost's ego skyrocket, his chest as full as his ego while the remnants of his humility get crushed as he says: "Of course you love me! I am the best!" he will even casually flex for good measure.

. There are some feelings however he cannot stand to feel from you: sadness and indifference. Indifference since it is a direct hit to his ego and sadness because...well you are a part of him, he isn't sad, he isn't pathetic nor weak and so aren't you. He will react to it as if these are emotions aren't allowed for you. Give him a name from someone or something and he will destroy it for you. You are a part of the life of the greatest ghost to ever exist, a God among mortals, you have NOTHING to be sad about! So yeah.....he isn't great at emotional support.... You will have to guide him here. Instruct through logical discourse of what your needs may be and they will be met with little to no discussion. Unless the request is, by his standards, foolish, like your complete freedom from him. If you do not help him through this....well his form of help may be literally shoving a box to you with a lot of chocolate, some plushies and a quick emotionless: "Grow out of it!"

. Any form of affection you might want from this overpowered ghost, must be initiated and vocalized from you. Want a hug, just say the world and he will open his arms for you and tease you endlessly: "Awwwww....Is my little human feeling needy? Come here. Let me take care of you." Should you be as reluctant with physical affection as he is.....and you will be subject of some forced PDA just out to spite you. He will force cuddles and sit you on his lap as he is speaking of important subjects with Fright Knight all the while feeding off your embarassment with a shit eating grin on his face at your red one.

. Since he doesn't need sleep, this will be to you one of your only forms of freedom. However, just because he cannot sleep doesn't mean he won't share your sleeping place with you (it would be rude not to). He likes watching you sleep. You're at your most vulnerable and you trust your safety to him with a blissful smile, it just does wonders to his ego.

#dark danny #dan fenton #dan phantom #danny phantom #gn!reader #headcanons #toxic behavior #the phantom #Dark Danny x reader #phantom x reader #Dan phantom x reader

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obsessedtomone · 5 months

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Unravel Yourself Before Me ⛓️ Chapter 2 - Comp-Sci▸Shigaraki x femReader

Chapter Summary:

◤His red eyes boring a hole through your back and it almost makes you feel bad.

Almost but not quite, because you decide he doesn’t deserve your attention after being an ass on both of the occasions you met him.That still won’t stop him from living rent-free in your little head for a while.◢ Setting: University AU - No quirks (unless degenerate personalities count) Tags: Slow burn, Eventual Smut, Unhealthy/Toxic Relationships, Humiliation, Mentally Ill Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to ??? Warning: Dead Dove – Do Not Eat | Mind the tags TW: Implied Su/Self H, Dubcon, Reader has a super shitty past like actually, Shigaraki Tomura is his own warning.

AO3 Crosspost | Chain Divider by firefly-graphics

Chapters: One • Two • Three

Chapter 2 - Comp-Sci

Alarm’s blaring.

It was that stupid, old, default tune that you never bothered to change since you got your phone ages ago. And you knew there was no need to, because you were going to hate any other song all the same, the moment it woke you up enough fucking times.

Right now it’s pulling you out of your deep slumber and it’s as annoying as you imagine hell would be. Maybe you were already in hell, but too delusional to really realize it. Still, the alarm was doing its job and you never really need more than one alarm to get up.

Your chronic insomnia was good for one thing at least.

Fuck, it’s already Monday, you think to yourself, yawning and rubbing the sleep sand out of your eyes, while you somehow manage to make it to the bathroom.

Before long, the dampened sound of your shower echoed throughout the apartment, marking the beginning of your late morning. ─────────

Your class is already completely packed by the time you arrive, people filling the quiet with generic loud chatter. You’re late as usual and there’s no way in hell you’re going to walk through the sea of people, make them all scoot forward so you can pass through and get to the vacant chairs in the middle of the classroom. Since you value your short amounts of sleep way too much, you always have to settle for the open seats–all the way in the back.

These seats weren’t great in terms of being able to properly hear the lecture and actively participate, but that was more than fine, because you weren’t planning to anyway. You were way ahead of the material that was currently taught and this professor tends to upload his lectures online either way, should you need to brush up on the basics.

So you do what you usually do after you sit down, meaning you pull out your laptop, boot a game and start to farm some more legendary items for your MMO character. You’re happy to be out of the sight of judgy and ambitious young adults, because solitude is where you thrive–or have learned to do so, anyways.

It’s pretty dull and gray outside, the rainy season not wanting to grace you with any Vitamin D this time of the year. You also remain unconvinced that that’s the only chemical imbalance present in your brain.

As you’re about to doze off after staring outside the window next to yourself, you unfortunately fail to get the item you’re grinding for once again.

And apparently you weren’t the only one who was late finding a seat today, because barely ten minutes after you sat your ass down, you hear some douchebag sliding in the spot next to yours.

Followed by a screeching chair.

Your streak of luck today must be incredible, because there were like six other open seats on this row, aside from the one next to you. It begged the question as to what kind of motherfucker would willingly hug the wall with you, a complete stranger. There’s not a single person in this class, or any of your other classes for that matter, that would want to sit next to you. Zero.

Nada.

But then you look to your right and to your horror, the creature spoke–

“Hey, sponger.” he hits you with a grin from between his dry lips.

Yep, there’s no doubt about it. This was definitely hell.

Of course, Mr. 4:50 AM convenience store zombie is sitting next to you in your Comp-Sci class. Of fucking course he goes to the same uni as you do.

Why the fuck wouldn’t he???

Mentally reaching to pull your hairs out, you begin to ask an incredulous “Why—”

But it proved impossible to form a coherent sentence right away, so you close your eyes in an attempt to gather your thoughts. And prayers.

“How did you even recognize me?” you try—really hard—and fail to tone down the bubbling exasperation in your voice, as the professor finally strolls into the classroom. The chatter in the room ceased almost instantly.

Since this teacher was one of your stricter ones, it wasn’t a surprise that he demanded everyone’s full attention right away, jumping straight into business before you manage to continue your conversation.

The mystery asshole—now a classmate too, smirks at you knowingly, unsurprisingly ignoring the professor’s entrance. He leans into you, whispers and you feel his warm breath against your ear. You dearly fucking wish he’d stop with that.

“I’d recognize an ugly skank like you virtually anywhere, rest assured, idiot.” he said, making sure to verbally underline the insult way longer than it was necessary.

You physically cringe, because to you, this jab at your appearance is getting old really fast.

Leaning into him yourself, if not a little more aggressively in comparison to his own gesture, you proceed to trap him in his own seat, arm reaching around the back, but deliberately not touching him.

You chuckled to yourself because, Who the fuck would, unless he held a gun to their head?

“I’d hold up a mirror, so you can finally get to see your own dusty ass, but you’d have to buy that for me too, jackass.” you said, practically spitting in his face. Turns out you coincidentally also didn’t give a fuck about the professor. Probably less than your almost deskmate did anyway.

His eyes widened and he began scratching his neck somewhat disturbingly, drawing long angry lines across the already scarred skin.

You couldn’t see very well behind the curtain of white hair, but you could swear you saw a pink tint spread on his face.

Huh. You actually shut him up for once—

. . .

—you’d think, but the setback was seemingly only temporary, because a cheerful grin splits on his face and he starts talking to you as if you didn’t almost gouge each other’s eyes literally seconds ago.

“If you don’t kill the stupid goblin at the beginning of the stage, the final boss won’t carry your S-Grade.” he casually states, pointing at your screen.

“Huh?” you blink. What?

“Tsk, your game, dumbass. You’ve probably been grinding for hours, only getting it once or twice because you never think to kill the stupid goblin, and only ever do it by accident.” he shrugged. “No one ever does, so they don’t find the pattern without looking up a guide.”

You’re confused and think he’s messing with you, but you do as he says and restart the stupid dungeon. Then you kill the fucking goblin this time, feeling silly for listening to him.

It takes you a good 20 minutes to finish it, but the guy is true to his word and the boss really drops your item this time. The substats were god-awful, so you repeat the process.

Nothing changes this time around, because the boss drops your item again.

You’ve been grinding to get this item for like three days now.

“Told you so.” he says matter-of-factly, without even a hint of smugness in his voice.

What a fucking weirdo, you think, rolling your eyes.

Like a kid, you scoff and cross your arms, suddenly feeling very defensive. It really pissed you off, because when you look at him, you notice he has a softer smile as he stares back at you.

That made you squirm. What’s his deal now?

“Don’t look so pissy, it took me like a week to figure it out and it really drove me insane.” he says, thinking back fondly to all the controllers he managed to break. “I’m usually pretty good at these types of tells in games, but the design of this one made no fucking sense.“

Guy finishes his nerdy rant, seemingly not understanding that it was him that pissed you off, not the damn game. “What's your IGN? We can co-op and raid together.”

“Sorry?” you’re taken aback, the sudden 180° of his moodswing giving you massive whiplash.

But the bell rings before either of you have to reply—you thank god for that, and you quickly pack your shit before you give him an opportunity to open his mouth and ask you something stupid again.

He remains seated, staring at you dejectedly as you turn around and leave him in the dust. His red eyes boring a hole through your back and it almost makes you feel bad.

Almost but not quite, because you decide he doesn’t deserve your attention after being an ass on both of the occasions you met him.

That still won’t stop him from living rent-free in your little head for a while.

─────────

It’s afternoon now, and you decided to grab lunch with your friend Taylor, who finishes their courses around the same time as you do.

The both of you settle to get something cheap and satisfying, something that won’t break the bank and still give you your energy for the day.

Sitting on a picnic bench outside the campus, you finally manage to let your shoulders slump and relax for a bit. It was the weight of being outside your apartment that took a lot of energy out of you, but being with your friend almost creates a barrier from the world. You don’t feel drained as quickly around them as you would if you were out on your own.

“—and then he fucking does what? He acts like we’ve been friends for ten years now and this is just a cute buddy gaming session, where we exchange walkthrough info sneakily behind the prof’s back? Did the past two interactions with me get completely wiped from his dumb ass brain?” you ask incredulously, having been ranting to Taylor for a little while now.

You felt like you could be yourself with your friend, they loved you all the same.

Honestly, with your horrible personality, you weren’t sure you really deserved them as a friend. Despite that however, they managed to stick to you like gum to a shoe ever since you entered university, never fucking letting you go.

As it stands, Taylor was the polar opposite of your entire being. Not only were they really good-looking and fashionable, but also extremely charismatic with an incredible amount of IRL connections. There were not many people who didn’t know them on campus, and when they weren’t hanging out with you, they’d be constantly swarmed by other people.

You cherished them a lot, but you were probably too emotionally stunted to really tell them how amazing they are as often as you should. That kind of thing would only happen when you were black-out drunk, and you don’t drink very often unless you wanted to fade away from the world for a bit.

It was something you didn’t understand, together with your tendency to push away anything good in the not-so-off-chance it can hurt you down the line. It felt like being on your own was good enough. That being alone was better than hurting.

But being their friend was the best.

So they had you in an iron grip, claiming you’re the only friend that really matters to them, that everyone is just surface-level friendly and that you never pull punches. You don’t understand this either, but that’s the common theme with you two, and despite knowing they’d be better off without you, you let yourself be greedy for once.

If it hurts in the end, they’ll be worth it.

“Relax babe, if he’s anything like you, he’s probably also reaaaally trash at speaking to people.” they say, emphasizing their words and trying to make a point. It was a dig at your character. You didn’t like where this was going. “And the words come out all wrong. Sound familiar?” Taylor asks you pretty bluntly between biting and chewing the food.

You sneered at that. “Psht, I’m fucking nothing like him. How dare you compare me to that glorified dustbin..” you roll your eyes and whip your head the other way, feeling a little offended. Your friend smiles, pokes your sides and you’re unable to stay mad for long, cracking up and giggling.

“You’re the biggest fucking gremlin on earth, all cooped up in your little pig-sty, where you’d stay forever if you could. You think you’re better than the other basement-dwelling 4channer? Pot meets kettle much? If anything, it’s a match made in heaven, you should take him for a joyride and be thankful for the dick, girl.”

“I meannnn,” you shrug. “Just look at this shit-show of a world, dude. You gotta be insane to be around these NPCS all the time willingly, no offense. I don’t know how you do it.” you point your finger at no one in particular. Taylor tilts their head thoughtfully, then nods in agreement. One of the few things you guys agree on is how fucked everything is. Trauma buddies.

“Besides, am waaaaaay better than a cumdumpster for anyone who slides in my dms…” you snicker, hoping secretly that it won’t actually offend them, despite the crude joke—but before you can overthink, they kick your shin, hard. “OWWW!!! The fuck?!” you exclaim loudly, winning you a few looks from the bystanders around you.

“Puh-lease, like the ‘ugly skank’ you are—,” Taylor clarifies obnoxiously, “could even sell a singular feet pic. If you could, your only customer would probably be Crusty the Stalker in your class. Bet even he has standards, though.” your friend eyes you up and down teasingly, winks and then you both lose it and laugh at that.

The rest of your lunch is spent catching up on all the other things happening to you guys in the past week.

The peaceful moment made you secretly hope they never leave your side.

And they won’t.

Not if you can help it.

─────────

The door to your run-down apartment is opened with a creak.

You arrive home, battery less than empty from being outside and interacting with too many people.

After you made sure both of the locks were in place, you go ahead and drop the bag by the entrance, kicking your shoes off. You feel sweaty and grimy and leave a trail of clothing on the way to the shower, clothing which you’ll definitely pick up and wash in the morning. Just like you’ll totally take out the trash when you leave for college tomorrow.

As you enter the bathroom, you walk in front of your full length mirror and glare at your naked form. Your thoughts wander to the two individuals who commented on your appearance today. One was a stranger who was trying to rile you up, the other your very best friend who most likely was just poking fun. The low self-esteem, however, couldn’t let those petty thoughts go.

You give yourself a little twirl, looking over your breasts and ass, thighs and back. The marks, the blemishes, the scars. They were all there, sitting pretty on your skin and reminding you of who you really were. It was one of the reasons you rarely looked in the mirror. You didn’t like who you were.

“An ugly skank, huh?” you smile sadly, intrusive thoughts of suicide and body dysmorphia all creeping up in your mind like a vice.

Generally you’d tell yourself that you’d look fine if you tried, but that was the problem. You don’t usually try. You don’t try, unless there is a good reason to parade yourself around, to be their poster child in return for their favor. Never for yourself, though.

It was as funny as it was sad, letting other people dictate your feelings. And despite their words getting to you, at least they didn’t mind talking to you. That’s more than you can ask of most people.

Would he be interested in you if you tried? He seems like the type to fall for the cute shy girl, or the sexy bombshell, neither of which you’d ever like to be.

The mental picture of him watching as you leave the classroom briefly flashes in your mind.

“Nope.” Nope. Nope. Nope. You’re absolutely not going to think about that asshole.

So you turn your shower handle all the way on cold and you anxiously step in. The cold water will ground and distract you from ridiculous thoughts that have you spiraling in a matter of seconds.

Besides, he probably hated your guts now.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #emotional hurt/comfort #shigaraki tomura #unhealthy relationships #dead dove do not eat #trigger warnings #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x you #tenko shimura #tomura shigaraki #college au #reader is female

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