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spider-stark · 2 months

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PRECIPICE

Aegon II Targaryen x Sister!Reader

Summary - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.

Warnings - implied targcest as always

Word Count - 4.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts //

The delicious aroma of roast mutton is wafting over you as you pass one of the many long serving tables lining the walls of the ballroom. Your gaze drags along the vast spread that has been prepared for tonight; a variety of artisan breads, cooked meats, and candied desserts are laid out upon silver serving dishes.

As you reach the end of the first table, a pile of lemon cakes snag your attention. Neatly stacked atop an ornate porcelain platter, the cakes are coated in a thin glaze that shimmers in the light. Your mouth instantly begins watering at the sight, your stomach growling in a way that would be deemed improper for a Lady.

Beside you, holding a plate that has been loaded with mashed potatoes and honeyed chicken, Jace turns his head to cock a brow at you.

“Hungry?” He asks, chuckling softly.

You suck in a deep breath before forcefully tearing your gaze from the cakes. “Extremely.”

It takes an enormous amount of will power to turn away from the serving table while still empty-handed, but you somehow manage to do just that. Having hardly even walked a few steps, though, Jace is abandoning his plate to rush after you, softly seizing your wrist to keep you from moving any further.

“If you’re hungry, then you should eat.”

His concern is obvious, not only through his tone, but his expression as well. With his furrowed brow and tight-mouthed frown, you’re fairly certain that he’s already considering the consequences of dragging you back to the table and feeding you himself if need be.

Jace had always been that way—not only with you, but with everyone. He was kind hearted and considerate to fault.

“I would,” you smile, shaking your head slightly to dismiss his concern, “but I’m afraid that if I do, I might very well pop right on out of this ridiculously tight corset.”

You wave an idle hand down to your waist, unnaturally cinched by the intricate lacing and boning of the garment beneath your evergreen gown. His eyes follow the motion, tracing along the intense curve, lingering for a moment too long.

The explanation seems to wash away much of his concern, relieved to know that discomfort was the only reason you had chosen to abstain from the treats being served. Even so, a touch of empathy remains, accompanied by the faintest hint of desire gleaming in his amber gaze.

Amber—an unusual color for a boy of Velaryon blood. His eyes were one of the many reasons that your mother, the Queen Alicent, felt so confident in labeling Princess Rhaenyra’s boys as bastards behind closed doors. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you knew that there was likely truth to her claims. Your nephews probably were bastards—but you didn’t particularly care.

Jace was nice to you, and that was all that had ever mattered to you.

He clears his throat, realizing that he had been gawking at your body for far longer than he should. “It looks uncomfortable,” the words spill out without permission, and you nearly laugh when his eyes go wide. “That didn’t come out right, nothing about it actually looks uncomfortable—it looks stunning! I mean, you look stunning! It’s just that, I don’t know, I imagine that having something squeeze you so tightly might be-”

“Jace, it’s okay! Truly,” you interrupt his rambling with a soft giggle. “You should know that I’m not so easily offended,” you playfully chide. “Besides, you’re right. It is quite uncomfortable!”

Actually, quite felt like an enormous understatement. But you didn’t figure that Jace was particularly interested in hearing about how your breasts were aching from being roughly shoved up by the tight garment.

Jace looses a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Then why bother wearing them? Many noble-women go without corsets. Even my mother hardly ever wears one—she believes they’re vile things that only aid in the objectification of ladies.”

Your brows rise, agreeing with the claims of your half-sister. But then you let your attention shift to the dais, meeting the rough stare of the reason why you had been forced into the tortuous garb—your mother.

She’s already watching you when you meet her eye, her lip curled as she sends you a pointed look, silently urging you away from your nephew. It takes a great deal of effort not to shrink beneath the weight of her attention, and you’re beyond grateful for the group of women who shuffle past you towards the dance floor, giving you an excuse to break the hold she has on you.

“I wear it because my mother wishes for all of her children to look their best,” you answer, shifting your focus back onto Jace. “And who am I to disappoint the Queen?”

He notes the sudden callousness of your tone, as well as the way you clasp your hands together at your waist, fidgeting with the golden ring on your index finger. He doesn’t bother asking if you’re okay, however, knowing well enough that you were not—and already knowing why, as well.

You imagine that Jace doesn’t much like your mother; both for her part in the rumors spread about him and his brothers and for the way she has treated his mother.

It makes you upset in a strange way, a part of you always wishing to defend the Queen, no matter how abhorrent her actions. After all, she was your mother—whether you like it or not—and you knew very well that if someone were to try to hurt you or your siblings, then she would gladly lay her life on the line for you.

You were thankful for her; even if her protection hurt, even if her maternal love only exists when your life is at stake.

“Speaking of your siblings,” Jace suddenly notes, veering slightly off-subject as his own stare drifts towards the dais, “how did Aegon manage to weasel his way out of attending tonight?”

Your brows snap together before letting your head snap back towards the dais, managing to avoid your mother’s nasty stare this time by looking to her right, taking note of each of your siblings.

Aemond is sat directly by her side, his posture rigid as his eye scans across the room, alert and on-guard as usual. Next to him is Helaena, leisurely picking at her plate of food and mindlessly bobbing her head along to the symphony being played for court musicians. Daeron, who your mother insisted fly Tessarion here from Oldtown so that he might be present for tonight, is sat next to your empty chair, making idle chatter with those around him.

But Aegon’s chair, sat between yours and Helaena’s, is vacant.

A knot forms in your stomach when you look back at Aemond, his piercing violet eye catching yours, gleaming with a silent order—find our imbecile brother before he makes a fool of us all.

You give him a curt nod before looking away, head whirling as you begin searching the crowd around you for any sign of your eldest brother.

“Simple,” you huff, “he didn’t.”

Jace hums his understanding as you politely excuse yourself, turning away from him to begin shoving through the throng of people filling the room.

You decline invitations to dance and spout excuses as to why you can’t stop to chat as you push past noblemen-and-women from various Houses, trying to maintain the pleasant persona your mother favored while still moving fast enough that you might find Aegon before he finds any new ways to publicly bring shame upon the Targaryen name.

It’s exhausting work—and by the time you have shoved yourself to the other end of the room without finding him, you nearly consider giving up. Your chest hurts and your scalp is itching from being poked and prodded by a dozen or so pins, all of which had been meticulously placed by servants to arrange plaits into a fanciful half-updo.

In many ways, you look like your mother; with your elaborate hairstyle and green dress, the look is tied together by a pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star dangling from your neck.

And, in many ways, you hate it.

Much to the Queen’s dismay, you’ve never much liked the elegant styles preferred by many women at court. No, instead you spent much of your time donning mail with your hair lazily pulled back, joining Aemond for practice in the training yard.

She hated how unrefined you were, how indelicate you were; fearful for how others at court might view you for it, for how much attention you might draw to yourself.

You blow out a sigh, resisting the urge to pull all of the pins from your hair as you will yourself to keep walking, to keep looking for Aegon. A table overflowing with carafes of arbor wine and flagons of ale catches your attention, setting off alarm bells in your mind.

If Aegon were going to choose anywhere to hide at this godsforsaken ball, then it would certainly be in close proximity to the alcohol.

A cacophony of laughter and clinking goblets surrounds you as you approach, scanning over rows of bottles and skimming the faces of those nearby. Spinning your ring on your finger, you walk along the entire length of the long serving table, disappointed when you reach the end of it and find that your brother is still nowhere in sight.

Chewing on your cheek, you fight the urge to pour yourself a drink when you notice a carafe of blackberry wine. The plum colored liquid seems to call your name, singing promises of sweet oblivion, an escape from the restless feeling clawing at your chest.

You’re out of place here in court, and you always have been—you know that, and you worry that everyone around you knows, too.

Sensical enough to recognize that alcohol would likely just exacerbate your current ill-feelings, you shun the carafe and turn towards the grand entrance. Lifting your chin and squaring your shoulders, you try to appear more composed than you feel as you saunter towards the large wooden doors.

If Aegon had snuck off with one of the serving girls, then there was a good chance that he was still somewhere in the hall, either flirting or feeling up their skirts. And, if you were wrong, then at least he had provided you with an excuse to slip away from this mess of a ball.

As you pass by the last serving table, the platters and dishes atop it already thoroughly picked over, you feel someone tug at your dress. You whirl around, a fiery retort already falling off your tongue, fully intending to rip into whoever had found the audacity to touch you without permission—only to find yourself insulting the air.

There was no one there, at least not close enough to have touched you.

For a heartbeat you begin to reel, wondering if you’ve started to lose your mind before feeling the sensation again. A sharp tug at the fabric, just by your knee. Your head snaps down towards your dress, covering your mouth before a gasp can slip your lips.

An arm is peeking out from beneath one of the finely embellished tablecloths, and a well-groomed hand is clutching your skirts. You instantly recognize the hand as Aegon’s, having become intimately familiar with your brother’s touch throughout your life.

Taking a step closer to the covered table, you try to look natural as you hunch over it slightly to get closer to his level, feigning an interest in a half-eaten roast duck.

“What in the Seven Hells are you doing, Aegon?!” Your voice is hushed, not quite a whisper, but low enough so that no one other than him might hear.

Releasing his hold on your skirts, Aegon lifts the tablecloth a little higher, revealing his face. “Get under here,” he tilts his head, motioning for you to join him beneath the table.

“No!”

He swiftly presses a finger to his lips in response to your incredulous shout, shushing you. You stiffen, nervously flicking your eyes to each side, checking to ensure that no one had heard you. Fortunately, the courtiers around you appear far too invested in their conversations and drinks to notice how you appear to have shouted at a roast duck.

Aegon’s lilac eyes are wide, pleading as he shoves the tablecloth up higher, giving you more room to slip beneath it. “Would you just shut up and come?”

It’s the sheer urgency of his tone that piques your interest, although you wish that it hadn’t. You huff out an annoyed sigh, taking another look around the room before gathering up your skirts and sinking to your knees, crawling underneath the table.

Once you’ve successfully sat down beside him on the stone floor, he drops the cloth, shielding the two of you from any prying eyes. The material is thin enough that it allows some light to pass through it, very dimly illuminated Aegon’s grinning face, all urgency having suddenly vanished.

“Welcome,” he almost sounds breathless, the word airy—and utterly unnecessary.

You can faintly see the rosy coloring of his cheeks, a few messy silver waves tumbling across his face, and you’re immediately willing to bet that he’s extremely buzzed. “What are you doing, Aeg?”

Your tone is firm, but there’s a certain gentleness to it that was specially reserved for your eldest brother. While you maintain that you love all three of them equally, it’s undeniable that your relationship with Aegon has always been… different.

He reaches to his side, lifting a carafe from the ground beside him. “Having a party,” he says, raising it towards your face and playfully swirling the garnet colored liquid.

“I’m unsure if you’re aware,” you motion towards the cloth shrouding you from the bustling ballroom, “but our mother has already planned quite the celebration for tonight—and she likely does not wish for it to be ruined by her drunkard son ducking beneath tables like an imbecile!”

Aegon pokes his bottom lip out into a pout. “Why must you assume that I am drunk?”

“Because you’re you,” you drone, cocking your head at him, “and you are always drunk.”

Rolling his eyes, he sits the carafe down on the ground between you. There are only mere inches separating the two of you, both of you squeezing your limbs close to your body to avoid having a foot peek out from beneath the table. Sitting this close to him, you can smell the sweetness of the arbor red of his breath—as well as the faintest hint of sulfur, a sign that he had clearly gone riding on Sunfyre earlier and had failed at washing off the dragon’s strong scent.

You take another breath, inhaling the smell of him into your lungs. It was familiar—comfortable, urging your taut muscles to slacken in his presence.

“And what if I told you that I am sober right now?”

A snort escapes you, sparing him an incredulous look. “Then I would call you a liar,” you tell him, tapping a finger against the rim of the half-empty carafe.

His stare drops down towards it, watching as the liquid ripples when you pull your hand back. When he looks back up, he’s wearing a crooked smile that makes your heart flutter. “Mostly sober, then.”

It’s nearly impossible to stifle your laugh, clamping a hand over your mouth so that you might muffle the sound and prevent passersby from becoming suspicious. The sound only makes his smile grow wider and more genuine, an expression that he graced very few people with.

“I’ll ask again,” you say, speaking only when you're confident that no more laughter will tumble out. “Why are you down here? If mother finds out then she will be furious and-”

Aegon tosses his head back, cutting you off with a groan. “Mother will be furious no matter what,”

Disdain drips from each syllable, thickening the air around you. He didn’t like talking about her much, and you couldn’t blame him for it. Of all your siblings, Aegon had been dealt the worst hand, simply by being born first. He got the brunt of your mothers vile behavior; and you hated that, too.

“Because,” lazily rolling his neck so that he can look at you again, he answers, “I’d rather spend my night under here,” he flicks a hand up, lazily gesturing around himself, “than be forced to sit through even one more tedious speech from some ancient Lord of gods-know-where!”

You bite your tongue, holding back another laugh.

“And,” he continues, nodding in your direction, “I am now saving you from the same mundane fate. You’re welcome.”

“What makes you think that I needed your saving?” You ask, brows rising.

Aegon purses his lips, placing a finger against his chin as he feigns contemplation, studying the intricate styling of your hair, the modest long-sleeved gown, and the Star resting against your covered breasts. “Perhaps it was that our mother has you dressed up as though you’re an aspiring Septa.”

Thinking of the plain women, with their simple gowns and traditional head coverings, you nearly laugh again as you ask, “How many Septa’s do you know that wear corsets and jewelry, brother?”

“None,” he admits, shoulders lifting into an indolent shrug. “Though, if they looked more like you, then I might finally have a reason to attend prayer. Beautiful women would be more than enough to turn me into a pious man.”

A warmth creeps up your neck as blood rushes to your cheeks, unsure if his statement was meant as a compliment—was he saying that he found you beautiful? If so, it shouldn’t have been a particularly shocking revelation. After all, Aegon had complimented you before, many times.

In all fairness, however, most of those times had been when he was thoroughly besotted. He had a habit of sneaking into your rooms and practically draping himself off of you, muttering drunken nonsense about how breathtaking you were. You had never placed much truth in the statements though, assuming that Aegon likely didn’t even recognize who he was speaking to, much less whose bed he had crawled into.

But even if this was a genuine and mostly sober attempt at complimenting you, the flattery of it doesn’t last nearly long enough. Your own insecurity washes back over you far quicker than you like, reminding you of just how unlike yourself you currently feel.

“I do not believe that anything would be capable of turning you into a pious man,” you joke, trying and failing to cover up the melancholy that has settled into your bones. “Not even beautiful women.”

“You could.”

The answer comes far too quick, spilling from his tongue with an eagerness that even seems to catch him by surprise.

“Though, I must say, for as exquisite as this dress makes you look,” his hand reaches across the short expanse dividing you, mindlessly running his fingers along the fabric covering your shoulder, “I much prefer the way look in armor—sweaty skin, messy hair, sword in-hand—all of it.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his touch drifts towards the center of your chest, fingers dragging along the thin chain leading to your pendant, lifting the Star into his palm. He stares at it for a moment before yanking it roughly from your neck, grinning when you yelp. “But this,” he lifts the Seven-Pointed Star slightly, “I absolutely hate.”

With that, he tosses it from underneath the table, sending it skittering across the floor beyond the tablecloth.

Your jaw drops open, a hand pressed against the now-sore spot along the back of your neck. Despite yourself, your lips start to curve into a playful smile. You try fighting against it, try pressing them into a firm line, but fail. “Mother will not be happy about that-”

“She’s never happy,” Aegon interjects. His own expression shifts, the line on his forehead deepening as he says, “Do not let yourself bear her misery. Life is too short—and you deserve more than that.”

A palpable silence is thickening the air, and your breathing seems to synchronize as you simply stare at one another.

Slowly, nervously, you say, “I’m not sure what it is that I deserve,”

“You deserve,” he pauses, lips still parted despite the absence of speech. Then, swallowing back the words that had been building in his throat, he says, “you deserve whatever it is that you want, sister.”

Your hand falls from your neck into your lap, and you avert your gaze, watching your fingers as they fidget with your ring. “And what if I do not know what I want?”

Once, you had thought that you wanted a life like Jaces. A happy life, with a mother that knew how to love you and siblings that hadn’t been raised in fear of their half-sister ascending the throne, taught that their very existence was a threat to her power. But, suddenly, you felt as though you were no longer sure.

Aegon hesitates, watching you carefully. His lilac eyes appear as though they’re searching for something within your own—a hint of recognition, or reciprocation. If he found what he was looking for, then you were unaware. “Then you’ll figure it out,” he sighs, his smile not reaching his eyes. “You have all the time in the world to decide.”

There is something reassuring about his statement, making it resonate with you in a way that you hadn’t expected. You look up, holding his gaze for a heartbeat, then two, and you almost swear that you can see it—the silent invitation, the plea to delve deeper into his words, to decipher exactly what it was that he was promising you.

You have all the time in the world—all the time in the world to decide if he might ever be something you want.

Suddenly you find yourself dancing on the edge of a precipice, chest tightening as you grapple with the idea that, maybe, something more might exist between you and Aegon.

That, maybe, he had always known who he was complimenting and what bed he was slipping into.

That, for him, it had always been you.

“Aegon, I-”

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you have a chance to say something that he fears you may regret. Then, sliding the carafe between you to the side, he scoots closer. “If you plan on staying under my table,” he teases, clearing his throat, “then we need to do something about your hair.”

“I thought you said I looked exquisite?” You stay still as he starts toying with the strands, trying to swallow the tumult of your own emotions.

Aegon’s plucking various pins from your hair, tossing them to the ground. “Yes, but I also said that I prefer your hair when it’s messy. It’s more…” he sucks in a breath, unable to hide the admiration swelling in his chest when he finally exhales, “you.”

Your cheeks are burning hot, and you’re suddenly very thankful for the lack of light around you. On instinct, you almost tell him how your mother wouldn’t agree—but then you think better of it.

“You’re… generous.”

Something about your voice sounds foreign in your ears. You sound nervous—and you’re not used to feeling nervous around Aegon.

His fingers are combing through the plaits forming your updo, his brow drawn taut, framing his lilac eyes, shining bright with concentration. “Generous,” he snorts softly, nails raking lightly against your scalp as he shakes the strands loose, “I don’t hear that one often.”

“Well perhaps you’d hear it more if you weren’t such an ass,” you shoot back, slowly trying to slip back into your usual self.

“Me? An ass?” He’s untangled the final braid, scooting away from you slightly now as he presses a hand to his chest, feigning innocence. “Never.”

Now falling in loose waves, free of those incessant pins, you brush your hair over your shoulder. “Just earlier I heard you telling Lord Grover that if wisdom were measured in wrinkles that he would be named Grand Maester.” You point out, unable to mask your amusement while recalling the old man’s shocked expression.

“Is it not true?” Aegon smirks. “The man is nearly seventy, and his age certainly shows.”

“Lord Grover is only two-and-fifty, brother.”

His brows shoot up, gaping at you. “Tell me that you’re not serious!” When you nod, confirming that you are, he sucks his teeth. “Wow—how unfortunate. He looks positively dreadful for his age, then. I thought that he surely had one foot in the grave by now.”

“Aegon!” You rebuke through your own sputtered laughter, shaking your head at his insolence. “See? This is what I was talking about! If you weren’t so crude then you might get more compliments.”

Swinging his arm back to grab for the carafe, Aegon’s nose scrunches slightly. “Why bother?” He implores, a hint of mischief in his tone. “My crudeness is what you like most about me, is it not? Without it, dear sister, your life would be quite boring.”

Just before he brings the carafe to his lips, he inclines his head towards the tablecloth, emphasizing his words. A reminder—that, without him, you would still be out there, sitting miserably amongst your siblings and being forced to dance with Lord’s twice your age.

There was something more beneath the veil of humor and arrogance, however. A craving that had him tipping the carafe back, hoping that the stinging of the alcohol might numb his gnawing desire for validation—to hear you say that you yes, my life would be boring without you.

“I suppose you’re right,” the admission has him pausing, the carafe lingering against his bottom lip. “Truth be told, I had never put much thought into it before, but you do have a way of keeping life interesting, Aeg. So, I must agree that, without you, my life would be positively dreadful.” Staring at the ground in-between you, you smile before adding, “After all, who else would be able to convince me to risk our mother’s scorn and crawl beneath a table to drink wine and fix my hair?”

There’s a slight tremor in his voice when he speaks, trying to mask the warmth swelling in his chest, “You have yet to drink a single drop.”

“Then I suppose that is the next thing you’ll have to fix,” you say, sticking your hand out towards him, urging him to pass you the carafe. He hands it to you while biting back a grin.

“Careful,” he warns, “drink too much and you may end up like your drunkard brother.”

“I don't mind,” You mirror his expression, your own lips curving as you raise the glass upwards, the strong scent of the arbor red stinging your nostrils. “I quite like my drunkard brother.”

His gaze burns against your flesh as you tilt your head back, allowing the alcohol to slip over your tongue, and you suddenly realize that you are no longer standing on the edge of that precipice.

You’re falling.

a/n - i was honestly just thinking about jude and cardan hiding under a table in the cruel prince and ended up with this? so yeah, definitely inspired by jurdan content (but y'know... no coup d'etat lmao).

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fencecollapsed · 4 months

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Nightmare Time skippers got the Lords in Black handed to you on a silver platter in NPMD. Nightmare Time skippers will never understand the experience of watching season one bit by bit when there was no NPMD yet. meeting Blinky in Watcher World, realizing how adjacent his whole vibe is to Wiggly's - the first being we were directly introduced to who was like Wiggly in a directly comparable way. then meeting Tinky in Time Bastard and wondering "how many of these guys ARE there?" and then Witch in the Web, the reveal they're Webby's brothers, seeing all the dolls back to back for the first time, there are TWO MORE we haven't met yet and wait a fucking second that blue one is familiar somehow...

and a year later hearing Nibbly speak for the first time in Honey Queen, to everything about Otho in Yellow Jacket and going sicko mode when he says "your apotheosis is upon you" because YEAAAAH THATS THE LINE BAYBEEEEEEE-

and THEN seeing them all together for the first time in NPMD and having your dick blown off by the summoning

#ive just been thinking about this it was such a Specific experience following it in real time #hatchetfield #starkid #nightmare time #npmd #nerdy prudes must die #cj says stuff

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midnightarcheress · 29 days

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Simon thinks he could live like this.

pairing: bodyguard!ghost x actress!reader cw: nothing he's just down bad 7 | gold rush masterlist.

“are you insane?!” Daniel shouts, slamming the door behind him and stomping his feet towards Simon with a menacing look, “you think you can just move her around like this?”

“she wasn’t safe in that house, this is for her protection,” he answers promptly, crossing his arms and taking a step in front of you, covering your frame from the irate man. if he could, he’d land a punch on his face in no time, not caring that technically he’s his boss.

“yeah? and you simply have to be here with her, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes at him. you watch the scene unfold from behind Simon, brows knitted together and bottom lip nearly bleeding from biting too much. he’d managed to momentarily tranquillize you, bring you back to earth after the terrifying panic state, but the anxiety kept simmering underneath your skin, just waiting for another chance to take over your body.

“the shitty security system you put in her house wasn’t enough to prevent the bastard from intrudin’, the bloody alarm didn’t even go off,” he retorts, eyes shooting daggers straight ahead, “so yeah, i’m gonna stay with her for as long as it’s necessary. contract says to protect her, doesn’t it?”

the two of them stay quiet, a silent staring competition on Daniel’s side, a mere warning on Simon’s side. he won’t budge, won’t allow you to go back to that house, hand you on a silver platter to the grim reaper hiding behind letters and eerie messages.

Dan leans on his side to look at you, ignoring the mass of a man in front of him. “are you sure about this?” his tone is strangely soft, like a switch flipped in his mind, all anger vanishing. you nod, offering him a small smile that does a poor job of concealing how nervous you are about the situation. he purses his lips, taking one last glance at Simon’s unwavering posture before sighing in defeat.

it’s been two weeks since the mirror message that led Simon into comforting you, and two weeks since he had to control his own panic, trying his best not to spiral. it had been a while since he shared a living space, so staying with you feels like a dream that he’s constantly afraid of turning into a nightmare by saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, or even thinking about what’s happening.

the safe house Price arranged is far from the size you’re used to, being at least three times smaller than your own house. but to his surprise, again, your reaction to it contradicts his expectations. it could just be you being a phenomenal actress, covering your resentment behind a beaming smile, but you seemed to have grown accustomed to his presence easily, didn’t protest once, never lamented the loss of luxury and privacy.

he wanted to deny the feeling, shove it deep down in his brain and lock the safe, but it was nice, the domesticity of it all. it was nice learning little details about your routine; how you only get out of bed the second time your alarm rings; how you’re definitely not a morning person, judging by the gruff good morning you mumble when you slide to the counter stool; how you love trying new recipes and quietly dance in the kitchen, freezing when you notice him watching you; or how you’re always carrying something to read, it being a book or a script.

it was nice making you coffee in the morning and seeing you rub your sleepy eyes, nice hearing you humming a song in the shower, nice catching a glimpse of you in lingerie when you forget to lock your bedroom door, nearly making him choke in his own spit by the sight of the small tattoo on your hip. is it a star? a flower?

he felt like he was playing house with you. a game where you’re his loving wife and he’s a devoted husband, where he could feed his delusions, live everything he was convinced he’d never have in this lifetime. inside those walls, he could do it all, except the one thing he longed the most – touch you. kiss the top of your head when you’re baking in the kitchen, run his fingers through your hair when you’re curled up on the couch, feel your soft skin under his fingertips when you lay in bed, bend you over the table when you pass by him in skimpy pyjama shorts.

“do you... wanna watch a movie?” you ask, remote in hand and head leaned back on the sofa, chewing the inside of your cheek and attentively glaring at the television. he tilts to the side, stirring his thoughts away and taking in the view of your features illuminated by the bright lights coming from the screen. it was easy to get lost in how beautiful you were, a magical creature brought to earth to bewitch him.

your head suddenly shifts to where he’s sitting, and it hits him that you’re still expecting an answer. fuck. “uh, yeah, sure.” he mumbles, snapping back to the telly, swallowing the desires his throat dared to spill.

later that day, Simon steps onto the front porch for a much-needed nicotine fix, dark blues painting the sky as the last rays of sunlight vanish from the horizon. he hates the burning sensation of the smoke in his lungs, but always craves the lightheadedness and dopamine flush in his veins, no matter how many years it takes from his life.

“god!” you jump, looking behind you and putting a hand over your chest to steady your rapid heartbeat, “you really are a ghost, aren’t you?” a chuckle falls from your lips after the startle, travelling the air like a lullaby, and he ignores the flutter in his chest that happens whenever you laugh.

“sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” you shrug and turn back to your initial position, sitting on the steps and watching the crunchy tree leaves dancing in the breeze. he follows your gaze to the front lawn, bringing a cigarette from the pack to his lips, debating if he should truly smoke with you in there. you never complained, but he’s caught you frowning at the thin cardboard a few times around the house, so he decides not to light it.

“can i ask you something?” you blurt out, lifting your chin to face him, eyes searching for his, and his head dips, irises focusing on yours. one brow raises at your sudden curiosity and he nods, back propped against the column, waiting, “why Ghost?”

his jaw tenses, gaze shifting from you to the carton in his hands. the ever-dreaded question. “dunno. just a nickname.” lie. he couldn’t tell you how everything was taken from him and he faked his death years ago; how he truly became the ghost of man. you don’t deserve to be burdened with that knowledge, so it is just a nickname.

he looks back to you, gauging if you bought his deflection or not. you’re still focused on him, vision flicking at every crease of his expression, waiting for any falter, but it doesn’t come. “you can call me Simon.”

the thin line of your lips breaks into a smile, cheeks rising and making his heart skip a beat. so much for easy detachment, “okay, Simon.”

the way i still have at least ten parts of this story in my outline but i'm so unmotivated to write it :(

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monakisu · 4 months

Note

I want you to know that I came across a random post of your Death Note art, went "Awww, oh my gosh, with the way this person draws Light I think Akechi would look fantastic in the same style!", clicked onto your profile, and then saw your newest artwork was Akechi. I'm still kind of cackling over it and thought maybe you'd find it funny too. Your art is SO cute, I'm very happy I found it <333

HAHA THAT’S AMAZING (<< was an akechi artist wayyyy before i fell head over heels for light)

but rlly… theyre so similar:

- brunet

- asshole

- pretty boy

- mass murderer

- black-haired homoerotic rival

at the end of the day, the key difference is one is a top and the other is a bottom.

ok but seriously, they’re vastly different characters on a fundamental level:

- light was handed everything him on a silver platter: family, friends, looks, intellect, a comfortable life… as a bastard child of a sex worker and now an orphan, goro had to fight his way to his current position and will always harbor a terrible sense of inferiority (light is completely confident in his absolute superiority, Always (that’s why the challenge of L sent him off the deep end of obsession lol))

- light genuinely sees himself as a hero, while goro would like to feel the same but is nonetheless depressingly aware of his villain’s journey (his undesirable position as the detective vs the underdog phantom thieves, his string of assassinations, his ultimate dirty bloody goal, etc.).

- light’s motive is about the world’s salvation, cleansing, the birth of his ideal reality (very messianic of him with the slightest loving tinge of mary cradling her lamb hahaha) while goro is laser-focused on ruining this one asshole’s life in particular, vengeance and revenge at once! one’s focused on rebirth, and the other gunning straight for death! they both use murder to get what they want but light probably floats around thinking himself so clean and divine as mother of the world (ignorance is bliss) while goro is constantly desperately trying to cover up his suspiciously red hands with his gloves hehehe… they’re both constantly striving for perfection, just with varying levels of self-awareness!!

- goro is a canonical loner; light has a horde of friends; this is probably due to a difference in public persona! goro is an untouchable idea of what he thinks a human should be and is completely out of the loop when it comes to normal social interactions (believes opening with hegel will instantly endear himself to the average person (luckily he inflicted that upon akira who is decidedly not average in the slightest)), light is implied to be more down-to-earth and even slightly goofy (he’s gaming decorum like an advanced speedrunner)! it’s probably good how distant goro is, because getting any closer to him will allow you to see how off-putting and uncanny he is, sorta like an AI-generated image—seams in the wrong places and far too much teeth LOL. meanwhile light has this whole shebang so thoroughly figured out that he’s BORED with it all! he’d like to move on to the next game (with L), thank you!! light definitely still exudes uncanny creepiness (it’s his natural state of being) especially when he zones out or starts hysterically cackling out of nowhere at his own thoughts, but he’s a hundred times better at masking compared to goro due to a better upbringing. goro is starved for the adoring friends he sees akira easily picking up one after another; light couldn’t give less of a shit because he’s always had those trivial luxuries! he’d much rather prefer an adoring WORLD!!

- then there’s the difference in how they die… one started out surrounded with company but ultimately died alone, while it’s the opposite for the other (if you count the de-realization of maruki’s reality as goro’s “death” (which i don’t)).

- in conclusion, light and goro are like funhouse mirror reflections of each other!!! one is a pampered lapdog getting a taste of rabies and letting loose, while the other is a starving wolf trying to domesticate itself for treats and headpats!! and i <3 them both!!!!!

anyways i may be wrong about light because im going purely off of fics, tumblr shitposts, and my own imagination :] feel free to school me in a way that won’t destroy my delusions!

#美迪 archive #💡princess posting⋆˚✿˖°#mailbox 💌#light yagami #death note #goro akechi #persona 5 #persona 5 royal #art #artists on tumblr #digital art #doodle #rkgk #画画 #涂鸦

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flowerandblood · 7 months

Text

The softest whisper (Oneshot)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x servant! • female ]

[ warnings: virginity loss, oral sex, angst, smut, cheating, toxic relationship, toxic behaviour, objectification ]

[ description: Aemond, on the orders of his brother, arrives in the Red Keep and notices that a new, young girl has appeared among his servants. Wanting to fill his time, he summons her to his chamber and forces her to read to him. His time to return to Harrenhal is approaching, and he is less and less willing to part with his new property. Sexual tension, angst, very dark Aemond. ]

This oneshot have an alternative ending: The dearest embrace

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

____

Ever since the war began he had felt that piece by piece he was losing parts of himself; even the knowledge that Alys would bear him his child, his bastard son, didn't brought him joy or solace.

He felt both contentment and disgust at the thought of his heir from an illegitimate bed.

He thought the gods were laughing at him from the heavens, mocking his hypocrisy.

After Luke's death, there was no turning back.

He returned to King's Landing reluctantly, at his brother's request – he preferred to stay in Harrenhal, pressing Alys with his body against her bed, the brutal thrusts of his hips pushing apart her hot, slick interior, always welcoming him home.

Alys was an intelligent, witty woman, and her visions made her mysterious and disturbing in his eyes.

He was attracted to her.

There was a darkness in her as deep as his own.

His brother, however, decided that he was to attend the next meeting of the Small Council and report personally on how the battles were going, what their situation was like in the north of the kingdom.

Therefore, he arrived on Vhagar late at night and informed his servants that he wanted to take a bath.

His order meant that his other servants who were already asleep had to clothe themselves in haste and rush to him, filling his tub with hot water.

He watched their movements with a blank stare – his pupil narrowed like a cat's when he saw some new young girl, clearly just being apprenticed to her job – her gaze drowsy, struggling to listen to what the other, older woman was saying to her as the other two ran around them.

In her haste, she had forgotten to put on her white coif, her hair pinned around her head in a tight braid, short strands of her hair framing her soft, flushed face.

She did not look at him once.

He saw her the next morning too, this time already dressed appropriately – she was helping other girl to place the dishes prepared for him on silver platters.

She was completely focused on her task and paid no attention to him, so he had no fear of being caught closely observing her long eyelashes and eyebrows, her flushed cheeks and her full, fleshy lips, her pleasantly rounded chin and her softly shaped nose.

She smiled a lot even though her companion was terrified, as if she did not understand well who sat before her.

It seemed to him that she lived in a world of her own, detached from his worries.

He waited like a predator for an opportunity when she would come to him alone and it happened two evenings later.

He commanded some books to be brought to him from the library that he wanted to return to and read again. He sat in front of his fireplace in his richly decorated wooden chair and glanced out of the corner of his eye towards the door when he heard it open – his new servant holding three thick volumes in her hands walked up to the table next to him, placing them there in complete silence, then bowed, wanting to leave.

"– Your Grace –" She said softly, warmly, lightly, and turned away immediately – he heard his low voice echoing in the silence of his chamber.

"You should ask if I need anything else." He said coldly and matter-of-factly, his pointing finger tapping rhythmically against his armrest; he sat with his legs crossed, sprawled comfortably in his seat, looking at her expectantly.

She stopped in mid-step and then looked at his face for the first time – he saw terror in her gaze, but not caused by him or his appearance, but by what he had said, by the fact that she had committed a discourtesy, that she had done her job badly and her superior or he could punish her for it.

She swallowed loudly, turning to face him, folding her hands in front of her in a gesture of humility, lowering her gaze to the stone floor in front of her.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I am just learning. Is there anything else you need?" She asked softly – she was breathing nervously, her breasts hidden beneath the thin material of her top gown rising and falling quickly, her lips clenched into a thin line.

He liked how humble and submissive she was, how much she wanted him to be pleased with her; he hummed under his breath, lifting his chin higher, curious.

He thought he would have a little fun at her expense for his own entertainment.

"Can you read?" He asked in a low, deep, slightly hoarse voice. He saw that she gave him a quick, surprised glance, but then lowered her eyes again, apparently reminding herself that she was not supposed to do that.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Mmm. Who taught you that?"

"My father."

"The same one who sold you here?"

He saw her brow furrow in pain, her body flinch, her eyes big, she began to breathe through her mouth.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Mmm."

There was silence between them – he stared at her, rubbing the fingers of his hand against each other, and an idea occurred to him.

He liked her voice, soft, girlish, warm, calm, light; she was very young, younger than he was. He squinted his eyelids at the thought that she appeared to him to be the complete opposite of Alys.

"I want you to read me the fourth chapter of the Great History of the North. Take the book and sit on the floor next to me." He commanded; she looked at him in shock and lowered her gaze thoughtfully, her face red with stress.

They both knew it was indecent, that she shouldn't stay so long in his chamber if she didn't want to arouse suspicion about the nature of their relationship, however, he didn't give a fuck.

He tapped his finger loudly on the armrest, impatient that she had hesitated so long.

"I'm waiting. Do you want to annoy me?" He asked coolly – she shook her head quickly, clearly horrified by this vision, and walked on her trembling legs to the table, the scent of grey soap and some other scent, her own, coming to his nostrils.

Alys always smelled of oils, lavender and cloves.

She picked up the right book and, with an uncertain slow step, sat down by the fire opposite him, sitting on her knees, opening the book on her thighs, her hands trembling as she flipped page after page looking for the chapter he had mentioned.

"Pull off your coif." He commanded; she gave him a frightened, pleading look – only now did he see how large her eyes were, surrounded by a veil of her long lashes. He thought they added to her charm and innocence.

"My superior said I must not…"

"Pull it off."

She lowered her head obediently, swallowing loudly, breathing heavily through her nose, her trembling hands raised uncertainly, pulling the white cloth off her head.

Her dark hair was tangled in a braid wrapping around her head in the same way it had been before, unruly short strands at the sides of her face.

"Read." He ordered, and she nodded, going back to finding the right page. When she found it she grunted loudly, licking her lower lip dry with stress as she tried to calm her breathing.

She didn't dare look at him, all red, her eyebrows arched in horror and helplessness – she was obviously afraid he would do something more to her.

He thought that she must surely have heard stories of what his brother did to his servants.

"It is well known that Winterfell was built not as a re...representative castle but as a fortress, s-so the construction of its walls is several layers, that is, consisting of three hoops, the last of them the thickest, composed of stones. The windows in it are not large, giving the enemy no chance to assault with their help or to be the target of cross...crossbow...crossbowmen. For this reason there is only one gate leading into the fortress, protected by several layers of thick oak wood, reinforced with iron fittings, impossible to be destroyed by infantry or armed army."

He closed his eye, spreading himself out comfortably, feeling that somehow her warm, soft voice soothed him, the strong pounding of his heart began to slow down. He listened to her, analysing what she was reading and at the same time falling asleep, the fire burning in the fireplace enveloping him making him feel safe, his muscles slowly beginning to relax.

She had read to him every day since that evening, at his request.

He would always call on her after the Small Council meeting was over, pouring himself some wine, and she would take the book from the table beside him without a word, sitting down in the same place as always. Everytime before she got down to reading she would pull off her coif and place it beside her feet, no longer even waiting for his order.

Subconsciously she knew that he derived some kind of pleasure from this essentially innocent negligee of her body.

It seemed to him that after he had let her go on the first evening without touching her or taking her by force she was no longer afraid of him – he even had the impression that the fact that she could read gave her pleasure since she had no time for it on a daily basis through her duties.

He didn't care who she was, what was her story.

He just wanted to get through time somehow before he returned to Harrenhal.

However, one evening as he sat, waiting for her, drinking wine thoughtfully, a completely different girl appeared in his chamber. He furrowed his brow, furious.

"I do not recall summoning you." He growled harshly – the girl lowered her gaze, ashamed and humiliated.

"It is the Queen's order, Your Grace, I −"

"− bring her here. Immediately."

After several minutes she stood again in his chamber – however, she did not approach him but looked towards him, trembling all over.

"Your Grace, please, I cannot −"

"Come here."

"I can't, Your Grace."

"Come here, I said."

"I can't, Your Grace, the Queen specifically ordered me to −" She paused and jumped in place, horrified when he pulled up suddenly with his eye wide open – within a moment he was in front of her, towering over her, and she lowered her gaze, terrified.

"I fucking hate to repeat myself. Do you understand?" He hissed, her breasts rising and falling in rapid, uneven breathing, tears of helplessness in her eyes – she was shaking all over playing with her fingers in a nervous gesture.

"I beg you, Your Grace, have mercy." She mumbled, falling to her knees before him, humbly lowering her head, on the verge of sobbing.

"Get up." He said coolly – she cried out loudly, burying her face in his hands. He pressed his lips together, looking down at her, her small, helpless figure curled in fear.

"Get up. You are mine. I decide your fate. Stop crying." He commanded, and she drew in a deep breath through her mouth, looking up at him with those big, terrified eyes, seeking reassurance that he would protect her, that he would not let her get hurt.

She sniffed loudly with her nose, wiping her cheeks red from crying, her face all swollen from tears, almost resembling the intense colour of her top dress; she rose with difficulty, not looking at him, standing in front of him as if waiting for a verdict, staring at his chest.

"Mmm."

He turned away, returning to his seat, taking a sip of wine, gazing into the fire – she moved behind him, repeating their ritual, sitting down by his feet, closer than usual, pulling her coif off her head, opening the book.

The next day he made it clear to his mother that she was not to interfere in the affairs of his servants ever again.

His own mother was afraid of him.

She who had always seen him as her greatest support could not look him in the eye.

He felt nothing at that thought.

The time for his return to Harrenhal was slowly approaching; when she came to him again he took a deep sip of wine before surprising her with his words spoken in a calm, deep tone.

"Get ready to travel. Tomorrow you leave with me for Harrenhal."

She looked at him in shock and swallowed loudly, shaking her head – he threw her one cool, menacing look and she curled into herself, looking at him again with those big, shining eyes.

She was so innocent.

"– Lady Rivers will murder me – please –" She mumbled pleadingly. He grinned under his breath and snorted involuntarily – she flinched all over and blushed as his hand went to her head and combed her hair as if he were stroking the fur of his beloved pet.

"Do not fret. I won't allow it."

As he flew on Vhagar, she travelled in one of the carts, like the rest of his possessions.

She was his property.

Alys greeted him with reserve; her abdomen on which she held her hand firmly rounded. He stroked it with a gesture he might call affectionate, thinking of the fact that inside her was his child.

His bastard offspring.

He saw her gaze fixed on the girl who stood far behind him, looking down at her legs.

"You let her into your heart." She said to him regretfully when they were alone in her chamber, standing over him by his chair, his hand wandering involuntarily over her pregnant stomach. He hummed at her words, amused that she was jealous, but did not reply.

He didn't need to explain himself to her.

She instead let him between her thighs, moaning and panting along with him, hurting him with her nails driven deep into his skin, between his brutal thrusts hissing that she hated him only to sob a moment later that she loved him – he came inside her hard, clenching his eyes, feeling relieved.

He stayed with her for the night, but in the morning he returned to his chamber and summoned his servant, ordering that he wished to take a bath.

She stepped into his chamber ashamed, surely having heard the sounds Alys was making during the night as he fucked her – she couldn't look him in the face.

He wondered if she imagined herself in her place and felt his cock throb hard in his breeches at the thought.

She oversaw the other servants who poured water into his tub, and then personally poured the oils he used into it.

Would she be very tight if he took her now?

Would she stifle her sweet moans if his length with each deep thrust of his hips would stretch her fleshy insides and fill her with his seed?

They were left alone.

She pretended not to see or hear him as he began to slowly undress – usually he made the servants leave before he removed his breeches, valuing his privacy and intimacy, but not this time.

She knew she couldn't leave without his permission so she stood, looking sideways, trying to pretend not to see that he was standing bare in front of her.

With a slow, unhurried walk, he stepped into the tub and sighed low, feeling the pleasant heat relaxing his muscles – he was tired after travelling for hours on Vhagar and was sore all over.

"Massage my back and shoulders." He commanded coolly, lying with his head tilted back, his eyes closed, his breathing calm.

He heard her swallow loudly, terrified that someone would catch them, knowing she shouldn't do that – he glanced at her with a look of defiance and saw in her eyes that she had given in.

She approached him from behind, with a gentle, light movement taking his hair out of her way. He murmured lowly, feeling her warm, soft fingers dig into his skin again and again, surprised at how determined she was, that she could do this properly.

Her hands were pleasant against his skin, finer than Alys, she had longer fingers – he felt her warm breath on his head, felt her watching him, felt her scent, all around them just the quiet splash of water at his every slightest movement.

He thought of how pleasant it would be to feel this small, soft hand down there, on his cock.

He was completely hard.

They both shuddered, and he felt her move away from him quickly, terrified, as the door to his chamber opened – he didn't have to turn to feel Alys' oils filling his nose.

"You may leave." She said to his servant, and he pressed his lips together at the thought that she dared to command her in his presence.

He heard her quick movement and after a moment she handed him his shirt and breeches, which he put on with an unhurried, lazy movement, not caring that the mother of his future bastard son could see how ready his cock was to fuck this little girl.

"Stay." He said lowly, standing up from the water, extending his hand to her.

"What is it?" He asked matter-of-factly, without even giving her a glance, tying his breeches, pulling his chemise into them. He saw out of the corner of his eye Alys stroking her stomach in a nervous gesture.

"I wanted to speak with you in private. About my vision." She said lowly. He glanced at his servant, at her pale, terrified face – she was trembling all over, her hands folded in front of her, her eyes full of tears.

He walked over to the chair and sat down in it, looking at her expectantly.

"You may leave." He said softly. She bowed and left with quickly, closing the door immediately behind her.

"Speak."

Alys looked down at him, her lips tightened, her green eyes piercing him.

His lady, his Alys, his insufficient lover, his attempt to fill a void that could not be filled.

"I saw danger coming from the east, great and powerful like a storm cloud. I saw you in the skies. I saw you being devoured by water." She said in a trembling voice – he furrowed his brows, analysing quickly what she had said.

I saw you being devoured by water.

She knelt before him, laying her head on his thigh, and he stroked her long black hair.

"Don't leave me." She whispered.

The word that Daemon wanted to face him, that he was challenging him to a duel spread throughout the fortress.

He knew he could not refuse.

He was terrified.

He feared death.

He locked himself in his chamber despite Alys' pleas to let her in.

If she hadn't told him all this, he wouldn't have been so frightened.

If she hadn't told him he was going to die, he might have had hope.

He summoned her in.

As soon as she walked into his chamber, he ordered her to lock the door behind her, which she did.

She stood before him, looking at him with her eyes wide open, tears under her eyelids, her body shaking all over.

Of course she knew.

He was sure she would take the gold and run away, as she should.

"Spend the night with me or leave. On the table lies a sack of coins that belongs to you. You are a free woman. Take as your husband someone you deem worthy of you."

But she stayed.

She let him undo her hair, allowed him to undress her, to brush with light, butterfly kisses her soft, long neck.

Never before in his life had he been so affectionate to anyone, his hands had never touched anyone with such reverence, never had he cared so much to do it slowly.

First he kissed her on the mouth, gently and tenderly, barely touching her lips, his fingers entwined in her soft curls – she only sighed and stroked his cheek, looking at him dreamy.

He thought that this night, the last night of his life, they would be equals, that he would take her tonight like his wife, only to make her a widow tomorrow.

"Shhh." He hushed her as his mouth clamped down on her hard, swollen nipple, sucking and licking it – she squirmed beneath him and moaned sweetly, finding the courage to stroke his hair, his bare shoulders and back, driving him mad.

He sank his face between her thighs, forcing his tongue again and again between her slick folds – she didn't care if anyone heard her, her sobs loud, helpless and full of pleasure, his nose and thumb with painfully slow, circular motions teasing her pearl, dragging out her fulfilment.

"− easy now − just a little more −" He hummed between the sticky, loud clicks of his tongue – her tiny fingers clenched in his hair, her thighs spread before his face, locked in his hands hot with exertion.

"− please − please −" She mewled helplessly, her gaze clouded, her mouth wide open.

He pulled away from her, jerking his length already dripping with his precum of with a few light strokes, guiding it's fat, pink head to her hot entrance, sticky and wet from her moisture.

She was painfully tight.

He felt like he was tearing her apart from the inside.

She was almost screaming as he thrust inside her, panting along with her, saying 'just a little more'; 't's almost in'; 'shhh, sweet girl'.

They kissed tenderly as he with sure, deep, steady pushes of his hips claimed her maidenhood – he stretched her fleshy, slick muscles with his swollen cock throbbing in pleasure, her blood and their shared moisture running down his thighs and her buttocks, slapping loudly against each other.

"− gods, help me −" She mumbled beneath him, crying in terror and pleasure at the same time, not knowing what was happening to her body, all welted and sweaty, beautiful, innocent, vulnerable, her hands clenched tightly on his buttocks.

He looked down at her, panting and moaning along with her, never having experienced anything like this with a woman before – their bodies seemed to him to be one, clinging to each other, her soft breasts pressed against his chest, he could feel her hard nipples rubbing against his skin with each of his thrusts.

He sped up his pace, forcing her body to give in, to not resist him, his forehead pressed against hers, his tongue deep in her throat.

"− such a sweet girl − hm? − my pretty little servant − makes her prince feel so fucking good − such a tight, hot cunt −" He exhaled, licking her lips, feeling how, at his words, her walls began to clench against him greedily; he heard Alys voice outside his chamber, heard her pounding on the door, heard her crying, but he only chuckled, neither of them was able to stop now.

"− let her hear how good you feel with me − I'm going to come inside you a few times, hm? − just in case, to make sure I've filled you properly −" He cooed, and she cried out loudly at his words, distraught at how strong and delightful fulfilment shook her body – she tried to push him away, her cheeks red from exertion and tears, asking him to stop, overstimulated, but he just came deep inside her at the sound of her sweet, helpless voice.

"− that's it − take it − just like that, don't fight me −" He murmured feeling her body begin to relax, no more sound or crying could be heard behind the door, only silence.

He had thrust his length into her core all night, turning her into a babbling mess – he felt like he had never been more of one with anyone, that he had never been closer to what he could call peace.

He only slid out of her in the morning, watching with satisfaction as a trickle of his pearly spend flowed out of her – he looked down at her, tying his breeches, her gaze directed towards him hazy and absent, yet tender and warm.

"Don't think about me when it's all over." He said softly, her brow arched in pain, tears of despair in her eyes.

Alys bid him farewell with a tender, distraught kiss full of pain, hatred and love.

"Run away from here as fast as you can. With me gone, no one can protect you from her wrath." He said lowly, slipping his boots on his legs and walked out, leaving her alone, informing other servants to prepare his armour for him.

In response he kissed her forehead and stroked her lower abdomen, thinking hopefully as he turned away, walking towards Vhagar to soar through the skies on her for the last time in his life, that his little servant was already far away.

_____

This oneshot have an alternative ending: The dearest embrace

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy

651 notes · View notes

themotherofhorses · 1 year

Note

im begging you, dark!aemond bodyguard of the president/king’s innocent daughter omggggg

pairing: bodyguard!aemond targaryen x president's daughter!reader

warnings: explicit language. oral sex. loss of virginity (kinda). daddy kink. slight breeding and housewife kink. small mentions of past obsessive tendencies on aemond's part.

notes: hello, long time no write. consider this me using this request like i'm saddling the horse after getting thrown off.

(also ik aemond might not seem AS dark as other times but like pretty pls read between the lines. thank you ☺️)

masterlist

For being the nation’s current president, your father was quite the fucking fool of a man.

He loves you, truly. How could he not? You were the spitting image of your late mother, and the youngest of his children- his sweet little chick that was barely beginning to spread her wings and leave the nest. He would never forgive himself if you ever got hurt due to his elected role as the commander-in-chief and head of state.

That was the main reason why he hired Aemond Targaryen as your personal bodyguard.

The man had a commendable record behind him, despite his young age. Your father was beyond impressed with him when he first interviewed him for the job. Two tours in the U.S. army as a sergeant and sniper before receiving an honorable discharge and a Purple Heart due to an eye injury while seeing combat overseas. According to some of the everyday politicians, he threw himself over his younger nephew during an ambush with enemy fire, and took a massive chunk of bomb shrapnel to the left side of his face; doctors saved him, of course, but his eye was too damaged to save.

They offered him a glass eye and a fully paid scar revision (along with special vet benefits and apparently some hush-hush money as well), but he refused it all. Instead, he accepted the purple heart, crammed a pretty and shiny sapphire into his empty socket, and made sure everyone- military personnel and civilian altogether- looked him in both eyes whenever they addressed him.

The rumors were true- Sergeant Aemond One-Eye was as terrifying as he was deadly.

Perhaps that was the reason why it did not take very long for him to be buried between your thighs.

You never had a boyfriend before, always too devoted towards your college academic and hobbies, and way too protected and overshadowed by your father. But it was Aemond who stole your first kiss, two months into his new job as your bodyguard. He had been accompanying you on a small shopping trip to the mall, treating it as a sort of bonding experience. When you had mentioned the new lip gloss you were trying out (it was flavored ‘chai latte’), he had asked to taste it.

Okay! you giggled, thinking nothing of it; only for it to be a week later and with his head in between your thighs, eating you out like a starved man.

“Stop it…! Aemond! My daddy might walk in!” You cried, tossing your head back against the pillows as you bit down on your bottom lip to stop the moans from tumbling out. It was all in stupid vain; your bodyguard had you putty in his hands. Anything he wanted, you would happily give him- yourself included. “A-Aemond…!” How could he ever stop? Not when you sounded oh so fucking pretty, so sweet and yummy, his newfound favorite meal served to him on a silver platter, just ready to be completely devoured.

Aemond shook his head. “I don’t give the tiniest shit, babygirl,” he muttered as he sucked on your clit, only pausing every few seconds to kiss your soaked pussy. He had to be soft as well, considering this was a fucking dream come true for him.

The poor bastard remembered all the times he saw you on the television, in those paparazzi photos and the Christmas cards and those gorgeous social media posts of yours. No one would ever understand just how badly he wanted you, and the lengths he went just to have you.

And, well, maybe you should’ve thought first before stepping out in that sinful, short-cut and backless blue dress, the one that made you look perfect for him to knock up, his pretty little housewife. Perfect for him. Made for him. He kept your legs wide open with the tightest grips as he feasted on your cunt, ignoring your desperate (but adorable) attempts to push him away.

“If you can’t handle this, how will you handle my cock?” he tutted. “Poor baby, I’m going to fucking destroy you.”

Everything made your pretty face scrunch up in pleasure, especially when you felt him lick a large stripe up your pussy before he shoved his face in only deeper. You squealed, hiding your face from behind your hands. You could feel his nose, his chin, the heavy pants and low growls and soft kisses he peppered along inner thighs. “And what did I say to call me?” before he gave your ass a hard spank.

You whimpered, already on the verge of sobbing. Fat tears were streaking down your cheekbones. “I-I’m sorry…s-so sorry, daddy!”

Oh but your entire body felt like it was lit on fire- a burning yet tightening sensation nestled deep within your belly. It was so strange. You didn’t know what to make of it. Your head lolled to the side while your back arched up from the bed and your hand found Aemond’s long, whitish-blond hair.

(A common genetic mutation in his family, according to him. Some of the politicians mocked it as the ‘new Habsburg jaw’. You thought it made him look all the godlier.)

His hands soon slid up to your breast, palming and tweaking your nipples between his fingers. Your toes curled as you felt ready to explode at any second. “Daddy!” you mewled, peering down through teary eyes to watch as his face shook side-to-side. His own face held sheer bliss, especially when he brought a finger to trace along your drenched folds. “Daddy…! Daddy! Ah, gods, please!”

“Yeah, that is right, pretty baby, I’m your new daddy now.”

Your father was none the wiser to the fact that, every night, his youngest daughter’s bodyguard had her in a mating press every night, whispering into her ear that it would not be long until she made him into a real daddy.

It was the least you could do in return, considering he was protecting your life with his.

After boring meetings and countless banquets and your a.m. college classes, Aemond would be quick to shove your panties in your mouth before bending you over the nearest furniture set.

You were his.

All his.

His pretty baby, his sweet little future housewife, the girl whose picture he used to secretly carry in one of the vest pockets during his days in the military.

One day, your father pulled him aside and offered him a bonus.

“Truth is, son, you’re doing such a fine job at protecting her. I don’t worry as much as I did before you came along. We could not ask for a better bodyguard, Sergeant,” he admitted, patting him on the back. “Would there be anything you’d like in payment? A vacation? A bonus? Some free time with your family? I know you miss your mother very much; my little girl told me.”

But Aemond shook his head, declining everything. “Sir, with all due respect, your daughter feels like my new family now, considering how close we’ve grown in these past several months, and my duty in keeping her safe. I would prefer to remain by her side if you would allow it,” he said, and your father gave him a cheeky grin.

“Should I perhaps be worried, Sergeant?”

“Of course not, Mr. President. I adore your daughter, but only as a brother would his little sister.”

So it was true, it seemed- your father, bless his heart, was quite the fucking fool of a man. It should’ve been no surprise to him at all that seven months down the line from his conversation with your bodyguard, you would be trying to hide a swollen baby bump from everyone's eyes.

And if he really was smart, then he would’ve remembered the reason why the Targaryens were so often compared to the old Habsburgs of Austria.

#aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond smut #dark aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #request #vic writes 🧸

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itneverendshere · 5 months

Text

you're burning - rafe cameron (one shot!series)

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader (fem!reader; criminal!reader);

word count: 1637

WARNINGS: sexual tension; asshole!rafe; enemies to coworkers??; mentions of sex; sort of canon!rafe; guns!; eventual smut in future parts.

this is part of the you're no good one shot series :)

chapter ii

Being born into a criminal life came with its perks.

It wasn’t a walk in the park, and most definitely not all sunshine and rainbows, but it wasn’t as horrible as it sounded once you got the hang of it. It’s not like you had a choice but to get used to it; people like you didn’t get options handed to them on a silver platter.

You made the best of what you had.

The one thing you never fully grasped was how the men surrounding you were all complete imbeciles. How they had the brains to pull off skimming rings, you’d never know. It added a layer of absurdity to your already unconventional life.

Safe to say you’d spent most of your life putting up with narcissistic, foolish assholes. Your father was included in the category. Years and years of pent-up frustration, being constantly overlooked by them, being told you were nothing but a pretty face in a sea of sharks.

Their colossal error was underestimating you, and the consequences were evident: most of them lay dead, your father confined to a hospital bed for life, and you assumed control of the family business just before your nineteenth birthday.

Karma, it seemed, always worked in your favor.

Confident in your ability to navigate the treacherous waters, you prepared to deal with Rafe Cameron. Having faced the worst kinds of men, he was just another obstacle on your path—a handsome one, perhaps, but nothing more.

That’s how you know the silent treatment is the most annoying thing you can do to the likes of him, running on a short fuse. You’ve seen him in arguments and physical fights before; he gets off on pissing off other people, their yelling, screaming, hitting just spurring him on.

He’s a crazy bastard, but you handle crazy better than anyone. When you’re dead silent, blankly staring at him, you know he’s going to snap sooner or later.

“Do I need to teach you how to use a fucking phone, uh?” He’s leaning over your shoulder, hand gripping your shoulder, “I texted you earlier.”

His tone is downright condescending, and you must remind yourself you can’t shoot him in the face, especially not in his house. But alas, there are other ways to set the record straight. You’re not about to let him order you around like he does to everyone else.

The muscles in his jaw clench like a vice, grinding against the pent-up frustration coursing through him, “Stop acting like a bitch, will you—look at me.”

The rhythmic tapping of a foot on the floor becomes a thunderous drumbeat, echoing the impatience and irritation that consumes him.

You’ve got him right where you want him.

“Or what?”

The corners of his lips curl upward with a sinister satisfaction. The subtle twist of his mouth exposes just enough teeth to convey a predatory amusement, casting an eerie shadow on his visage.

“Or I’ll put that pretty mouth of yours to good use. Can't bitch to me with a mouth full of dick, can you, sweetheart?"

Your lips curve upward in a sweetly saccharine smile, a facade of warmth that didn't quite reach your eyes. The corners of your mouth lifted with calculated precision, crafting an illusion of congeniality that seems almost too perfect. It’s a performance of sweetness, a mask you’ve spent years perfecting.

Your posture plays along, leaning slightly forward to give an appearance of openness, yet the controlled tension in your frame hints at a deliberate manipulation. Then, with a subtle shift, the atmosphere changes. The smile persists, but the warmth evaporates, leaving behind a cold, unyielding resolve.

It was as if a switch had been flipped, and the truth emerges from the shadows. Your eyes, once sparkling with false sweetness, now pierce through the pretense with a steely gaze, revealing the icy truth beneath the sugary exterior.

“Watch your fucking tone, Cameron.” Your hand moves with practiced precision, aligning the barrel of your gun with a level of subtlety that defies detection. The weight of the firearm, concealed beneath the fabric of your clothing, remains a secret threat, “Next thing you know, you’ll have a bullet shoved up your ass.”

A shift in the atmosphere signifies the dawning awareness on his face. His pretty eyes widen, pupils dilating with the sudden recognition of the perilous situation. It’s as if the cold touch of the barrel has grazed the contours of his consciousness.

Rafe’s quick to hide his surprise, titling his head as he examines your face, “You brought a gun to my house?”

With an air of subtle exasperation, you cast your eyes skyward, their movement a fluid and practiced roll. The graceful arc of your eyebrows framed eyes that, despite their momentary defiance, retain an undeniable allure to him.

How the hell did he not notice you were pointing a gun at him the entire time?

“Like you’re not carrying yours in your back pocket?”

“You’ve been staring at my ass, sweetheart?”

Your smirk returns, a blend of amusement and defiance, "Well, Cameron, considering the crap that comes out of it, I figured I should keep an eye on it."

His attempt at a comeback falters, and for a moment, you revel in the satisfaction of having the upper hand. The room simmers with tension, and the realization of his vulnerability lingers in the air. The power dynamic has shifted, and you're not just a pretty face in his sea of sharks.

The corners of his mouth twitch, a subtle acknowledgment of the unspoken truth.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that."

You maintain your poised demeanor, the gun still subtly trained on him. "Guts, brains, and a bullet with your name on it. Choose your next words carefully, Rafe."

His bravado wavers, and for a fleeting moment, you see a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. The rhythm of his foot tapping on the floor stumbles, the drumbeat disrupted by the unforeseen twist in the confrontation. You've successfully disrupted his usual rhythm, and it's clear that he's grappling with the realization that you're not just another obstacle on his path.

Your sweet smile has transformed into a calculated expression of authority, a reminder that in this dangerous game, you're a player to be reckoned with. The silence that follows hangs heavy, punctuated only by the unspoken understanding that you've turned the tables, and for now, Rafe Cameron is at your mercy.

“The text I sent you earlier,” He starts, “It’s about the gold.”

“What about it?”

“Sarah— my sister, for whatever fucking reason, is with John B now and they’re on it.”

Your eyes narrow as the revelation settles in. The mention of the gold adds an unexpected layer of complexity to the situation. Sarah Cameron, entangled with John B in the pursuit of the treasure, introduces a variable you hadn't anticipated. It's a precarious alliance that could tip the balance of power in unforeseen directions.

"Your sister is with John B?" Your tone is laced with skepticism, not entirely convinced that Rafe Cameron isn't spinning another web of deceit.

He nods, a mix of frustration and concern etched across his face.

"They're on the trail, and they're not the only ones. Kooks and Pogues alike are gunning for it. It's a mess."

The gravity of the situation dawns on you. The gold, a coveted prize with the potential to reshape the dynamics of your life, is now in the hands of a volatile mix of individuals, underage individuals at that.

Your mind races, calculating the risks and opportunities that come with this unexpected turn of events.

"Sarah's involved in this mess?" Your words carry a hint of incredulity, but deep down, you're not entirely surprised. The Camerons seem to be drawn to trouble like moths to a flame.

Rafe's eyes meet yours, a trace of vulnerability in his gaze. "Yeah, and I need your help to sort this out.”

A cynical chuckle escapes your lips. "Help you? You must be out of your mind, Cameron. I don't do family reunions, especially not when it involves gold and a bunch of meddling kids."

His jaw tightens, but he knows better than to push you too far. The unspoken threat of the concealed gun serves as a constant reminder of your unpredictable nature.

"I'm not asking for a family reunion," He retorts, "I'm asking you to keep your word. You said you’d do it, yeah? We have a deal, that’s why you’re here.”

Your lips curl into a sardonic smile, and you tilt your head slightly, assessing him. "I'll play along—for now."

The room is heavy with unspoken tension as you glance around, taking stock of your surroundings. The prospect of diving into the chaos surrounding the gold doesn't sit entirely comfortably with you, but opportunity often wears a deceptive mask.

"Here's the deal, then," you declare, your tone firm. "I'll help you clean up this mess, but once the gold is in our hands, our paths diverge. No strings attached, and no more family dramas. Are we clear?"

Rafe's gaze holds yours, a mixture of relief and acknowledgment in his eyes, framed by thick, dark lashes.

"Crystal clear," He replies, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, "Once we have the gold, you're free to go your way, and I'll go mine."

With a nod of agreement, you holster the gun, a silent acknowledgment that, for now, the alliance holds.

“Although my bed is always open for you, sweetheart.”

You huff, turning around as you make your way towards Ward’s office, Rafe trailing behind, you cast a final glance over your shoulder.

“Go eat a dick, Cameron.”

He raises an eyebrow, a sardonic smile playing on his lips, "You really know how to kill the mood.”

“Would rather have me kill you instead?”

“Is this some kind of foreplay?”

Ugh.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron au #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fluff #rafe fic #rafe angst #alternate universe #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe smut #obx fic #obx fanfiction #outer banks

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pimosworld · 3 months

Text

Unrequited

Pairing- Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Francisco Morales

Series Summary- Francisco was always afraid of settling down. He left Santiago to pick up the pieces after Colombia and now someone else is taking his place. Now he must cope with repairing the past without disrupting his future.

CW-18+,NSFW,MDNI, Angst, hurt/comfort, lovers to enemies to friends, friends to lovers, PTSD, mentions of addiction, therapy,canon typical violence, depression, anxiety, smut, m/m, m/m/f, eventual poly relationship, alcohol consumption,infidelity, unprotected piv,oral f receiving, oral m receiving, marriage proposals)

WC-5.2k

A/N- I hope you enjoy the first chapter and I’m just going to apologize now for the angst but it will get better…eventually. Happy Frankie Friday. @triplefrontier-anniversary

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter 1 Love sick

adjective: love-sick

in love, or missing the person one loves, so much that one is unable to act normally.

Frankie hates how everything feels the same. When the wheels touched down and he exited the plane, it smelled the same. All of his favorite places to eat, the usual stores, the same amount of unbearable traffic. He wanted this to feel different when he returned home. Like he expected his friends and him to be waiting at the airport to greet him with open arms. Like they would roll out the red carpet for him because they all missed him so much. How could he expect that when he couldn’t bother to tell anyone he was still alive let alone returning home? That’s like expecting to win the lottery but never playing. That delusional part of your brain where you imagine how you would spend the money and how you wouldn’t tell anyone.

He’s home now.

The bile starts to rise up in his throat as he approaches the neighborhood he was going to spend the rest of his life in. He was going to live a peaceful, quiet life with him. After Colombia they would have enough money to do whatever they wanted. Relax and finally work out some of that trauma from their shared experiences in the military. He supposed everyone did settle down anyway. What choice did they have after coming back with practically nothing. He heard Will eventually got married and Benny took what little money he had and opened up a boxing gym. Santi-

How was he supposed to return to this life with him after everything that happened in Colombia. Santiago finally gave him everything he wanted on a silver platter, everything Frankie had been asking of him for years. Love me out in the open, Love me out loud, Love me without fear or consequence of failure. So he did. He finally told him ‘after this, no more playing games. We do this for real or not at all, I'm all in if you are.’

His response was to flee. One month turned into six, six months turned into a year. Now three years later he’s coming back to the man he broke and he’s not sure what he’s expecting but it’s making him nearly break out in hives. The outside of the house looks a little different but he can’t put his finger on why. It’s brighter and somehow cleaner. Maybe Santiago had it painted recently. He huffs his bag out of the cab suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier than any pack he’s carried through the jungle with rain soaked clothes all the way down to his socks.

The bench is still there on the front porch that Frankie found at a garage sale. The first piece of furniture that graced the home they picked out together.Frankie told the guys it would be easier if they bought it together. He’s not sure who he thought he was fooling but it certainly wasn’t Benny and Will. Tom didn’t give a shit, he was such a cheap bastard he truly believed they would buy a house together to save money. Another example of Santiago going along with whatever Frankie said as long as he got to call it theirs.

His hands are sweaty and his arms are shaky as he raises them up to knock on the door. Santiago hated doorbells, such a weird quirky thing he never explained makes him laugh now, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. He waits…an uncomfortable amount of time before he thinks he could just turn around and act like he was never here until the door flies open.

You’re standing there practically beaming at him, he’s sure he’s got the most dumbfounded look on his face as he takes you in. You’re adorable as you lean against the door frame in a pair of leggings and a shirt he sort of recognizes, waiting for him to say something. Maybe he has the wrong house and you’re just sparing him the embarrassment. He’s completely bewildered when you surge forward and wrap your some around his middle, he instinctively despite you being a complete stranger embraces your hug. You’re like liquid in his arms as you press your chest to his and he can feel something awaken in him. The amount of warm bodies he found himself under or on top of over the years couldn’t compare to this consuming feeling. The worst part is how innocent you seem and how his thoughts are nothing but. He can smell you, a hint of orange and peach. Body wash, shampoo or perfume he doesn’t really care at the moment.

You mumble something that’s inaudible as you pull back and look at him, something sparkling in your eyes. “I was beginning to think you were like bigfoot, or the Easter bunny…or maybe even Santa Claus.” You giggle and it’s something else he has to add to the list. “Forgive me…it’s nice to meet you Francisco.”

“I see you’ve met my girlfriend.” That voice. The low sultry voice he’s sure he could never forget, not even if he tried. Frankie cried the day his phone was smashed and the voicemail Santi had left for him was lost forever. The last one he left, begging for him to come back, to come home. “Sorry she’s a hugger.” You sheepishly extract yourself from him as his body goes taut.

Santi steps up behind you, protectively and it cuts like a knife. His hand starts at the small of your back and wraps around to your front as he pulls you into his chest. You preen at the touch as you lean against him, kissing the dark stubble on his cheek. Frankie’s sure you don’t notice the fire in your boyfriend's eyes, a threatening stare that was usually only reserved for his enemies. He can see it then, shrouded in hurt and anger. She’s mine. Santiago won’t let him hurt you the way he was hurt. Thrown away and cast aside. That’s how Frankie thinks he’d paint the picture but that’s far from the truth. He was sparing him a lifetime of disappointment.

The feelings he had for you are going up in gray smoke like water doused onto a fire. This is a dangerous feeling, seeing you in his place. It’s not your fault at all that you met Santiago and walked into years of love,torment and jealousy. Frankie can tell how blindly you love Santiago, the way he loved Frankie all those years. He would lay down on a live wire for him, take a bullet for him, take public scrutiny and throw away his family’s judgmental stares for him. Being that vulnerable only puts you in danger.

“Invite him in silly.” You nudge Santi and he barely budges as he scoops up Frankie’s bag and slings it over his shoulder. You yelp as he pats you on the ass to coax you inside.

“Come on in Frank, make yourself at home.” His voice is raw and open, like Frankie’s heart. He grinds his teeth at the name he hates and the implication of home. But he deserves that. Santi is going to make him hurt.

****

The house looks relatively the same on the inside.

Some extra plants and a bookshelf, the distinct smell of lavender and vanilla are the only differences. He wishes it wouldn’t look the same, like everything else. It was like he never left, the same couch they used to spend late nights on, watching the same tv that sits in the corner. The same dining table that they would eat breakfast before going to work and dinner after a long day.

“I’m gonna make some cookies, since it’s a special occasion.” You wink at him and start moving around his kitchen like you know everything. The oven is preheated and you're mixing something into a bowl before he can blink. Humming some tune he’s sure he’s heard as he realizes the shirt you’re wearing is Santi’s favorite.

Santi slides up behind you kissing your neck. “Sounds like a good idea baby.” You glance up at Frankie looking a little bashful as you narrow your eyes at Santi.

“Why don’t you go put your stuff down in the spare bedroom.” Santi doesn’t move and that annoys him even more. He doesn’t have to show him where the room is because this used to be his house, still is technically. He stomps down the hall glaring at some artwork and photos he’s never seen. Stopping in his tracks when he sees a photo of the five of them in Delta. A stupid grin on Santi’s face because Frankie’s grabbing his ass while the photo is being taken. The younger faces of the Miller brothers and Tom.

He stops again when he sees the bedroom they used to share. Nothing much has changed about that either. The bedspread and the ungodly amount of pillows maybe…hopefully the mattress.

He sets his bag down against the wall and opens the window to let some air in. It’s stale and muggy so he shuts it immediately. He can still smell you on him and it’s driving him nuts. He got a whiff of Santi’s cologne during the brief greeting. That was different. He stopped wearing the one Frankie bought him on a mission in Morocco. Santi hadn’t so much as touched him during their hello and he’s not sure if that hurts worse than being able to hold him.

His body eases into the queen mattress as he leans back against the pillows. It’s much more comfortable than the previous one. Frankie never cared about the comfort of others and they argued about it. "It's just a spare bed, what's the problem?” Santiago would roll his eyes and he wanted to kiss that smug look off his face. ‘Our guests should be comfortable too.” He didn’t think they would ever have guests staying in their home other than Benny or Will and those bastards didn’t need a four star plush hotel stay. Now he’s a guest, in his own home and he hates how comfortable he is.

He’s exhausted…mentally, physically, emotionally. Too fatigued to even stand and turn on the ceiling fan that he’s staring at. He’s just starting to close his eyes when he hears a soft rap on the door. He sighs out in frustration, he needs a break from you right now, you’re too perfect and he’s too broken so he just needs a moment. He goes to protest when the door opens but it’s not you who greets him.

Santiago stands in the doorway with a plate of cookies and a glass of milk. He looks as though he’s approaching a wild animal in a cage with their favorite treat to calm them down just before they tranquilize them. Frankie sits up as he steps into the room and sets the items down on the bedside table.

“They’re still hot.” His tone is warning like he knows Frankie is going to shove one whole in his mouth the moment he leaves the room and then complain that it burned his tongue.

Frankie wants to say something but now doesn’t feel right. His tongue is heavy like lead in his mouth and his eyes can’t quite possibly say all that he wants to. I love you, I’m sorry. “You look good.” It’s weak, Santiago knows it as he huffs out a laugh.

“You look tired.” It’s said more of a truth than an insult. He’s sad when he looks at him like someone he used to know. Frankie probably hasn’t had a good night's sleep in three years and that is Santi’s only consolation prize. He got a broken heart and Frankie got perpetual insomnia. “You can stay as long as you want Fish…dinner will be ready in an hour.” Santi exits the bedroom, closing the door softly, leaving his new cologne in the omnium of your scent that clings to him.

As long as he wants and as long as he needs are two very different things. He’s just glad as he takes a bite of the cookie that he’s graduated from Frank to Fish. This cookie tastes how you look. Sickly sweet and warm on his tongue. He’s glad Santi has left the room because he didn’t recognize the sounds coming from him as he savored his first homemade provisions in over three years. Surviving on street food that his stomach hated and questionable canned meat products. He can taste you on his tongue as he finishes the first cookie in the blink of an eye. Four of them stacked on the plate before eating dinner seemed like overkill at first but Santiago had tasted your cookies... He gets to indulge in them whenever he wants and this is just his way of taunting Frankie. He knows Frankie is a weak man who hasn’t let himself enjoy the pleasures in life for quite a while. Temporary pleasures don’t measure up to this.

He kicks off his shoes and props himself up against the pillows again as he absentmindedly reaches for another. A cool breeze whips his face as he looks up at the spinning blades. Santiago must have turned it on without him noticing. His mama always used to tell him to slow down and enjoy his food so he does in this moment. The first one he ate with such urgency like it would be his last, this one he can savor the hints of cinnamon and vanilla. The gooey chocolate makes a mess on his fingers. He glances over to see no napkin so he licks it off getting a hint of salt and peanut butter. There’s no way you could know unless Santiago told you. He holds it in front of him to inspect and sees the small peanut butter chips melted in. That was always his favorite and only Santi knew.

It’s much easier to fall asleep as he polished off the last cookie and most of the milk. This one hour felt better than any full night of sleep he got when he wasn’t home.

****

Frankie feels like his body weighs a ton. Waking up from his nap is disorienting as he remembers where he is. Sleeping in a room he never thought he’d be in, in a place he never thought he’d ever come back to. This short slumber after being sleep deprived for so long is like serving someone an appetizer and telling them the restaurant is closing early.

He showed up unexpectedly and you took it in stride. Like you’ve been here waiting for him this whole time to put the pieces back together. Frankie doesn’t think you’d mind if he skipped out on dinner for some much needed rest but his stomach grumbles as he stares at the empty plate next to him. The smell of garlic,onions and peppers coax him out of the bed as he stretches his creaky bones. He can hear laughter and the clinking of plates as he walks down the hallway, it dawns on him that he hasn’t showered in twelve hours but he doesn’t want to keep you waiting any longer. He’s been enough of a burden these last few years and he won’t let you bear the load any longer.

“Hola bella durmiente.” Santi’s teasing voice hits his ears before he sees him. He wants to flip him off but he’s too tired and that feels too normal.

Frankie glances at the time on the oven as you finish plating something that smells like home. “Shit it’s been two hours.” Santi whistles at him to sit down as he scrubs his hands through his hair.

“Don’t worry about it Francisco, this man takes four hour naps.” You lean over setting the plate down in front of him and your boyfriend. He watches you plant a kiss on Santi’s head, not to flaunt it but just because it’s second nature.

“You never take naps.”

“I’ve learned to relax.” Santi says with a mouthful of food as he points his fork. “You should learn to do the same, Frankie.”

He can breathe a sigh of relief that he can be Frankie again, even in jest.

He takes a bite as you settle in across from him, it’s perfect much like the cookies as he closes his eyes not afraid of the moan that leaves him. “Holy shit this is better than Santi’s Chile verde.”

Santi takes your hand placing a kiss on your fingers. “That’s why I don’t make it anymore.”

“Well don’t be shy, there’s plenty on the stove.” You smile at him and he notices then that you changed. A light touch of makeup and a little perfume. Santi’s still in his tee shirt and jeans but you’ve ditched the old ratty Metallica shirt and swapped it for a bright yellow blouse and jeans.

Santi clears his throat interrupting Frankie observing you. “She’s an amazing chef. She takes a lot of pride in her work, and I take my job as the Guinea pig very seriously.” He leans back and pats his belly.

You’re practically beaming at him as you stand to take his empty plate. He gently grabs your wrist urging you to sit as he absentmindedly grabs Frankie’s to serve them up some more.

****

Frankie used to run from his compliments or brush them off as nothing. He was always too afraid of the praise not realizing how hurtful it was to the other man when he would wave him off. Santi loves you in the way he always wanted Frankie to love him.

He’s grateful for the small talk during the rest of the evening. A few beers and a way too nice bottle of wine has him comfortably buzzed as he listens to you talk about how you met Santiago. In true Santiago form he almost ruined it before it even began.

It was at Will's wedding a little over a year ago.Santiago assumed you were a guest of the bride because he’s certain he would remember meeting you in the many years he’d known Will. He saw you just before the ceremony in a navy blue silk suit, the plunging neckline leaving nothing to the imagination. You looked lost and a little irked when he approached you asking to save him a dance.

He looked for you in the sea of unfamiliar faces during the ceremony and again during the reception. It wasn’t until a very unfortunate moment with a clingy bridesmaid in his lap drunkenly telling him about her new piercing that he locked eyes with you. There was a humorous look on your face as you winked at him. Two men approached you in matching white button ups and black ties and you snapped to attention. He could always tell when someone was giving orders and needed to be taken seriously. The men scurry away when you’re done speaking and start gathering plates and cutlery. Your face relaxes again and you wink at him exiting the ballroom as the girl screeches in his ear ‘are you even listening to me?”

“No sweetheart I’m not.” He quickly displaces her from his lap as she stands there dumbstruck by his actions.

He bursts through the doors and is met with a mostly empty kitchen. You’re standing there wide eyed with another girl in the matching uniform. “Finish boxing up the leftovers for the newlyweds and then you’re good to go.” You brush her arm as you walk past and beeline it straight for him.

“Lost?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“No I ugh…you…-“ He’s scrambling as you stare him down unwavering.

“A man of many words I see.” You pick a piece of lint off his suit jacket and he notes your close proximity.

“You never danced with me.” He teases and you laugh a little. It’s a start

“You seemed to already have a dance partner…and as you can see.” You gesture around the kitchen. “I was a little busy.”

“Oh her…I don’t even know her name.” He winces as you give him an incredulous look.

You’re already walking away toward the ballroom doors before he can recover. He’s hot on your heels, never one to back down from a challenge. “So I can’t convince you to dance with me?”

You spin and he has to stop himself from crashing into you. “Maybe some other time Santiago.” You kiss him on the cheek, leaving a red lipstick reminder for any unknown nameless women.

“Wait…how do you know my name!?”

“I was warned about you.” You yell over your shoulder as you exit the kitchen leaving him there stunned.

It took a lifetime of bribes and I owe yous and promises of future baby sitting to get your number from Will. His wife Emma was pissed until you weaved your way into their lives and the rest is history.

****

It’s been at least an hour since you went off to bed, saying your goodnights to both men. They stayed mostly silent on the couch as they stared at some movie on the tv. Neither one of them paid any attention. Just waiting for any signs of life from you to die down in the bedroom down the hall.

Santi knew your night routine like the back of his hand. You’d wash your face of any makeup and apply what he thought was an absurd amount of creams and oils. You’d sit gingerly on the edge of the bed as you applied this lotion that smelled of rose and coconut, taking your time to cover every inch of your body. Smiling at him all the while asking if he’d like to join to which he’d just tell you one of you had to be rough in the relationship. On the nights he didn’t personally see to it that you were passed out you’d read a few chapters of your book before falling asleep with your finger marking the page and he’d gently retrieve it from you before kissing your forehead making sure not to wake you.

It’s this thought that’s ticking away at him as he counts down the minutes silently while he watches Frankie’s leg nervously bounce beside him. He’s sitting in the spot he used to but he feels miles away. Stark contrast to how they used to be on this couch, cuddling and laughing while they talked about their future.

“Do you love her?”

The words that leave Frankie’s mouth rip through the silence like the sound of a thunder clap. Only the light from the tv illuminates the look on Santi’s face but Frankie can see it clear as day. It’s moments like these that Santi’s aware of his high blood pressure as the sound of his heartbeat whooshes in his ears.

“How dare you ask me that.” His voice starts low but the rage behind it is threatening to boil over.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Yes I love her.” He says a little louder, no lie or waver to his voice.

Frankie scrubs his jaw as he huffs under his breath. “I’m glad you moved on.” The sarcasm dripped from his tone and now Santi is seeing red.

Santi grabs the remote, flicking off the tv plunging them into darkness. “You think I just moved on the moment you left. You do remember being the one who left right?” He hates how Frankie can so quickly get under his skin. This is the exact reaction he wanted from him and he took the bait. “I waited for you. I waited and waited until Will had to pick me up off the floor and make me shower and eat and really take a look at the situation.”

Santi stands and paces the room as Frankie watches someone he thought he knew open up like he’s never done before. Santi loved him but he always let Frankie take the lead. He never put himself first and it almost swallowed him up whole. Frankie knows it’s not fair to judge any of his actions but he’s a scared animal backed into a corner and this is all he’s got left. One last fight before he lunges out in hope’s that Santi will tell him something to justify what he did.

“You may have been torn up for a bit but you look pretty comfortable to me.” Frankie gestures around the room as he stands in front of Santi. “You’ve got nice home cooked meals, all your friends, a beautiful house and someone to fuck at the end of a long day.”

Santi grabs his shirt shoving him back down to the couch. “Don’t act like your bed wasn’t warm these last three years. You and I both know how you are Frank.” Fuck he’s back to Frank.

“I didn’t love any of them.” Frankie says as Santi rolls his eyes.

“You want an award for not falling in love with them.” Frank grits his teeth as the sing song words ooze out of Santi’s mouth while he claps his hands in his face.

“You should keep your voice down, you wouldn't want to wake up your wife.” Frankie says and with no remorse Santi knows he’s wounded. A small part of him is glad for it.

With his voice barely above a whisper as he leans down face to face with Frankie. “She’s not my wife, and you’re not my husband.”

****

Santi quietly closes the door as he watches your sleeping form. It’s one of his favorite things to do. The steady rise and fall of your chest, wondering what peaceful things drift in your dreams. You’re wearing one of his shirts and probably nothing else. Majority of your wardrobe when you weren’t at work consisted of his clothing. It stirred something in him he’d never experienced before you. The way he was possessive over you…he never understood why Frankie would act the way he did when men and women would flirt with him until he met you.

How dare Frankie question his love and his loyalty. He was the one who walked away. How dare he look at you the way he did, thinking Santi wouldn’t notice the desire in his eyes.

“Baby, are you coming to bed or do you want to keep holding the door up?” Your sleepy voice grabs his attention as you pat the spot beside you.

He pushes off the door and pulls his shirt off, tossing it aside.”I thought you were asleep.” His jeans and belt hit the floor with a thud as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“I was but I could hear your thoughts in my dreams.” You sit up wrapping your arms around him. Your hands drift to his stomach, his soft abs flex under your touch as he relaxes against you. You know he wants to say something. The elephant in the room that is Frankie.

“I love you.” His voice barely above a whisper. He squeezes your hand and brings it up to his chest. You can feel the rapid beat of his heart under your fingers.

“I love you too.”He shivers as your lips graze the faint scar traveling down his neck. A reminder of something he’s been through with you that Frankie wasn’t there for. His need for you is made all that more evident with the man he loved, loves in the room down the hall.

He shifts so fast your head is spinning as he pins you underneath him. Whatever thoughts were plaguing him before are long gone with his hands roaming underneath his shirt to graze the soft skin under your breast. His lips swallow your whine as he rolls your nipple between his fingers reveling in the way your body responds to him.

You can feel the hard press of his cock beneath his boxers as he rolls his hips into you. Searching for some kind of friction.

“I need this off.” His voice is strained as he pulls the shirt over your head.

You chuckle trying to reach for him as he shoves his boxers down, laughter dies in your throat at the sight of him. The moonlight in the room illuminates his hard cock, dark at the tip leaking precum on the sheets below.

His hands slide up your thighs as he squeezes the flesh between his fingers. His grip tightens as he cups your ass, lifting you slightly to wrap your legs around him. “Look at you…and you’re all mine.”

You’re breathless as you reach for him, pulling him into your chest.”Santi, kiss me.” You don’t have to ask him twice, your voice is like a siren song as he dips his tongue into you. He can taste the mint from your toothpaste and your cherry chapstick. Mine.

He should go slow, work you open like he always does. He drags the tip through your slick folds and a soft whimper leaves your mouth. You’re being too quiet…because of him. His hands gently press your throat as he buries himself to the hilt. A louder whine escapes you, he knows it drives you crazy as he squeezes just enough to have you panting.

“Fuck I need you, I’m sorry.” He releases your throat and starts an unrelenting pace as you quickly adjust to his size. He’s never been this desperate, not willing to make you come on his mouth or fingers first.

Your body doesn’t seem to care as the slick wet sound of your bodies and your pussy clenching with each thrust has him growling in your ear. “I want to hear you.” He wraps his arms underneath you and grips your shoulders.

“Santi…please.” You don’t want to be used for his anger and revenge but you can’t think straight with his cock ramming that spot deep inside you.

“Please what baby?” He fucks you harder as he watches your face contort in pleasure as you chant his name. He bites down on the swell of your breast and you cry out as he licks and soothes the spot with his tongue.

“Santi…I’m so close.” He knows…he can feel how close you are as your heels dig into his back, your blunt nails scratch at his scalp and you arch your body as your climax washes over you. “Come inside me please, Santi.”

Images flash in his mind of Frankie fucking you through your orgasm as you scream his name, his cock is pulsing and throbbing inside you as he fills you up. His deep ragged breaths in your ear as the aftershocks jolt through him. “I love you.” He says it over and over as he kisses your face, your mouth, your sweat soaked forehead. He’s really saying I’m sorry but those words mean the same right now.

“I love you too baby.” Your voice is wrecked from screaming, having long forgotten about your houseguest. You know this is what he wanted and a small part of you wanted it to. Santiago is yours to keep.

****

Shame washes over Frankie as he cleans his spend off his stomach with his tee shirt. He pulls his boxers up and sits on the edge of the bed staring out into the backyard.

It’s quiet now, in his post orgasmic clarity. All he has are the thoughts running through his mind. The thoughts that have plagued him since he set foot back into this house. How selfish it is to want what’s down the hall in a place he called home.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Taglist- @ghostslillady @criticalarchitecture @ael-xander @tinytinymenace @for-a-longlongtime @itsokbbygrl-library @mymo-n @lola-lola-lola @readingiskeepingmegoing

Tagging a few who might be interested:

@writefightandflightclub @reallyrallyauthor @campingwiththecharmings

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t00thpasteface · 6 days

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the most insane thing about so many people not caring about rap and hip hop on this site is how many of them are in my approximate age group. like i KNOW you grew up being spoonfed some of the best and catchiest and most danceable rap EVER. you couldn't turn on the radio without hearing something you could move and jump and bump and grind to. the only other age group that had that many hits handed to them on a silver platter were those latchkey kids in the 70s who biked around town with their radio in the handlebar basket from 3pm through sunset. i KNOW you heard nonstop 50 cent even though you were too young to be in da club. you bastards. how could you turn your back on our cusp-zoomer heritage like this

#just thinking about this again while i'm on the subject of music and radios (and listening to my tunes while i draw)#not to mention all the r&b around that time that overlapped with the hip hop scene. god it was a good time for music #shebbz shoutz

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boyfhee · 1 year

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CLOSEST FRIEND AND MORE ⋆ pjs

prompt · “i don’t think i’ve ever felt the way i do with you with anyone else.” “what does that mean?” “what do you think it means?” · requested

g · fluff warnings · light profanities, mentions of injury wc · 0.8k

note · writer's block is real and it sucks

“and then, that bastard, that cheating lying bastard, blatantly lied in front of everyone and said that, i pushed him during the game. seriously— can you believe that?” a scoff falls off your lips and you recall the moments from your PE class this morning, which more or less morphed into a fight between you and one of your classmates who claims to have been pushed by you in a game of dodgeball and sprained his ankle when in reality, he practically launched himself towards you and all you did was step aside to save yourself.

and jay, he’s hearing this story for the fifth time today, in different narratives from different people, with more colourful words for the said boy being served by them on a silver platter.

“no, i really can’t believe that,” he responds sarcastically, eyes focused on the evening sky and then the road as a soft smile rested upon his lips, throughout the walk from school to your place.

“jay,” you slow down, the extra emphasis on his name to get a serious reply, making him turn to look at you. you stare at him for a second while he mirrors the same blank look at you, before a faint sigh slips off your lips. “you’ve been really quiet today, you know?”

and not just today but for the past four to five days. jay is a quiet person, actually, but not quiet quiet, not the quiet where you hear six words maximum from him in twenty-four hours. you wouldn’t say you and jay are super close or the bestest of friends and yet still, you can hear him whisper from behind you during classes, making you laugh occasionally, sneaking notes from under the desks, everything that makes maths more bearable for you and everything whose absence for days now has you concerned.

“is that so?”

“mhm, i almost forgot your voice,” which is an exaggeration on your part, but you’re pretty sure it would have come true had the silence game continued for a few more days. “are you okay, though? is there anything you’re worried about, anything you’d like to tell me?”

a brief pause follows, a moment of silence yet again, filled with the shuffling of your footsteps on the pavement as he swings your hand back and forth, holding it a little tighter. “well, there is something i’m worried about but i can figure it out myself,”

you step in front of him, getting a better look at his face and his eyes meet yours. “are you sure?”

“i am,”

you see your house now, the first one as soon as you'd take the next left. walks with jay are less frequent. he’s either busy with his other friends or after school stuff that your homeroom teacher assigns him, much to his disappointment. walks with him are less often but are always fun, hands intertwined as you both take all the time in the world to cover the ten minutes walking distance from school to your house, since he insists on walking you home everyday.

walks with him are less common, this might be your ninth or tenth time, but they’re already something you look forward to ever since you wake up. you realise that walks with jay might be the only chance to get to know him better, and thus, you take the opportunity.

“i know you don’t like stressing people out with your own problems and you rarely talk about them, but i want you to know that you can rely on me,” the two of you finally stop in front of your house and you stand in front of him, taking both of his hands into yours. “you’re one of my closest friends, i’m here if you never need someone to listen to you,”

he has known you for one month, barely, and you’re asking him to spill his worries to you as if they’re your own, but how does he tell you that you’re the reason he’s losing track of day, noon and night, wondering if there’s even a little chance that you feel the same way as he feels towards you?

“i don’t think i’ve ever felt the way i do with you, with anyone else,” but the words escape his mouth, leaving him surprised too, as if he has lost control over his thoughts, letting his heart take over his mind, allowing it to make all the decisions.

you feel your heart skipping beats and pacing relentlessly, quite sure going to pop out of your chest any second. “what does that mean?”

how does he tell you that you’re the one making him worried with all these feelings that he has for you?

“what do you think it means?” and the smile on your face morphs into hesitation, heat rising up your cheeks as he takes a step towards you. another string of silence follows as you try to come up with words, but before you could even sort out your thoughts, jay beats you to it. “see you tomorrow,”

and that’s all he says before walking away, because you consider him one of your closest friends, so how does he tell you that he’s inexplicably in love with you, and that he wants to be something more?

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amazingmsme · 5 months

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With a Bow on Top

AN: Happy holidays to all who celebrate, & especially to @tickles-tea I’m your squealing santa! I loved writing this, & I hope you enjoy! Added a lil festive flare to this one. HUGE thanks to @hypahticklish for hosting! & be sure to follow @squealing-santa so you don’t miss out on all the winter fluff!

Miguel sat on the floor of Peter and MJ's living room, half-used rolls of wrapping paper scattered about the floor around him. Peter himself was sitting next to him, completely transfixed on the movie playing "for background noise."

That lying rat bastard.

"You know, I only said I'd bring my universe's Grinch because you promised you wouldn't get distracted and actually help out. Which, you're not doing," Miguel said bluntly. Peter snapped out of his Christmas movie haze to defend himself.

"Sorry, but I've just never seen it before!" He reached down and grabbed one of Mayday's unwrapped gifts. Folding the paper around the box, he finished by sealing it up with a web. Miguel rolled his eyes.

"What? My gift looks way cooler than yours, you're just jealous of my artistic flare," he said smugly.

"Don't get me wrong, it looks great, but how's she gonna open it?" Miguel asked with a smirk. Peter's brow's nearly kissed his hairline as he came to the realization.

"Shit! Well, hopefully by Christmas it'll be weak enough to tear through," he finished with a shrug, slapping a bow on top and sliding it under the tree. As Peter reached for another present, he noticed a scrap piece of ribbon, much too short to fit around a box. Then, his gaze trailed over to his unassuming friend. Perfect.

He picked it up, fluttering it along the back of Miguel's neck. Peter can hear him gasp, and isn't that a lovely sound. He rolls his broad shoulders, arching his back and scrunching his neck ever so slightly. By the time he whipped around to glare at the perpetrator, he had already retracted his hands, hiding them innocently in his pockets.

Miguel looked him up and down before returning to his work. To his credit, Peter waited a few seconds before striking once more. Miguel sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, rubbing his ear against his shoulder to rid himself of the lingering tingles.

"Peter?"

"Hm?"

"I know you're not really working," he deadpanned. Peter sputtered in shock.

"I am too! Look, a perfectly wrapped gift!" he said proudly, holding out Mayday's present. Miguel looked it over, only half amused.

"You're right, a gift. So why not pick up the pace?" he challenged, tossing a Spider-Man themed basketball his way that Peter had planned on giving Miles. Peter caught it with one hand, and Miguel rolled his eyes. Showoff.

"How the hell am I supposed to wrap a ball?"

"I don't know wise guy, you're the one who got it for him." Okay, Peter wasn't sorry for what he was about to do.

He grabbed a marker off the floor and uncapped it with his teeth, making a satisfying pop sound. He barely bit back a snicker as he leaned in, quickly scribbling at the back of his neck. A strangled squeal caught in his throat at he snatched Peter's wrist in one hand, the other rubbing at his neck.

"You think you're funny or somethin'?" he asked with a cold glare.

"Hilarious, actually," Peter corrected with a shrug. Miguel scoffed and let him go.

"Go back to watching the damn movie if you're just gonna bother me," he suggested, grabbing a new tube of wrapping paper to switch things up. Can't have them all looking the same, now can we?

Why not both? Peter thought to himself, an evil grin growing on his face that rivaled the Grinch onscreen. He grabbed two pieces of ribbon discarded on the floor holding them poised to strike between his fingers. Miguel had his back turned, busy wrapping another present and allowing himself to get sucked into the movie. He was practically serving himself up on a silver platter. He really ought to know better by now...

Or maybe he didn't totally mind Peter's shenanigans. But that was a silly, fleeting thought.

Or was it? Only one way to find out.

Ever so quietly, he scooted closer to Miguel, snatching the marker off the floor. The grumpy Spider-Man was sporting a pair of ripped jeans. (He constantly made sure people knew he didn't buy them like that and that he earned those holes and rips.) A particularly large hole left his knee exposed and vulnerable for an attack... Perfect.

He let out a surprised snort, jerking his leg away before a chuckle could follow. They were locked in an intense staring contest, or glaring contest, on Miguel's part. Peter wore an innocent grin, though his next words were anything but.

"What's wrong big guy? Ticklish?"

If it were anyone else, they wouldn't have noticed the way he flinched at the question.

"No."

"Really? You're sticking to that lie?"

Miguel huffed, angrily slapping a bow on top of a present. "It's not a lie."

"Well in that case, I'm not ticklish either," Peter boldly proclaimed. Miguel looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Since we're being honest and all." Miguel grabbed a tube of wrapping paper, bonking Peter on the head in one swift motion before he even knew what happened.

"Don't forget I'm the one helping you," he reminded pointedly.

"Noted," Peter said, grabbing the tube from him and setting it beside MJ's new boots. For good measure, he started wrapping the gift until Miguel turned away. Then it was back to scheming.

He scanned the pile of unwrapped gifts for inspiration, smiling to himself when he spotted a handheld massager he got as a stocking stuffer.

"Hey Miguel?" he elected to ignore the annoyed groan he was met with, "Can you do me a favor?"

"No."

"Perfect! Just tell me if this massager is any good, okay? I don't want it to be too weak or painful, or not have enough settings." He heard Miguel sigh in defeat.

"Whatever."

"Thanks!" He scooted closer to him, turning on the X-shaped massager. At first he decided to play nice and actually work out the tension in his friend's shoulders before setting his plan into motion. He had to rebuild some trust, after all.

"Not bad, I think she'll like this," Miguel hummed, letting his head fall to one side as he began to relax. He was really watching the movie now, allowing himself a moment to enjoy it. It was one of the more heartfelt scenes of the film, and one of his favorites. He found he tended to like the more subtle, meaningful holiday movies rather than the over the top comedies and rom coms that dominated the season.

The last thing he was expecting was a dreadfully ticklish buzzing on his side.

His resolve gave way as he fell onto one side, loud surprised cackles spilling out into the room and drowned out the sound of the TV.

"Peheheter! Quit ihihit!"

"I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you through all that laughing. Which is weird, considering how not ticklish you are," he taunted, running the massager over his abs. Miguel curled in on himself, a giggly groan slipping out in response to the teasing.

"You're hohohorrible, you know thahat?" he asked, weakly swatting at Peter's hands, but to no avail.

Peter snorted. "Maybe to you."

The gentle vibrations traveled from his belly up his sides and to his ribs, causing the deep rumbling chuckles to build up momentum. Encouraged by this, Peter grabbed his wrist and wrestled his arm above his head, pinning it in place.

"Wahait!" he cried, trying to fend him off with his other hand. Peter grinned down at him, the textbook definition of smug.

"Okay. Well? What am I waiting for?" he asked, hovering the tool above his armpit menacingly. Miguel slammed his head against the ground in frustration.

"Gehehet off of me, you asshole!" he demanded through giggles.

"Why should I?" Peter challenged.

He just won't quit, will he? Miguel had no choice but to surrender, if they ever wanted to get done wrapping, that is.

"Fihihine, okay? You wihihin!" he conceded, rolling around on the ground. ,!"

"Wow, okay, so what do I win?" he asked, pulling his hands away to give him a breather. Miguel panted and glared up at him.

"I'm fuckin' ticklish, okay? There, happy?" he growled through residual giggles.

"Over the moon," Peter confirmed. He patted Miguel's chest as he let him go, crawling over to the pile of unwrapped presents. "No more funny business, I promise!" he assured. Miguel only rolled his eyes, a fond smile still lingering on his face.

"Yeah yeah, I'll believe it when I see it."

#squealing santa 2k23 #squealing santa #ss2k23 #miguel o'hara #peter b parker #spiderman atsv #atsv #atsv fic #spiderman atsv fic #atsv tickle fic #spiderman atsv tickle fic #ticklish!miguel

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wen-kexing-apologist · 1 year

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Characterization and OS2 x The Eclipse

I have been having many conversations with the clowns and it seems that we are all generally of the same mind re: complaints about characterization in Our Skyy 2 x The Eclipse. We’ve had very brilliant words and reflections from @bengiyo and @shortpplfedup. My words will not be brilliant but they will be.

So I am going to start by saying, bluntly, that P’Golf is beating us over the head with the messages they want us to take from these episodes. In fact I would have maybe critiqued the in-your-face, unsubtle nature of their messaging if I hadn’t seen such terrible takes on at least Episode 1 if not some about “green flag Ayan” for Episode 2. Clearly the message needs to be this straightforward in order for some of you to get it.

So at this point:

If you are choosing to complain about the characterizations of Akk and Ayan especially, but any of the characters, you are doing so in bad faith.

Why am I claiming it’s in bad faith? Because Akk and Ayan are completely in character the entire time and Golf hands us the central conflicts on a silver platter.

So what are the central conflicts of these Our Skyy 2 Episodes?

“What’s wrong with you, Golden Eagle?”

“There’s no need for me to answer your question, Red Eagle,”

Central Conflict One: Communication

Akk is not open about what is bothering him. This is extremely in character for Akk. Akk is a master of repression, and he will and has consistently, emphatically, and blatantly lied about his feelings at every given opportunity. Akk is excited about spending his birthday with his boyfriend, and he is upset that Aye seems to not remember his birthday. Does he say anything about it at all? No. He goes and retreats and sulks, but he refuses to bring up the thing that is bothering him.

Having Aye in this fantasy ask what is wrong is extremely in character and gives us a direct, explicit sentence of what Aye has been constantly trying to do, which is to have Akk communicate his needs. Aye is incredibly direct and explicit in checking in with people all the time. (As examples: “Can you tell me the truth, Akk?” from the beach scene in Episode 6, “How would you feel if Akk and I were more than friends?” to Akk’s parents in Episode 12, checking in with Kan and Thua, etc. etc.).

Having Akk in the fantasy respond that there is no need is extremely in character and gives us a direct, explicit sentence of what Akk’s potential conflict point will be, which is Akks refusal to communicate his needs. (As examples: *gestures wildly to the entirety of The Eclipse*)

And we are shown explicitly, time and time again throughout all of The Eclipse and throughout both Our Skyy 2 Episodes what happens when Akk does communicate.

We get a healthy and balanced relationship where our favorite war criminal and his rat bastard boyfriend get to be happy, dopey, in love, and frolic.

Frolic, I tell you!!

And we get declarations of love

And does it take Ayan a second to get there? Does he delay and tease, and annoy Akk by not saying it at first? Yes. Does he make Akk turn away and say “I don’t want to annoy you?” Yes. But Akk does get Aye’s love confession, and Akk similarly plays with Ayan, pretending like he isn’t going to say he loves him back…calling them friends in the first part of Episode 2. But ultimately he relents as well.

But what does Akk not do? Tell Aye that he is upset that Ayan seems to have forgotten his birthday. I’m not going to victim blame here and say that all of Akk’s upset, annoyance, despair, heartbreak, etc. is his fault. Ayan is very intentionally toying with Akk’s emotions, feigning ignorance, and hurting Akk here. Ayan’s idea of pretending not to remember his birthday is the spark that lights up this conflict between them. But it is not solely Ayan’s fault either. If Akk was open and honest and communicative about the ways in which he felt hurt by this. If he did what Ayan has been trying to get him to do throughout their entire relationship (and by relationship here I mean connection to one another from their first meeting until now and not exclusively their romantic relationship) which is to be honest about his feelings.

Ayan is not perfect, and honestly if I do have one actual criticism of this episode it is that I wish there had been less of a positive response from Akk after Aye’s surprise, just so that there was more of an opportunity for Akk to actually talk about how upset he had felt. But honestly, thinking about characterization, I am not sure if that would have been in character for these two either because their entire dynamic is built on the foundation and enjoyment of getting a rise out of each other.

To say that Akk and Ayan are not in character here is in bad faith. Their entire relationship in The Eclipse starts with them being antagonistic forces to one another. That competition, that light teasing and soft bullying that Aye does to Akk throughout The Eclipse is what usually gets Akk to break out of that repression and to admit his actual feelings. But Ayan constantly has to work to get there. Ayan knows why Akk is upset, and he isn’t pushing Akk on it too hard because he doesn’t need Akk to be honest with him. But Akk, similarly to what he did when he told Aye that he wasn’t thinking naughty thoughts when he wanted to make Aye sleep on the floor, or when he kept covering for Chadok and placing the blame solely on himself, has still not gotten comfortable expressing his needs.

And whoever said it earlier said it best, that when Akk tells Ayan that he’s changed, they are fairly certain Akk means that Aye has changed only over the last couple days/weeks while he has been planning this surprise party for Akk. Accurate.

So why is this communication conflict coming into play at all?

Because of who Akk and Ayan are as people.

Central Conflict Two: Perspectives

Akk believes that Ayan should care about other people more, and Ayan believes that Akk should care about other people less. These are two fundamentally different approaches and views of the world and what is important. Their conflict around communication comes from this same perspective, Aye is too busy thinking about how much fun he is having with these fights with Akk and how much he thinks Akk will eventually love the surprise to understand that he is currently really and sincerely hurting Akk’s feelings. Akk is too busy worrying about whether or not bringing up his own feelings about Aye not remembering his birthday will further strain their relationship or make Aye feel bad, that he never says anything about it. Akk doesn’t want his friends to feel bad for him or responsible for his emotional state so he lies to them about Ayan having wished him a happy birthday. He wants to make sure that Ayan isn’t stressed out so he encourages Ayan to go deal with the errands for his mother, regardless of the hurt it is causing Akk to let him go.

Because these perspectives are literally why and how Akk and Ayan work as a couple.

Akk was killing himself for Suppalo and for Chadok. Akk is so blinded by his concern for others that he is unable to understand the harm he has done to others, and the harm others have done to him until Ayan, who is fueled by his own personal vendetta, is able to remind Akk that he is a person who has been manipulated. Ayan’s narrow view of the situation at Suppalo, and his hatred of Chadok allows him to help Akk understand how deeply and badly he is being used. Ayan was able to get Akk to shed some of his responsibilities and focus on himself and the people he loves, one of the bigger examples being Akk going with Ayan on a coffee date instead of going to the protest to record names.

Ayan was killing himself for Dika. He was so blinded by his grief, that he was unable to see the ways in which he was neglecting Dika’s memory and harming the people Dika loved. Ayan wasn’t taking care of himself, and Ayan wasn’t even aware of the fear he was causing his mother that he might leave her too, and he was acting as an antagonistic force to Chadok who was also grieving the man he loved. And then Akk came along, and Ayan had another person to care about, and had someone that cared about him. Akk threw Ayan a life line when he was drowning in his own pain and sorrow, Ayan was constantly surprised by the fact that despite Akk’s antagonism towards him, Akk was also willing to step in to protect Ayan (interrupting Aye’s fight about uniforms with Teacher Waree to say he agreed with her). Eventually, Akk was able to care enough for Ayan, that Ayan was able to look around and see and care for other people over his own feelings. The biggest examples being telling his mother she wouldn’t lose him too, and offering Akk Dika’s necklace after he breaks the news to Akk about Dika’s suicide.

Ayan shouldered Akk’s pain and Akk shouldered Ayan’s, and Akk was allowed to be selfish and self-centered around Ayan and Ayan was allowed to care about Dika and care about Akk when he was around Akk.

Akk’s care for others harmed many people, The World Remembers especially and Ayan’s care for himself and the people he loves also harmed many people, The World Remembers especially. And all the hot takes I was seeing about why Thua is a bad person? Wrong. Sure Thua outed Akk and Ayan, but Ayan outed Thua first. But besides that Thua is the one to call out the fact that Ayan is being hypocritical, knowing that harm is being caused by Akk and allowing Akk to continue to hide away from taking responsibility because he cares about Akk’s feelings. This ultimately ends up hurting Akk further because of where and how the information is revealed.

—

Anyway, going back to Our Skyy 2, these perspectives are not something that Akk and Ayan are really able to change. Nor do we want them to. It is why they work as a couple and it is why the hug scene is so important.

Akk fundamentally is a person who will continue to value others above himself

Ayan is a person who will continue to value himself above others.

Individually these mentalities can cause harm to one another. As I previously mentioned, Akk not voicing his feelings about having his birthday forgotten and Ayan being too excited by the prospect of the surprise to really think critically about how bad Akk may actually be feeling. This strains their relationship.

But when they come together?

That’s where the magic happens. You need both a selfless and selfish perspective in life to find the proper balance. This extends politically as well, you have to consider both the needs of the collective and the needs of the individual.

Anyway, I know that @shortpplfedup has 5000 words coming about the hug so I will stop there. All this post really was was a way to say that Akk and Ayan are perfectly in character throughout the entirety of the show and their personal struggles are reflected in the very obvious messaging Golf gives us. Hopefully this was helpful in illuminating both the themes and how they related to consistent characterization of Suppalo’s Most Wanted, Akk and Ayan.

I loved the episodes and I will be watching them more than is a.) strictly necessary and b.) entirely healthy.

(tagging rest of clown server: @waitmyturtles, @lurkingshan, @ginnymoonbeam)

#the eclipse #the eclipse the series #our skyy 2 x the eclipse #our skyy 2 #firstkhao #akk x aye #akk x ayan #akkaye #akkayan #firstkhaotung #kan x thua

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lostinwildflowers · 1 year

Note

YO (idk if I can do two together like this but) number 17 from the gestures prompt matches SO WELL with the first line from the dialogue list ("Hold on, let me fix this for you." ) LIKE OMG. IMAGINE THAT WITH HAWKS. IM DEAD ALREADY.

Smudged

Keigo "Hawks" Takami x Reader

Summary: A dressed up night is unusual for you and Hawks, yet all you want to do is go home and relax together.

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: Suggestive themes but nothing NSFW, Hawks being a flirty shit, fluff<3

A/N: Just for my special Nem Nem! I've actually been on an MHA kick so this works in my favor. Enjoy some ~shmexy~ Hawks! -Birch<3

Prompts used:

1. "Hold on, let me fix this for you."

17. Standing still as your lover rubs smudged lipstick/lipstick stains off of your skin, catching them off guard by pressing a kiss against their fingertip.

Waiters and waitresses rushed by your table, platters of fine wines and cheese charcuterie boards bustling past. For one of the fanciest and highest-rated restaurants in Japan, you somehow felt uncomfortable.

Your husband, Keigo, sat across from you at your premier seating arrangement. Your view was gorgeous, you couldn't deny it.

It was a red brick rooftop overlooking the city below, with the sun setting across the skyscrapers, painting them in soft shades of lavender and baby blue just as the sun was sinking.

The city below you was alive, it was Friday night after all. Horns honked on the roadways below, everyone rushing around to meet up with friends or get home to watch the newest episode of their favorite show.

The best view was the one sitting across from you- Keigo. Leaning back in his chair, he seemed completely unbothered by the looks the two of you were getting.

It wasn't hard to see why he was the best sight around. His blonde curls were soft and smoothed out of his face, just a stray curl falling out of place to lay on his forehead.

His hair was longer than usual, but you didn't seem to mind. You preferred to run your fingers through the feathery pieces when they were longer, as it gave you a way to draw him close to you.

Keigo's skin was clear and ever so slightly dewy from the heat of the night, the bastard. Paired with his golden gaze and dark, thick lashes, he was glowing.

The part that seemed to have you bewitched was the white button-down covering his torso. It was a plain, white dress shirt, yes, but Keigo made it look like it should have been on a runway.

The sleeves were rolled up neatly to his elbows, showing off his strong and thick forearms. To fancy up his outfit, he even wore his newest watch, the silver glinting with the rays of the sun.

As if that wasn't enough, a few bands of silver covered his fingers, the rings enhancing the length and thickness of the digits, which you had to keep steering your mind away from.

Keigo seemed to be on a roll trying to distract you because in addition to his arms and hands looking inviting, the top two buttons were undone around his collar. His defined clavicle poked through, the necklace with your initial hanging around his neck making your heart flutter every time you looked at it.

To top it all off, well-fitting black slacks and dress shoes pulled the whole look together. And he had the audacity to sit across from you and not even realize he was a heaven-sent angel.

"Hey love," his voice rips you out of your trance, "I'm thinking I either want the grilled chicken salad or the pork shogayaki. What do you think?"

His eyes flash up to meet yours innocently, his golden gaze genuine as he gauged your reaction. He gets distracted looking at you though.

There you are, looking shy and uncomfortable, yet breathtakingly beautiful. Your hair was pinned up on your head, leaving your neck accessible to the air to stay cool.

Small bits and pieces of jewelry donned your ears, wrists, and neck, but nothing too flashy. Even though Keigo promised to take you to the fanciest place in Japan, you didn't feel like standing out.

A black dress was your first choice, the cut tight around your waist but flowed out around your hips, the fabric perfect for getting twirled around the dance floor.

Keigo's favorite part about your look? The deep burgundy lipstick that glimmered almost too much on your lips. They just looked so kissable, so bite-able, that he was completely distracted from ordering.

You look back at your husband, giving him an uncertain smile before mumbling, "Oh, that all sounds lovely, but..." You trail off as another set of waiters hustle by, and you scooch toward Keigo to avoid them.

His hand immediately comes up to rest on the back of your chair, his gaze following the wait staff to ensure none of them touched you by accident.

When the coast is clear and he turns back to you, your face still holds a hint of nervousness. He smiles at you softly and asks, "Spit it out, love."

You close your eyes and huff before picking up his golden gaze and murmuring, "I kind of just want to go home."

Before he can say anything, you wave your hands in front of you and protest, "And it's not because dinner isn't going to be good or I don't enjoy the view, or that I don't appreciate you bringing me to this really fancy-" "Y/n/n," he cuts you off.

He gives you a wide and cheeky grin as he replies, "Doll, I was waiting to see how long it took you to break." Your mouth falls open in shock as you playfully swat at him, but he chuckles and catches your failed attempt.

Instead, he clasps your wrist and hauls you to your feet, walking you around the tables to the edge of the restaurant. His wings poof out behind him, and he releases your hand to step up onto the edge of the roof.

Then, Keigo turns around to face you, well aware of the gazes of everyone around you glued to his spectacle. He grins wickedly before offering you his hand and stating, "My lady?"

You roll your eyes as you take his hand, and just like that, you are whisked off into the sunset. You can't help the laugh that falls from your lips as he wraps his arms around you, the wind tugging at your clothes and hair.

Keigo tries flying as smoothly as he can to get you home comfortably, but he also enjoys the time he can have you wrapped up in his arms without a care in the world.

The second you land on your specialized balcony after your short flight, he sets you down gently, wrapping his arms around your waist. Keigo gazes down at you softly and whispers, "I don't care if we go out to the fanciest place to eat or stay in and order KFC. I just want to see you smile and be happy."

Your hands come up to play with the hair at the base of his neck as you whisper back, "I am happy." He smiles at you gently, leaning in to kiss you before he freezes.

His sharp gaze manages to see a smudge of lipstick at the edge of your bottom lip. Must have bumped something on the flight home.

You pout as he pulls away from you, and it takes everything in him to not lean down and smash his lips against yours at the plushness of your lips. Keigo just chuckles and says, "Hold on baby, let me fix this for you."

Your body stills as one of his hands comes up to cup your cheek gently, his thumb swiping against your bottom lip to clear off the small red stain. Just before he can completely pull his hand away, you ever so slightly lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of his finger, painting it red.

You can feel his body pause against yours, and you giggle at the red suddenly dusting Keigo's cheeks. "Good to know I still have that effect on you after all these years," you joke, tightening your grip on his hair.

"Oh love, you have that effect on me every day. And in this dress?" He whistles at the end of his sentence, his gaze flickering up and down to take in your appearance. Keigo's words are flirty, yes, but his eyes are full of love as he leans into you, gently nuzzling your nose against his own.

"Keigo Takami, are you just trying to get in my pants?"

"Y/n Takami, are you always this enchanting?"

"C'mon bird brain, show me how you'd like to clean up this lipstick."

"I can think of a few different positions~"

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sardonic-the-writer · 1 year

Text

—tangy

SUMMARY | this was supposed to be a simple, relaxing mission. all of that had been thrown out the train window as soon as you saw idiot one and idiot two

PAIRING | tangerine x reader

REQUESTED | no

WARNINGS | spoilers for bullet train, hit men, mentions of murder, guns, ect

WORD COUNT | 1.7k+

AUTHORS NOTE | fell in love with tangerine while watching bullet train. what more is there to it

🍊 MASTERLIST 🍊 NAVIGATION 🍊 RULES 🍊

Confined spaces certainly makes the job easier for you.

You were able to observe everyone simultaneously. Being everywhere all at once. Sitting idily in a corner inconspicuously, sipping on a drink while pretending to read a newspaper. All the while watching as people fidgit with their fingers and mingle amongst nearby passengers. Keeping tabs on who leaves and who enters and how many times they do it.

In fact that's all you had been planning on doing for the next twenty four hours. Enjoying the ambiance of the lovely modern train as you waited for your mark. Probably opting on getting up to lure the target into a bathroom stall, slitting their throat once the lock had been clicked. An easy job by definition, especially for you. Practically a vacation handed to you on a silver platter.

That's why you almost choked on your fizzy drink when they walked in.

You'd never forgot a face. Not once. That's part of the reason you made for such a good hit man. Show you someone's high school picture once, and you'd be able to pick them out in a crowd forty years after it had been taken. And when I say pick them out, I mean with a gun. Preferably from a rooftop. Probably from a rooftop.

So you recognized the leather jacket and blue suit almost immediately. After all how could you forget. Your annoyance for them had been all but solidified in concrete the moment the loud one had shot your leg in Russia, his twin just watching. That cast was a bitch to lug around for half a year, and everytime it thumped against the staricase in your house you cursed the both of them.

Suppressing a groan, your eyes cautiously watched from behind the pages of a comically large larg magazine as Lemon and Tangerine walked down the isle of the train compartment together, facing each other while bickering quite loudly. Or at least doing what you assumed was to be bickering. Knowing them, they probably just used that many curse words in a casual conversation anyway.

"I've told you a thousan' times, bruv." You listed to Lemon slur his words with that thick accent of his, practically spitting fire at his twin. "It's Thomas The Tank Engine. Not Thomas the Train. Get that in ya thick skull."

"Oh well, ex-fucking-scuze me. I didn' know I'd be gettin schooled on a fuckin kids show today, twat." Tangerines eyeroll was all but audible in response. He ignored as fellow passengers swapped offended looks with each other at their language. You'd imagine he'd be flipping them off if he wasn't so busy basically biting his brothers head off.

They were nearly past your booth now and out of the train car, your fingers tightening around the reading material in front of you in anticipation. For a moment you thanked whoever had given the both of them such long legs and speedy strides, happy as long as they were out of sight. Didn't matter that they would still be on the train. As long as they didn't see you, all was well.

So of course they would choose that moment to stop right in front of your fucking seat. The urge to stand up and kick them both in their asses was only increasing. Not that it wasn't already high up there in the first place.

"I don't give a bloody damn when ya smart ass people half the time you bastard. Here me complanin? Nope." Lemon popped the p at the last word, pointing a finger at his companions chest. "But no one, and I mean no one ya cheeky fuck, bad mouths Thomas in front of me."

"Right. And what you gonna do about it, fruit boy. Stick a diesel sticker on me when I ain't lookin?"

"I just might. An don't call me fruit boy. You're the one who came up with those names in the first place 'member?"

Your muscled tensed up in preparation when Tangerine suddenly whipped around to you, dragging Lemons attention along with him. The cool metal of your gun brushed against your fingertips as you slowly reached under the trains table for where it was hidden. Maybe this time you'd have an excuse to shoot them in the legs. Send them a hallmark card in the hospital afterwards. Something cheep and tacky. You were petty like that.

"Hey, mate, mind reminding my buddy here tha' grown ass adults don't watch the cartoon channel and he's due for a visit to the loony bin?"

You just glared at him and his stupid fucking 90's porn stache, frown deepening as you watched recognization well up in his eyes.

"Hang on." Your hand twitched with the urge to rip his tounge out of his mouth as it ran across his bottom lip. "I know you—"

"Oh for fucks sake."

You hopped up, abandoning your cozy little corner in turn for dragging him by the lapel of his now wrinkled suit into the connecting cabin of the train cars. You imagined that if they hadn't been so surprised by an innocent looking samaritan dragging their asses along, you would be sporting two new holes in the side of your head.

"One job! I had one job and the two of you had to muck it all up!" Words hissed out of your mouth like steam from a gas can as you dropped your grip on Tangerine and turned away from him, revealing your own gun nonchalantly. They were both quick to draw their own, stances stiff and confused in contrast to your loose but annoyed one.

"Ay I recognize you now." Lemon looked over at Tangerine, gesturing his gun to you loosely. "Russia. A broken leg. James the train, 'member?"

"Would you stop it with the Thomas the train shit for one fffuckin moment?" He hissed back. "Yeah I remember 'em. But that dosent explain what the hell their doin on this train now does it?"

"Nothing that concerns you." You saved them the trouble of yet another fighting match. "And wait, James the train?"

"Yeah." Lemons eyes brightened slightly while looking at you. As if happy someone was asking him about his interest in the train show without attempting to shit on it. "A James. Impatient but gets shit done. Kinda determined too."

You blinked.

"Okay now I like him." You turned your gun over to Tangerine completely now, the man's eyes widening as he sputtered slightly.

"What?!"

You shrugged with an unbothered and downward turn of your lips. "He complimented me. Plus he wasn't the one who shot me in the leg."

"Come-fucken-on that was not a fucken compliment!!"

"I dunno bruv." Lemon shrugged, mirroring your earlier action. "It kinda was."

"Yeah, alright I definitely like you now."

"Oh come off it you bitch! Help me out here or I'll fuckin kill you before they shoot me!" Tangerine spat. You listened as Lemon snickered.

"Hey. I'm good at readin people wha' can I say. And they certainly aren't lookin to shoot any of us right now. That's not a very Jamss thing of them ta do." You sent Lemon a kind thank you—to which he returned it with a your welcome. Tangerine was left alone to seethe in anger.

"Stop that before you blow a gasket." You made a face, referring to the way Tangerines jaw clenched as if he were attempting to chew glass. "Your brother here, Lemon, is right. I don't really feel like carrying your lifeless body across this train right now. I just want to get my damn job done and then go see a cherry tree grove or something."

He grumbled whilst Lemon preened at your recognization of his correct assumption.

"Besides. I'd hate to shoot you in the face and ruin your best asset. Would really ruin my day more than it already has been." A loose sigh made it past your lips. "Fucking up shit is more your style anyways."

You could tell Tangerine was struggling with being of the receiving end of such a blatant compliment and insult on the same time—practically picking through his brain for a measurable response. Either way he was about to run his mouth, and you'd wasted enough time on the job already.

"If I see either of you pass by through my train car again, it better just be that: passing through. Anything else and I am not afraid to end up leaving a few people with ringing ears. Capishe?" The gun in your hands was nodded at strictly, the not so hidden threat being left out in the open for all to interpret.

"Loud and clear mate." Lemon grinned.

"Good. Now scram."

"Hold on love—"

"Call me love again, and I rip that mustache off and shove it straight up that ass of yours. Now ta-ra, or whatever pricks like you say." You were already leaving, so sadly you didn't get to see the look on Tangerines face as you walked off, really just wanting to finish that drink you'd left behind now. Although you wouldn't complain if you were to find something a bit stronger than soda. Especially after that.

The twins waited until you were out of the connecting room before either of them went to speak.

"You know." Lemon clamped a hand down on Tangerines arm with a toothy grin. "If I didn' know any better bruv, I would say tha' you have a thing for them. Not everyday you get a compliment on your ugly mug."

"Must have hit your head boarding. And get ya fucken greasy bitch ass hand off me." He snarled, swatting his brothers hand off his shoulder. "They just threatened to kill me for fucks sake. And I them!"

"I dunno. They seemed like they're a little partial to oranges themself."

"It's tangerines idiot! Tangerines!"

"Whatever. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

#tangerine x reader #tangerine #bullet train #bullet train x reader #tangerine x you #tangerine x y/n #bullet train x you #bullet train x y/n #fanfic #x reader #one shot #bullet train tangerine #assassin!reader #tangerine fanfiction #bullet train fanfic

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ultraintrovertedgryffindor · 1 year

Text

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 - Aemond Targaryen

FINE. FINE. Fuck sake, fine. Jeezus christ, y'all are like rabid dogs😂 Alright, this is the only time I'll give in to peer pressure lmao. I tried to make this just as fucked up as the last one so here ya go. Please mind the warnings.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), NONCON, Dark!Aemond, incest, painful loss of virginity, sadism, humiliation, breeding kink, violence, slapping, choking, bad bad Aemond

word count | 3.2K🤙🏻

part one | part three

Pain; the first feeling you felt when you woke up. And wind, strong wind. The smell of rain...and dragon.

Your vision was hazy, the left side completely black, void, empty. You could barely see your surroundings. You could sense the clouds passing by, flying through them. You could see a large wingspan on a dragon, so it certainly wasn't yours. What was going on?

Then you heard him, his laugh, and it all came flooding back to you so hard a migraine shot through your skull. You groaned, attempting to reach your hand to your head, only to find it restrained. You tried to speak, but you were quickly shushed. "It's okay, niece, we're almost home." Home...Dragonstone? But before you could ask, you blacked out once again.

Aemond couldn't wait to get you all to himself. After your lovely performance at Storm's End, he decided he couldn't restrain himself any longer. Ever since seeing how you grew up into a fine lady, he decided he had to have you.

Before he would've killed you without hesitation, you were just a bastard after all, would be of little consequence. But he always wanted that moment to be special, in battle perhaps? He thought over and over how he'd do it. He would take both your eyes first, cutting off your head and presenting it to his family on a silver platter, and making your eyes into gifts for his mother. But now, he had much greater plans for you. All that was left was for you to finally wake up.

Aemond perked up immediately after hearing you stir in your sleep, the size of his bed making you look almost as small as a child. Though you, you had no recollection of how you managed to be where you were. It wasn't your bed, your room, it didn't even look like anywhere in Dragonstone. The smell was entirely different as well, you couldn't smell the sea anymore. That pain in your skull was still there, it hadn't dimmed since when you felt it. You wondered if it would ever go away.

The room was warm, a lit fireplace coating the area with orange and yellow hues, only accentuating the already golden walls. Then you finally recognized it, that faint metallic smell mixed with wine and musk. You were in King's Landing.

You tried to sit up in the bed you were in, only for a sharp piercing pain to shoot through your entire body and force you to lay still. The throbbing in your head was almost unbearable, you could hear the thumping in your ears, so loud you almost didn't notice the sound of a chair moving closer to you.

Tears came to your eye as soon as you saw your uncle sitting across from you, a smug smirk on his face as he looked over your weak form. "The worst of it only lasts for about three days. The pain started to dull after that."

You frowned, your throat tightening and trying to keep in a sob threatening to escape. "I did what you wanted, uncle. I gave you an eye. I paid my debt, so why am I here?"

Aemond chuckled darkly. "Yes. Yes, you did. But you owed that debt ever since you took your blade to my eye all those years ago, that was just between us. We're at war now, who would I be if I just allowed a traitor to try and take my brother's throne? You're lucky my brother, the King, didn't execute you as soon as I brought you here. It's what you would've deserved."

You felt an all consuming anger fill you, if you had the strength you would have taken your uncle's remaining eye. "I'm not the one who's a traitor. Prince Aegon is the one who usurped the throne. My mother, the Queen, will have each and every one of your family's heads for this treachery."

"Hmm." He smiled. "We shall see. Until then, you remain our hostage. Let's see how much your mother cares about you more than the throne."

A week. It had been a week of playing hostage for the Greens, no sign of your mother coming to rescue you. No sign of hope. You really should've just left Storm's End as soon as you saw that Aemond was there too, now you were at his mercy. You were treated as though he had brought a stray home, only able to keep it if he was the one to take care of it. It was dehumanizing, you just hoped your dragon was treated better than you.

You could never get a read on Aemond, not even when he was a child. You felt like you were chained to a rabid animal, not knowing if or when he was going to lash out. You felt his anger just beneath the surface of his otherwise calm and collected exterior, only seeing glimpses of what you could be exposed to whenever you talked back to him disrespectfully, his eye lighting up with malice and eagerness that he never expressed but it always chilled you to the bone to see it. It was the same look he gave you when you allowed him to take your eye, a dangerous playfulness that you would never want to explore.

One silver lining was that your uncle was right, the pain from your lost eye dimmed slightly. There were now times in your day when you felt like you wouldn't throw up from the pain anymore. You had your own living quarters, albeit with a many number of locks and bars on the door so you wouldn't escape, like you even could in your state.

It was always a roulette game whenever it came to if Aemond would visit you or not. If not the servants, he would be the one to bring you food. Sometimes he'd just show up unannounced and you were left wondering if it was finally time to die at his hands. You were constantly on edge, almost wishing you could go ahead and die already. Put an end to your suffering and your mother's hesitance on what she should do about you. You just wanted some pin to drop, you hated waiting and wondering what would happen, hated being afraid.

If you appreciated irony in awful situations, you would've thought the gods finally answered your prayers. It was night and you were restless, looking out at King's Landing on your balcony. You longed for your home, you missed your brothers, you missed your mother, you missed riding your dragon. You could faintly hear the calls of your dragon all the way from the Dragonpit, sad mewls that told you he felt the same.

"My brother says if your dragon doesn't quiet down he'll cut off his head and serve it to you."

You scowled as you heard Aemond's voice from behind you, the wind flowing through the tower not able to ever give you chills the way his voice managed to. "Then he'd be a dragon slayer as well as a usurper." You snarked, your knuckles turning pale as you gripped the balcony ledge tightly.

Your body froze as you suddenly felt warmth from behind you, trying to not let a shudder run through you as you felt Aemond's breath on your neck. "You surely are disrespectful for someone who's supposed to be our hostage." He voiced lowly, his tone making you dig your nails into your palms.

"I believe I have every right to be disrespectful to the cunts who kidnapped me." You smirked briefly as you thought how Daemon would be proud of you for saying that, but that smirk quickly got wiped off your face as your uncle turned you around harshly to force you to face him.

"Do you have a death wish, girl?" He seethed, one of his hands coming to gently grip your throat.

"Yes, kill me, uncle. That's what you've always wanted, right? My eye wasn't enough for you, was it? So, do it. Throw me off this tower, feed me to Vhagar, whatever you want. Just let me go. Let the war wage on so my family can kill yours." You spat in his face, just below his remaining eye.

He slowly wiped away the spit, his lips upturned in a sneer, staring down at you like he was actually considering it. You were almost shocked he didn't kill you right then and there, but what did was when he swiftly leaned forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You instantly pushed him away and landed a punch to his jaw, causing him to stumble back with a dark smirk. "No, I wouldn't kill you. Not yet, not until I've had my fun with you."

You didn't understand his meaning, thinking you must've knocked the sense out of hum, until he grabbed you roughly by your wrists, dragging you inside and throwing you on your bed. You tried to scurry away, but he grabbed your leg and yanked you back to him. "No, Aemond, stop-!" You shouted angrily, trying to kick at him, but he was too strong to get away from.

He chuckled, only amused by your resistance. "I've waited so long, I've been patient. Well, I'm finally exhausted of this game, dear niece. I'm going to fuck you, maybe you'll learn to respect me, respect all of us after I'm done with you."

Your eyes widened, your fight or flight instinct kicking in. You tried to flee, but that didn't work, so now you had to fight.

Aemond let out a pained grunt as you kicked him as hard as you could in his stomach, allowing a gap long enough to run to your doors, only to find them locked. "Help!" You screeched as you pound your fists on the wood, hoping and praying that someone would hear you. You screamed as Aemond grabbed you, dragging you back to your bed.

"Okay, that's enough of that." He spoke emotionlessly. You kept trying to fight him, only stopping when you suddenly felt a sharp pain shoot through your skull. He had slapped you, on your left side where your wound was still healing. It made everything turn dark for a brief moment, the ringing in your ears so loud you couldn't hear anything.

The world around you was blurry, the ringing subsiding enough that you could hear the fabric of your nightgown ripping down the center, exposing you to your uncle's view. You watched helplessly as he started to shed his clothing eagerly, his eye memorizing every curve and detail on your body. You started to cry as his cock sprung out of the confines of his trousers, the size only scaring you into thinking that it was going to split you in half. "Aemond...uncle, please." You begged, closing your legs as tightly as you could and covering your chest with your arms.

Aemond only smiled, easily kicking your legs apart and situating himself between them.

"Please, don't. I've never been with anyone, please."

"Oh, I know it, sweet niece. That's why I want to do this now, while you're still pure. Aegon has made his jokes about being the one to take your maidenhead, but I just couldn't have that. You're mine to claim, only mine." You gagged as he thrust his fingers into your mouth, trying to turn your head away. "Spit. Do it, or do you want your first time to be as painful as possible?" You finally relented, coating his fingers with your saliva, watching him bring it down to lube up his cock and your cunt, letting out a whimper as he lined himself up with your entrance.

You let out a loud sob as Aemond pushed into you, filling you to the hilt. The stretch was so painful, you felt like you were going to die. You couldn't imagine why anyone would enjoy something like this. "It hurts, Aemond." You whimpered, trying to push him off you but he wouldn't budge, his cock stayed firmly settled inside you and you wondered if the pain would ever go away.

Aemond let out a groan as your walls clenched around him, watching with an amused smirk as you so desperately tried to expel the painful intrusion. "So tight. You feel better than I could've possibly imagined, sweet niece." You cried out once again as Aemond started to move, pulling back out just to ram himself back in again. You whined out his name, but that only seemed to spur him on further. "This will go a lot easier if you just give in." He took your arms and pinned them into the bed on either side of your head, showing no semblance of mercy as he started to thrust into you.

"Uncle, stop-!" You sobbed, trying to thrash about and fight him as much as you could, feeling your tears fall on one side of your face as the ache in your core reverberated throughout your whole body, a migraine in your head making no sign that it would go away soon.

You flinched as you felt Aemond's warm, wet tongue lick up the side of your face, capturing your tears with a satisfied him. "Are those tears of pleasure or pain, sweetling?" He chuckled sadistically.

"Fuck you!" You screamed, headbutting him and immediately coming to regret it as more pain shot through your head, your vision going blotchy and dark again. Then you kept feeling shocks of pain, again and again as Aemond slapped you, until you felt hot thick liquid travel down the left side of your face. Your bandages were removed and you could feel Aemond's breath on your throbbing wound. You cried loudly as you felt his fingers run around your empty socket, the pain unbearable.

"Why must you make this so difficult for yourself, hm?" Aemond then brought his fingers to your mouth, forcing you to taste the coppery substance as he fucked into you harder, the sounds of your cries and his moans filling the room. "Gods, your cunt feels so heavenly. I never should've waited this long, wouldn't you agree?" He asked, knowing he'd never get an answer.

You were so out of it, the pain subsided slightly only for you to wish you could only feel the pain as you started to cry out from pleasure. You didn't want to feel good, you didn't want to give your uncle the satisfaction, but your body was betraying you. You no longer felt the pain of the stretch in your cunt, you now only felt how Aemond's cockhead kept hitting a place inside you that made your toes curl and your back arch.

Soon enough, the room started to be filled with the sounds of your intimate union. Wet, slapping sounds coming from where Aemond's cock met your cunt, your slick starting to coat your inner thighs and his pelvis. "So wet, dear niece? I always knew you were a whore just like your traitorous mother. Fucks, feels so good." He moaned, leaning down to kiss up your jaw, trailing over every bit of skin until he reached your wound. "Perhaps, if you survive this whole ordeal, we can get you a jewel to replace your eye? Whatever you desire; although, I would prefer to see you with a sapphire."

Just the thought of being forced to match your uncle made you cringe. You never wanted to be anything like him, but it was already too late for that.

The lewd sounds that your body was making, along with Aemond's deep groans made shocks of pleasure shoot through you, much more agreeable than the pain you had only been feeling up to this point. It frightened you how it just kept building and building, like you would explode if it never stopped. But you didn't want it to end, you wanted to chase that feeling to see where it led. You threw your head back against the mattress as Aemond started to lick and nip at your nipples, hardening from the pleasure of his cock. "Finally enjoying yourself, sweet niece?" He growled, biting the skin at the juncture of your neck roughly, causing you to wince but it oddly enough made the pleasure that much more intense.

"Please..." You begged, but you didn't know for what. You wanted him to stop, but you needed him to keep going. "Oh, gods." You moaned, writhing beneath him as he started to play with your clit, soon feeling an overwhelming euphoria wash over you, making you completely forget about the pain.

"Come on, princess. Let go for me." Aemond urged, pinching your clit and thrusting into you as hard as he could until you were spasming beneath him, your legs shaking and high pitched whines escaping your lips. "That's it, that's it." He cooed, kissing all over your face until you came down from your high. "See? All you had to do was relax, don't you feel so much better?" He smiled softly.

Your tears of embarrassment and shame kept rolling down your face as Aemond continued to chase his own high, sitting up on his knees and digging his fingers into your love handles for purchase. If you weren't so pissed off, you would have thought he looked angelic with his silvery hair sticking to his face and his body shining with sweat, but you knew better. He was no angel. He was a dragon, and dragons always took what they wanted with no care or concern for others. You were just another one of his conquests.

He kept using and using you, violently chasing his own peak of pleasure until you were whining with overstimulation. "Fuck, I'm gonna come soon. You want my cum, bastard?" He growled. "Want me to sire you a bastard as well?" He chuckled darkly as you shook your head weakly. "If you think this is the only time I'll be fucking this sweet cunt, you'd be sorely mistaken, niece. I'm going to keep you in this bed, all day and all night. You're going to be swollen with my child eventually, that or you're barren. But we can't have that, can we? Your whore mother might be okay with having bastards, damaging the Targaryen name, but I'm not. I'll have my mother agree to marry us. Maybe that will stop this tedious war on both sides."

You did not like the sound of that. No matter how out of it you were, you'd never agree to marry your sadistic uncle. But he talked like it wasn't up for discussion. "Stop, please." You whined, limp in his arms and unable to fight anymore.

Aemond growled, leaning down to wrap one of his hands around your throat, squeezing until your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you could feel your hammering pulse against his skin. "Mine. All mine." He groaned as his cock twitched inside you, his thrusts becoming uncoordinated and erratic until he suddenly stilled. An uncharacteristic whimpery moan escaped his lips as his seed filled you, his face contorting in an expression of pure bliss that made your insides clench despite yourself.

You finally felt like you could catch your breath as Aemond pulled out, flopping down beside you elegantly, a content smirk on his lips as he glanced at your numb, tearstained face. "Don't warry, niece, it only gets better from here. I suggest you learn to accept it, because I am never—never letting you go."

tumblr is being fucky, let me know if the text looks weird please

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen imagine

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nightghoul381 · 6 months

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I just read this fanfic of yours and my heart hurts😭

https://www.tumblr.com/nightghoul381/724578415945089024/hello-i-hope-you-are-doing-well-can-i-please?source=share

Is there a possibility you could make a part 2 where they notice what they did wrong except for victor since he kind of comforted them

I'm more than happy to show their softer sweet side!! (I let Victor have another turn because knowing him, the gentleness at the end of the last one would not be enough of an apology/comfort)

You can read the original post here

Prompt: Comforting words to Kate Genre: Fluff

Harrison:

The downcast expression on Kate’s face these past few days had eaten away at him and he knew that if he saw her again, looking at him from under those tear-soaked lashes, he’d be a goner.

He had just been trying to protect her. She didn’t belong here, among all of these cursed men. She just needed to keep her head down and get through the month and she’d be granted the freedom denied to so many others who had discovered Crown’s secret.

There were just a couple of weeks left. Just a couple of weeks and she could be free to move on. But now he felt the anxiety clawing at his chest as she met his gaze briefly in the hall that night.

His mind had gone blank… How was he supposed to ignore her when she looked so absolutely crest-fallen. Before he had even realized what he was doing, he had reached out and grabbed her hand, prompting her to turn and look at him in confusion.

“I’m…sorry.”

Kate’s eyes flashed in disbelief. Was he telling the truth? Was he lying? Kate wasn’t sure but she nodded anyway, withdrawing her hand and sighing.

“I forgive you.”

The statement is short and brief, but Harrison feels so much relief as she says them. She forgives him. She truly forgives him. But the look on her face is still reserved and unsure, can she really trust him?

Harrison runs his hand over the back of his neck and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Can we start over? I shouldn’t have treated you the way I have… I just… I don’t want you to end up getting attached to this place, to Crown. Nothing good will come of it. But I can’t stand seeing you like that, so… Hi, I’m Harrison Gray.”

Jude:

The criminals holed up in this abandoned factory were involved in human trafficking. Kate had no business tagging along. It was like throwing a piece of meat in front of a pack of starving wolves, of course they’re gonna try and snap her up.

Did she not see the damn guys following behind them? It’s like she was asking to get grabbed. She was too naïve for this mission, hell she was too naïve to be involved with Crown at all. But she’s here and Jude had no choice but to keep her safe. She was a walking disaster, but it’s not like he was about to let her just serve herself on a silver platter to these bastards.

“Ya good?” Jude sighed, drawing to a stop and glancing over his shoulder.

“Why do you care?” Kate snapped, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at him.

“D’ya know why we’re here?” Jude huffed.

“I’m here to observe how you and the others handle the mission and report back to Victor.”

“The mission, princess, is to flush out the human trafficking ring that’s been hiding out here. A damn poor choice for a naïve child like you to be thrown on. Yer like an easy meal for these guys, that’s why ya gotta keep yer mouth shut. I ain’t lookin’ to let you get yourself kidnapped and sold off.”

Kate’s eyes widened in shock. Of course, she hadn’t bothered to actually figure out what she was getting herself into… hopefully she’d be more careful next time.

Victor:

“Darling Kate, I wanted to address my behavior from earlier tonight. Would you have some time to talk?”

Victor stood outside her door, listening intently for any sign that she would be coming to the door. The clacking of the typewriter keys stops suddenly and the sound of the metal doorknob turning gave Victor a rush of relief.

“Victor… um, there’s really no need. You told my why you were upset and you had every right to. I was being foolish and should have known better,” Kate muttered, her head dropping in shame.

A jovial chuckle rumbles in Victor’s chest and Kate lifts her head slightly to see if she is actually hearing correctly.

“My dear girl, I came to apologize, not to come up with excuses for my behavior. The way I reacted was unacceptable and certainly would have been no help in comforting you after such an experience. I should have tempered my own emotions before speaking to you, I am relieved you’re alright, truly.”

Victor looked down at Kate with a gentle smile and her eyes softened, her own lips twitching upward slightly.

“Thank you, Victor. I appreciate you coming all this way to apologize. I, um…” Kate awkwardly wraps her arms around him in a brief hug.

“I really am thankful to you,” she sighs, “and I’m sorry myself for acting so rashly after you had already spoken to me about the potential dangers.”

Victor lifted one of his hands and patted her on the top of her head, his normal bright grin on his face.

“I believe we’ve both learned from this experience, so there’s nothing to apologize for. Now then, I have a platter of fresh croissants in the kitchen if you’d care to join me for some?”

William:

“Kate.”

William had pulled Kate into a dark alleyway while they were out on a mission. His vivid red eyes searched her face; a face devoid of emotion.

“What do you need William,” Kate sighed, her expression never changing. William didn’t realize at first just how painful it would be to not see how her eyes would light up when she saw him, how her face would grow red when he was in close proximity.

“I feel like we should discuss what happened the other evening,” William murmured, trying to close the distance between them only for Kate to take an equal step backward.

“What is there to discuss. You’ve made it perfectly clear that I mean nothing to you. I don’t need you to try to patch things up, there’s nothing to patch.” Kate’s voice was low, monotone, and William’s mouth grew dry at the finality of her words.

“I… I spoke out of line that night, Kate,” William whispered.

“I thought I could protect you if I denied my own desires and pushed you away, but I’ve only hurt you far more than I ever imagined. Kate, I am deeply sorry for how I’ve hurt you. I was a fool to think that pushing you away would lead to anything but heartbreak for the both of us.”

Kate’s face finally showed the slightest change in expression, a faint confusion creasing her brow and her eyes narrowing slightly.

“…Both of us?” she finally asked, her voice hinting at the way her mind had begun to pull back the lid she’d put on her emotions.

“Kate. If you believe anything I say, believe this. I too have fallen completely in love with you. I want nothing more than to take you can keep you, to have you hold me in your arms and you in mine. I just fear that in then end it will end up hurting you far more than I can take. But I cannot deprive you of your truest desires, nor myself of mine, even if in the end it leads to nothing but pain.”

William took another step forward, his hands reaching out to grab Kate’s, who willingly let him take them,

“Would you grant me my desire, and allow me to show you the love I feel. I am just as much yours as you said you were mine. My heart belongs to you, Kate.”

Kate’s eyes began to water, “this isn’t a dream?” she whispered, her grip tightening.

William smiled gently, closing the last bit of distance.

“Not a dream, little robin. If you still want me, I’m yours.”

Taglist: @judejazza @aquagirl1978, @themiscarnival @abundance-pathchooser @xbalayage @maries-gallery @randonauticrap also tagging @lemeowade since you requested the original fic ^w^

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikemen villains jude #ikemen villains william #ikemen villains harrison #ikemen villains victor #ikevil william #ikevil harrison #ikevil jude #ikevil victor #ikemen villains fanfiction

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