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rose-pearls · 4 months

Note

Ciao potresti fare Luke castellan x fem reader dove il lettore fa ingelosire Luke ? Grazie !

Hi! I loved this request so here it is! Hopefully you like it :))

I am also thinking of writing for Clarisse so if you have any request you can always send them!

Request: a Luke x reader where the reader makes Luke jealous

Main taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187, @nyx2021, @thestarspangledcaptain, @kmc1989 (open for every fandom)

The Camp had been plain chaos in the last few days, the reason for that was capture the flag. The infamous game had taken place yesterday and the blue team had once again won, with Annabeth as your leader. The girl was smart, but you also had the best swordman on her team.

Luke Castellan. You had fallen for the boy the moment you met him, but he never seemed to reciprocate the feelings. He was handsome, everyone with eyes could see that but he was also kind and sweet. He had helped you a lot when you arrived, feeling lost until your mother, Athena claimed you. After being claimed the two of you still talked a little bit but not as much.

“Oh, Luke you are so funny.”, you hear Claire say as she starts to giggle and curling a whisp of hair around her finger. The boy soaks up the attention of course, smirking back at her.

“I can see you glaring at her, maybe try to be more subtle,” you hear Annie say, making you look at her and let out a groan.

“I know, I really am an idiot, right? To believe that something could happen with him,” the younger girl looks conflicted at your words, but you shake your head.

“There you two are, I have been looking for you everywhere,” Percy says as he drops on the seat next to Annabeth, making the two of you looking at him with wide eyes.

“We are literally at a table in the middle of the camp, how hard can it be to find us?”, Annie asks him, and you can’t help but laugh quietly as the two of them start to bicker again, they really were like an old married couple.

You hear the same annoying giggle once again and try not to smash your potatoes even harder, but the jealousy seems to be reaching a boiling point. It was stupid to feel like this, particularly when nothing had happened between you and the Hermes boy. The girl was also a daughter from Aphrodite, she was stunning.

The clearing of a throat makes you look up and you find Annie and Percy looking at you with equally worried gazes.

“What?”, you can’t help but ask, feeling self-conscious at the stares.

“I think that you just mashed these potatoes even more then I thought was possible,” Annie says, and you look at your previously mashed potatoes who were now looking a bit liquid.

“Remind me to never be on your bad side,” Percy says, and you shake your head in response, a sigh leaving your lips.

“Sorry, I just had something on my mind,” you tell them, hoping that the two of them would drop the subject but you were in front of Annie and Percy, so it wasn’t going to happen.

“Is that something, the blond Aphrodite daughter hanging off Luke’s arm?”, Percy asks, and Annabeth slaps him with a glare making him look at her with wide eyes.

“It is. Don’t get me wrong I’m sure she is a great girl but yes, it is them on my mind and her giggling every five seconds,” you tell them, making the two of them looking at you in sympathy.

“Why don’t you make him jealous?”, Percy asks, and both Annabeth and you turn to look at the boy with wide eyes.

“Wait what?”, you can’t help but ask, waiting for some more explanation.

“It doesn’t seem like Luke is really interested in the conversation they are having, but every time he sees you turn around, he flashes her a dazzling smile. So, play his game and show him that you can also flirt with other people,” Annabeth looks unhappy with Percy’s answer, but you can’t help but think it through, maybe it would show you if he could possibly be interested or not.

“You’re right,” you say suddenly, cutting off the two.

“Wait what?”

“Really?”, Percy can’t help but ask before a proud smile appears on his lips, making Annie scoff.

“You can’t really be entertaining his stupid idea!”, you say but you shrug your shoulders.

“I need to know if he is interested or not, otherwise I’ll turn crazy. This way I know and if he isn’t I can move on,” you tell her calmly while she looks at you with wide eyes.

“I can’t believe you are doing this,” she says, and you roll your eyes at her words.

“We can’t all have a Percy looking at us with puppy dog eyes,” you tell her with a wink, while the boy seems to wake up from his gazing, a scarlet brush coating his cheeks.

“Now, the only thing I need to find is the person to make Luke jealous with,” Annabeth sighs but a playful smirk is playing on her lips.

“I know one person that will drive him mad,” this makes both Percy, and you turn to look at her.

“Who?”, Percy and you ask at the same time.

“Max, from the Apollo cabin. They arrived at the same time and there has always been some kind of rivalry between the two of them,” the whispers as the three of you are huddled together to prevent someone overhearing.

“Wait, isn’t that the guy who nearly beat Luke with the sword?”, Percy asks, and you try to remember the last time there was a contest.

“Keyword, nearly,” Annabeth says, still Luke’s number one supporter.

“That is perfect!”, you say and the two of them look at you with suspicious eyes.

“What do you mean?”, Percy asks after a moment.

“I’m going to ask Max for some pointers on my sword fighting, that way I can get close to him for a reason, and it is also something that will get Luke’s attention.”

“He will go crazy seeing Max giving you some directions,” Annabeth says, looking unsure but there is a sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

“Alright team let’s get this quest on the road,” Percy says excitedly, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Now you are going to Max and the both of us will make sure that Luke is watching!”, Percy tells you as he starts pushing you off your seat.

“Good luck!”, Annie yells and you glare at her as a few campers look at you.

You try to nervously put your shirt right and your hair a bit better before telling yourself that this was ridiculous and just marching towards Max.

“Max, hi,” the boy turns to look at you, he looks surprised but then again you never really talked.

“Hi, what brings you here?”, he asks kindly, and you let out a nervous laugh.

“You are probably going to think that I am crazy, but I need some tips on sword fighting? I’m not really the best with the sword and capture the flag is in a few weeks.”, you tell him, feeling suddenly incredible stupid.

The boy seems unsure for a moment before a charming smile comes up.

“Of course, I’ll try to help you in the best way I can. Although I must say I’m surprised that you didn’t asked Luke for some pointers,” you knew he was going to ask this, after all you had never really interacted with him.

“Well, he is quite busy, you know knew kids coming in, the Hermes cabin and then Claire,” you say and Max nods in understanding.

“Lucky for you I have all afternoon,” he says, suddenly closer than he had been before, making you look up into his dazzling blue eyes.

“Here’s your sword,” he whispers, and you clear your throat before taking it.

“Thank you!”, you say, trying to keep your voice normal but it comes out a little squeaky.

“This is even better than a movie,” Percy says while Groover nods in agreement.

“Athena girl has enough of the Hermes boy flirting with other girls, so she goes and take a chance on an Apollo boy. Will the Hermes boy realize what he is losing, or will she end up with the Apollo boy?”, Groover whispers and Percy snorts at the words, while Annabeth shakes her head, a smile on her lips.

“Well looks like we won’t have to wait too long how that will end.”, she says as she sees Luke marching, or stomping, towards the two teenagers who had been talking. She had seen Luke looking at her half-sister for some time now but as Max put his hands on her waist to put her in position it seemed too much for Luke.

“And there goes the Hermes boy!”, Percy whispers, the three of them looking with avid attention.

“What in the Gods name are you three watching like a television show? And is that popcorn?”, Clarisse says, for once not looking like she wants to murder them.

“We are watching that show,” Groover says while pointing at Luke arriving towards the two others.

“Oh shit, this is going to be good. Move your little asses I want front row to Max getting his ass beaten,” Clarisse says with a smirk, but not before stealing some popcorn.

“It is getting heated,” Annabeth says, feeling unsure for once at the decision she made of letting you go towards the Apollo boy.

“Luke tries to push him but no of course she gets between them.”, Clarisse says, looking disappointed that the Hermes boy hadn’t slapped the Apollo kid.

Max tries to put his hand on your shoulder while speaking but before he can Luke brings you to his side, putting you behind him and glaring at the boy in front of him.

“Touch her again and this time I will cut your hand off,”, they hear Luke say in a warning tone making them all let out a collective gasp.

“Get him Castellan!”, Clarisse yells suddenly, making the three teenagers look into your direction.

“Shit he saw us, time to go!”, Percy yells and the four manage to scramble away before the Hermes boy can turn his frustration towards them.

“Luke, will you calm down please. He was just giving me pointers.”, she says for the second time, but he can’t find it himself to calm down.

The boy had his hands on her, and he can’t stop seeing his flirty smile and her shy one.

“Fine. I’ll leave you two then.”, he says, feeling so angry that he just wants to rip everything to shreds.

“Common, Luke,” he hears her say and silently he hopes that she is following him, and that she didn’t chose to stay with the idiot.

He feels her hand on his arm and stops as she lets out a sigh.

“Will you stop and talk for a moment?”, she says, and he takes a deep breath before turning around.

“Don’t you have a sword lesson to follow?”, he says, unable to hide the sarcasm at the words.

“I simply asked him because you were too busy flirting with Claire,” the name of the Aphrodite girl is said with a certain disdain, that Luke recognizes all too well from his own thoughts about Max.

“Are you jealous?”, the girl scoffs but Luke can’t help the wide smile that appears at her embarrassment.

“Like you weren’t just throwing a hissy fit over there for the whole camp,” she bites back and Luke chuckles in response, getting closer to her.

“I was jealous, I can openly admit that. Nearly wanted to rip his head from his body for barely touching your waist,” he admits, watching her eyes widen in surprise and with something else.

“Fine, I was jealous about Claire and the attention you were giving her,” she says, looking like she wanted to say anything but that. Luke smiles as he gets even closer to her and brings his arm around her waist, making her look at him in surprise.

“I wasn’t interested in her, I just wanted to see how you reacted to me talking with her and I have to say it was quite the show,” the girl looks at him with wide eyes.

“You dick! I thought you were interested in her!”, she exclaims, and Luke can’t help but laugh at her words.

“How could I be interested in her when I have you in the back of my mind all the time,” he whispers, smelling her perfume as he got even closer to her.

“Good thing I haven’t been able to think about anyone else either,” she whispers back, and Luke can’t help but feel revived at the words.

“Max?”, he asks, wanting to make sure that she wasn’t just confused.

“It was a plan to make you jealous,” she whispers, her cheeks heating up in embarrassment and after a moment Luke realizes what she just said.

“You little minx, and I thought you were innocent!”, the words make her laugh as she curls her arms around his neck.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Although it was fun to see you act all protective over me,” she whispers while biting her lip and Luke can’t help but look at her soft lips.

“You drive me crazy darling,” he tells her before bringing her into a kiss, he holds her waist tightly and lets out a soft moan as she cards her fingers through his hair.

Unbeknownst to them five other campers are celebrating behind the trees.

“I told you this would work!”, Percy says, and Annabeth can’t help but agree.

“I thought he was going to rip my head off,” Max says, and the others snort in response.

“You were lucky she was there buddy,” Groover says while patting Max on the back.

“I don’t know about you guys but watching them kiss is not really my thing, let’s move out,” the others quickly agree at Annabeth’s words and leave their hiding place to go to the lake, leaving the two lovebirds alone.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy series #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan

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miniwheat77 · 2 months

Text

Heartbeat. (Mean!Captain Price x Reader.)

!smut, captain price being a meanie, rough sex, unprotected sex, non con , proceed with caution, you’ve been warned!

You roll your eyes as you sit down at the table in the mess hall, finally able to eat dinner.

Two hours after dinner was held.

Soap sits down next to you, looking at you in sympathy. “You must’ve done something to get on his bad side in the beginning.” He laughs. You mutter under your breath. “I’ve literally done everything under the sun for him. Pretty much the only thing I haven’t done is drop to my knees and suck him off at this point. Don’t know what the hell else I can do to prove myself.” You grumble. Eating your cold dinner. Soap laughs. “He’s not normally like that. I don’t know what it is about you lass but it’s just rubs him the wrong way.” He laughs. You sigh. “Yeah. My burning arms from the hundred push ups would agree.” You groan. Soap laughs.

“He’ll get over it eventually.”

“He better, or I’m gonna ask for a transfer.” You groan. “Don’t blame you. I’ve never seen him act like that before.” He laughs, standing up. “You’ll be alright. He’ll figure it out. Who knows, maybe he’s got a crush and doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

You laugh. “Yeah, that’s true. I am quite the catch.” You smirk. Making Soap roll his eyes.

“Don’t go getting a big head.” You shove him with your foot as he starts to walk away. “Goodnight Y/N.”

“Night MacTavish!”

He disappears out of the mess hall, and you’re left completely alone.

A sigh leaves your lips. “Y/N, my office. Now.” You hear your Captains voice come through your radio. Making you groan. You stand up, throwing away your cold dinner. It wasn’t good anyways. Not even a microwave would save it. You brush yourself off making your way down the hallways to his office. You turn the corner, feet patting against the tiled floor. You walk up to his office. Taking a deep breath before you knock. “Come in!” He calls. You open the door up, stepping inside. You know better than to just walk in. “You called for me?”

“Yeah, you’re covering watch for Gaz.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “Is he alright?” You ask. His eyes flash up to your face, it’s a warning.

You back off of the subject, you’ll just ask Gaz for yourself. “Anything else Captain?” You ask. He says nothing. You turn away, walking out the door. You’re irritated. You made your way for the watch tower. He always made you cover for everyone. You’re lucky if you ever get any sleep anymore.

This continues on for weeks. He takes his anger out on you. He’s not nice to you. It’s gotten so bad that the other members of the task force have had to step between the two of you. It’s the only time he’ll ever back off. It’s a particularly bad night. You’ve just gotten off of your watch and you’re exhausted. He calls you to his office to cover the watch immediately after yours. You explain that you’ve already covered two watches and you’re tired, which he doesn’t like.

“My office Y/N.”

You groan, passing by Soap as you make your way for his office. “Good luck.”

“Gonna fucking need it.” You groan. You open up the door and step right inside, seeing his eyes narrow at you. If he’s going to be a dick you might as well have some fun with it. He says nothing. Instead of asking him your usual questions you just throw yourself into the chair in front of his desk. “You needed me?”

You swallow hard as he looks at you, he’s getting mad.

“I asked you to cover a watch.”

You lean back, throwing your leg up over another. “Yeah, and this is me saying no.”

He stiffens up. “Excuse me?” He asks. Your heartbeat picks up. It’s starting to thump in your chest. “I said no. I’ve already covered for Gaz again and I did my own watch. I haven’t slept more than 5 hours a night being on this base with you, you know?” You smirk. He narrows his eyes. “I don’t think you’re going to like what happens when you disobey me.” He leans back in his chair. Crossing his arms.

“Ah, I already don’t like what happens when you’re normal, so let’s play this game.” You smirk. He’s fuming. “100 push ups.” He nods. “No.”

“200”

“You can keep adding but I’m not going to do them.” You cross your own arms. He stands up, walking around his desk and leaning up against it. “What exactly are you trying to achieve by disobeying me? Hm?” He breathes. “Oh, nothing. I’m just sick of you working me like a dog.” You look up at him. He rolls his eyes. “Y/N. Quit being a brat and go take your watch.”

“No.”

He’s fuming.

“Y/N.”

“I’ll go cover it when you make me.” You look up at him.

“Excuse me?”

“I said make me.” He’s clearly stumped by your reaction. “I’ll have you taken off my base faster than you can say-“

“So go ahead.” You cut him off. His ear lobes start to blush, he’s furious. “But you’re not going to. Are you?” You stand up, moving closer to him. He towers over you but you’re still cornering him.

“I’m not sure what it is I’ve done to you. But I’m done being treated like shit.” You move closer to him. “So unless you’re going to make me, I’m going to go to bed.” You grin.

You can’t help but notice his jeans, and how they’ve gotten tighter since you’ve been biting back. “Does it… do something for you? Hm?” You smirk. “Do you like pushing me around?” You cross your arms. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He growls. You reach your hand out to grope him and he grasps it, stopping you. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.” He growls. “Who said I couldn’t finish it?” You step even closer. “Y/N..” his voice is full of warning.

“Do you think you deserve it?” You breathe. “What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t exactly been kind to me, I don’t think you’ve earned it.” He laughs. Taking in a deep breathe. “You’re a funny girl, you know that?”

He stays completely still and in just a second he’s got you bent over his desk, a handful of your hair in his hands. His cock pressed right up against your ass. You don’t even have time to gasp before he’s got you against it. “Amusing you think I won’t just take what I want.” His voice is deep, his breath warm over your ear as he mutters it. He lifts his radio from his vest. “Soap, do you mind taking over watch? Y/N is going to be unavailable for the next couple hours.”

“No problem. Take it easy on the poor girl, old man. She’s don’t enough push ups for the entire task force.” Soap’s voice comes across the both of your radios.

He chuckles, forcing you back by your hair. “Deep breaths.” He reaches down, you can hear him fumbling with his belt. “Nobody will save you this time.” He reaches around your front, unbuttoning your jeans and forcing them down your legs. He tugs them until they’re completely off, pushing himself up against your bare ass. You can feel him. Skin on skin. Nothing holding you back. You’re wondering how it’s progressed this far. “You don’t deserve it.” You grit your teeth. “Been nothing but a complete ass to me since I started on your base.” You roll your eyes. He snorts, “yeah, feel free to stop me.” He rolls his eyes. Spitting on his cock and lining up with your entrance. “Nothing? Hm?” He breathes. “Right, you’re a pathetic slut and me being mean to you got this little pussy wet. That’s why you’re here-“ he pauses, thrusting himself into you. You gasp out, all of the air leaving your lungs as he forces his big cock into you. “On my cock.” He finishes his sentence.

You moan out, clutching onto his desk. You’re holding on for dear life as he starts his bruising pace. Hips slamming against yours, the wooden desk digging into your hips. “Oh god.” You whine. He tugs your hair back, forcing you back. He kisses you hard, feeling you melting into him further. How willing you are to take him is something he didn’t expect.

John isn’t a relationship kind of guy. He’s in the military, nothing ever goes his way. He avoids women at all costs.

The moment you showed up he knew he needed to stay away from you. He knew he couldn’t help himself if he got his hands on you. He saw how easy it was for others to get along with you and it didn’t help with how damn pretty you were and how sweet you were to top it off. He was fucked from the beginning. He knew it.

So now, with his cock buried deep inside you. He didn’t know what the hell to do. He didn’t think it would be this easy, that you would just let him. But you did.

The tiny whines that leave your lips, they egg him on. You’re a lot less vocal than he thought you’d be. Whining and whimpering. Like you didn’t know how to react or what to do.

All you could do is just take it, because he wasn’t going to stop.

Your knuckles turn white, hips lurching forward with every hard thrust he takes. He’s brushing up against parts of your body that had never been touched before. You couldn’t help but fall apart beneath him. At his complete mercy. The tough act you had put up to get here is long gone, all that’s left is the mess he’d made of you. “Captain-“

“Call me John.” He tugs your hair back, hand clapping against your ass. You cry out. “John- you don’t have a condom on.” You hiss. He spanks your ass again, not slowing his thrusts for a second. “No, I don’t. And I don’t need one. You’re a good cock sleeve, you can take it.” He breathes. His teeth gritted as he says it. “What? No!” You try to more your hips forward, trying to get away from him but he wraps his arms around your waist. “Oh baby, no. No no.” He laughs. Thrusting into you still as he forces you against his large muscled body. He makes you feel and look small and pathetic next to him. “I’m gonna fill this pussy. M’gonna fill your slutty pussy and you’re gonna love every single second of it.” He grins. “But- but what if-“

“What if what? What if I knock you up? Get you pregnant?” He laughs. “I guess you should’ve thought about that before you threw yourself at me.” He growls, biting down on your neck. Another mewl leaves his lips. “Please don’t-“

“Fuck- oh fuck I’m gonna cum.” He pants. “No- John please!”

He forces you back over the desk, holding your hips steady. You can’t help it as he pushes you over the edge, a sob leaving your lips as you cum around his cock. Pussy clamping down around him. He can feel it.

“You say you don’t want it but your pussy says otherwise baby.” He holds you hands behind your back, keeping you from fighting him as he fucks into you. “Sweet pussy is milking my cock- fuck.” He hisses. He’s right on the edge. Just a couple more thrusts and he’s groaning out. “Shit- oh fuck yes-“ he hisses. Your eyes widen when you feel it. His warmth filling up, your mouth falls open as he keeps going.

He leans over onto you. Lips right by your ear. “You’ll obey me, next time. Because we haven’t even started yet.” He brushes a hand over your hair. Flattening out what’s still sticking up from him pulling it. “M’gonna fuck my cum deeper into you, and your punishment will be how fucking scared you are when your cycle doesn’t come.” He chuckles. He keeps rocking his hips into you, despite how sensitive his cock is. His own filth seeps out of you, back out around his cock. He can feel it dripping between his thighs and yours. “This is going to be the longest month of your life, sweet girl. So be a good girl. Because when you’re not.” He tsks’

“You know exactly what’s going to happen.” He smiles.

As you lie there, still over his desk. Heartbeat thumping un your chest. Sore. Your legs wobbly. Quite possibly the best sex of your life. You’re already wondering.

What else you can do to get yourself back here, bent over his desk.

#call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #soap mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #captain johnathan price #john price x reader #john price

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milaisreading · 1 month

Note

What if CD!yn gets hit in the the face so hard with a ball she forgets everyone in Blue Lock like the amnesia one with Manager!yn

🌱🩷: Hii! Hope you liked what I came up with! Thank you for the request!

Warnings: Reader is crossdressing as a guy here, so it's a mix between he/him and she/her. Requests are open

⚽️Blue lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

The long-awaited and highly anticipated game between Bastard München and PXG had finally started. The spectators, and members of the PIFA board watched the two teams, all eager to see how the match will play out. This was a big thing for the Blue Lock project, and for the 3 specific players as well. Itoshi Rin, who was the current #1 and had the highest bid from PXG. Isagi Yoichi, taking up #2 and who was currently sought after Bastard München. Then, the third player being (L/n) (Y/n), Blue lock's current #3, with the highest bid coming from Spain's Re Al.

'I swear. I better get kicked out of the top10 by the end of this match.' (Y/n) sighed as she watched Rin and Isagi, then looked back at Gagamaru, who looked a little nervous.

"Gagamaru, are you alright? You look really pale?" She asked in worry as the goalie looked back at her, for a moment not looking at the other players.

"I am alright. Just nervous since this is our last game. And it is a big deal." (Y/n) smiled at him in sympathy and was about to to speak up again, only for Hiori and Isagi to scream at her.

"(Y/n), duck!"

"Watch your head!"

"Huh?" She looked back, only for her vision to go black as she felt something collide with her head. Whatever happened after, (Y/n) couldn't really process what was going on. She felt herself lose balance and a pair of arms grab her as something wet started to slide down her face.

"(Y/n)'s head is bleeding!"

"I am killing you, antenna freak!"

"Oh, so now it's my fault that Mr. Golden boy isn't looking?!"

"Shidou, Rin, shut up!"

"Noa-san! We need a medic!"

"Save my midfielder!"

"He isn't yours, gremlin!"

"Oh, shut up, Kaiser and Charles!"

"(Y/n)! Don't fall asleep now!" Hiori's voice was heard, but the girl couldn't see or make out from which direction it was coming from.

"I got some wet towels!"

"(Y/n), look at me! Don't close your eyes!"

"The wound looks bad."

"We need to cut off the match!"

'Kurona... Yukimiya... Kunigami... Isagi... I can hear them, but not see them.' The girl thought in panic as she closed her eyes, going limp in Gagamaru's hold.

"(Y/n) fainted!" Gagamaru yelled in panic as the rest looked on in worry.

While (Y/n) was sent to the medic room, it was announced that the final match will be resumed at a later time when she wakes up and recovers. As much as the JFA protested the idea, not wanting to lose money because of this accident, they had to agree. Ego and Anri arguing that none of the players were in a good condition to play to begin with. And while Anri was doing damage control with the media, Ego was losing his nerves with the manager of Re Al. As the team did put a lot of money into (Y/n), they naturally did worry about her condition in the future.

'Greedy and money hungry, a great combination.' Ego thought sarcastically as he rolled his eyes while the manager kept talking through the phone.

"What do you mean we can't see him?! Who are you to tell me anything?!"

"I am your coach, so yes, I can." Lavinho said as he stood in front of the door, preventing Bachira and Otoya to leave the place.

"But, (Y/n) is our friend, we have a right to see him. He was literally bleeding on the screen." Otoya argued as Bachira nodded his head furiously.

"That's right! We just want to see him and make sure he is alright." The dribbler said, trying to move past Lavinho, but was tugged back by the coach.

"You both are staying here. Noa and Ego both said to not let anyone see (Y/n) while he is asleep. I know and understand that you are worried, but I am not letting you leave. Not even his own teammates can see him right now." Lavinho argued, giving the duo a firm glare.

"This isn't fair..." Otoya sighed.

"Hmph!" Bachira pouted as he stubbornly sat on the ground.

"Barou, listen, I know that you are worried about your friend. But, the doctor said-"

"Screw what he said! I want to see him now! Now!" Barou glared at Snuffy, who gave him a stoic look as Aryu chimed in. The boy was a lot calmer than Barou, but equally worried about the midfielder.

"What Barou wants to say, we really need to see him. We all saw the blood and how he just went unconscious. We are all worried and want to see if we can help." Aryu said calmly as Niko nodded his head, holding back his tears.

"Y-yeah. Maybe he needs blood or something." Niko said as Barou was losing his cool slowly.

"If he needed blood, we would have been told that. Please, all of you sit down and stay here until Ego doesn't give us the green light to see him. The less you all stress out (Y/n), the faster he will recover." Snuffy said calmly as he patted Barou's shoulder.

"No, Nagi, you are not leaving the stratum."

"But, Chris-san, what if (Y/n) would want to see us. Nagi and I, his closest friends."

"Since when are you his closest friends?" Chigiri rolled his eyes, earning offended looks from the duo.

"What? You two were the ones to insult him, weren't you?"

"We already apologized for it. And why are you even being offended over it? It's something between (Y/n) and us." Nagi gritted his teeth, but before Chigiri could argue back, Chris spoke up.

"And this is exactly why you three aren't leaving. (Y/n) needs to recover and not listen to all of you arguing and blaming each other for this."

"But-"

"Reo, no. If you all care so much about him, then you will leave him alone for the time being." With one final glare, the trip shut their mouths, not wanting to anger the blonde more.

"Nope, you are staying here." Loki said, grabbing the ends of Charles' shirt, stopping the boy from leaving for the German stratum.

"I can't! What if (Y/n) wakes up and is scared?! I need to comfort him!" Charles said back, earning an irritated glare from Rin.

"Shut up and stop being so much around him! Are you blind or do you just not see how uncomfortable (Y/n) is around you?!"

"And you shut up-"

"Ok! Ok! That's enough! All of you calm down." Loki clapped, glaring at Tokimitsu and Karasu who were about to leave the room.

"We are all to respect what Ego-san ordered us to do. For now, nobody is seeing him until he wakes up and is able to see all of you."

"But, what if he really needs us?" Tokimitsu protested.

"Or wants to see us?" Karasu added in.

"Then we will be told that. For now, all of you sit down and eat."

Now, while the other stratums were pure messes, the German stratum was uncharacteristically quiet. Noa wasn't really used to Kaiser, Ness, and Isagi not arguing. Kunigami looked even more depressed than usually. Gagamaru kept blaming himself for what had happened, to which Sachs, Gesner, and Grim always had to chime in and tell him it wasn't his fault. Noa noted that Kurona was also less enthusiastic to play, Yukimiya and Hiori just sat to the side, not saying anything. Noa knew that the players were worried, even Kaiser and Ness, which they would never admit to. He also knew that he wasn't making it better by banning them from seeing (Y/n), but for her own sake he had to do it.

Already, a few days had passed since the accident, the pressure from PIFA and the JFA was getting more suffocating on Noa and Ego, but they refused to contthe match without her.

Then, one night while the BM team was eating their dinner, all solemnly, the door opened.

"And this is the dining area. This is where you are mostly with your teammates, aside from the training area." The said team stopped eating as they saw Anri walk in, followed by (Y/n), whose head was still bandaged up.

"Ah... I see..." (Y/n) nodded, looking around the place.

"(Y/n)!!"

"Oh thank God!"

"We were so worried!"

"Why are you walking around like that? You should sit down!"

The girl watched in surprise as Yukimiya, Hiori, Kurona, and Isagi ran up to her, followed by Gagamaru and Kunigami.

"Isagi is right. Please don't walk around like that."

"Do you want some water? Or my food?"

Surprised, and a little scared from the crowd, she hid behind Anri, surprising the team.

"Who... who are all of you?" (Y/n) asked, looking around the room in confusion. Kaiser's spoon slipped from his hand as he heard the question, his eyes widening in terror as he realized what was going on.

"What... what do you mean by that? Nice joke." Ness nervously laughed as Anri cleared her throat.

"(Y/n) has a temporary memory loss. He doesn't remember anyone or the events that happened in Blue Lock. Please, be cautious around him and try to make him remember what had happened. Ok?"

A silence fell among the players as (Y/n) gulped nervously, not liking the attention she was getting.

"Ehmmm... hi, everyone."

To say things were back to normal would be a huge, huge lie. For the next few days the German team tried their best to regain her memories. Isagi, Hiori, and Kurona would give her small tours around the stratum, telling her funny stories that had happened to them, but she just smiled apologetically saying she couldn't remember anything. Yukimiya, Kunigami, and Gagamaru decided to bring her to their monitor room and show her the different matches she played in, hoping that would help. But, that was useless as well. The Blue Lock players were slowly losing their minds, they knew they had to bring back (Y/n)'s memories somehow, or they would lose her in their team. Who would let a player with amnesia play?

Heck, even the German part of the team tried to help her out somehow, but their plans were futile as well. Especially when Kaiser and Ness started teasing and making fun of her. What was usually met with (Y/n) insulting them right back, was now met with the girl crying. That alarmed Noa, so he basically forbade them from talking to her.

Soon enough, the rest of Blue lock heard about (Y/n)'s condition, and they would have rushed to her side if the coaches didn't stop them. They knew it was selfish to overwhelm her now, but the players were just worried and wanted to see her. And they will do that, no matter what.

So, one night after everyone went to sleep, the Blue Lock team, plus Charles, Ness, and Kaiser held a small meeting inside the dining area of the German team.

"Does anyone have an idea what we could do? We tried everything by now?" Isagi asked, looking at the other players.

"How about showing him some pictures? I heard they help in these cases." Otoya raised his hand.

"We tried it with videos already, and that didn't work."

"But, maybe pictures will work, Yukimiya." Kurona protested, not liking the frown on the boy's face.

"Cooking his favorite food, maybe?"

"That's a good idea, Bachira. If there is anything he loves, it's food." Reo nodded in agreement as Nagi showed Isagi his phone.

"Or I show him some video games we used to play. He might not remember me, but he definitely remembers those." Niko could see the sad look on the boy's face, but ignored it as he showed Kunigami his manga stash.

"(Y/n) and I used to read manga together, that might provoke something."

"A nice spa day with me could work as well! We used to do them during the 2nd selection together." Aryu smiled as he remembered that time fondly.

"Or! (Y/n) and I could spend a day watching the anime shows he talked to me about." Tokimitsu smiled at the idea.

"I am still more for Bachira's idea. That boy loves food way too much, I think that will provoke him." Barou said.

"Mhm! Or, we could braid each other's hair. We always used to do that together." Chigiri suggested.

"Rin, do you have any ideas? You are awfully quiet." Karasu commented as the boy sent him a side-glare.

"I am mostly out of ideas. Whatever the majority thinks we should do, I will do it." Rin shrugged his shoulders, trying to hide the anxious feeling he had.

"Charles, Kaiser, Ness, do you three have any ideas?" Gagamaru wondered as the attention was now on them.

"Just let him spend a day with me! I am sure I can help him was better than anyone else can." Charles said while pouting.

"You don't know him that well to claim that!" Reo, Nagi, and Barou yelled.

"I don't care, whatever works, works. I just want him to stop crying whenever Ness or I speak to him."

"It's so annoying." Ness rolled his eyes, ignoring the heartbreak he felt when he remembered all the times (Y/n) cried when they spoke to her.

"You all don't worry, (Y/n) will be his old self again. Right, Isagi?"

The said boy looked over at Hiori, giving him a nervous smile in return.

"Yea... Yeah, of course! He will be back again."

"We should hurry up, then. If we don't get him to regain his memories, his journey here in Blue Lock is over." Karasu spoke up, earning alarmed looks from the others.

"What?! What makes you say that?!"

"This isn't the time for jokes, crow-head."

"You are not funny, Karasu!"

The said boy ignored Rin, Kaiser, and Barou's comments and spoke up again.

"I heard Loki and Snuffy-san talk about it in the hallway today. PIFA and the JFA are tired of waiting. They said if (Y/n) doesn't get her memories back by Friday, it's over. He is getting kicked out." An eerie silence fell among the group as they looked at Karasu in disbelief, but they knew the boy well enough to know he wasn't lying.

"Those money hungry bastards..." Ness clenched his fists as Kaiser and Charles just glared at the ground.

"But.... Isn't Friday tomorrow?" Tokimitsu asked in panic, alarming the rest.

"Don't worry! We still have time!" Kunigami gulped, now even more worried about the oblivious captain.

The next day...

"Hm?" (Y/n) frowned as she put Nagi's phone down.

"Do you remember now?" Nagi asked as Reo, and Chigiri looked at her in excitement.

"No... sorry. I wasted your battery for nothing." The girl said apologetically.

"It's ok! Don't apologize!" Reo said quickly as he took his phone back.

"This isn't good. My method didn't work. Otoya's didn't work, Bachira and Barou's didn't, and now yours failed as well. What now?" Chigiri whispered to Nagi, who for once looked genuinely worried.

"I don't know-"

"(Y/n), there you are!" The girl jumped in surprise as she saw two other players approach her.

"Oh, hi... Niko and Aryu, right?" The girl asked slowly, earning a quick nod from them both.

"That's right. I wanted to ask you to read some mangas with me."

"And I will put on a face mask on you in the meantime."

"Mangas? Face mask? I used to do those things?" The girl blinked in confusion as Aryu and Niko pulled her up.

"Of course! Let's go!"

"Hey, I am coming with you!"

"Me as well!" Charles and Tokimitsu yelled, running after the trio.

"How much time do we have left?" Chigiri asked in worry as he looked back at Reo.

"A good... 3 hours. The JFA president won't be here till 16 o'clock. Karasu, Kurona, and Isagi are keeping an eye out for him." Reo said back as Nagi groaned and laid his head on the table.

"I want (Y/n) back..."

"We all do..."

With (Y/n)...

"So, this is the manga I always read with you?" (Y/n) wondered as she sat with Niko while Aryu had put a face mask on her.

"And I used to put on a face mask as well?" She asked, looking at the two, who quickly nodded their heads.

"Do you remember anything now?" Charles asked, smiling nervously as he gently grabbed her arm.

"Yeah... is this working by any chance?" Tokimitsu gulped nervously. They all looked at (Y/n) as she looked around the place. Truth be told, she did see some foggy memories, but couldn't put a finger onto anything. Nothing was familiar at all.

"No... sorry..." She sighed, looking down at the floor. Charles and Tokimitsu looked at each other in worry as Aryu and Niko started panicking a little. What now?

But, before anyone could say anything, the door had opened and outside was Anri, looking at the 5 players in relief.

"Oh, you are here. Uhm, (Y/n), there is someone who wants to speak with you." Anri said sadly, which caused alarm bells to ring inside the other players' heads.

"And who would that be?" The girl asked, rubbing her head as she got up.

'No... it can't be over...'

'I thought we still had time!'

'This can't be it!' Aryu, Tokimitsu, and Niko thought nervously as Charles had an uncharacteristically stone cold look.

"You know, before that accident a few days ago, you actually had a huge bid on your name from Re Al, a Spanish team, you still do. But, considering we failed to bring back any memories of yours back, your football career might end today. The captain of that team just wanted to speak to you one more time. You are a huge fan of his. Leonardo Luna is his name." Anri explained, trying to hold back her own sadness as the girl numbly nodded her head. Seeing her stoic reaction to the Spanish players names caused the boys to flinch a little. Their are used to seeing her fangirl over him... not act like this!

"Sure! I don't remember really anything, but it sucks that I have to leave."

Alarmed Charles got up from his seat and ran over to the girl, not caring how fast he was going.

"Wait! You can't just leave me like that! This isn't fair! We were supposed to play against each other at the World Cup!"

Without a warning, he ran into (Y/n) and hugged her tightly, which caused her to lose her balance and fall down.

"(Y/n)!"

"Not again! Now he will lose his memories completely!" Tokimitsu yelled as Niko and Aryu ran over to get Charles off of her.

"No! I am not letting you all take hin away from me! No way!" Charles cried out as his hold around (Y/n)'s waist tightened. Seeing the boy cry caused the others to move away a little.

"It isn't fair!" The French boy said as Anri tried to talk some sense into him, but it wasn't working. (Y/n) groaned as she rubbed her head and slowly sat up.

'Now... now I remember!' The girl thought as a rush of memories went through her mind. Everything that had happened prior and during Blue lock, and even everything leading up to today.

"Huh?" She muttered as everyone looked over at her, minus Charles who was busy crying.

"What is going on? And what do you mean I won't play football anymore. I am completely fine! And... and did you say Leonardo Luna is here?! I look like a mess! I can't face him like this!" The girl blushed as she looked at Anri and then down at the clothes she was wearing. Aryu and Tokimitsu's eyes widened in surprise as Anri held in a breath, waiting for what will happen next.

"Do... do you remember everything now?" Niko asked nervously as (Y/n) looked over at him while patting Charles' back. The French boy had stopped crying as he looked at her as well.

"Yeah, now I do. I don't know how, but the memories are back where they should be. You can all stop worrying now." (Y/n) smiled as Charles, Niko, and Tokimitsu tackled her into a hug.

"I will inform the rest!" Aryu said, quickly running out the door as Anri let out a few relieved sobs.

"I will go inform Ego-san and Noa-san!" The woman said as she ran out of the door as well.

189 notes · View notes

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months

Text

Napoleonville [Chapter 6: The House Of Salt And Scales]

Series Summary: The year is 1988. The town is Napoleonville, Louisiana. You are a small business owner in need of some stress relief. Aemond is a stranger with a taste for domination. But as his secrets are revealed, this casual arrangement becomes something more volatile than either of you could have ever imagined.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+ readers only), dom/sub dynamics, smoking, infidelity, Evangelical Christians, kids, parenthood, Willis Warning, (Mis)Adventures With Aegon, Targ family dysfunction, bodily injury, blood, alligators, ANGST!!!

Word Count: 7.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @marvelescvpe @toodlesxcuddles @era127 @at-a-rax-ia @0eessirk8 @arcielee @dd122004dd @humanpurposes @taredhunter @tinykryptonitewerewolf @partnerincrime0 @dr-aegon @persephonerinyes @namelesslosers @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @daenysx @gemini-mama @chattylurker @moonlightfoxx @huramuna @britt-mf @myspotofcraziness @padfooteyes @trifoliumviridi @joliettes @darkenchantress @florent1s @babyblue711 @minttea07 @libroparaiso @bluerskiees @herfantasyworldd @elizarbell @urmomsgirlfriend1 @fudge13 @strangersunghoon

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“Did you hear that Willis is single again?”

Ugh. “Yes, Mama. I heard. You told me already.” You linger in the doorway with a white bakery box in your hands: your mother’s favorite, grasshopper pie, straight out of the 1960s. She allegedly ate through two a week when she was pregnant with you. Cadi has already dashed inside and made herself at home; she’s probably jamming the movie she got from Blockbuster—Predator, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Amir recommended it—into the VHS player. “You told me, Willis told me, all his deputies told me, Cadi told me, my mailman told me, the checkout ladies at the Piggly Wiggly told me, literally every resident of Napoleonville has informed me in no uncertain terms that Willis is single again. And I could not possibly care less.”

Your mother sighs and presses a hand to her forehead, wounded and incredulous, like she’s just watched a 60 Minutes segments about a tsunami or a genocide. “I just don’t understand it. In my day, people married for life.”

You glance back longingly at your Chevy Celebrity. “Yeah. I know they did.”

“When your father, and God rest his soul, when he was young, he was a hellion,” your mother says, as if you don’t remember it, as if you weren’t there. “He’d get his paycheck every Friday and stay out all night with his buddies, sometimes he didn’t come home the whole weekend. I’d lay into him when he finally showed, I’d say, ‘Rene, how on earth am I supposed to put dinner on the table if I don’t have any fish in the icebox?!’ Once he punched a hole in the kitchen wall and I had to cover it up with a picture of President Eisenhower! And I never even thought about leaving. How could I have done that to you? Forcing you to grow up in a broken home? Mothers and fathers living apart, whoever heard of such a thing? It’s unnatural.”

You’re brainstorming recipes to distract yourself. Caramel pretzel cookies. Banana chiffon pie. Cheese Danish cupcakes with diced cherries and a hint of vanilla. “Everyone draws their own lines, Mama.”

“But it’s not just about you,” she implores, her eyes shimmering with sympathy she never had for other women. You remember what she said on the rare occasions you confided in her about your frustrations with Willis: Of course a man isn’t going to want you bothering him with your feelings when he’s had a hard day at work. Of course a man—after you’ve had his baby, after you almost died to do it—is going to be crossing off days on the calendar until you can have sex again. He keeps a roof over your head and he never hits you, what more could you ask for? “What about Cadi? What if she grows up thinking that her marriage vows don’t mean anything? It’s the foundation of society, marriage. If that goes, everything goes.”

It’s the foundation of a lot of coercion and unfairness and misery, that’s for sure. “I wouldn’t want Cadi to stay in a situation that makes her unhappy. Would you?”

Your mother throws her hands up, like you’ve told her you’re converting to communism and catching the next flight to the USSR. “Life isn’t just about happiness, sweetheart! It’s about commitment, it’s about responsibility! If everyone did what they wanted all the time, no one would stay married!”

“Maybe that speaks to the value of marriage as an institution.”

“And morality is already falling apart in this country,” your mother continues, ignoring you. That’s what she does when she can’t refute facts, logic, evidence. “Young people living together, women having babies with two or three different men, people doing drugs, people on Welfare, people shooting and stabbing each other, sex shops everywhere, naughty magazines at gas stations, men wanting to marry other men—”

“Okay, Mama. I really have to go now.”

“Alright, I’ll shut up. I will, I will, I swear.” She makes peace with a brisk kiss to your cheek like a stamp on an envelope. “Enjoy a nice quiet night to yourself. Do you have any plans?”

Well, Mama, I’m trying to resist the temptation to call my engaged dominant oil tycoon not-boyfriend and tell him to come over for kinky adulterous sex. “Not really. I’ll probably take a bubble bath and then watch something Cadi would think is boring, like 20/20.” You hand over the bakery box, and your mother’s face lights up.

“Grasshopper pie?!”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. You know it’s hard for me to make it myself anymore. This rheumatoid arthritis, it’s got me all twisted up.” She nods down to where her fingers grip the box, knobby and increasingly useless.

“When’s your next appointment?”

“I’ve got one in…oh…about three weeks, I think. I’d have to check my daybook. All the way over in New Orleans with some specialist that Dr. Cormier recommended.”

“Okay. Want me to go with you?”

“Yes, that’d be fine.” It would be more than fine; she wants you to go, though she won’t say it. You aren’t sure if she doesn’t want to impose or doesn’t want to admit how reliant she’s becoming upon you, like growing up in reverse.

“Mawmaw!” Cadi shouts from inside the house. “Hurry up! I want to watch Predator!”

“You quit your hollering, I’ll be right there!” Then your mother looks to you and offers one last piece of very unsolicited advice. “Just be kind to Willis, alright? Give him a chance. I don’t think he’ll ever find a woman he likes as much as you. That’s what everyone says.”

“Mama, he has no idea who I am.” And he’s not interested either.

“Sure he does. You’re the mother of his child, and you always will be. Maybe you’ll find your way back to each other.”

“I’ll think about it.” You definitely won’t. “Goodnight, Mama.”

“So long.” She shuffles into the house, and once she’s shut the door you hear her muffled voice: “Arcadia, come on over here and help me slice up this pie…”

You drive home with the windows down and blasting St. Elmo’s Fire. There’s still an hour or two of sunlight left; the world is painted in gold and blood orange, the soybeans, the sugarcane, the grass growing tall and wild, the Spanish moss swinging from the trees, the earth ripening as its revolution hurtles towards the apex of summer. Cadi is out of school until August. Amir will be announcing his looming departure to San Francisco. Aemond will be getting married.

The adolescent alligator that Aemond is so afraid of is in the far corner of the front yard, basking in the last of the daylight. You walk into your room, flop down on the bed, lie there staring longingly at the pink phone on your nightstand. You reach to pick it up, then stop yourself. Aemond hasn’t fucked you, hasn’t kissed you, has rarely touched you at all since you found out about Christabel. But he stops by your house and invites you to his; he stitches himself into your life like someone somewhere once sutured his face back together.

I can’t. It’s wrong. He’s engaged.

Aemond doesn’t know you’re home alone. It’s Friday, and usually Cadi would be here with you until tomorrow morning.

Maybe it’s not really cheating until he’s married. I mean, if Aemond and Christabel aren’t sleeping together, if they almost never see each other…is it even a real relationship?

Wistful thinking, yes, denial, yes; but with each passing minute your resolve not to pick up the phone weakens.

We don’t have much longer until the wedding. Our time is slipping away.

He’s a robber baron. He’s arrogant, he’s delusional.

And I want him. I still do, and I can’t stop.

The phone rings. You sit up, startled. It’s not Aemond, you tell yourself so you won’t be disappointed when it isn’t him. But it is.

“Hi,” Aemond says; he sounds out of breath. “I’m really sorry to bother you.”

“No, it’s okay, Cadi is actually having a sleepover with my mom. They’re watching Predator. My mom has no idea what it’s about, she’ll be clutching that Bible she got signed by Jerry Falwell a little extra hard tonight. What’s up?”

“This is going to sound random, but…you haven’t seen Aegon, have you? He hasn’t shown up at your house, he hasn’t called? You don’t know where he is?”

Aegon? Why would I know anything about what Aegon’s doing right now? “Um, no…?”

A long exhale, a lull that’s full of dread.

“Aemond, what’s going on?”

“He and my father got into it a few hours ago. They were screaming at each other, kicking furniture over, which isn’t all that unusual, honestly. But then Aegon ran away.”

“Wait, like, he’s gone…?”

“He stormed out the back door, went down to the lake, and then headed north into the trees. And I assumed he’d be back by now, but it’s getting dark and he’s not here. He never came home. His Porsche is still sitting in the driveway.” There is a pause. “I think he’s out there.”

“Out where?”

“In the woods,” Aemond says, shellshocked, terrified. “In the bayou.”

Your eyes dart to the window; the golden daylight is dwindling. “Aemond, he can’t be alone in the bayou. It’s dangerous. He could die. There aren’t just alligators, there are wild boars, cottonmouths, copperheads, snapping turtles, brown recluses, fire ants, I don’t think there are any black bears this far south but it’s always possible, he could drown, he could get trapped in quicksand, you cannot let Aegon spend the night out there.”

“I don’t know what to do.” You’re not used to hearing this in Aemond’s voice: the panic, the vulnerability. “No one else seems worried. They said he disappears all the time, and that’s true. They’re convinced he’s found his way to a strip club or a Waffle House or something and will drag himself home eventually. No one will listen to me. My father has forbidden me from getting anyone else involved. He doesn’t want gossip getting around town and overshadowing the new rig project or…you know. The wedding thing. My wedding. And I can go over his head, sure, I can make calls, but when investigators show up here to start searching my father is just going to tell them to leave. How is it even possible to find Aegon? At night in a fucking swamp? Is anyone going to be willing to go out there before morning? Do I need people with bloodhounds or a helicopter?”

No way, you think as soon as the idea hits you. But it’s the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. “I can think of someone who knows their way around the bayou.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s just after 7 p.m. when Willis arrives to pick you up: grinning smugly, mullet fluffed, Plymouth Gran Fury hauling his brand new 20-foot jon boat. He’s dressed for night fishing in boots, camo-colored waders, and a grey hoodie with SHERIFF printed across the front in black letters. You climb into the passenger seat wearing sneakers, denim shorts, and a blue raincoat over your Pepsi t-shirt. You haven’t been fishing since you were married to Willis, and you’ve never missed it. It’s a grisly business: hooks through lips, hooks through eyeballs, hooks swallowed and tangled up in some doomed creature’s guts.

Aemond is waiting at the mouth of the Targaryens’ driveway, just out of sight of the mansion they call The Last Desire. He gets in the back seat and sits there testily with his arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, glaring out the window as an indistinct blur of primeval vegetation passes by outside. He has on his Marlboro jacket, light-wash jeans, and Adidas sneakers. You hope he doesn’t ruin them; although you suppose he can always buy more. He could buy a hundred more, a thousand more, and it wouldn’t make a difference. You can’t fathom what it’s like to live that way. It seems to conflict with all the laws of man and nature.

Aemond speaks grudgingly to Willis, a quick flat statement that invites no conversation. He didn’t call Willis to explain the situation, you did. You’re afraid to leave them alone with each other. You aren’t sure who would be more likely to end up a corpse decomposing in the muddy silt at the bottom of Lake Verret. “Thank you for agreeing to help with this.”

Willis chuckles warmly, either oblivious to Aemond’s prickliness or unbothered by it. “Bien sur! It’s my job, son. We’ll hunt your brother down.” Then he glances over at you, smirking, prying. “So, sugar…how’d you two make each other’s acquaintance?”

“Amir and I baked the cakes for his engagement party.”

“Engagement party, huh?” Willis looks at Aemond in the rearview mirror. “You gettin’ married?”

Aemond is still staring out the window. “Obviously.”

“So you ain’t single?”

“Legally, I am in fact single until the day the marriage license is signed.”

Willis returns his attention to you. “So he ain’t the petit ami you’ve been so secretive about.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend, Willis. I really can’t be more clear than that.”

“Oh, I know you got one. I know all your looks, sugar. Some days you come ‘round my office lookin’ lovesick, like you’re just a-floatin’ on a cloud. Other days you’re real mean, like you don’t want me takin’ none of your time, like you got somebody more important to spend it on. And then sometimes you just look…” He smiles, mischievous. “Well, how can I put it? Satisfied. The cat who ate the canary. And I recall exactly what that looks like on you. It’s been a while, sure. But I remember.”

From the back seat, Aemond sighs irritably. You say to Willis: “Can we please focus on finding Aegon?”

“Sois calme, sois calme. That’s why I’m here. We’ll be in the water in ten minutes.”

There is no more discussion; the only sound is the radio, Holding Out For A Hero by Bonnie Tyler. Willis turns onto a winding dirt road that leads to a boat launch about a mile from the Targaryens’ property. He spins his Plymouth Gran Fury around and backs it down the concrete ramp towards the rippling, slow-moving currents of Lake Verret. It’s difficult to see from the driver’s seat—most people would have someone get out to guide them—but Willis knows the way by heart. He’s been on boats since before he could walk; Willis’ daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy knew the bayou, and his daddy did too, all the way back to before the Louisiana Purchase. Your family are newer arrivals (relatively speaking), having only been in Napoleonville for about 100 years and keeping mostly to the town. You remember your 11th grade science teacher saying once that alligators have been around since before the dinosaurs went extinct. Maybe that’s what Willis is: a relic of a distant time and species, afflicted with a cunning ruggedness that won’t allow his kind to go extinct.

When the trailer is mostly underwater, Willis gets out of the car to unhook the straps that keep the boat moored to it. You go outside to help and Aemond follows, though he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never handled a boat this size and it shows; perhaps a yacht would be more his speed. He stands aside and watches, frowning, hands buried in the pockets of his Marlboro jacket. His lack of expertise riles him. He’s not used to being the incapable one. He hates not having control.

Willis already has a tow rope tied to a metal handle at the bow of the jon boat; he lifts it out and gives the free end to Aemond. “Hold onto that, will ya? Don’t let her get away.”

“Sure,” Aemond replies ungenerously. Willis returns to his Plymouth Gran Fury to finish backing the trailer into the lake until the boat floats. Standing on the shore together, you and Aemond stare at each other, unable to speak honestly, unable to decide what you’d say even if you could.

The jon boat bobs in the water, and you show Aemond how to pull it away from the trailer using the tow rope. Willis drives the trailer back onto dry land, parks his car in a flat area near the boat launch, and then joins you and Aemond by the water’s edge. He walks to where the boat is floating just to the right side of the concrete ramp and, with some difficulty, clambers inside as the boat rocks under his weight. Then he stands in the middle of it and gestures for you to approach. “Let’s get goin’, sugar.”

You take Willis’ hands when he reaches for you and let him help you into the jon boat. When you stumble over a bench seat, he steadies you with a hand on your waist, familiar but in no way erotic; not for you, at least. Still, from where he is standing on the lakeshore with the tow rope, Aemond glowers venomously.

“Your turn, son,” Willis calls to him, winking. “And I promise not to get too sweet with ya.”

But Aemond doesn’t need any assistance to board the vessel. He has long limbs, good balance, and an ironclad determination not to let Willis see him falter. Aemond sits at the bow of the boat. You claim a spot in the middle. Willis takes a seat at the stern, starts the outboard motor, and guides the boat into the treacherous swampland that lurks like a stalking animal at the edges of Lake Verret.

In the bayou, the water is sluggish, currentless, thick with vivid green salvinia and duckweed. Towering bald cypress trees grow out of the opaque depths and are adorned with greyish, anemic bundles of Spanish moss like spiderwebs. Mangrove trees with their myriad of semi-submerged roots are sanctuaries for catfish, turtles, baby alligators. Larger gators—as big as the female that lives in your yard, and some up to seven or eight feet—prowl with only their nostrils and ancient yellow eyes peeking out from under the water. Great blue herons tiptoe along the shallow shoreline and stab at fish that unknowingly flit between their long skeletal legs. Cicadas shriek in the trees so loudly they almost drown out the hum of the boat’s motor. When the last of the daylight vanishes, Willis tells Aemond to turn on the spotlight mounted to the bow, and the water becomes a soupy, greenish, primordial witch’s brew beneath its glow. Aemond lights a cigarette and puffs on it as he ponders this alien corner of the world that he’s found himself in.

Willis has a number of items stowed on the flat aluminum floor of the boat, you notice now: nets, paddles in case the motor fails, bottles of water, ropes, fishing poles, flashlights, hunting knives, a few sturdy wooden walking sticks. He’s wearing his sheriff’s pistol on a belt fastened over his waders. This makes you uneasy, though you can’t recall ever seeing him use it. It seems wrong to be able to end a life with so little effort.

“Aegon!” Aemond shouts from the bow, using a flashlight to look to the sides of the boat where the spotlight’s luminescence doesn’t shine so brightly. You grab your own flashlight to help him search. “Aegon! Where are you?!”

There’s something burning in your nose and throat as you lean over the side of the boat to peer into the shadowy wilderness. Salt, you realize, but that doesn’t make any sense. Lake Verret is a freshwater lake. You turn towards where Willis is steering the boat with the rumbling gas-powered motor. “Do you smell that?”

“Yup. Sure do.”

“But…how…?”

“One of the rigs mighta hit a salt dome while they were drillin’, I figure,” Willis says. “There’s been talk for years that we got salt domes under the lake. But that don’t stop these oil companies.” He stares meaningfully at Aemond. Aemond glances back, rather abashed. “And ya know what that means. If the water turns brackish, most of the fish’ll die. And who’s got to live with that for generations to come? Not the Targaryens or the Rockefellers, that’s for sure.”

Aemond resumes shouting for his wayward eldest brother. A dark snake, perhaps six feet long, slithers down the length of the boat through the murky water. “Aegon! Aegon!”

“What did he and Viserys argue about?” you ask.

Aemond is cagy. “It’s…kind of personal.”

“Personal like he got a stripper pregnant or personal like he murdered someone in a drunken hit-and-run?”

“Neither. But closer to the first option.” Then he roars into the darkness: “Aegon!”

“Maybe the bon a rien already found his way back home,” Willis says. “Maybe—”

And then there is an echo through the bayou, faint but vaguely human, a ghost, a phantom. “Aegon!” Aemond shouts back. “Where are you?!” Willis cuts the boat engine so you can hear the reply.

Faintly, very faintly, his disembodied voice drifts out of the trees. “Over here! Help me! Quickly! Seriously, really really quickly!!”

“Keep talking!” Aemond yells. Willis is listening intently, trying to pinpoint a direction. His thick, dark eyebrows are knit together in concentration that is rare for him.

Barely audible over the screams of the cicadas: “What the fuck am I supposed to say?! Just get over here and save me!”

“We’re trying to figure out where your voice is coming from, so don’t stop talking!”

“Help me! Come help me!! Right now!! My arms are getting tired!!”

“What? What are you doing with your arms?!”

“I got him,” Willis says. He restarts the motor and steers the boat down a narrow corridor of the swamp. The path is only about ten yards wide and bordered by mangrove trees with nests of exposed, labyrinthian roots. The water is probably relatively shallow: five feet, ten feet, just deep enough for secrets. The breeze is cool and wet, almost chilly. On the shore, you spy a snapping turtle the size of a golden retriever. Its long prehistoric claws are coated with mud and green blades of marsh grass. It ogles you as if to say: What are you doing here? You don’t belong here. This is where the dinosaurs that survived the asteroid live.

“Aegon?” Aemond calls.

“Here! Over here! I can see you, I see the lights! Oh my God, I’m not gonna die! Thank you Jesus!”

Aemond laughs in relief. “I didn’t think you two knew each other.”

“Shut up and save me, you muppet!”

And then you see Aegon—the spotlight hits him, he is illuminated in a stark white glow—and your stomach plummets, your blood goes cold. In an alcove of the bayou, right where the water meets the shore, Aegon is up in a bald cypress tree. He’s about five feet off the ground and standing on top of a branch just thick enough to hold his weight. It’s too narrow to balance comfortably on; he is hugging the trunk to ensure he doesn’t fall, and a fall would be catastrophic. Sprawled on the muck surrounding the base of the tree are a plethora of alligators, all approximately ten feet in length. That’s big enough to be lethal humans. That would be big enough to kill a bear, a horse, a shark. When the spotlight shines on them, the gators begin to squirm and hiss, glaring with soulless reptilian wrath at the boat. Willis shuts off the motor, and the boat bobs placidly.

“Oh, fuck,” Aemond says.

“Yeah, exactly!” Aegon pitches back. He’s wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt and tiny turquoise blue shorts. He is barefoot. “So what’s the plan?! By the way, hey, cake lady.”

“Hi, Aegon.”

Aemond says: “How the hell did you get up there?”

“I was pissed off about the dad thing and I was walking for a long time, then I realized I was probably in the wrong neighborhood for someone with two legs and no desire to get eaten. I tried to find my way back but then these pig-looking things started chasing me and I freaked out and climbed up here to hide until they left. But as the sun went down, alligators started showing up. And the more time went by, the more alligators there were. And that’s the whole story, can you get me down now?!”

Aemond asks Willis, petrified: “How do we get him down?”

Willis surveys the scene for a moment, thinking. “Alright. Here’s what I reckon. We can toss him one end of a rope and he can tie it to the branch above him, right at the base where it’s real thick. Then we’ll hold the other end of the rope, and he can kinda shimmy on down it into the boat.”

Aegon says: “But what if right before I get to the boat, when I’m like four feet above the water, an alligator jumps out and bites me?”

“They don’t usually do that,” Willis replies.

“Usually?!”

“Look, we don’t have a lot of options,” Aemond tells his brother. “We can do the rope plan now, or we can leave you here, backtrack all the way to the boat launch, get the car, get some help, and hope they magically have a better solution for you. Or you can wait up there until morning to see if the alligators leave. You pick.”

“Isn’t that the hick sheriff guy? Can’t he shoot them?”

“Gators got brains ‘bout the size of a walnut, son,” Willis says. “And if I don’t hit ‘em where it counts, I’m just gonna make them angrier. That ain’t good for any of us.”

“Okay,” Aegon concedes. “Throw me a rope.”

Willis grabs one from the bottom of the jon boat, hands an end to Aemond, and tosses the other to Aegon. It takes the eldest Targaryen boy four attempts to catch it; the rope keeps falling and smacking the hissing alligators in the face before Willis lugs it back to the boat to try again. Once he finally obtains the rope, Aegon knots it—double, triple, quadruple—around where the branch above him, just barely within reach if he stretches as far as he can, meets the massive trunk of the bald cypress tree. Willis tells Aemond: “Now ya gotta hold the rope real tight. No slack at all, or it’ll dip and he’ll end up in a gator’s lap.”

“Yeah, Aemond!” Aegon says, his voice shaky. “No slack!”

“Got it.” Aemond loops his end of the rope around his waist, makes a knot, and then grips it with both hands and tugs it until it forms a straight diagonal line from the tree to the boat.

“Ya sure you wanna do that?” Willia says softly, nodding to Aemond’s waist. “If somethin’ goes wrong and he ends up in the water, you’ll be goin’ in with him.”

“I’m sure.”

“Alrighty.” Willis grabs one of the heavy wooden walking sticks from the aluminum floor of the boat. “If a gator tries to cause a problem, I’ll whack ‘em good. Don’t let ‘em get their jaws ‘round ya, not an arm or a leg or nothin’. If they get ahold of ya, they’ll roll and rip your bones right outta the sockets.”

“Awesome,” Aegon says from the tree. “I’m so glad you told me that. Yeah. Great. Any more super helpful alligator trivia, Sasquatch?”

“Yes sir. If one chomps down on ya, poke it in the eye with your fingers. A whack to the snout or a poke to the eye is the best way outta a gator’s mouth.”

Aegon gulps and clutches the rope, steeling himself.

“What should I do?” you ask Willis. “Should I get a stick too—?”

“Nothin’. You don’t do nothin’. You just sit down right in the middle and keep the boat steady. And if your petit ami starts goin’ overboard, maybe try to snatch him. But don’t ya fall in. Ya don’t want to be in that water. If there are gators above the water, there are gators below too. I guarantee it.”

You sit in the precise middle of the boat, using your weight to reinforce the vessel’s center of gravity as Aemond and Willis stand at opposing ends. Right before Aegon begins his descent, Aemond snags your attention. He makes a motion with one hand, a slicing, a prohibition. Don’t do anything insane, he means. Don’t risk trying to drag me back into the boat if I start going over.

“Whenever ya ready, bon a rien,” Willis says. And no one else but you knows that what he’s calling Aegon is a good-for-nothing.

Aegon begins scurrying down the length of the rope, rapidly closing the distance between himself and the bobbing jon boat. He passes above the hissing gators congregating at the base of the bald cypress tree and then over the water, where there are ripples that multiply out from epicenters and flashes of movement just beneath the surface but no homicidal alligator activity. When Aegon nears the boat, Willis seizes him and helps him into it; and then Aegon ruptures into hysterical giggles.

“I almost died, can you believe that?” he asks Aemond, who is untying the rope from his waist and beaming, the first real smile you’ve seen from him tonight. “Because I ran away from Viserys?! What an idiotic way to go. I’ll never let that bastard convince me to off myself. I gotta outlive him. I gotta do Jello shots on that motherfucker’s grave someday.”

“Yeah, you do,” Aemond agrees, squeezing Aegon’s shoulder.

“Goddammit,” Willis grumbles. He’s using his walking stick to jab at the water near the rear of the boat. “We’re hooked on a mangrove root or something.”

“Do you need help?” Aemond asks, headed towards him.

“Yes sir, if you’d be so kind. I don’t…I can’t see…what the hell is it stuck to?”

“The motor…? The blades of the motor?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re right. Yup. There it is. We musta drifted into it while we were preoccupied. Okay, we gotta push the boat off the root and then we can get movin’ again. Grab a stick, let’s start pushin’.”

“Should I get a stick too?” Aegon says, joining them. “I can hit stuff with sticks. I really want to get out of here…”

There’s a bit of a commotion at the back of the boat as the men try to propel it away from the mangrove tree. Willis is complaining that the water is too deep to touch the bottom with his stick. Aemond’s stick keeps slipping off the mangrove roots when he tries to get leverage. You aren’t sure what Aegon is contributing, if anything. The boat has begun to rock.

You look to the tree where Aegon had been imprisoned. The alligators are fully awake now; they are headed into the water and disappearing there, unseen, unheard, and yet all around you.

“I think we need to go now,” you say, but no one is listening to you. They’re still wrestling with the mangrove root. You rise, taking a few steps to the left to offset the boat’s listing towards the right. “Guys, we need to—”

The boat is freed from its organic jailor and lurches sharply towards the left. As the men cheer triumphantly—completely unaware of what’s happening—you are jolted off your feet and tumble backwards over the side of the boat.

The shock of hitting the water stuns you. It is cold and impossibly dark; when you open your eyes to try to find the surface, the boat, you can’t see anything. You paddle blindly. Something brushes your leg, and you scream bubbles of mute terror. You can’t breathe, you can’t think, you are picturing those ten-foot gators slinking into the water that you’re now thrashing wildly through. You swim towards what you think is the surface and strike unyielding metal—the underbelly of the boat—hard enough to put stars in your skull like the flashes of lightning bugs. You get turned around and don’t know where you are again. Something glides past your arm, and you gasp before remembering that there’s no air. Dark water—salt and silt and decomposition—surges into your lungs, your stomach, sinking you like an anchor from within. There is a whirlpool of motion around you and muffled shouting. Then something closes around your wrist.

The eyes! you think frantically. I have to poke out its eyes!

But the vice around your flesh has no teeth. It’s not a reptilian jaw, you realize now, but a human hand. It leads you and you obey.

When you break the surface, you cough bayou water from your throat and blink it out of your eyes. Willis is leaning over the side of the boat and stabbing at gators with his stick, shrieking at them in French. One lunges at him from the water, jaws snapping. Willis whips the pistol off his belt, aims it squarely between the creature’s eyes, and fires. The boom is deafening; the bleeding gator sinks into the water. Aegon is kneeling in the boat and offering his arms to help you climb up.

You look beside you. Aemond is barely keeping his head above water. “Go!” he orders you. “Get in the boat!”

With Aegon’s help, you heave yourself over the side and collapse to the aluminum floor, lungs aching, skull pounding, heart thudding mercilessly, soaked to the skin. Then you force yourself to your hands and knees to see where Aemond is.

“Aemond?!” Aegon is yelling. “Aemond, where are you?!”

He’s gone; you don’t see him in the water. You try to scream for him too, but the water still in your throat strangles you. Your hands close around the edge of the boat, and Willis grabs your raincoat to yank you backwards. “Other side!” says, pointing. “We’re gonna capsize, we need weight on the other side, go there!”

You scramble to the opposite end of the boat, sobbing now, still hacking up muddy water. Where’s Aemond?? Where is he??

Both Willis and Aegon are grasping for something. They’re shouting and stabbing into the water with their walking sticks. And then they’re hauling him into the boat: Aemond, blood pouring down the left side of his face, a gash by his temple, another on his forehead; something bit him or clawed him. He’s wearing only his jeans and a white tank top; he ripped off his Marlboro jacket before diving in after you. You don’t see his Adidas sneakers anywhere. They must have been kicked off in the water. His glass eye has been knocked out and lost in the muck. What’s left in its place is a void, gaping, pink; it’s difficult to look at, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t. It has the visceral, gory quality of organs never meant to be seen. His fingertips go to the socket to feel for his prosthetic. When he confirms it isn’t there, he covers his face with his hands and moans.

He saved me. He jumped in after me.

You crawl to him. “Aemond—”

“No!” He pushes you away, and you see that there’s blood and ancient silt from the bayou in his empty eye socket. It will have to be cleaned out. Willis watches, astonished, bewildered. For once, he is at a loss for words.

“Aemond, please…” You’d do anything to help him. You don’t know how to help him.

He saved me.

Aegon reaches for Aemond. “Hey, hey. It’s not that bad. Hey…” He drops to his knees, presses his forehead against Aemond’s, stains himself with his brother’s blood. And when Aemond tries to pull away, Aegon doesn’t let him; he’s got his fingers tangled in Aemond’s wet hair. “Thank you for saving me. I’m always almost getting myself killed and you’re always saving me. What would I do without you, huh? None of us would be okay without you. Thank you, Aemond. You hear me? You’re not gonna get this again anytime soon, so listen up. Thank you. Thank you.”

“I’m just so—”

“I know.”

“I hate that I’m like this.”

“It’s not a big deal. You’ll order a new one.”

“You know what he’s going to say.”

“Fuck him. Why do you care what he thinks? Because you think he’s the one who gets to decide what you’re worth? He isn’t. He’s not qualified.”

Aemond nods, but he doesn’t seem to be convinced. He still doesn’t look at you. He turns so the left side of his face—bloodied, eyeless—is angled towards the water and out of your view. Willis goes to the motor, starts it, and begins guiding the boat back towards the launch where he parked his Plymouth Gran Fury.

Aegon glances over at you. “You okay, cake lady?”

“Yeah.” But your voice shakes. The rest of you is shaking too; now that the adrenaline is wearing off, you can feel that you’re shivering in your wet clothes.

“Put it on,” Aemond says softly, and at first you don’t understand. Then you see that he’s pointing to his Marlboro jacket, left hurriedly flung on the floor of the boat. You unzip your dripping raincoat and don Aemond’s Marlboro jacket instead. It smells like him: smoke, cologne, effort, secrets.

“Thank you,” you tell him, wanting to say more. Aemond doesn’t answer. He stares into the murky water, greenish under the glare of the spotlight, and says nothing to anyone all the way back to the boat launch. Wordlessly, he helps Willis re-hitch the jon boat to the trailer. He remembers the steps. He’s a fast learner. The blood on his face is drying; his right eye won’t allow itself to look at you. The only sound on the drive to the Targaryens’ mansion is the radio of the Plymouth Gran Fury, which Willis turns up to cover the silence: In A Big Country.

At the end of the cobblestone driveway, lights are on in the vast house called The Last Desire. Everyone gets out of the car. Willis shakes a rather puzzled Aegon’s hand, then turns to Aemond, who ignores him. Willis chuckles, more curious than offended.

“So ya are the man who’s been givin’ her that satisfied look. I knew it. Yes, I knew what I saw. What’s your secret, son? Ya must really know your way around a woman if ya got her so mad about ya with a face like that. Ya look like the Rougarou got ahold of ya—”

Aemond grabs Willis by his hoodie, yanks him off his feet, jacks him up against the side of the sheriff’s vehicle. Immediately, you and Aegon are shouting and trying to break them apart.

You plead: “Aemond, don’t!”

“Aemond, he’s got a gun!” Aegon screeches.

Fortunately, Willis isn’t grappling for his pistol. He holds both palms in the air, open and empty, like he’s surrendering; but there’s still a smile on his face. Aemond doesn’t act like he’s heard anyone. He leans in close to Willis, his voice low and dark and snarling, his sole blue eye glinting. “You had so much in your filthy fucking hands and you just threw it away.” Then he slams Willis against the car one more time, tears away from him, and strides up the porch steps and into the house.

Aegon hurries after him, casting you a quick glance and a beckoning wave. It’s an invitation. You coming? Aegon mouths, and then vanishes inside.

Willis peers up at the house: stained glass windows, immense white columns. You don’t see any signs of Vhagar the Great Dane. Willis speaks calmly and without looking at you. “I think he’s in love with you, sugar.”

Improbable. Impossible. If he was, he couldn’t marry someone else. “He’s not.”

Now Willis’ eyes flick to you. “All I’m sayin’ is that I’ve been fishin’ on that lake since as long as I can remember, day, night, sun, storms, and nothin’ on earth would have gotten me to jump into that water. Not even Heather Locklear herself.”

“Just go, Willis,” you say, exhausted, heartsick. “Thank you for what you did tonight. But please go now.”

“How ya gonna get home?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of that, I am incapable,” Willis drawls. Then he climbs into his Plymouth Gran Fury and is gone. You sprint up the porch steps in your soggy sneakers, searching for Aemond.

In the white-and-gold foyer, Viserys is just arriving. He struts across the marble floor until he is close enough to his two oldest sons to embrace them, to hit them, to extract their teeth with his knuckles. The others pour through the doorways—Alicent, Criston, Helaena, Daeron, Otto—but while they gape in horror and fascination, they don’t speak in anything more than murmurs amongst themselves. Viserys steals only a glimpse of Aegon, swift and disinterested, then examines Aemond: wet clothes, no shoes, grime and blood, dazed fury. When his cool, pale gaze reaches Aemond’s empty eye socket, Viserys flinches and looks away.

“So you lost another prosthetic,” is all he says. His face twists into a grimace. And you expect Aemond to do something, to jab back, but he doesn’t. He’s frozen, he’s paralyzed. His right eye is misty. He’s biting his lips so they don’t tremble. And suddenly you hate Viserys Targaryen, you hate him more than you can imagine hating anyone. You think that you could watch his entrails unspooled from his body without feeling a thing. The Targaryen family patriarch hasn’t spoken to you; you don’t register to him at all. You might as well be an oriental vase or a house plant.

“You’re the one who did it, Viserys,” Aegon says, stepping in front of Aemond seething and sharp like a blade. “You remember that part? I do. I remember. The North Sea, 1968. I remember him trotting around after you, always so desperate to prove himself, always doing anything you asked, anything you could dream up, worshipping you like you were God. And where were you when he was getting his eye socket debrided at Moorfields Hospital? In fact, where were you when he got his hands caught in a winch when he was eleven? Where were you when he fell off a pipe deck and broke six ribs because one of your idiot employees forgot to close a safety gate and he couldn’t see it? Where were you then? Where are you now?”

Viserys scowls down at him—revolted, repelled—but he doesn’t reply. He feels no instinct to defend himself. He is unable to internalize shame; it rolls off him like raindrops.

“You’d love me so much if I was dead,” Aegon says, grinning, baring his teeth like an animal. “How sick is that? You can love bones in a box, but not someone standing right in front of you. You love Aemma, a ghost. You love Baelon, and you never even knew him. You’ve got nothing for me. That’s fine, I don’t care, I’ll be alright without you.” He points to Aemond. “But you’ve got nothing for him either, and he’s everything you always wanted. You’re disgusting, you’re broken. You belong in a box too. The part of you that was human is gone. I don’t give a fuck about what’s left.”

Aegon shoves Viserys, hard, and then storms past him. As he crosses into the kitchen, Helaena grabs for his wrist. You can hear her whisper: “What the hell happened?!”

Then Aegon remembers one last thing. He whirls around and bellows at Viserys, his voice reverberating off the vaulted ceilings: “And I’m not getting my vasectomy reversed! You can’t make me! It’s bioethics! I asked the lawyer!” He stomps off and disappears, Helaena in tow.

Alicent shoots Viserys a hateful glare and then flees from the foyer, her long auburn ringlets streaming out behind her. Viserys goes in the opposite direction. Daeron and Otto share an awkward glance and then depart as well. Only you, Criston, and Aemond remain in the room, surrounded by treasures that might as well be handfuls of earth, flour, swamp water, salt.

Cautiously, Criston lays a hand on Aemond’s shoulder, on his right side where he can see it. “Aemond…”

“Don’t touch me,” Aemond says as he wrenches away. He leaves like a hurricane, like a flood, receding until there remains only wreckage and memory.

Criston sighs deeply, and then he asks you: “Do you need a ride home?”

You don’t respond. You haven’t decided how to yet. You stare at the place where Aemond stood, a void like a star that died out. Do I follow him upstairs? you think.

Do I?

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond

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celerydays · 3 months

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Hi! I have been following you for some time and I notice you draw more and more Sebastian and Ominis doing stuff that makes me... uncomfortable.....

Sebastian and Ominis are best friends, why people are obsessed with drawing them into weird gay stuff? Seriously.... Why can't be friends.... without all Sebinis... Just stop it...

Normally I would delete messages or simply ignore the things that make me feel uncomfortable–

But, you're on anon and this is my ask inbox, so I can only assume you want an actual, public response. So alright. Fine.

Like I said: normally I would just remove odd, uncomfortable, or even outright rude messages without making a whole thing of it. I curate my own online experience and I try my best to live by that rule.

However, I've now gotten multiple unsolicited DMs over the course of a couple of months expressing the exact same sentiment (and nearly word-for-word as this ask, so I highly suspect I already know who you are). I have duly ignored or glossed over them hoping that the person/people would take the hint to simply stop engaging with the same message over and over again. But an anon ask is my last straw, I guess.

So if you are the same person as in my DMs, I'm finally giving you a response (and if you're not the same person – which I highly doubt – then I'm speaking to both of you).

Firstly, I want to say that I am sorry that your worldview is so limited that this is your stance and feelings on gay/queer ship content for Sebastian and Ominis.

Next, I ask that you please:

Don't make your homophobia anyone else's issue but your own. Don't come into DMs/ask inboxes/comments to make your discomfort with the content I create my problem. I don't know what you hoped to accomplish by sending this message but it's unlikely that you'll find the same feelings or sympathy from the person who is actively creating queer/sebinis content.

Curate your own online experience. Once again, do not make your content consumption anyone else's problem but your own. The "unfollow" button is there. Tumblr has a tag filtering system and I try to tag my art and content as accurately as possible. If you do not like something/it makes you uncomfortable, then do not continue to consume it. And if you still decide to stick around for whatever reason, then please keep your thoughts/opinions on this matter to yourself because I can promise that I don't actually care why you would continue to be here and looking at my art if it makes you unhappy.

Widen your worldview and try to reframe your perspective. Consider that Sebastian x Ominis is just as canon as Sebastian x f!MC or Ominis x f!MC. As much as we like to ship our various MCs with the canon characters, MC never actually amounts to canonically being confirmed as anything but being just friends with everyone. Using the "they are just best friends" / "why can't they just be portrayed only as friends" could literally be applied to just about any other non-canon/non-confirmed ship between friends regardless of gender. If even one of them, Ominis or Sebastian, was portrayed as cis female in canon, I would suspect that you would better "understand" why a ship between these two "friends" may exist. Then also consider a cis male MC; it's possible you may suddenly reframe all the interactions between Ominis x m!MC or Sebastian x m!MC in your head to be "totally platonic/friendly". Your issue is certainly not with their canon relationship vs. fandom portrayal (but I think we both know that).

Educate yourself. Go outside and meet and talk to people, I dunno. It is 2024 my dude. I don't even know how you're on Tumblr – the most queer-friendly social media site – with those kind of narrowed views and stigma.

I would like to finish by saying: I don't wish you the best. What I do wish is for you to learn, grow, and be better than this.

And also please stop sending me messages of this nature, because the next ask or DM I get like this, we're moving on to blocking at this point. And if your purpose was to get me to stop, I can tell you that these messages have only fueled the explicit sebinis smut maker in me. 😤

#I'm sorry for anyone who sees this and did not want a rant on their feed today #ask #anon #sebinis #hl

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mymainwastoocluttered · 1 year

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Malleus and his Divorce (Malleus)

Honestly, just some silly to cheer up this sick girl. I don't even know how to write a summary for this one. Literally just blurting out the first words that come to mind.

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

— (⁠ ⁠´⁠◡⁠‿⁠ゝ⁠◡⁠`⁠)

"Malleus, I want a divorce."

The feather pen almost drops from Malleus' hand.

He looks up from the paper he's been trying to read for the past ten minutes, not sure if the sudden dizziness comes from being snapped out of his thoughts of Yuu, or from hearing such outlandish words come from his wife's lips. He blinks a few times, questions stuck in his throat, while (Y/N) waits patiently for him to gather his wits, sipping her tea as if she just asked about the weather. Once he does, only one word leaves him.

“Why?”

“Because you are in love, and I have no interest in becoming your romance's villain.”

“... What?”

(Y/N) gives him a small, smug and playful smile, one very few have the privilege to see. (Y/N) Draconia, the Crown Princess of Briar Valley by marriage, is known for being the pinnacle of what Briar Valley nobility should be: A solemn, noble lady that remains calm and composed no matter the situation, like a beautiful and eternal statue. So very few people have ever seen her break the behavior and be playful or angry, with her husband of centuries being one of them.

That doesn't mean he's any good at reading her, though, as proven by the confusion that floods his mind right now.

“I was told by Lord Vanrouge and your attendants of the human you cherish, the human named Yuu.”

“Yuu is just a friend.”

“I am not accusing you of anything, Your Highness,” the sudden sharpness in her voice and the formal addressing makes him wince. “I am noting a fact. You are in love with that human, and I wish you were free to pursue them. After all… your time together is fleeting.”

Malleus feels like a searing needle just stabbed his heart. Right, who could ever forget the tragic romance between her father and his human lover? Who could forget Count (L/N)'s fall from grace as he cheated on his wife with a human that stole his heart? The Countess who then divorced him after finding out—the tale of their explosive fight is still brought up over tea—, only for him to come back one year later with a half-fae, half-human baby in arms, lover gone thanks to illness. (Y/N) had long forgiven her father, and her brother is a beloved young man, but that deeply ingrained in her two things: the terrible fear of being betrayed and sympathy for doomed romances between lovers with different lifespans.

And now Malleus is practically walking the same path as her father.

“I…” he's not sure what to say. That he is sorry for loving another? That he's sorry it is a human? Neither sounds good.

He might not love (Y/N) romantically, but he holds a considerable amount of affection for her, who grew up with him and went through thick and thin by his side, who accepted his selfish request and became the Crown Princess because he couldn't accept the idea of marrying some random noble. To say something like that, to put her through this heartbreak, it hurts tremendously.

“Can… Can this wait?”

“I have all the time in the world, Malleus, so don't think of me,” she warns, placing the cup down on the table and getting up. “Please give me an answer before you regret it.”

She offers him a last smile before leaving him alone in his office.

The rest of his winter break is spent in contemplation. Malleus doesn't tell anyone of her request, other than his mentor and his aides. Lilia's expression takes that melancholic hue; being the one who helped officiate the Countess' divorce and the best man of Malleus' wedding, it's understandable he's not happy with the situation. Silver looks conflicted, his loyalty to Malleus keeps him quiet, but his years of friendship with (Y/N), who never once treated him as nothing but an equal, make his unhappiness clear. And Sebek—Sebek for once is quiet, not one word comes from him as he thinks things through; he's yet another who (Y/N) had befriended to the point of openness, and he holds a special respect for her that goes beyond her married status.

Talking of her, (Y/N) acts like nothing happened, except she starts to distance herself more and more. Before, they'd sit almost glued together, but slowly she began sitting farther and farther away, and now they sit on opposing seats. Before, they'd walk arm in arm, her head many times finding his shoulder and his finding hers, but now there's enough space between them to fit about two of her maids. Before, she'd go spend time with him in his office while he did paperwork with a soft smile and a quip, but now he seldom sees her outside meals.

The bed feels incredibly empty once she gets her own room.

Malleus knew of the word “miserable” before, but now he knows it intimately, like a host knows a parasite eating away their life.

(Y/N) is not there to see them off when they return to Night Raven College after winter break. Despite Malleus being the one facing a possible divorce, all four of them look like they ate an entire lime, even Lilia who usually keeps his boyish smile.

The first night he visits Yuu in Ramshackle is cold and sharp like the blade of a sword.

Even the Prefect notices his gloom, placing that gentle hand of theirs on his arm and asking what's wrong with their soft voice. Before, it had felt exhilarating; someone who's not afraid of him, and a human at that! Someone who treats him like just another man, finally!

But he has always had that, didn't he?

“I have a wife,” he blurts out, not knowing how to start but not wanting to go all the way back to the very beginning.

He prepares himself for the reaction, not even knowing what exactly he's expecting, but all they do is laugh kindly and look at him with amused eyes.

“I know, you talk about her all the time.”

“I… do…?”

“Did you not notice?” they furrow their brows. “Almost every time you talk about your life in Briar Valley, you find a way to talk about your wife. It's pretty cute, actually. You're so loving despite the usually regal and distant air you have.”

“She wants a divorce.”

“What?”

Hard to tell whose eyes are wider as they look at each other. Yuu's face goes through a few changes, but the confusion remains the same, and if Malleus were a bit more expressive, he'd probably be mimicking them. A few seconds of that pass before the fae swallows the lump in his throat and tell his friend the conversation he had with his wife.

“So she's divorcing you… because you have feelings for me?"

“... Yes. Apologies that this is how you learn of said feelings, by the way.”

“No, no, it's fine, I'm just… me? You like me?” Malleus nods and Yuu frowns even harder. “But you're agonizing over losing your wife.”

And Yuu, brilliant, simple and lovely Yuu, brings clarity to his mind in one phrase. He says he's interested in Yuu, but his heart hurts at the idea of losing his wife. And when he thinks back at all the fleeting times he thought to himself he had an interest in Yuu, he sees they all happened whenever Yuu treated him as his wife does: as a friend, a companion, someone special not for his pedigree or his abilities, but for the relationship they share, the person he is.

“... I think I like what you share with my wife.”

“No Sense Thursday, huh? Ok, I can do that.”

“No, it does make sense, Child of Man. I miss my wife terribly and you treat me like her.”

“... Ok, now I'm offended, I'm not a replacement for your wife.”

“Of course, I'm not going to divorce my wife for you.”

Yuu blinks and it hits Malleus that he was terribly rude just now, but before he can apologize and correct himself, Yuu throws their head back and laughs. Laughs, laughs and laughs, until tears threaten to fall. The fae isn't sure what they're laughing about, but he's glad at least one of them is having a good time.

“Right, right, no divorces for you, mister.” Yuu sniffles, fanning their face with their hands, small giggles still bursting every now and then. “So, what are you gonna do about it?"

“I'll go talk to her!”

“Go get'em, tiger!”

Malleus pays no attention to the odd encouragement, probably another of those odd human sayings, storming away from Ramshackle. Convincing Crowley is easy, it's not everyday that the Briar Valley Crown Prince barges into his office in the middle of the night and demands he opens the portal. Malleus could just use his own magic to go there, but with Headmage Crowley as a witness and the Dark Mirror as a medium, any sort of bureaucracy trouble that otherwise could be born is annulled. Lilia will take care of it.

He finds her in her room, sitting by the window in her sleeping robes. Fae are naturally considered ethereal, but (Y/N) was made to represent the word.

And she is his wife.

And he almost lost her.

“My wife.”

“Malleus!”

Before she can ask him what he's doing in her room in the middle of the night, Malleus lunges at her, not caring about the closed window they bump on with the impact, or her startled shriek. No, all he cares about is pressing their lips together in a passionate kiss, a passionate kiss that he trills when he feels it being answered in the same intensity. Dragon fae vocalization is not something he indulges much, specially not when mingling with humans, but if there's ever a night for him to throw away everything but his truest, then it is tonight.

The kiss only ends when he feels his lungs burn, and he can tell she's the same by the greedy breaths she takes. He can tell she’s about to question him and following his unusual impulsiveness, he kisses her again before she can utter a word. The second kiss is shorter, but still just as passionate, and he trills again when he sees a rosy blush rise to her cheeks.

“You’re wrong, and so was I,” he blurts out—he’s been breaking all records tonight, huh?—, brushing a strand of her hair away from her face. “I do not love Yuu, I was taken by them because they reminded me of you.”

“... that’s so rude! You shouldn’t see them as a replacement for me!”

Malleus can’t help but laugh out loud, hugging her to his chest and telling her between his laughter that Yuu said the exact same thing. He’s not the only one acting uncharacteristically, for (Y/N) manages to show him a pout he hasn’t seen since they were much, much younger. A pout he kisses away.

“Come to school with me.”

“Malleus, there are so many reasons why I can’t–”

“I can change them, all of them.”

“What if one of them is my will?”

“... I can change that too, if you allow me, wife.”

She shivers in his embrace and he grins. To think he came so close to losing this forever. He’s determined to make up for that terrible slip up, by any means necessary. By all means necessary. Their honeymoon did happen quite a long time ago, it’d be a shame to miss a chance to relive it.

With luck, Lilia will actually knock on the door when he comes to fetch Malleus the next day.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #x fem reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia

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homunculus-argument · 7 months

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One book draft that I am yet to circle back to was somewhere between being a YA novel and a book meant for older kids - essentially a fairytale for teenagers. Nothing particularly supernatural happens, but the worldbuilding is so vague and Based On Romantic Vibes that one couldn't really call it fantasy. The exact time or place of the land is never clarified, only that it's set in a port town in some era around the time of sail ships. Characters, for the most part, don't have first names, but are referred to by their roles or defining features - such as the Butcher, the Poet, the Tavernkeeper, and so on.

There's a scene where the protagonist and his best friend are sitting at the house of the Portmaster, who - just the night before - had to break apart a fist fight between two grown men. Or not really a fist fight, as much as a simple one-sided beat down - the Butcher, who is known as a gentle man (who had chosen his profession because Someone Has To Do It, and he would rather oversee that the work is done with the least amount of pain than have the animals killed by someone who doesn't care) had seen the Poet stumbling drunk out of the town's tavern, had gone into a terrible rage and started beating the shit out of the drunk Poet.

The Portmaster remarks that while he doesn't accept what the Butcher did, he understands that it was out of love. Everyone in the town knows everyone, and everyone knows the Poet had been drinking himself to death for the past fifteen years after a passing sailor broke his heart, and he had been sober for some time now. Seeing him drunk again threw the Butcher into rage out of fear and love. When kind, intelligent people do mad and cruel things, it's often out of fear and love. Stupid, but understandable.

The protagonist, who is 15, doesn't understand how and why the Portmaster can have sympathy for a man whose arrest he was personally involved in, when overseeing that people follow the law is literally his job. The portmaster explains that aye, he sees that people do things as the law dictates, but in his work he has learned that there's a difference between people who follow the law, and the people who are good people. Sometimes people who only want to do the right thing don't pay attention to laws, and some of the worst people that he has ever met have never broken a law in their lives. They know exactly what is the cruelest thing they are legally permitted to do, and would do worse if the law allowed.

The protagonist, being fifteen, doesn't really pay attention to the lives of the adults around him, and the story arcs of the side characters - such as the romance between the Butcher and the Poet - pass him by largely unnoticed. The Portmaster is a quiet, understated man, and the narration never goes into his backstory, no more than mentioning that he came into this land as a foreigner from somewhere far away, and that he came here alone. No-one ever asks why a good man like him seems to have no family at all, not to think of asking what happened to his family.

The only thing he will willingly say on the subject is that he is very familiar with just how cruel some people can be, when legally permitted to do so.

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thefloatingstone · 2 months

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Hello

I am once again rambling about neat details in Mass Effect everybody already knew except me.

I was playing the ending of the Citadel DLC a while ago, the part where the Normandy is getting stolen, and because this is the only mission in the game you can have Wrex as a party member, of course I took him. However, due to some irl stuff I wasn't fully vibing with the mission. So after the irl stuff got sorted, I decided to replay it. I took Wrex along for most of the archive part of the mission, but when it came to rescuing the Normandy, for shits and giggles I took EDI with me because I wondered if she'd get any unique dialogue.

and it turns out she gets... a LOT of unique dialogue. Like a RIDICULOUS amount. So much so that from now on she's gonna be the default squaddie for this mission when I replay again.

The initial almost joke scene where she glitches out for a second before rebooting and going "I'M OK!" was great and honestly that's the most I was expecting for taking her along. But there's a bunch of other stuff too. They went so far as to make that little orange hologram she has flicker and die when her control of the Normandy is shut down (which she's greatly distressed by when it first happens). And the orange band remains gone the entire mission until she's given control back

The mission running up to the Normandy and shooting Mercs has her basically screaming for blood the entire time which is probably the most emotion I've ever heard her give.

"I AM THE NORMANDY! AND I WILL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!"

Fuck yeah babe, you tell 'em!

But I also like the extra detail it adds. The Normandy DOES NOT WANT to be stolen. The Normandy ITSELF is like "FUCK YOU ASSHOLES!!! NOBODY GETS TO STEAL ME BUT SHEPARD!!!" The Normandy ITSELF is outraged at this bullshit and the sheer fucking audacity.

When trying to open the airlock, Shepard actually asks EDI if she can do anything and she openly laments she has no control nor does she know what's going on. So much so Garrus has to give her moral support which I did not know he would do if you bring EDI.

Furthermore, when riding the elevator to the cargo hold, Garrus more or less asks EDI how she's holding up, and EDI comments she feels like she's walking around blind. Garrus gives further support and sympathy telling her then it's only fair she take some revenge on these assholes and EDI is very 🥺 about it.

When you do the final fight in the cargo bay, you can hear EDI raging every now and then, and one line hits me is her more or less screaming "You betrayed my crew! You violated my trust! You violated my body!! I am going to KILL ALL OF YOU!!" [paraphrasing] which is kind of horrifying for her and makes me feel even worse for her than I did already when I never took her along before.

Finally, after the fight, Shepard asks EDI if she's in control again which she does even if you didn't take EDI along, but when she's standing in front of you, not only does EDI confirm she's in control again, but she actually adds with a smile "thank you for asking".

THERE'S JUST A LOT OF EXTRA SHIT I NEVER KNEW ABOUT!!!!! THERE'S SO MUCH JUICY CONTENT AND IMPLICATIONS AND LAYERS HERE AND I JUST NEVER FUCKING KNEW ABOUT ANY OF IT BECAUSE I LIKE WREX TOO MUCH!!!

Anyway, those are my thoughts about this mission I'm sure literally everyone knew about back in 2013 except for me.

#Mass Effect #Mass Effect 3 #EDI #Spoiler #Spoilers

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1800-fight-me · 9 months

Text

Salvation

Miguel O’hara x Female!Reader

Rating: E (Explicit)- MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Cursing, violence, and explicit sex

Word count: About 7.7k

Synopsis: Your lunch date with Miguel goes awry when villains break out of containment at Spider Society and you’re captured.

Author’s note: Something about this man makes me want to write hurt/comfort sooooooo bad. So here’s some fluff, then angst, then comfort and smut! I hope y’all enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Important announcement!! I am no longer using a taglist! Instead if you would like to be notified when I post new fics follow my side blog @jo-writes-fanfic and turn your post notifications on!

Miguel O’hara Masterlist

“Hey there, guapisimo,” you purred.

“Hola,” he replied absentmindedly before he froze and turned from his screens.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice veering into scary-calm territory.

You gave him your most dazzling smile. “Lyla told me that now was a good time for a little visit, and since I only had a half day at work today, I brought you some lunch. You can’t only eat cafeteria empanadas, y'know.”

His grumpy composure cracked slightly, like it usually did when you were your most charming self, and the corners of his lips turned up slightly, which was the biggest smile you were likely to get from him while he was at work.

His grumpy work persona was, in your opinion, hilarious. Everyone took him so seriously, they had no idea how loving and gentle their boss secretly was.

Though, it had taken you quite some time to crack through his hard persona and find the sweetheart inside.

“Lyla,” Miguel said as the dramatic platform he worked on began lowering towards you.

“‘Sup bossman,” she said cheerily as the AI appeared above his shoulder.

“You can’t call my girlfriend every time I’m difficult to deal with,” he said, motioning air quotes at the second half of his sentence and using a tone that was clearly a mockery of Peter B. Parker.

You giggled and Lyla’s amusement matched yours.

“Don’t blame me! It wasn’t my idea!” she said before she disappeared again.

You stared up at Miguel as the platform continued its excruciatingly slow descent.

“Are you really going to make me wait down here for-” your words were cut off as a glowing red web shot out and attached itself to your waist. The air left your lungs as he suddenly pulled you up, up, up into his arms.

You wheezed slightly as he grabbed your waist, now with his hands rather than webs and set you down, purposefully letting your body run down the length of his as he did so. You glared as you looked up at him.

“You could’ve just jumped down,” you said.

He smirked, “What’s the fun in that?”

“Oh? You’re capable of having fun now?”

He scowled and you grinned.

“I missed you, baby,” you said sweetly as you handed him the container of food you brought.

He dropped it on the desk beside him and pulled you flush against his chest.

“I missed you too, preciosa, pero no esta seguro,” he said, his voice low and stressed.

“It’s not safe? This is literally spider society,” you replied.

“There are still times that it wouldn’t be safe for you to be here. We bring villains here daily and I don’t want a single one of them knowing anything about you,” he said and you rubbed your hands up and down his arms in sympathy.

“I don’t think your AI would invite me here today if it wasn’t safe.” you replied and kissed his cheek reassuringly.

He sighed in defeat, unable to argue with your logic.

“Stay away from where we keep the captured villains,” he murmured as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

You smiled against his plush lips and twined your arms around his neck.

“I’m not going anywhere without you, guapisimo,” you assured him.

He smiled and with strong hands on your waist, he lifted you up and sat you down on his desk.

“How was your morning?” you asked and he gave you the stank eye as he opened the container and handed you one of the sandwiches you brought.

He sat down in his chair right in front of you, the height of the desk making it so that you were actually level with him.

He shoved a huge bite of his sandwich in his mouth to avoid answering your question.

“That bad, huh?” you asked.

He sighed and shook his head.

“Why is everyone in the multiverse but you so annoying,” he practically whined as he placed a hand on your knee.

You giggled lightly then shrugged.

“M’just perfect I guess,” you teased.

He looked at you as if he could devour you for lunch instead of the sandwich in his other hand.

You bit your lip and the movement made his eyes flicker down from your eyes to your lips.

“That you are,” he agreed, his voice somehow even deeper and a lightning bolt of heat shot through you.

He smirked as he took in your reaction.

“Did you come here for another reason, preciosa? Is this not just an innocent lunch date?” he asked, entirely too cocky that he knew the answer to his own question.

You looked away in an attempt to hide your flustered expression. Your efforts were unsuccessful.

His hand slipped up from your knee to grip at the flesh of your thigh, right under the edge of your skirt. You turned to look back at him and his expression had darkened.

You wanted him to consume you.

“Finish your lunch, then I’ll give you what you came for,” he promised and you contemplated throwing the food right in the trash but you knew that doing as you were told would increase the pleasure of the outcome.

You obediently took a bite of your sandwich and he smiled. You definitely knew what you were doing when you picked this pretty sundress to wear today.

“Tell me about your day,” he murmured as his hand wandered up and down the length of your calf.

You began rambling, wanting to do anything to please the man in front of you, as you told him the ins and outs of your morning since he left your bed. You told him of the accomplishments of the day and perhaps a little bit of the office gossip as well. You knew he loved to hear you talk, he always asked you to take his mind off the fate of the multiverse that he was constantly stressing about. One of the things you loved so dearly about him though was that he never treated his problems and emotions as more important than yours, he always wanted to be there for you and listen when he had the time to do so.

Then you talked about what you were the most excited about, the logistics of moving in together. He had asked you to move in with him the previous weekend after an absolutely perfect date. You’d been together for about six months and it had been absolutely wonderful, even through difficult situations due to his Spider-Man alternative identity. And though he usually spent time at your apartment, you both agreed that his was nicer and it made more sense for you to move in with him.

“So I was thinking that I can finish packing by Sunday and then you can help me move in then?” you asked excitedly.

“Of course, anything you want,” he said and you knew he meant it. You knew he would bend over backwards and do anything to make you happy. You could see the excitement sparkle in his perfect brown eyes as he thought of a future of living with you.

Soon the food was finished and the desire in Miguel’s eyes had reached a point of ravenousness. His hands had continued to graze and explore your legs as you spoke and you were already dripping with need for him.

A whisper of your name dripped from his lips, the word spoken with reverence as if you were something angelic and holy. As if you were his peace and salvation.

And you knew his tight grip on his self control had snapped.

He pulled you down from the desk onto his lap and finally, finally pressed his full plush lips to yours.

You gripped his strong arms as he held you tight, and reveled in the feel of his chest pressed against yours.

His lips moved against yours and you opened up for him, reveling in the taste of him, and indescribable taste of Miguel, of the love of your life.

A cleared throat caused you both to look to the left.

“Sorry to interrupt, boss man, but we’ve got a bit of a situation here…” Peter B. Parker said as he rubbed his hand on the back of his neck awkwardly and turned his blushing face away from you.

Miguel sighed as he led you up off his lap and turned towards the other Spider-Man.

He stood, his presence towering and intimidating. It was kind of doing it for you.

“What kind of situation?” he bit out.

An alarm began blaring.

“Ay dios mio,” he muttered.

Miguel shoved you behind him as his mask covered his face and he looked around for the danger.

You placed your hands on his waist as you peered around his broad form.

“There was a malfunction with the traps and most of the captured got loose,” Peter said as he shot a web and pulled himself up to the platform where you stood.

“What?” Miguel asked through clenched teeth.

He whipped back towards you and leaned down and gently pressed his forehead against yours.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

“Okay,” you replied breathlessly.

He turned, shot a web, and swung out of the room.

Before Peter followed him, he said. “Hey there again. Good to see you, sorry it’s under these circumstances. Would you mind watching Mayday?”

He handed you the baby before you could even nod and was soon racing after Miguel.

“What the hell?” you breathed out.

So much for a relaxing lunch date with your boyfriend. Perhaps he was right about it being too dangerous for you to casually visit. It was hard when you missed him so much, though. You had a relatively good day at work, but the way Miguel had woken you up softly, lovingly, and thoroughly before your alarm ever went off- well, it left you feeling rather needy for him.

If you were completely honest with yourself, Miguel was right, your intention for this little visit might have been purely for a mid-afternoon quickie. It seemed like that was definitely not happening anymore.

“Hola princesita,” you coo at the sweet little baby in your arms.

She grinned widely as she wiggled around.

“You’re so cute y muy bonita,” you said as you pinched her chubby little cheek and she giggled.

The sound of an explosion made you jump and your wide eyes met Mayday’s equally surprised expression. You felt the urge to hide, but you were stranded on this raised platform.

Shit. You hoped the mayhem was kept far away from you and the baby. You peered over the edge of the platform and your heart began to pound. You backed up and accidentally bumped the screen which caused some sort of video feed to begin playing.

You whirled around and Mayday let out an adorable squeak as she saw her father on the screen. It appeared to be a live video feed of the main hall of the building, where all of the fighting was currently being contained. With one more tap, you had audio as well.

From your viewpoint it looked like absolute chaos.

“Lyla, what’s the progress on getting everything back online so we can contain these guys?” Miguel called out before he bit down on the neck of a rhino looking villain.

“60 seconds out!” Lyla replied and Miguel merely grunted in response as he threw the Rhino across the room.

You gulped as heat filled you. You were intimately familiar with those fangs… The way he moved was so ferocious and efficient. His style of fighting was very different from most other Spider-People, particularly due to the claws he used, and you felt a very physical reaction within you as you watched him. He was huge compared to the other Spider-people and even compared to many of their combatants. You turned Mayday’s head away from the screen.

“¿Dónde está tu papá? you murmured as you ran a hand through her thick red curls.

She made a confused noise as she looked up at you.

“Where’s your dad?” you repeated as you fiddled with the controls and switched the camera you were watching.

The little girl clung to you as she craned her head around to once again watch the screens. She squeaked excitedly as her father reappeared, his stupid pink bathrobe making it obvious that it was him underneath the spider suit. You grinned as you peered at her staring with wide eyes at her dad as he fought surprisingly well. You supposed she was used to the violence by now.

You heard the sound of a door opening and you whirled around as you realized it was not from the screen in front of you, but rather behind you.

A large man prowled in, his armored outfit fitted with terrifying claws.

“Ay coño,” you whispered and couldn’t help but grin as you heard Miguel yell the same thing at the same time through the screen behind you.

You crouched down and attempted to hide under the desk as you quietly shushed Mayday. Luckily, the child listened to you, she met your eyes- looking slightly scared, before she buried her face in your neck. You ran your hand up and down her back reassuringly.

You held a hand over your mouth to quiet your panicked breathing. You could hear Miguel through the screen ordering the other Spider-people around.

He jumped up onto the raised platform and you barely managed to hold in your gasp.

Shit.

The man walked closer to the screens you hid under. You clenched your teeth and continued to rock Mayday in an attempt to keep her content and quiet.

“Fucking Spider-Man,” the villian growled as he watched your boyfriend through the screen.

“Peter! You keep coordinating, and get things finished up. I’ve got to get back to my office to make sure my girl is safe,” Miguel called out and at least five Peter Parkers replied all at the same time. He sighed in annoyance.

Shit. You didn’t catch Miguel’s response as the man standing in front of the screens turned the audio feed off. It was right then that Mayday made a happy cooing noise as she started to fall asleep against your chest.

Your heart stopped.

A clawed hand snatched your ankle and yanked you out from under the desk.

Tears filled your eyes and you gritted your teeth as you did your best to struggle while still maintaining Mayday’s safety.

You looked up at the man above you as he pointed a wicked looking sword at your throat.

Your already pounding heart sped from a gallop to a sprint.

“Hello there,” he purred.

You gulped.

“So you’re the big one’s girl?” he asked as he pressed the blade against your skin hard enough to feel a sting.

“No…?” you tried to say confidently but because of your nerves it came out like a question.

Ay dios mio, you thought, you really needed to get better at lying. It was an inside joke between you and Miguel that you could never lie to him, partially due to his super senses, but the lack of that skill was certainly biting you in the nalgas right now.

The Prowler rolled his eyes and hauled you to your feet with a tight grip on your arm.

“You’re coming with me,” he said and you attempted to pull yourself back from him, but his grip only tightened to the point of pain.

You held in your whimper.

“W-wait! Let me put the baby down. Think about it, how difficult will it be to quietly escape with a baby in tow,” you babbled in an attempt to convince the terrifying stranger.

You could see doubt in his eyes so you plowed forward.

“She’s not my baby, I’m just a babysitter. Think about her parents and how scared they would be. That’s not what you want right? Y-you just want to scare…” you gulped, “my Spider-Man, right?”

His jaw clenched.

“Yes. Oh how Miguel O’hara will rage when he finds his lover is gone,” he said with a smile that made your heart sink into your stomach.

How did he know his name?

“Fine, put the baby down. Then let’s go,” he relented at your scared and pleading expression.

He released his grip on your arm and you turned and gently laid a sleeping Mayday in the hammock made of Peter’s spiderwebs that was attached to the side of the desk.

If it was another less stressful moment you would take a second to press a kiss to her little forehead and smile at the implication that Miguel was also at times an unwitting babysitter.

With a shuddering breath, you turned back to the Prowler. He grabbed you and placed cuffs on your wrists and ankles, made of some sort of nano technology similar to Miguel’s suit. Then, he slapped a hand over your mouth and when he pulled it off, a mask covered your face and nose that prevented you from screaming.

It filled with a bitter smelling gas and before you could react, you were pulled abruptly into unconsciousness.

When you blinked awake you found yourself strapped to a metal chair in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse.

You took deep breaths as you took in your surroundings, relieved that the gag/gas mask had been removed from your face. You were surprised that you were tied to the chair with a rope rather than another futuristic gadget.

Your captor was suspiciously missing. You figured you should make the most of the time you had alone. You wiggled and jerked and yanked one of your arms in an attempt to free your hand. The rope chafed and ripped at your skin but with a few minutes of effort and only a little bit of blood you manage to pull your hand free.

You reached up to the spider necklace around your neck and pressed the small button on the back of it three times. You sighed in relief as it made a soft beeping noise that told you a distress signal with your location was being sent to Miguel.

The Prowler returned to the large room you were stuck in, a horrible smirk plastered on his face.

“Now all we have to do is wait,” he said.

Your heart dropped. This was a trap. Of course it was a trap. Why else would he have taken you other than to lure Miguel?

He pulled a chair, you cringed as it scraped against the floor, and sat down facing you, the chair backwards.

“Alright, pretty girl, tell me your name,” he ordered as he pulled out that same wicked looking sword and rested it against your throat.

“Gwen Stacy,” you choked out, saying the first name that popped into your head.

He rolled his eyes and the sword dug into your skin enough that you whimpered and blood began to trickle down your chest.

“I spent enough time at that stupid Spider Society to know a Gwen Stacy when I see one. Don’t lie to me again or this will only be worse for you.”

You gulped, which made the pain only sharper as he did not relieve the pressure of the sword against your skin. You rasped out your name and he gave you a feral grin as he clearly believed your answer this time. He repeated it and his tone made your blood turn cold.

“What is a girl like you doing with a drip like Miguel O’hara?” he asked.

You licked your dry lips. You didn’t answer him, unsure as you were of what to say. Your lack of response seemed to only increase his amusement.

“Does he love you?” he asked as he cocked his head to the side.

You tried to shake your head but grimaced and a tear fell from your eye as the blade dug into your flesh.

“No,” you choked out. “It’s new. We just started dating. I don’t even know if he actually likes me and-“

“I told you to stop lying!” he growled out between gritted teeth and your heart spiked at the anger in his eyes.

He pulled the blade from your neck and slid it across your arm. You screamed as he sliced a long gash across your bicep.

“Yes,” you sobbed. “Yes, he loves me. H-he asked me to move in with him last week.”

“Then this will be sufficiently painful for him, won’t it?” he asked with a cruel smile.

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling. They streaked down your cheeks even as you gritted your teeth and leveled your best glare at him.

“What about your pain?” a familiar, deep voice asked from the darkness in the corner of the dimly lit room.

You gasped in relief at the sound.

You saw him crawl across the ceiling and drop down directly behind the Prowler. Miguel ripped him away from you in a brute show of strength that made you tremble.

“That was a nice little trap you set up,” Miguel said so condescendingly you couldn’t help but huff a laugh through your tears.

He slammed the man onto the ground so hard that he made a choked wheezing sound. Miguel’s claws dug into the Prowler’s armor and a near animalistic growl escaped his lips.

“Miguel!” you squeaked as you saw the Prowler slip a thin dagger out of a sheath at his thigh.

Unfortunately your reaction did nothing but distract your superhero as he looked over at you in concern and he snarled as the man shoved the dagger into his side.

You gasped in horror as Miguel slammed the man into the ground once more, not once lessening his hold, even with the surprise and pain.

You heard a horrible crack of the man’s head against the ground. It clearly didn’t kill him though, because despite being dazed, he continued to fight back.

Miguel’s mask disappeared and as he opened his mouth you could see the sharp points of his fangs before he bit down on the Prowler’s neck and paralyzed him.

Your tormenter went rigid and Miguel hauled himself off him and turned his face to the side and spit out blood with a look of disgust on his face, a much different expression from the handful of times he had bit you and had your blood in his mouth.

You stared as the rage in his crimson gaze cooled to concern nearing the edge of panic as he took in your bloodied and disheveled state. You watched as the red in his eyes faded to the warm brown hue you were more familiar with. He breathed out your name.

“Lyla,” he called out.

She appeared over his shoulder, slightly less cheerful than usual as she peered at you in concern.

“Yes?” she asked.

He reached you and placed a gentle hand on your cheek as he knelt before you. You shuddered in relief at the reassurance of his touch. He used his claws to carefully cut through your binds.

“Could you please call for an extraction team?” he asked.

“On it,” she said and disappeared once more.

“Mi amor,” he said and the words dripped with heartbreak as they fell from his lips.

You tried to put on a brave face.

“Estoy bien. I think it looks worse than it is,” you attempted to reassure him.

His lips turned down into a frown as he shook his head in disagreement. Gentle hands turned your head to the side so he could better assess the cut on your neck.

He sucked in a breath.

“That bad?” you asked timidly.

“No, you’ll be fine. I just hate to see you in pain,” he said and there was an undercurrent of self loathing you picked up on and you reached for his hand and squeezed it.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek.

He pulled out a first aid kit, you weren’t sure exactly where it appeared from and assumed it was most likely something to do with the same technology as his suit which you definitely didn’t understand either. You scrunched your eyes closed, having no desire to watch as he pierced your skin with a needle.

“Lo siento mucho, preciosa,” he lamented.

You held in your whimper of pain for his sake as he stitched the cut closed. His ministrations were interrupted only by his ceaseless muttered apologies. He did the same with the cut on your arm as well and bandaged both as well as disinfected and wrapped a bandage around your rope burned wrist.

“What about your wound?” you asked in concern. Miguel let you carefully patch up his wound as well, sighing in impatience only a few times.

When you were done, he placed his blood soaked hands on either side of your face and gave you a kiss so soft and tender that you forgot how to breathe.

“Guapísimo,” you chided and he smiled softly despite himself as he rested his forehead against yours.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered and he grunted in disagreement.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he said. You kissed him once more then made a hum of agreement and allowed him to take you into his arms.

The extraction team showed up right as Miguel led you away from the paralyzed Prowler.

He jumped out the sixth floor window of the building and shot a web to catch you both before your breathless scream turned into something much louder.

You gripped him, wrapping your arms and legs tightly around him and burying your face in his neck to avoid the stomach dropping sight of the height you were swinging at. He kept one arm strong around your back and waist, holding you secure against his warm body.

After long enough that you started to feel nauseous, he landed and squeezed your waist twice to let you know it was safe to let him go.

You slid down his body until your feet could finally reach the floor and looked up at him.

He looked sad, his eyes watery and his mouth turned down into a frown.

“Gwen!” he called out, looking behind you and over your head.

You turned, finally taking in your surroundings, and to your surprise he had brought you back to Spider Society. You supposed he wanted to keep you close for the remainder of the evening.

“Yes?” she asked as she bounded towards you.

“I need some time to make sure everything is sorted. Will you please take her to my quarters and let her get cleaned up before calling someone from medical to check on her? Don’t let her out of your sight until I’m back,” he ordered and glowered at her until she gulped and nodded.

Her eyes widened as she took in your disheveled state.

She took your hand but he held his grip on you.

“I’ll be there soon,” he said and you nodded. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before he let you go.

“Are you alright?” Gwen asked you as she led you towards the sleeping quarters.

You huffed an unamused laugh.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you said.

“There’s blood-“ she started to say but you interrupted her.

“Miguel already stitched me up. I’m fine,” you reassured her.

Miguel. Oh, Miguel. You were worried about him. You knew what he’d already been through and you chewed on your lip as your concern grew that the events of this evening would throw him back into that dark place of anger and self loathing.

You knew he blamed himself for your capture and injuries. But you were fine, really, you were fine. Right?

When you reached the correct door, Gwen scanned her watch on the lock and Lyla popped up.

“Hello! D’ya need me to unlock the door?” she asked.

“Yes please,” you replied and she did with a blown kiss in your direction.

The bedroom was sparsely decorated but clean and relatively tidy nonetheless, which you expected. You’d never been to his room here at Spider Society that he only occasionally used as he had his own apartment and more often than not stayed at yours most nights.

There was a framed photo of you on the nightstand. A silly selfie you had sent him months ago with your lips puckered in a pretend kiss. It was so unexpectedly sweet that he would frame it and keep you close to him on nights he wasn’t in your bed that you had to blink back tears.

God, you were emotional. You just needed to sleep. Yeah, if you slept it off you’d be fine. Sure, you weren’t used to daily life threatening danger like your boyfriend and all his coworkers, but you could bounce back. You’re fine.

Perhaps people who are actually fine don’t have to tell themselves that they’re fine this often…

“Hey, you okay?” Gwen asked and you nodded quickly and tried to discreetly wipe your eyes.

There were two doors in the room, other than the one you came in. You walked to the first one and upon opening it, you found that it was his closet. You grabbed a t-shirt and pair of his boxers before you strode to the bathroom behind the other door.

Gwen followed your every step.

“I’m going to shower now,” you said to her with your eyebrows raised.

“Miguel said to not let you out of my sight,” she said as she awkwardly shuffled her feet.

“I’m certain he didn’t mean to watch me shower. Nothing is going to try and kill me while I’m in there. I’ll be fine. I promise. Sit down and get comfy, I’ll only be a few minutes,” you reassured.

She looked between you and the bed, the only place to sit in the tiny room.

“I can’t sit on Miguel’s bed,” she said like she was scared of his reaction.

You snorted.

“It’s technically my bed tonight. So sit down, chica. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of big grumpy Miguel,” you said with a wink and she laughed.

She did as you bid and you closed yourself in the bathroom. You turned the shower on and finally let more tears fall, hoping the sound would be muffled enough. Honestly, you felt like a weenie for getting worked up over a little kidnapping considering the spider people in the building who’d been through so much worse.

That wasn’t necessarily fair to you, though. Besides dating a superhero you had a relatively mundane life in which life threatening events were not the norm so a few tears were to be expected.

And soon Miguel would be here and you could comfort each other. You stripped your clothes off and looked at your reflection in the mirror. You were filthy, dust and stripes of dried blood coated your skin. Large bandages covered much of your skin on your neck and your arm. Your eyes looked glassy and you thought you could see bruises beginning to form in several areas. Finally your eyes landed on the life-saving spider necklace around your throat that Miguel had gifted you on your last birthday. Good god, you love that man.

You hopped in the shower, careful to keep your bandages dry and washed the grime and dried blood off your skin. You definitely felt better as the hot water washed the day off you.

You dressed, smiling at the way Miguel’s giant clothes truly didn’t fit you at all but made you feel so comfortable. When you returned to the room a Spider-Woman in a lab coat was standing beside Gwen.

“Hello!” she greeted you cheerfully.

“Hi,” you replied and passed her to sit next to Gwen on the foot of the bed.

“Can I check your wounds?” she asked politely.

“Go for it,” you replied. She peeled back the bandage at your neck and hummed her approval at Miguel’s work. Her response was the same at the wound on your arm.

She disinfected and rebandaged both wounds before giving you a list of instructions on how to properly care for them in order to avoid infection, but you didn’t pay much attention. Exhaustion was taking its toll and you were sure Miguel would be overly attentive to your wounds in the coming days anyway.

You thanked her and she nodded kindly before she left.

“How is Mayday? And Peter?” you asked Gwen.

“They’re both perfectly fine and safe at home,” she said and you breathed out a sigh of relief and flopped back onto the bed before burrowing under the covers.

“Good,” you breathed out.

“M’so tired,” you said.

“Yeah adrenaline does that to you once it’s gone,” she said.

“How long do you think it’ll be before Miguel comes?” you asked.

“Probably a while. There was a huge mess after the tech malfunction and then of course he trashed his office after you were taken. Soo…”

She trailed off as you stared at her wide eyed.

“W-we all saw the playback of you begging the prowler to leave the baby and only take you.”

You gulped.

“It was incredibly brave,” she said. “Peter B. was in tears and I think he’s about ready to make you her godmother.”

You chuckled even as you had to blink back tears for what felt like the millionth time in this never ending day.

“Miguel was…. beside himself.”

That sounds like an understatement, you thought. Though you can imagine your reaction if he were captured and injured would be explosive as well.

“Why does that prowler hate Miguel so much? And how did he know his name?” you asked with a yawn.

“All I know is that he is from this world, you and Miguel’s world. He must have had past run-ins with Miguel.” she said with a shrug.

“Hm,” you replied.

You supposed it didn’t really matter, the most important thing was that you were safe and warm in Miguel’s bed that smelled faintly of him. Where was he? You were becoming incredibly drowsy and feared you wouldn’t be able to stay awake long enough.

You were suddenly incredibly grateful that it was Friday and you didn’t have to worry about calling out sick from work for the next two days. Hopefully you wouldn’t look as battered come Monday.

The door opened and you popped your eyes open in excitement, not even realizing they had drifted closed.

Miguel leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, with a fond smile on his lips.

Gwen scrambled off the end of the bed as he looked over to her with a raised eyebrow.

“Thank you for keeping me company, chica,” you said fondly.

“Of course,” she said and gave Miguel a salute before she nimbly slipped by him and out of the room.

“Guapisimo,” you said as you reached out a hand to him.

He took a deep breath before he strode to you, shutting the door behind him. He pressed a kiss to your lips.

“Dame uno minuto,” he said as he turned towards the bathroom.

“Fine, but only one minute! I’ve been in your bed missing you for far too long!” you called out.

The growl he released in response as he closed the bathroom door behind him made your toes curl and was the exact response you hoped your words would elicit.

You heard the shower turn on and sighed, contemplating whether or not you should get up and join him but ultimately decided that as bad as you had needed a real shower, he definitely needed time to get clean too.

When he opened the bathroom door, hair wet, skin glistening, and a towel wrapped entirely too low around his waist you gulped.

“That was more than a minute,” you said, but your voice was entirely too shaky for the words to hit their mark.

He only smirked.

He turned away from you, his broad back to you and dropped the towel before grabbing a pair of boxers out of his closet.

His perfect ass was on display so you did the mature thing and threw a pillow at it.

He caught it with a smirk and pulled his underwear on before chucking the pillow back at you. You huffed indignantly as it smacked you in the face. If you were totally honest with yourself though, you deserved it.

He slipped in the bed with you, though it was small enough that he pulled you nearly completely on top of him in order to be comfortable. His shoulders were almost as wide as the bed. You didn’t mind though, as you snuggled into his warmth and buried your face in his chest.

He ran a hand up and down the length of your back.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice quiet and hesitant.

“I think so. Are you?” you replied as you traced circles on his bicep where he held you tight. Almost too tight. Like he was afraid you would disappear.

He grunted in affirmation but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe him.

“Miguel,” you said.

He sighed.

“I’ve already argued with Lyla and she called me an arrogant asshole but I just can’t help but feel like the best and safest thing for you would be a life without me,” he said.

“What?” you breathed out, your body suddenly tense.

“You were hurt today. He could have killed you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

You lifted your head from his chest and met his gaze. There were unshed tears in his warm brown eyes.

“It would’ve been all my fault, again,” he said and a tear fell down his cheek.

Your heart twisted in your chest at his pain, at the trigger today’s events were of his most horrific memory.

“Mi amor, I’m safe. You saved me,” you reassured him as you gently placed your hand on the side of his face and wiped away the tear.

“You should’ve never been in that situation. If I wasn’t so goddamn selfish I would let you go. Let you lead a safe, fulfilling, and happy life without me as a dark cloud constantly over you. I-”

“Miguel!” you reprimanded and cut off his spiral of self loathing.

He took a shuddering breath.

“Escúchame, there is no fulfilling and happy life for me without you. I love you. You feel the same way about me, don’t you?” your voice became smaller as you finished talking.

“Of course, of course I feel the same. Tu eres el amor de mi vida, mi preciosa,” he said as he gripped you tighter.

“Then don’t. Don’t ever say something like that again. I knew what I was getting into when I chose you. And I still choose you. Occasional danger, grumpiness, and all,” you said and you both smiled slightly at the gentle teasing.

He pulled your face closer to his with a hand on the back of your neck and crushed his lips to yours. It wasn’t gentle or teasing as some kisses with him were. No, as his tongue shoved into your mouth and tangled with yours, it wasn’t gentle. It was raw and desperate and emotional. There was a burning need in both of you for each other.

Your hand slipped from his face to his shoulders where you gripped him tight and he moaned into your mouth. His lips broke from yours, and he said your name in a broken groan.

In a move so fast it nearly made you dizzy, you were suddenly underneath him. He pressed his firm body against yours, his weight crushing you into the bed and making you want more, more, more.

His lips were on yours again and you melted against him. His hands gripped the small of your waist and you whimpered with desire and began to feel yourself drip with need for the man on top of you.

He broke his lips from yours and began to trail them down your jaw to your neck,the side of your neck that was not injured. Despite the uncontrollable heat and desire, Miguel was very careful and conscious to not touch your healing wounds.

“Miguel,” you gasped as you shivered as he sucked on the most sensitive spot of your neck.

He shoved the shirt you were wearing, his shirt, up and over your head before he chucked it across the room. He moaned as he pressed himself back down against you and his bare skin grazed against yours. You spread your legs and wrapped them around his waist and whimpered as his hard length pressed against your core. He kissed your lips again before quickly returning his downward trail from your neck to your heaving chest.

“Oh my god,” you gasped as his hot mouth encapsulated your hard nipple. His thumb grazed then pinched your other nipple and you mewled for him.

“So fucking perfect,” he grunted as he squeezed your breast in his large hand.

Your core was throbbing, hot and wet and you couldn’t handle the lack of friction. You held on to his back and writhed underneath him, grinding your pussy against his hard cock. And suddenly even the thin underwear you were both wearing was too much. He groaned, a sound so beautiful and erotic that you shivered and your toes curled.

“Mig, need you to take this off, please,” you panted as you did your best to slip the boxers off past his perfect ass.

He chuckled, a cocky sort of sound before he said in a near condescending tone, “You need some help, preciosa?”

You knew what he wanted to hear from you.

“Sí, por favor,” you whined.

He fucking growled.

Miguel quickly removed his boxers before he yanked off yours as well.

“Need you,” you panted as you saw him in all his naked glory, strong muscles and glistening skin on display. Your mouth watered as you looked down at his frankly massive cock.

His mouth was on yours again, every inch of his glorious form pressed against yours.

“You’re mine,” he said into your mouth and slid his length against your aching core. You whimpered.

He reached down and lined himself up with your entrance.

“Say it,” he ordered.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and promised him, “I’m yours.”

He gripped your hips and slid his cock inside you inch by glorious inch. You were so perfectly full, so safe in his arms, as he stayed still and just held you in his arms, his face buried in your neck, that tears filled your eyes.

You tangled your fingers in his curls and said, “You’re mine too.”

He pulled back enough to look you in your eyes.

“I’m yours. Always. Forever,” he swore.

You kissed him, and this time the kiss was unhurried, both of you giving yourselves over completely and drowning in one another.

Everything was him, his large body against you and around you, his scent all you could smell, his taste was in your mouth, and you were stuffed full of him, your body tingling with pleasure only your Miguel could provide.

You both took shuddering breaths, soaking in the perfection of the moment.

“Yo quiero mucho,” he said and kissed you once more.

“I love you too,” you moaned as he began to move.

He dragged his cock out of you achingly slowly, causing you to whine, before you snapped his hips and plunged himself inside you fully and deeply once more.

You smirked, you knew he wouldn’t be able to keep a slow pace for long. You wanted it fast and hard, just like you knew he did, so you bit down on his neck which caused him to snarl.

His pace quickened and you locked your legs around his waist, wanting him closer than was humanly possible, wanting to be consumed by him completely. Your hands roamed the broad expanse of his shoulders and back and your nails dug into his skin as he tilted your hips and continued his almost brutal pace, but now hitting the spot inside you that made your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He groaned your name as you squeezed and gripped him tighter.

“So perfect and all mine, isn’t that right, preciosa?”

You attempted to move your hips in time with his but he gripped you tighter, pinning you to the bed and holding you completely at his mercy as he pounded into you.

“Yes, yes, yours all yours,” you whined and he gave you exactly what you wanted.

His thumb found your clit and began to draw tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. God, you were so close, you were already so close and he knew it.

You whined and he moaned your name in response, his pace never wavering. The stretch and length of him felt so good, so right, so perfect.

Electricity sparked through you, your peak built and built and built. The pleasure was overwhelming.

“Mig- m’gonna come, ohmygod,” you practically squealed.

“Come for me, mi amor,” he said and your body obeyed his order. Your orgasm crashed over you, causing you to squeeze so tight on his cock that he hissed through his teeth.

You had no chance to catch your breath as you continued to cling to him, his sweat soaked skin against yours and his thrusts quicker as he neared his own end.

“Come in me, please, please, please, baby,” you begged and he groaned in response.

He thrust one final deep thrust, pushing himself as deep inside you as possible, and filled you with his come.

He shuddered above you and you pressed sloppy kisses to his neck, to any skin you could reach.

You ran your hands up and down his back and he relaxed against you.

“I love you,” he said.

You kissed him once more, slow and sweet, and said, “I’m yours, completely.”

“Are you sure you want all of my mess in your life?” he mumbled against your neck, beginning to sound sleepy.

“Of course,” you said, “I’ve never felt safer.”

And your words were true. Despite the terror of the day, you felt safer than you’d ever been wrapped in his arms, with him still inside you as you both drifted off to sleep.

#miguel o’hara #across the spiderverse #spider-man 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fanfiction #atsv #x female reader

333 notes · View notes

hyunsvngs · 16 days

Note

Okay friend. Here's the deal with Woojin from an adult stay who is realistic and (actually) unbiased in the situation. Stays constantly give him shit and tell him to apologize and now that he did, it still isn't good enough.

Short version: Woojin leaving when he did absolutely was shitty and he needed to take accountability for the additional stress added to skz during that time. He's taken accountability a couple of times and it's not enough for aggressive stays who for some reason beg for apologies all the time.

Long version:

Lots of stays use the "he was the oldest in the group" line all because he said he was young and immature and wasn't homie like 20/21? That is young and it is immature. He chose to think of himself first in this situation. It may have been the best decision. If he continued on when his heart wasnt in the right place, his performance likely would have tanked skz success.

Stays are also saying it's too late for him to come out with an apology when he originally did so about a year after leaving. If you don't want him to apologize, stop bringing up his fucking name in association with skz.

Stays claim he's doing this just for his comeback... he's had several releases and did well considering he's practically blacklisted in 4th gen.

Finally, stays love to use the fact that was caught following news about skz. Duh. He was in the group and trained with these guys during formative years. Do we really think he wouldn't care about them? We also don't know what kind of relationship they have because literally no one says anything. And they don't have to because it's not our business.

I get the need to feel like you have to defend your favs- I really do. I'm a skz ult and the whole woojin situation fucking sucked... for them. We have no idea what has happened behind closed doors since then. They may have made up or they may not have. It's not our business. It is likely that he wasn't allowed to speak up for however long die to contractual issues.

Bottom line: 1. Stop asking idols for shit that won't appease you anyway. If you didn't want an apology, you should have stayed out his comment section. 2. Stop taking things personally because you are all just fans who have no idea what's going on.

It probably sounds like I am biased toward Woojin. Believe me when I say I'm not. I am taking the side of stray kids and Woo over the side of stays who literally bully the fuck out of someone who did what was best for him in that moment. Yes it was selfish and it sucks that the boys had to endure that but support the boys without mentioning or tearing down Woojin.

thanks to everyone who sent me asks abt this btw, i’m replying to this one bc i feel like it’s thorough lol

i get what ur saying completely. woojin was still young when he left skz, and i can understand putting yourself first.

however, i can’t have any sympathy for someone who is time and time again using the success of his ex-group to promote himself. i understand following skz news, that’s not the issue here - it’s the fact that woojin seems to be using almost clickbait titles in his videos about the boys to get attention. skz were hurt when woojin left, and this was not just career wise but personally too. i don’t have any sympathy for him and i can’t understand him using skz for clout lol

#juno’s asks ♡#sweet baby anon

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yes-i-write-fanfiction · 5 months

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Hi I see you’re request are open and I wanna ask that if you can do the tfp cons becoming celebrities after a photo is taken of them and become instantly famous

-Megatron's first initial thought upon learning this is "God damn these organics stupid, I am literally aiming to take over their planet" but then it morphs into "Hmm, maybe I can use this to my benefit?".

His new plan is to turn the human public against the autobots, to portray the decepticons in a sympathetic light and sow discord in the populace. Not everyone is going to side with the decepticons but it will be enough people that it will be disruptive. As the leader of the decepticons, not to mention a former gladiator, Megatron is highly charismatic and can easily turn some starstruck humans into willing servants.

-Starscream enjoys the attention and will manipulate his fans into pitying him. While yes, he would rather be revered, worshipped, he knows from experience that it's easier to gain sympathy from pity than being actually liked. Bemoans his tragic life, how everyone turns against him, really plays up how fragile his armor is in comparison to some of the other cons like Megatron or Breakdown.

Uses this pity to get his human fans to give him things. Energon and spare parts, mainly. He acts all grateful to their faces but the moment he's alone he snickers about how easily deceived these stupid humans are.

-Just like Megatron, Soundwave immediately starts manipulating the media feed to show the decepticon's in a sympathetic, more positive light. While Megatron is the poster boy, Soundwave works behind the scenes, creating thousands of fake accounts to spread the support for decepticons.

While he takes this task as serious as he would any other, Soundwave secretly finds this relaxing since it's a bit more laid back and has less lethal consequences if he just so happens to fail. Assigns a squad of vehicons to become full time photographers.

-Now you just know that Knockout LOVES the attention. He reads every comment and likes every post that mentions how good looking he is. Somehow becomes even more obsessed with his appearance now that the knows that he's got billions of eyes on him. He can't afford to disappoint his fans after all.

Honestly just seeking validation. He's not used to feeling wanted or appreciated so he will take any scrap of positive attention that he can get, even from humans.

-Breakdown finds it embarrassing at first, unsure how to handle all of this sudden attention. Eventually though he realizes that people like him and that they think he's super cool and wow, that just does wonders for his ego. He walks a little prouder, puffs his chest a little higher.

Still finds it awkward to read comments though. These people don't really know him and they mainly go off his general vibes and appearance and that feels a little too shallow for his tastes.

-Out of everyone, Shockwave is the least interested in all of this. Really, he does not care about the opinion of some humans. There's not a lot I can write about his reaction because he simply thinks nothing off it. It might as well not have happened.

#transformers imagine #transformers prime #megatron #starscream #soundwave #knockout #breakdown #shockwave

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lemonavocado · 3 months

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i have many many thoughts about the portrayal of elizabeth (and henry) in adaptations of frankenstein and they need to be broadcasted immediately. feverish incoherent raving about this subject under the cut. tw for very brief mention of SA

so. elizabeth lavenza. by the time of the wedding, elizabeth is rather obviously portrayed to be just as morose and brooding as victor is, she just isn't as susceptible to episodes of mania and psychosis so it doesn't seem nearly as dramatic compared to victor's trauma. she's been through the gutter herself, being an orphan for starters, then being adopted into a family and having to assume the role of caregiver in the frankenstein family because of the coercion of her dead mother to not only take her place as the maternal figure in the family but also marry her surrogate brother (or literal cousin, depending on which version you read). then her surrogate younger brother william dies, and the within weeks she has to watch her closest heterosexual life partner justine be unjustly hung by a corrupt justice system. and she vocalizes, actively, her pessimism and hopelessness in light of these many tragedies. tldr she's fucked up and rightfully so, and while she's a little less crippled by depression than victor, she still has the distinct appearance of being rather ill, listless, and tired, especially towards the end of the novel. anyways my point is in the novel, the most important thing about elizabeth is not that she's a woman and victor's bride. yes, that's obviously the purpose she was created for, but shelley went out of her way to give elizabeth an extremely definite and unique character. she's gentle and maternal like most woman in early 19th century literature, but she's also introspective, intelligent, and perceptive. she displays agency and self-awareness repeatedly (her guilt over the locket, going to the execution of justine even when alphonse tells her not to, waxing poetic on the failures of the justice system, asking repeatedly and rather pointedly if victor actually wants to go through with the marriage, obvious anxiety and solemnity concerning the wedding) we also have to take into account that elizabeth's personality is being relayed to us BY VICTOR, and he wants to see elizabeth as docile and femininely passive, even if a lot of her actions themselves in the novel actually seem to contradict that. also, i am peppering in that many people can (and have) made a genuine and convincing argument that victor and elizabeth are not in love and were groomed to accept their union by their weirdo parents - that they care for each other, but the text includes important nuances that make it evident that victor doesn't feel anything for elizabeth like that. it is a legitimate interpretation of the book - dare i say it's the correct interpretation of the relationship between victor and elizabeth. but that's another essay for another day and it's not SUPER integral to my rant here today. it just highlights the complexity of elizabeth as a character.

so. for some fucking reason, writers do not understand this when they are adapting the novel, and do not want to apply more than eight seconds of critical thinking and the absolute shallowest 3rd grader levels of reading comprehension to this character, so they simplify her from what she was in the original novel, freshly complex, opinionated, and introspective to boring useless incest lady. victor is never portrayed with the same amount of nuance he deserves in any adaptation (also another essay for another day), because adaptations also have a very surface level reading of him as "guy who was ambitious and played god which immediately cements him as an irredeemable self-aggrandizing asshole and/or a raging insufferable narcissist who's a dick to everyone around him EXCEPT for elizabeth" but at least SOME adaptations are able to kiiinnnddaaaa capture the sympathy meant to be felt for the character in the novel. not so for elizabeth. her character in basically every adaptation can be boiled down to this: "omg victor my brother let me hammer in that you are my brother. im just going to stand here and look clueless and annoyingly naive for the entire time im on screen/stage. im just a little girl and idk what's going on victor but im gonna stay blindly devoted to you and ask numerous but completely useless questions 🥺 let me stare at you with tender worry in my eyes and treat you like a child even though we have absolutely no romantic chemistry and you're an objectifying dick towards me and we have nothing in common and the audience is actively dry heaving as we sensually make out for no other reason than to have characters in this movie sensually make out. im basically a carbon copy of original-novel-henry expect super boring and super useless because im a woman which means the doylist explanation for why im here HAS TO BE ONLY for the main character to fuck me and to hold the attention of the male viewership. now time for me to get SA'd by the creechur for basically no reason" we can observe something approximating this in basically every frankenstein adaptation i've ever seen: kenneth branagh's (my enemy) 1994 film, the 2004 hallmark miniseries, the musical, and the ballet. also in the 1931 film, but that one isn't really trying to be book-accurate so it doesn't really count for this rant.

with this understanding of elizabeth, writers then attempt to artificially generate more romance between these characters, mostly by, yes, replacing a lot of henry's role in the novel with elizabeth, hence why we see so many adaptations (1994, 2004, ballet) make elizabeth nurse victor back to health in ingolstadt instead of henry, which generates... so many problems. one problem with this is that it just sorta ruins henry's original role in the novel in one go. writers recognize that henry is supposed to be victor's character foil, but now they don't have much for him to do so he can demonstrate that role in the story since they gave all of the romantic tension moments to elizabeth. meaning that in adaptations you can tell the writers didn't really know what to do with henry because he's reduced to a comic relief bumbling idiot (1994, ballet, 2004 to an extent) with his only personality traits being "random xd" and "morals good playing god wrong!!!! 😠" (2004, musical, several independent stage adaptations). they keep him as a character foil, but just replace all of his compassion, tenderness, and devotion with elizabeth, while effectively draining henry of all of his original appeal and charm and stamping those traits onto their already stripped-of-all-nuance elizabeth. so now both henry and elizabeth are not only extremely different from their original roles in the novel but extremely, woefully less charming and complex. this especially pisses me off because it's explicitly stated in the book that henry was victor's only friend precisely because he was victor's intellectual equal, so seeing henry reduced to a smiley idiot and/or stupid generic male side character with Morals fills me with a visceral rage. writers will also sometimes make victor and henry meet in college (ballet, 1994) and try to strengthen the bond between victor and elizabeth by making it appear as though she was victor's ONLY childhood friend and companion. other times, victor and henry will be friends pre-ingolstadt (2004, musical) but most of the relationship development will be between elizabeth and victor. those two have all of the tender bonding moments while henry is just kinda inexplicably there sometimes. but i digress. this post is supposed to be about elizabeth. but IF YOU NEED A CHARACTER TO BE A SUNSHINE SOFT OPTIMISTIC LOVER FOR VICTOR IN A FRANKENSTEIN ADAPTATION, HENRY IS ABLE AND WILLING ARE YOU STEPPING ON MY BALLS

clervalstein is true. anyway

elizabeth is somehow more complex and powerful as a female character than the literal adaptations produced almost 200 years later. in adaptations, the most important thing about her is somebody else. the development of all of her character traits (which usually never go beyond standing around and looking helpless) are solely dependant on victor. she feels more like an appendage of the protagonist than an individual with thoughts and experiences separate from victor, and her character is loosely defined and flimsy so the writers can have her conform to her actions in the book whenever it's convenient and then change things up entirely that completely contradict her characterization in the book whenever it's convenient. i have no idea why the fuck this keeps happening with frankenstein adaptations (it's misogyny) and because it isn't looking like guillermo del toro's film (from what ive heard) is going to be super book accurate, i dont foresee too much of a shift in frankenstein adaptations.

look i get it. it's a movie/play/ballet which lasts like 2 hours and you have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. i understand you have to make sacrifices for brevity and these characters are, frankly, a lot less interesting and exciting than victor and creechur. people didn't come to see john hughes levels of charm and complexity in the side characters, they came to watch the creechur do scary shit and for victor to say IT'S ALIVE 😱 and be an evil mad scientist you love to hate. they came for their values of "it's wrong to play god!!!" and "too much ambition bad!!!" to be re-cemented even though that's not even the original point of the novel. which is why imo if you're going to adapt frankenstein in a manner that does justice to the beautiful and sublime subtlety of the original novel, it needs to be either a miniseries or a REALLY LONG film. it's a short book, but it's very eventful, and imo for an adaptation to work you have to let the audience sit with it. which is why you all need to donate to my gofundme so i can produce an honest to god frankenstein adaptation. in fact, im running for president in this year's primaries :3

just a disclaimer: im not an academic or a scholar or anything. i just like the book. i probably have no idea what the fuck im talking about. but im a very very passionate little guy and this has been my rant

#frankenstein #literary analysis #avo's soap box #i wish i was more articulate #i dont even know if this rant is intelligible 💀#there's not even a main point really im just rambling #i wish i could drop all of my life plans and become a screenwriter so i could produce a frankenstein adaptation #they don't know the book like i know the book </3 #there's no gofundme by the way i was just joe king #this is also a problem to a lesser extent in adaptations of dracula and c&p #with mina harker and dunya raskolnikov respectively #but i don't have the energy to go on a whole separate tirade about that #im so normal about classic lit guys it's ok

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