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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 11 months

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Studious V (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

Aemond reads your notes, and you both finally come clean. After he introduces you to his best friend, you invite him back to your chambers.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: OOH BOY ITS TIME! We got tiddy suckin', we got fingering (f receiving), we got oral sex (f receiving), and we got p in v sex (finally), and of course, Aegon!

Author's Note: Bone apple teeth, y'all

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here - Read Part IV Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious V

Only a few minutes later, you sat across from Aemond at the small dining table in his chambers – obviously only ever intended for one. He had to drag one of the chairs by the hearth across the room just so you could sit with him. For he had insisted you stay while he read your notes, assuring you that it would not take long.

“I read very quickly,” he explained. “I have to, if I hope to read everything I want to.”

Now, you sat silently across from him as you watched him read. He held your diary in his right hand while his left held open his own where it rested on the table. While reading, he would often look between the two, cross-referencing what you had written about with his original entries.

It was quite amusing, being able to watch his reactions. Subdued as they were, you still caught him, on various occasions, both smiling and frowning. He even blushed once! You smiled as you recalled him doing the same to you – watching your face as you read in the library. Perhaps you were more similar than you had once thought.

For a long while, Aemond said nothing. He hardly even looked at you – only glancing up a few times and shying away when he noticed you looking back.

Until once, he did not look away. Though he did blush quite deeply.

“I apologise,” he whispered, “I did not realise how… detailed I was in some instances. You should not have had to read such depravity. Please, forgive me.”

So, he reached the library entry. And you had not written anything in response – a stark difference from every other entry. It was no wonder that he thought you offended. But you were most certainly not offended, and you had heard enough apologies from him to last you the rest of your lifetimes.

You reached across the table – hardly difficult, as it was so small – and brushed your fingers against his. The urge to fully take his hand was strong, but you did not want to push too far before the two of you had settled everything.

“There is no need to apologise,” you said, your first words since you gave him the diaries. “It is perfectly natural for a man to… think about his wife in such a way. Didn’t Septon Eustace tell you that so long as we were married, lust is not a sin?”

Aemond smiled a little at that, but his brow was still furrowed in concern, as if he did not believe you entirely.

“I actually –” you began, laughing a little as you spoke to relieve the tension. “I actually found it quite… interesting.”

“Oh!” Aemond’s mouth fell open, and his eye widened in the same expression that had once made you think he looked like a freshly caught fish. This time was perhaps even more satisfying than the first, as a flush quickly spread across his face and climbed all the way to his ears, until he was as red as his family crest.

“I… um, I am glad,” Aemond’s statement sounded curiously more like a question as his eye darted from you to the table to the diaries. “I thought that… I suppose… I was just… I still – I am still sorry.”

And with that, he turned back to diaries.

Judging by the position of the sun – which you were never very good at, so your estimations were far from precise – it took less than an hour for Aemond to finish reading. You had passed nearly all the time by surveying his rooms.

His rooms were immaculate, which was no surprise. Everything spotless and precisely arranged. Each tapestry, of which there were few, was hung perfectly. The vases on a table near the hearth were spaced so evenly that you could not imagine how it could have been without a measuring stick. And the books on the many bookshelves were well organised.

But as well as it was kept, it did not feel like Aemond. The tapestries were finely made, but the subjects – one hunting scene, one depiction of the Red Keep, one of the Seven, and one of a dragon that did not look like any of the ones you had heard described – were very standard. The vases were well crafted, but they, too, were plain. Two in varying shades of brown, one brass, and one in a simple pattern of brass and black. Even the bookshelves seemed impersonal. They were filled to the brim with leather and linen tomes, each as pristine as they must have been when they were first bound.

There were no little trinkets, personal items, or anything else that would identify Aemond as the occupant. If not for its position at the heart of the Holdfast or the fact that you could see Aemond’s sword and dagger leaning against a wardrobe in what must be the bedroom, you would think these were guest quarters.

How was he content with living in such an impersonal space?

You had filled the walls of your rooms until you could hardly see the stone, cluttered your tables with crafting supplies and reminders of your home and family, and stuffed so many of the small items you had collected over your lifetime in your shelves that there was hardly room for books. And while Aemond had been fascinated by the decoration within your rooms, he had still chosen not to make his own a home.

Perhaps you could help him fix that.

But before you could start considering how to do so, you looked back to him and immediately became mesmerised. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his eye snapping between the two diaries with dizzying speed, and his lips slightly pursed. It almost seemed as though he was studying rather than simply reading.

He cared about this – very much so. He was almost… desperate.

Did he still think you would ask to be separated from him? After you had read his diary, as he asked? After you returned to him and offered your own? After you had assured him you were not repulsed by what he had written?

Had you really been so cold to him that he could still believe you would run away?

A chill settled over you at the possibility. Perhaps several days ago, you may have accepted his offer to return to your home. Now, the thought of leaving him made you almost nauseous, though you were not entirely sure why. You wrapped your arms around yourself and cast your gaze down to the table surface.

“I’ve finished,” Aemond said merely a moment later. You looked up to see him setting your diary down next to his, then turning the pages of each back to the beginning of your shared story.

You sat up straighter in your chair, first placing your clasped hands on the table, then in your lap, then unclasping them so you could bunch the skirts of your dress in your hands – both to try and calm your nerves and soak up the moisture that had begun to form the moment Aemond spoke again. After you gave him a short nod, he began.

He laid his clasped hands atop the diaries, then separated them to grip the edges of the table on either side of the journals, then finally deciding to keep one hand on his diary while the other picked up his quill pen, which he began to fiddle with restlessly.

“I, um… I should like to start by thanking you for reading this,” he said, his voice less sure than you were used to. He did not meet your gaze, instead looking straight down at the books before him. “And I wish to apologise – again. First, for being so incompetent that this was the only way I could express my feelings, and secondly, for the admittedly humiliating things you read.”

“Aemond,” you interrupted before he could continue. When he looked at you in near panic, you scoffed and shook your head slightly. “If you apologise to me again, I might scream.”

He looked shocked by your words, then nodded gravely. “I did not realise how often I was doing so. I ap… shit, no.” He shut his eye and heaved a great sigh. “I will endeavour to do so less in the future, though I cannot promise I will not have to, on occasion.” The corner of his mouth quirked in the shadow of a smile as he winced slightly. “We both know how often I have cause to.”

“That is acceptable,” you whispered, “thank you.”

Both of you smiled at each other, your gazes locked. The moment lingering a bit longer than it would have with a stranger or even a friend. Then Aemond turned back to the diaries and frowned.

“I don’t quite know…” he trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “Forgive me, but my first reply to your notes was to be an apology for the careless and mean-spirited remarks I made about the merits of embroidery. I don’t know what to say if I am forbidden to apologise.”

You blinked, unsure of what to say. Yet it pleased you greatly that he was taking your request that he stop apologising so seriously.

Aemond did not wait for you to give him an answer, speaking with both urgency and sincerity. “It was thoughtless of me to write what I did. I was exhausted by the day and unhappy with how my grandsire chose to conduct my betrothal and marriage. And admittedly, I know little about the craft, and therefore underestimated it.”

“I am touched by your words,” you whispered, flustered by the intensity with which he regarded you, as if whatever you said next held the power to either destroy him or build him higher. “Perhaps, instead of apologising, you could tell me how you intend to make amends?”

“Of course,” his face lit up when he realised you were not upset with him. “I… I will learn more about embroidery so that I may truly appreciate it. Could… would you be willing to teach me?”

Based on the moment of panic that you saw come over him, you knew your shock at the request was rather poorly concealed. Bashfully, Aemond looked away. “After seeing the beautiful things that you have created – or I assume you have, as they were in your rooms, and depicted your home and interests – I truly wish to understand how they are made.”

Gods, he was serious. He truly wanted you to teach him how to create embroidery! The very idea was so amusing you could not hide your smile. “That is a wonderful solution, Aemond,” you said with all the reassurance you could muster. “I look forward to seeing what beautiful things you will make.”

“Oh, I am certain that compared to you… I mean, your own works, my attempts will seem quite poor. Laughable, even.”

“Well, I have had many years of practice,” you replied, “and a true love of the craft. It gives me an advantage over you. Although having seen you fight, I believe you have great potential as an embroiderer.”

Aemond’s head tilted slightly. “I don’t understand how the two skills correlate.”

“You fight with precision,” you explained, feeling yourself flush at the memory of him in the training yard. “Your movements are controlled and exact. The same skills are required in embroidery.”

“Then perhaps learning embroidery will further improve my fighting skills,” he said, almost jokingly. But any hint of a smile faded quickly, and he ducked his head, looking up at you as he continued. “I… I would like it if you could continue to come and watch me. When I practice. Not every day if you don’t want to, but every few days? Only if it would interest you, of course.”

“It would interest me very much!” you said, probably too quickly. But you had thought about Aemond wielding his sword so many times in the days since you actually saw him, and you were eager to see it again – and more of it. Up close, preferably.

He blushed again, though he reined it in much faster this time and resumed his cool, almost bureaucratic demeanour. “As for your list of books – some I have read, some I have heard of, and others I know nothing about. I would like to sit down with you and discuss them all. We could do that now, if you’d like?”

“I appreciate the thought, but today, I think we have more important things to discuss?” Indeed, you hadn’t anticipated this much discussion. You hadn’t even thought he would want you to remain with him while he read. But here you sat, not in your own rooms, in a carriage on your way home, or – as you had half-hoped for – in a bed.

Every moment you spent with Aemond was another agonising moment you spent not knowing what would happen between you. You were so eager for an answer – a conclusion.

But it was only fair that Aemond be allowed to respond to your comments and questions, so you bit your lip and prepared for more. After all, your husband was quite thorough. That much was clear from his research.

“Indeed we do,” he said as he flipped over a page of his diary. “I would be more than happy to take you to the Grand Sept. The family attend service there instead of the Royal Sept at least once per moon turn, but we can certainly go sooner if you prefer. It wouldn’t have to be for a service. We could just… go.”

“Choose a day,” you said, “and I will be with you.”

“I can’t wait for you to see it,” Aemond said with a smile. “It is truly…”

“Grand?” you offered.

“Yes, it has been named well,” his smile grew wider. “I am beginning to think that I, too, need to create a list of all the times you’ve made me laugh.”

You cocked your head, perplexed. “But… you didn’t laugh.”

“Oh, um…” Aemond looked away and grimaced, tapping his pen against his diary several times. “I don’t, often, laugh. Not aloud, at least.” After a deep inhale, he faced you again. “I assure you though, I felt like laughing! But I will try to do so in future, so it will be easier to know when I am amused.”

“No, Aemond,” you chided softly. “I don’t want you to change yourself for me. Now that I know what you look like when you ‘feel like laughing,” I will be able to recognise it. And, based on how extensive my list was, I believe I will laugh aloud enough for the both of us.”

He flipped to the page where you had made your list – throughout reading his diary, you would often return and add onto it, until it took up most of the page. He stared at it for a long moment, running his fingers over the words as if he could feel them. “I am immensely glad to have made you laugh, for there is nothing I desire more than to see you happy.”

Heat spread over every inch of your skin as you flushed, both from his words and what you were about to say. “There is ‘nothing you desire more?’” You bit your lip as you pointed to his diary. “Some of your later entries suggest otherwise.”

Aemond’s flush quickly grew to match your own. “I… there are things I desire nearly as much, but your happiness remains the greatest of them all.”

You both stayed there for a long moment, blushing and smiling at each other. All the while, you willed your racing heart to calm and your burning skin to cool. But beneath Aemond’s gaze, there was no hope for either. He looked at you with not only a lustful hunger but with admiration, longing, and a kind of reverence that made you at once bashful and confident.

If you stayed that way for much longer, you felt as though you would combust.

“I believe you skipped ahead a few entries,” you said. Even the whisper sounded like a shout in the silence that had descended upon you.

“Indeed I have,” he half-laughed, returning the diary to where he had left off. “My ap… I will begin again in the proper place. Please, inform me if I stray again?”

“I will,” you assured, nearly laughing yourself.

His eye lingered on you for a moment before he actually began again. “I wish I had danced with you all night,” he said, his smile fading as he looked at your next note morosely. “It had been my plan, actually. But as you read, I feared that if I remained so close to you, looking as radiant as you did, I would have done something untoward and inappropriate. Worse, I feared doing something you would not want.”

He would not meet your eye, but still, you spoke. “I admit, had you started ravishing me on the dancefloor, I likely would have reacted poorly,” you said with sombre humour. Aemond didn’t acknowledge it. “But I wanted to dance with you, talk to you. To begin to understand the man with whom I would spend the rest of my life.”

Aemond pursed his lips, his lone eye blinking furiously.

“If you had kissed me then,” you continued, though you doubted it was a good idea, “I would have welcomed it.”

You swore you saw a flash of tears in his eye before hanging his head so low his face was hidden. “I swear to you that, from this moment on, I will dance with you whenever you want,” Aemond whispered, his voice low and crackling with emotion, “wherever we are, and whether we have music to accompany us or simply the rhythm of our own hearts.”

He raised his head to face you, his eye flicking back to the diary once before again fixing on you. “I also swear that you will never again fall asleep without my first wishing you goodnight. Even if we are parted and far from each other, I shall wish it upon the wind and pray that it carries my words to you.”

The vows settled on your heart with more weight and meaning than those he had sworn to you in the Sept. For these were not of words written by a Septon long ago and repeated by countless men and women in their own marriages. These vows were not shared – they were only for you.

It would only be proper for you to swear your own vows in return, but you did not know what to swear. Despite having read his diary, you did not know him so well as he knew you. Guilt threatened to overwhelm you, and you could only say a quiet thanks before signalling for him to continue.

You were silent for a while, offering only small smiles and nods as Aemond promised to not damage his finely made diary any further, told you that your wedding presents were being catalogued in the Royal Vault and would be returned to you soon, and that he had confirmed with Lord Jasper that Coryanne Wylde – his ancestor – was indeed the author of ‘A Caution for Young Girls.”

With each of his explanations, you only gave him half your focus, as the other half was occupied trying to figure out what you could swear to him. Perhaps that you would only ever wear nightclothes he found attractive?

For a moment, you were sure he could read your mind, as the moment after the thought came to you, he turned a page and began, “Your robe – ”

“What about it?” you asked, louder and more defensively than you originally intended.

Aemond stared at you, shocked by the sudden outburst. “I was going to say that I do not, in fact, hate it, I swear.”

“Oh,” you said, sinking slightly into your chair as your cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“It is a very fine robe, well made and quite beautiful,” he continued, graciously ignoring your current state. “It just… it is so large that I feel as though you are hiding, and I don’t ever want you to hide from me. Or even feel like you must. I never meant to offend something you hold so dear.”

“Oh,” you said again. After correcting your posture to something decidedly more ladylike, you took a deep breath and gave an explanation of your own. “I wasn’t hiding, I promise. But that robe is one of the few things that makes me feel…” you struggled to find the right word. “Safe.”

Aemond’s face blanched, and while his eye hardened, his brow raised in concern. “The Red Keep – and the Holdfast especially – is the safest place in the realm, perhaps the world. No harm will come to you, I swear. I will – ”

You held up a hand to stop him, and despite his furore, he quieted at your command. “That’s not what I mean by ‘safe,’ Aemond.”

“Then I am afraid I don’t understand.”

With a sigh, you looked up at the ceiling, searching for a way to explain the complex feeling. “I don’t mean ‘safe’ in a physical way. I don’t fear that I will be harmed or killed. I mean safe in a… in my heart. Perhaps my soul too.”

Aemond’s eye narrowed, but he said nothing, so you continued. “Since my family has left, I have felt very alone – painfully so. I hardly know anyone here, nor do they know me.” At that, your husband seemed ready to protest, but you did not let him. “From reading your diary, I do believe you know me. Better than I would have ever thought in the short time we have known each other. But even then, I have seen you so little, and spoken to you even less.”

He nodded, “Another failing I must atone for.”

“Well, I suppose I could have approached you myself. But after our wedding night…” Aemond flinched at the reminder but remained silent. “I was confused. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t quite that. And I know some of it is my fault! Please don’t blame yourself entirely. Still, you never spoke to me, not at court or at dinners. You never asked to see me or even escort me back to my rooms after dinner. I thought I had disappointed you, but I could not summon the courage to ask you how.”

“I never meant to abandon you,” Aemond murmured, “I just didn’t want to frighten you further. I was trying to – ”

“I know,” you smiled, inclining your head toward the diaries. “I understand now. But my understanding does not mean that I do not wish we had both made different choices.”

“As you said in your apology,” he said, almost to himself. Silence fell over you as he turned the page and traced his finger over your words again. “The robe is your reminder of home, where you are safe and loved, not scared and dreading the life ahead of you.”

“Yes.”

“And in my idiocy, I took that from you.”

“It was a shared idiocy,” you mused, grateful when Aemond’s tense shoulders dropped at your forgiving tone. “You were very kind to me that day, and yet I took the first opportunity to assume the worst of you.”

“I am afraid I gave you ample cause to assume the worst of me.”

“Maybe so, but I won’t do it anymore,” you felt meek saying the words, like a child promising their parents to stop misbehaving.

But then Aemond smiled, his cheeks tinged with colour again, and under his warm gaze, you felt… safe. “And I will not give you any more cause to.”

You smiled back, holding a girlish giggle, the origin of which was unknown to you.

“That reminds me,” Aemond said with a wicked grin. He tapped your open diary once, twice. “I like it when you scrunch your nose because of the delicious contradiction. Such an unpleasant expression upon the loveliest of faces.”

You pouted, then immediately realised your mistake when his grin grew wider and moved to cover your now-scrunched nose with your hands. Aemond only laughed at your embarrassment. “I cannot decide whether that is a compliment or not,” you said, causing another round of laughter.

“I assure you, it is meant entirely as a compliment,” he assured, still coming down from his amusement. He took a deep breath and then went still. “None could ever insult your appearance, for they could find no faults. And if they did… I would assure they were properly punished.”

Your flush was so great you could feel its heat when you dropped your head into your hands. “I suppose I should ask, how fares the painter who made my miniature?”

Another grin, this one positively lupine. “He has not been harmed, but I doubt he will ever again be commissioned by the noble families. If he does not flee across the Narrow Sea, he will be fortunate to find any amongst the smallfolk who can pay him more than a silver piece for his work..”

Such a severe punishment, just for a painting that had not shown your beauty? You didn’t know whether to be horrified or flattered. Or impressed that he held such influence. Judging by the fluttering feeling that filled your chest, you knew you were flattered more than anything. And the look on Aemond’s face, a look of pure confidence and power, stirred such powerful desire within you that you had to grip the arms of your chair to stop yourself from planting yourself on his lap – precisely as he had written about.

Your hands remained clutched to the chair as Aemond told you that he would be more than happy to study Valyrian history with you, and that he did not pick all the dog roses from the garden, for those he left were promptly collected by the Maesters. He expressed his desire to visit your home, but with the caveat that you would protect him from your brothers. And he assured you that he would not take a vow of silence so that you could hear his voice whenever you wanted.

Finally, he came to your last reply.

He read it again, silently, and slower than you would have liked. Then, he faced you but kept his eye focused on the wall past your shoulder. “I do not know if this is correct,” he said, almost bashfully. “But, I find myself… glad? That you missed me. That you worried for me. I did not know you cared for me that much, or that you cared for me at all.”

“Honestly? Neither did I. Not until that night.” You reached across the table – a short distance which yet felt like the length of the world – and took Aemond’s hand. He gasped, and his hand twitched, but then he sighed in relief. It was almost like the sound he had made when he released his seed within you. The very thought of it made you tighten your grip. “But I do care about you, Aemond... husband.”

To what extent you did not know. But you were very close to finding out.

You did not know how long you stayed there, holding hands and saying nothing. Minutes, perhaps. Or hours. In either case, the sun was still up when Aemond suddenly dropped your hand and stood.

“There is… there is something else I should show you,” he said, stumbling over his words as he had the first few times he actually spoke to you. “If you truly want to know me.”

Though you felt a tinge of apprehension at his vague words and that you could not imagine what else there was for him to show you after giving you his diary. Still, you nodded. “I do – want to know you.”

He stood, his back rigid as he extended a hand toward you. “Come, I will call a wheelhouse to take us.”

“A wheelhouse? Where are we going?”

“To the edge of the Kingswood.” At the look of confusion on your face, he clarified, “It is where Vhagar resides.”

“Vhagar? Your dragon?” You took his hand and let him pull you up, your shock at his request momentarily replaced by the strength you felt in the motion – the same strength that had enraptured you in the training yard.

“Well, she is not my dragon,” he clarified. “It doesn’t work like that. There is no ownership one way or the other. It’s more like… a partnership. I am her rider, and she is my mount.”

It took you a moment to collect your thoughts as Aemond began to lead you – still holding your hand – out of his rooms. He whispered briefly to the first guard you saw, who immediately ran toward the stables. When you were alone, he turned to you. “It… might be cool. Would you like to fetch a cloak from your rooms?”

You did, and you didn’t. While you didn’t want to endure the cold, you couldn’t help but think about what would happen if you felt cold and didn’t have a cloak. Would Aemond offer you his or perhaps invite you to share his?

“Yes,” you answered breathlessly. “I would like that.”

He smiled and led you back to your rooms. So far from his own, yet with him leading you, the distance seemed to pass far faster than when you ran to him earlier that day.

Aemond stopped when you came to your door, lingering for a moment. “Would you… should I come in?” He turned to you with pleading eyes that you could tell he was trying to conceal. “I can remain outside if you wish it.”

He moved to drop your hand, but you held firm. “I would like you to come inside,” you said. “You know better than I what I will need, so I should like your assistance in selecting a cloak.”

Aemond gave you his fish look again, utterly dumbfounded. As if going into your dressing room was somehow more intimate than him fucking you. Fortunately, he regained his composure quickly and bowed his head. “Of course, whatever you wish.”

He opened the door and allowed you to lead him inside, past the couch where he had given you flowers, past the bedchamber where you had lain together, and into your dressing room. When you turned back to him, he was looking around as if he were just led into a room full of grand tapestries and works of art rather than clothes and shoes.

“What is it, Aemond?” you asked, suddenly worried that he may have seen something that offended him.

“It is just…” he laughed lightly before looking back to you, “I didn’t think anyone could actually fill their dressing room – especially not one this large.”

Though he smiled, you were yet filled with worry. “I promise I am not vain!” you pled, holding his hand to your chest. “My mother believes that a lady should always… and since I was to marry a prince, she – ”

You were silenced when Aemond pressed a kiss to your joined hands. “You have married a prince, and he does not think you vain, I swear. Actually, he is rather excited to see how beautiful you look in each and every item here.”

For a moment, you strongly considered leading him into the bedroom and leaving Vhagar for another day. But you had other plans for how you wanted that reunion to go. So, you reluctantly dropped his hand and pointed to the room’s far corner. “The cloaks are over there.”

Being a royal bride and one of only two daughters of a wealthy house meant that your trousseau was extraordinary. As such, you had more than a dozen cloaks, at least one for every colour of the rainbow.

Aemond went first to a black cloak – your warmest. While its wool was sparsely decorated, it was lined with the exquisite striped fur of a shadowcat. But after running his fingers once through the fur, Aemond pushed it aside.

He went next to a red cloak, intricately embroidered with gold and black dragonscale patterns (although the designs were somewhat abstract). It had been specially made when the match was announced, to honour the colours and sigil of your new house. But it, too, was rejected.

The green cloak – the one of dark emerald, not the light sage – was considered as well, longer than the other two. It was made from rich velvet and decorated with pearls. But Aemond let it behind, as well.

After quickly sorting through the next seven, he, at last, stopped to examine another. This one was made from a gentle pink jacquard, the pattern difficult to spot from a distance but absolutely lovely when near. The inside was lined with a light layer of undyed wool, and the edges with a thin strip of sable fur.

It was your favourite.

And it was the one Aemond chose.

“Wear this one,” he whispered as he brought it to you, holding it as though it was the most precious thing he’d ever held. “It suits you… very well.”

The flush on his cheeks gave you a rush of confidence, enough that you lifted your hair and turned around. Looking at Aemond over your shoulder, you dropped your eyes to the floor in a show of shyness. “Will you put it on me?”

Aemond’s gaze never left the skin of your exposed neck as he approached and laid the cloak over you with the gentlest whisper of a touch. He was close enough that you could hear his breathing quicken and feel the heat roiling off him. After the excessive amount of time he spent assuring that the cloak fell correctly, he finally stepped in front of you to fasten the front.

He tried, so very hard, to not look at your face as he did. But you caught every time his eye looked up at you – your eyes, your cheeks, your lips.

Kiss me, you willed silently, not yet brave enough to ask for it aloud.

The wish went unfulfilled. Once he had fastened the twin brooches of your cloak, Aemond smoothed it over once more, then offered you his hand. “The wheelhouse will be waiting for us,” he said.

You took his hand and let him lead you away.

The journey to the edge of the Kingswood passed quickly, the time filled with idle conversation about the city as you raced past it. You had questions about every statue, alleyway, and building; for the most part, Aemond had answers. The city’s history was inexorably tied to House Targaryen, and so he had taken it upon himself to learn everything there was to know about it.

It was enough to soothe your fears about meeting the largest dragon in the world. Until that is, you passed through the city gates, and the Kingswood appeared on the horizon.

“Why does Vhagar live in the forest?” you asked, peering through the curtains of the wheelhouse. “Why does she not live in the Dragonpit with the others?”

Aemond raised his brows proudly, “She has grown so large that she can no longer fit in the Dragonpit.”

The very idea was at once awesome and terrifying. You had seen the Dragonpit in the distance from your windows at the Red Keep and some dragons flying around it. That Vhagar could not even fit inside…

“So Maegor did not build it large enough? Even when he rode Balerion?”

“Well,” Aemond shrugged. “She could fit in the Dragonpit if it was necessary. But it would not be comfortable. It would stifle her. I do not want that.”

Just as he did not want you to be alone and trapped in the castle – enough that he would set you free of it if you asked. “You care for her very much, then?”

“I do, yes,” he answered, his eyes becoming contemplative while his lips still curled in a smile. “She is… I have told you that the relationship between dragon and rider is like a partnership, yes?”

“You have, yes.”

“It means that there must be understanding between the pair,” he explained. “Common ground, or even a shared soul. I know it may seem illogical or insane, but Vhagar understands me. She cannot speak it, but I know that she does. For most of my life, it has felt like she is the only one…” he trailed off as his eye came to rest once more upon you.

Until you, you could hear the words as well as if he had shouted them. Rather than a pit of fear, it created a warmth within you. Aemond understood you, and you were beginning to feel as if you understood him as well.

“Then I very much look forward to meeting her,” you replied. It was the truth, though you still possessed a healthy tinge of fear at meeting a dragon said to be now larger than Balerion had been during the conquest.

Aemond lifted the curtain from his window and looked back at you with an eager grin. “You will not have to wait much longer, my dear. We have arrived.”

When the porter opened the wheelhouse door, Aemond lept out. But you remained frozen in your seat. Had he not realised what he had just said?

“My dear.”

It has been said with such ease as though it was something he called you often. But that was the first time. Those two simple words had struck you like a thunderbolt and left you feeling as though you had run the distance from the castle for how fast your heart was racing.

After a moment, Aemond reappeared at the door, his arm extended to you. “Come,” he bade. “There is no reason to fear. She will not hurt you.”

You almost laughed at his misinterpretation of your state, but not wanting to explain the truth of it, you merely stood and took his arm. “Forgive me, but meeting a dragon is not an experience granted to many.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” he said, squeezing your arm and pulling you closer to him. “There never has been.”

“None of that now,” you begged. “That is all behind us. Let us just enjoy our new present.” You turned away from him, ending any argument he may have put forward.

You were expecting to be greeted by the sight of the great Vhagar, but all that was before you was the forest’s edge. A clearing of sorts, where the ground was tamped thoroughly flat, and nearly all the trees were missing their tips.

“Where is she?” you asked, surprised to find yourself disappointed that she was not there.

Aemond gently dropped your arm and stepped forward. “She must be off hunting. I will call her.” He walked to the edge of the clearing, then raised his hand to his lips and whistled louder than you had ever imagined a person could. “Vhagar! Māzīs va nykēlā !”

The forest fell silent once more, but he did not move to call again.

“Was that Valyrian?” You moved closer to him, but not all the way into the clearing. “The words you just said. ”

He turned back to you with an amused smile. “It was. It means ‘Come to me.’ That is how I call her back when she is away.”

You came even closer to him, your curiosity getting the better of you, until he was only a step ahead. “And she can hear you? Even if she is all the way across the Kingswood?”

“She can hear me if she is near enough,” he said as he held out his hand for you to take, “but the calling is more than just words. She can sense that I want her to come to me, even if she can’t hear me.”

“That is – ”

You were cut off by the loudest sound you had ever heard. A roar which seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth and the thunderous pounding of wings. Gods, how large were her wings to make such a sound?

Without realising it, you had thrown yourself into Aemond’s arms. Your face was pressed to his chest while your hands gripped the leather of his coat. He did not laugh or push you away. Of course he didn’t. He only wrapped his arms around you and whispered soothing reassurances.

It was so warm in his arms, and with the music of his calm, steady voice, you could have easily fallen asleep then and there.

That is, if the wingbeats weren’t coming nearer.

As the sound of them grew overwhelming, then stopped, you allowed Aemond to turn you to face none other than Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons.

She was enormous.

Her body filled the clearing entirely, her tail snaking through the trees beyond until the end of it – some 100 feet away- wrapped around the broad trunk of a great oak. You followed the tail up, over aged green scales that climbed higher and higher until you were looking at a torso taller than the two-story cottage your grandmother lived in. And though her wings were tucked in to allow her to fit in the clearing, you could easily guess that they measured even longer than her body when extended.

Even her head was so large that you had to turn your neck up to see her eyes – bright orange eyes that glowed like a roaring fire as they looked down upon you. Her lip curled as she rumbled a low growl, revealing teeth as long as your forearm, and you stepped back into Aemond’s chest.

“Lykirī, Vhagar,” he commanded, wrapping one arm protectively around your waist. “Dohaeras.” You could feel his hair shift against your back as he turned his head to look at you. “Ziry ñuhon ābrazȳrys issa.”

Vhagar ended her growl but continued baring her teeth as she tilted her head to better examine you. After a moment, she narrowed her eyes at Aemond.

“Ziry sepār nyke izūgilen issa daor,” he said with a distinctly reassuring tone. “Nyke jorrāelan zirȳla. Olvie nyke jorrāelan zirȳla.”

Finally, the dragon hid her terrifying teeth and, with a huff of steam from her nostrils, extended her neck to come closer to you.

“Aemond…” you whispered, near cowering as Vhagar came close enough for you to smell the brimstone on her breath.

“It’s alright,” he replied. His lithe fingers began to trace lines up and down your sides. Whether it was as a distraction or a comfort, you did not know. “She just wants to get your scent, so she can know you better.”

You tried to calm yourself, not wanting Vhagar to smell your fear – if that was something a dragon could smell. When she finally brought her snout almost to touching you before sniffing, each inhale sucking all the heat out of the air around you. After a moment, she withdrew slightly and made a noise that, had you not been merely thankful she hadn’t eaten you, you would have described it as a purr.

“She likes you,” Aemond said into your ear, pride dripping from each word. “She likes you very much. Would you like to pet her?”

A nervous laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “You want me to pet a dragon? Like she is a dog.”

“She enjoys it, I promise.” He lifted his hand from your side to take yours and guided it to the scales between her nostrils. “This is her favourite place. That’s it. You don’t have to scratch, just stroke her scales – be sure to follow their natural direction. She won’t like it if you tug on them.”

Vhagar continued to purr as you stroked her scales, only making contact with the downward motion. Your smile grew so wide your cheeks ached, and you could not help but laugh. “She’s like an old cat! A very big old cat.”

Aemond laughed with you, again hugging you to him as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Be glad she can’t understand you, for she is a very grumpy big old cat.”

“I feel almost foolish to have been afraid,” you confessed as you ever so slightly bumped your head against his.

“We like to keep people – most people – afraid of the dragons. It makes them a more effective deterrent.” He nuzzled into you and sighed happily. “But I am glad you are not afraid. Would you like to ride her?”

“What?” You froze, looking up at Vhagar’s saddle high above you and the sky even higher still. “I, uh…”

Aemond shushed your frantic attempt to find words. “If you don’t want to, I won’t force you. It is a unique thrill to fly, but I understand it is not for everyone.”

You turned in his arms. “I would like to, eventually. But today, I believe I have already used all my bravery.”

Well, not all of it. But you only just had enough left to get you through your plans for the night, and you were determined to keep it.

“Then we shall return to the Keep,” he said, not a hint of disappointment on his face, “and wait for a day when your bravery has returned. It is approaching sunset, and I will be expected at dinner.”

You nodded, and Aemond said a farewell to Vhagar in Valyrian before leading you back to the wheelhouse. The two of you rode in comfortable silence back to the castle, until he again helped you out.

“I would like to come to dinner with you,” you told him as you walked through the doors of the Red Keep. “And then, after dinner, I would like you to wait an hour and then come to my rooms.”

Aemond blanched, then flushed, then let out a shaky exhale. “Of course,” he breathed, “whatever you want, my dear.”

When Aemond arrived in your chambers after dinner – during which he nearly jumped out of his chair each time you spoke or laid your hand on his thigh – you were sitting at the vanity, finishing with your hair. He puttered around in the solar for a moment before coming into the bedchamber, where he looked first to the bed and, upon not finding you there, began to glance around the rest of the room. When he finally turned your way, you met his eyes through the mirror and gave him an overly innocent grin as he took in your attire.

“I… what…?” His babbling continued for a moment before he quieted. For a long while, he just stared at you with an open mouth and a wide eye. He only composed himself again when you stood and approached him, stopping just before you were in arm’s reach of each other. “What are you wearing?”

“Don’t you like it?” You asked with a mischievous pout, glancing down to survey yourself. “You liked it well enough the first time you saw it.”

It took a moment for your words to sink in. You saw the moment he finally heard your words and immediately began to fumble over a reply. “Of course I like it! I more than like it, I adore it. You must know that I do. I just… why this?”

You took two steps forward, until you were close enough that Aemond had to look down to meet your eyes, and you had to look up to see his. Teasingly, you ran a hand over the neckline of your gown, across each pearl and jewel that adorned it. “I thought since you didn’t like my favourite nightclothes, I needed to find something else to entice you. This seemed a good option.”

Aemond murmured something so softly you couldn’t hear it, even as close as you were.

Another step had you standing chest to chest with your husband. You could feel him struggling to calm his breathing as he looked at you, entirely captivated and at your mercy.

Standing on your tiptoes so you could press your cheek to his, you took a moment to smile at the way his breath caught at the contact, and his hand hovered just above your waist, still unsure if he really could touch you. Then, you whispered gently in his ear, “I know you had plans to take this off me yourself, so I thought I’d give you the chance.”

Without giving him a moment to respond, you took several steps back to allow him the best possible view of your wedding gown.

Your maids had been perplexed when you asked that they retrieve it so you could wear it tonight, but they had not argued. Their only complaint was that it was not possible to replicate the braid from your wedding day in such a short amount of time. So, they simply arranged it as nicely as they could before the deadline you gave them and tucked each of the gold and pearl pins you had worn then back into the braids and curls.

With only a few minor differences, you looked precisely as you did on your wedding night.

But now you weren’t afraid of what Aemond would do. Now, you were eager to find out.

“I, uh…” he wrung his hands together as he stepped forward. “I believe we should begin with your hair.”

“Very well.” You flounced over to the vanity and retook your seat, watching him through the mirror as he cautiously approached.

He lifted a shaky hand and ran his hand slowly over the braids. “How do I begin?”

“Start by removing the pins, then brush out the braids.”

“And how many pins are there?”

“Forty-seven,” you answered smugly.

Aemond’s eyes went wide, “That many?”

“Why do you think it takes women so long to dress in the mornings? And undress at night?”

He laughed slightly, then took one of the pearl-tipped pearls between his fingers and gently pulled it out.

On your wedding day, you had thought the pins inordinately large. But seeing one in Aemond’s hands – his very large hands, they seemed miniscule.

“That’s one,” he said, depositing the pin on the surface of the vanity.

With each pin he removed, he kept count and laid each one in a perfectly straight line. But you could not be too amused by it, for each time you were, his hand would brush your neck, cup your head, or tangle into your hair. It had never felt like this when your maids tended to you.

Aemond was a dragon, and his touch was fire.

Each passing brush of his fingers burned within you, building into a raging fire or desire. By the time he finished, and laid the forty-seventh pin on the table, you were well flushed and practically panting. And as he looked to you for further direction, he could see it all. Your only consolation was that he looked as ragged as you.

“Now comb through the braids with your fingers to separate them,” you instructed. You did have a wide-toothed comb specifically meant for separating braids, but you were certainly not going to pass up the opportunity to have his hands in your hair again.

He reached for the first braid – the largest – and hooked his fingers into its base. “Please, tell me if I hurt you.”

“You won’t. I know it.”

“Your confidence is all I need,” he laughed, and began to pull his hand away. The braid spilt past his fingers with an ease you had rarely been fortunate enough to see before. So did the next, and the next, until your hair was once more free to spill down your back.

“Now I brush it?” Aemond asked, reaching for the silver-backed brush on the vanity.

But you stood before he could reach it, turning to him and pushing him slightly away. “You did well enough with your fingers that brushing is unnecessary. And… I know you are eager.” You had felt the hard evidence of it against your back as he stood behind you.

“I am,” he said, “but there are other things I must do first.” He cupped your face gently, his thumb slowly swiping over your cheekbone. His eye was focused solely on your lips but filled with apprehension. And as you watched the slight pursing of his mouth, the tightening of his jaw, and the slightest furrow of his brow, you were confident that you understood exactly what he was thinking.

Funny, he had been reading your thoughts for so long. Now, it seemed you had finally caught up with him.

“You don’t have to ask,” you whispered. “You may kiss me – I want you to kiss me.”

There was a flash of elated surprise, followed by a moment of anxiety, fueled by his desperate desire that tonight not be like before. The last time he had done this, you had shied away from him, asked that he not do the one thing he had been most desperate to do.

You could read it all on his face as clearly as the words in his diary.

So, you decided to ease his anxieties yourself. Seizing the lapels of his doublet, you pulled him down to you and kissed him.

It was far from perfect. You had been overzealous and pulled him with too much force, causing your teeth to clash together as your lips connected.

Neither of you was deterred. Aemond’s hand wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you steady as he kissed, and kissed, and kissed you.

It was like you were dancing – he led, and you followed. When he pressed forward, you allowed him to do so, leaning back to give him the room he needed while still holding him close. When he softly urged your lips to part with his tongue, you offered no resistance. And when he slid one arm around your waist to pull you flush against him, you ran your hand up his chest and into his hair, tugging slightly as you tried to draw him ever closer.

At that, Aemond moaned.

Instinctively, you pulled back, breaking the kiss. It was probably due to end soon anyways – both of you were panting and out of breath.

“What happened?” he asked, his face flashing between confusion and hurt. “What did I do wrong?”

“You did nothing wrong. I did!” You ran your hand out of his hair and held it up as though he could see the evidence upon it. “I hurt you; I apologise.”

Aemond smiled broadly and pulled you in for another kiss. “You did not hurt me,” he whispered when he pulled back. “I made that sound because I enjoyed it.”

“Oh!”

“I assure you,” he said as he guided your hand back into his hair, “you have my enthusiastic permission to continue.” Then he pulled you back in and kissed you again, and again, and again.

You decided that you very much liked kissing your husband, even when he slipped his tongue into your mouth. It was not the most pleasant of sensations for you but one you were willing to become accustomed to so long as it brought him pleasure.

It would have been very easy to stay like that all night, but you had endured putting this complicated gown on again for a reason – for Aemond.

So, with no minor difficulty, you pulled away from him, smiling when he moved to follow you.

“No, no,” you scolded playfully. “Before we continue, I insist you help me out of my dress.”

“Of course,” he answered, his voice nearly breaking with desperation. “Anything you ask of me, I will do.”

You turned slowly away from him and lifted your hair over one shoulder, exposing the lacing on the back of the gown. “Then I ask that you untie me, husband.”

He said nothing, but you felt him approach. Felt the heat of him just behind you and the ghost of his fingers at the base of your neck. You felt the light pressure as he gripped the white satin ribbon with one hand but not the other…

The other he wound around your waist to pull you closer, so that he could plant a chaste kiss against the side of your neck. You shivered at the sensation – the warmth slowly fading as he pulled back.

“I know we are both impatient,” he murmured against your skin, “but I want to savour this moment. Please, allow me to take my time.”

You raised an arm to draw him back to your lips. This kiss was not as hungry as the others. It was soft, sweet, and slow. “Take however long you need, Aemond. I am not going anywhere.”

And take his time he did. With every eyelet he unlaced, he kissed your neck again. As he lowered the sleeves one at a time, he kissed a path from your shoulder to your hands. When he untied your stockings, he rubbed the same soothing circles on your thighs that had once made you desperate for his touch.

Then suddenly, you were only in your shift, the chill of the night air prickling against your skin.

Aemond stood and began to fiddle with the hem of your sleeve. “If you don’t want… If you want to keep this on, I won’t mind.”

“I want this, I promise,” you guided his hand away from the sleeve and down toward the hem, ensuring he came quite close to the space between your thighs. “It’s easier to remove from the bottom.”

He seized the hem and lifted, before pressing his forehead to yours and kissing you again. “I love you. And I ask that you only say it back should you really, truly mean it. With all your heart.”

You knew he wanted to hear it, despite his words. His eye was too pleading, too filled with hope. And though you wanted to say it, just to make him happy, you couldn’t. Not will all your heart, at least. Aemond deserved for it to be true.

So instead, you kissed him, lacing your fingers with his to finally remove the shift and bare yourself to him.

If he minded the diversion, he did not say. In fact, given that you then watched his eye dilate as he looked down at your body, you were fairly confident that he didn’t mind at all. And you were very confident that he loved your breasts, as they were where his gaze always returned to.

“May I…?” he asked breathlessly, his hand floating just above your heart. But at this moment, it was not your heart he wanted, but what lay just beneath it.

Aemond didn’t hesitate to cup your breast in his large hand, covering it completely. Though his touch was warm, your nipples went taut as he slowly massaged one breast, then the other. He tested several different ways of holding them, of applying pressure to them, and even experimented with pinching your peaked nipples – for which you quickly put a limit on how tightly he could do so.

After a moment, he licked his lips and looked up at you for permission. A nod was all he needed to bend down and take your breast into his mouth, laying sloppy kisses all over their surface before rolling his tongue lazily over your nipples.

You had enjoyed all his ministration thus far, but that?

That had your head lolling back as you moaned his name, a moan you were not given the chance to finish before his mouth was again on yours – possessive and wanting.

“Get on the bed,” he panted, a far more passionate entreaty than it had been on your wedding night, and you were far more confident.

You resisted his attempts to pull you closer to the bed, and when he leaned in to try and ply you with more kisses, you countered by nipping the tip of his nose – lightly, but hard enough to get his attention.

“Please,” he begged, ‘please get on the bed.”

“I will, Aemond.” He whined at the breathy way you said his name, tightening his grip on your hips. “First, let me remove your clothes.”

His eye was so dilated you could hardly see any purple and more than half-lidded with lust, but he obeyed, taking a single step away after giving your soft flesh a little squeeze. “Start with the belt, then the doublet, then – ”

“I am fairly confident I can figure out how to remove your clothes,” you teased. Though it soon became clear your confidence was unfounded.

Just undoing the knot on his belt took far longer than you expected. He only laughed when you frustratedly asked why he needed to knot his belt when it already had a perfectly good buckle. Fortunately, the buckles on his doublet were far simpler, though they were small enough to still delay you.

When at last you were able to throw the damned doublet and belt aside, you took your frustrations out on his neck, kissing it with such enthusiasm that you nearly pushed him over. After that display of lust, Aemond was quick to assist you with his shirt and trousers.

The moment he was as bare as you, he tried to pull you onto the bed, but again, you resisted. You had only once seen him nude, but you had not been in the mood to admire his form then. Now, you were mesmerised by the sight before you.

A long neck leading to powerful shoulders, long arms that ended in long fingers, a long, lithe torso with many divots you longed to explore, and long, slender legs corded with muscle. Every single part of him was long. Especially…

“In your diagrams, you only included the female anatomy,” you mused as you approached him, eyes locked on his flushed, hard cock. “I feel I am at a significant disadvantage, since I don’t know – ” You shrieked as Aemond grabbed you by the waist and carried you to the bed, depositing you squarely in the middle before crawling over you and peppering your face with tender kisses.

“Believe me, it is far simpler with men,” he laughed as he descended down your chest. “I doubt you will need any formal instruction.”

Formulating a witty enough response was nearly impossible as he trailed his mouth down and down. Between your breasts, over your stomach, and then –

Then nothing. Aemond sat between your spread legs, lifting your hips to rest slightly on his knees. The grin he flashed was nothing short of pure evil. He held your gaze as he took his thumb briefly into your mouth before bringing it down to that little button at the top of your sex, only long enough to bring you a moment of pleasure before he slipped it further down to part your slick folds.

“Gods,” he sighed, swiping his thumb over your entrance to collect as much fluid as he could before bringing it back to circle your pearl agonisingly slowly. “I’d hoped you’d be wet, but… I never expected this.”

You bucked your hips, trying to get him to go faster, press harder, something. Until now, you had only ever had the briefest tastes of pleasure, but now you craved more. You craved him.

“Please, Aemond!” you squealed as he finally pressed his thumb down harder.

“Give me a moment, my dear,” he said smugly. “I thought it would take longer to get you to this point. I’m having to reassess my plan.”

“Fuck your plan!” you shouted, more helplessly than you intended, judging by Aemond’s answering laugh. “Please, just do something – anything!”

“I am doing something!” he countered, emphasising his point by quickening his movements. “And it looks to me as though you’re enjoying it.”

Damn it, you were. But still, it wasn’t enough. You squeezed your eyes shut and threw your head back against the pillow, moaning incoherently.

“Oh, my poor darling,” Aemond cooed, “you really are desperate, aren’t you?”

You felt tears prickle in your eyes as you nodded furiously, only managing to again say “please.”

He slowed his thumb to a stop and crawled back over you, until your faces were level. “Open your eyes, love.” You obeyed, and were rewarded with a soft kiss on your forehead. “Good girl. I’m going to give you more now, but you must promise that if it hurts or if it gets to be too much, you must tell me. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” you squeaked pathetically.

Aemond kissed you one last time before he retook his position between your legs, once more gathering your slick on his pointer finger before slowly – so, so slowly – pushing it inside you. It was a different feeling from his cock; not quite as pleasurable, but the discomfort on entry was far less.

“Is that alright?” he asked, and you nodded. “I’m going to move it now. Please tell me when I’ve found the correct spot.”

You didn’t have a chance to respond before he crooked his finger and found that ‘spot.’ The one he wrote about in his diary, the one that brought nearly the same pleasure as your pearl.

Aemond’s studying has undoubtedly paid off.

Your back arched so dramatically that he had to anchor you to the bed with his free hand on your hip. “There it is,” he crooned, utterly prideful, “do you want me to keep going?” You answered with a slew of yeses that blended into a happy hissing sound, then turned into a loud moan as he inserted another finger into you, crooking it along with the other to massage that magical little spot. “You’re doing so well, my love.”

You were too engulfed in your pleasure that you hardly even noticed the new term of endearment. All you knew was his fingers inside you, stoking a fire that burned brighter, brighter, brighter.

Everything felt hot, and soon a sheen of sweat covered your skin. You took a deep breath, angling your hips almost unconsciously, but in a way that somehow heightened your pleasure enough for your body to shake. There was tension in every muscle, a delightful tension that had you clenching your fists in the sheets and curling your toes to try and relieve. It built and built, focusing on where Aemond was touching you, where his fingers went in and out and pressed and stroked.

It was too much. Your body couldn’t possibly endure this. This was where you had always stopped when you were exploring on your own – this was past that point, and Aemond was only taking you further and further.

“Aemond, please,” you begged. What for, you didn’t know. You didn’t want him to stop, but you were afraid to discover what would happen next.

He sped his movements, watching your face with a heart-stopping intensity in his eye. “Don’t hold it in, love,” he said, splaying his free hand across your stomach. “Give into it, let it go, release.”

The word may well have been a command, for the moment he finished speaking, you let go. Lightning coursed through you, and all your limbs froze and went numb for a moment that felt like it lasted a whole year. The tension dissipated, and all of a sudden you could breathe again, feel again, think again.

“Was that…?”

Aemond’s thumb stroked your belly, the delicate touch making you realise that he had removed his fingers from you and now held them just before his lips. “It was your peak, my love.” Never looking away from you, he took the fingers that were inside you into his mouth, sucking on them as if they were the sweetest candied lemons. “Forgive me, but I think I’d like another.”

It happened so quickly. One moment, he was kneeling between your legs. The next, Aemond had pushed you further up the bed so he could lay on his stomach and drape your legs over his shoulders, his hands holding your rear as he pulled you up until your cunt was pressed to his mouth.

Your hands flew into his hair, simultaneously tugging at it and yet trying to pull him closer. His tongue was surely some kind of miracle. How else would it feel so wonderful as he licked up every drop of moisture between your thighs before pressing into your core?

More miraculous still was his nose, for every time he pushed deeper, it pressed against your pearl, rubbed against it each time he angled his head. He quickly noticed what, exactly, was driving you wild, and took to shaking his head back and forth to make you scream – and scream you did.

“Gods, Aemond, please!” You cried as the delicious tension returned, still crackling with electricity. This was far more intense than his fingers had been, and far faster to take you to that place where you had nearly no control over your own body.

Nearly no control. Some instinct deep within you, which had no purpose but to seek animalistic pleasure, took hold of you. Your hand in his hair tightened so hard he again moaned, sending vibrations through you that nearly pushed you over the edge of your pleasure. But what finally sent you tumbling over was when he allowed you to pull him up until his lips latched around your pearl, and after several long, lingering licks of his tongue, he hummed, and you screamed anew.

When you opened your eyes again, Aemond was once more hovering above you, looking at you as though your reddened, sweaty face was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. You were certain that guards would come streaming into the chambers at the sound, swords drawn, but none did. It was still only you and your husband. He seemed entirely content, but when you glanced down at his cock, you found it so flushed that you were sure it hurt.

“I should…” your voice faded as you reached down to touch the heavy length of him. “I don’t know how, but you could show me.”

Aemond smiled softly, his half-lidded eye seeming to glaze over for a moment. “Another time, I would like nothing more. But tonight…” He leaned down to press a slow, lust-filled kiss to your swollen lips and rested his forehead against yours when he finally withdrew. “Please don’t make me wait any longer, my love.”

Eagerly, you nodded. You were absolutely resolved to learn how to pleasure him – with your hands and mouth–. Still, it seemed a daunting task, and your body was aching to find out what Aemond could do once he was inside you.

So, you did not argue as he reached down to align himself with your entrance. But he did not yet push forward. Supporting himself with one arm, he gave you another short kiss and stroked your hair.

“I promise,” he whispered, “it will be better this time.”

You leaned into his touch and shifted your hips to try and draw him closer. When Aemond hesitated again, you looked into his eye and raised a hand to cup his cheek. “I know it will. Now please, I don’t want to wait either.”

Then he buried himself inside you in one powerful thrust.

There was still a slight pinch of uncomfortable pressure at the start, but it did not last long. And compared to the pleasure it brought you, it was entirely inconsequential. You felt full in the most wonderful way, as if you had been missing something your whole life and finally found it. Warm, like he had lit a fire within you that would burn for the rest of your days. Safe, as though nothing could ever harm you again.

You felt right.

During that moment of stillness, where you both adjusted to the feeling of joining, you buried your face in Aemond’s neck. There was nothing but him, his silver hair blocking the rest of the world from view as his scent enveloped you. Perhaps you could just stay like this forever. That was a delightful thought. You nuzzled further into him as you let out a sigh of contentment.

Aemond tensed and whispered your name. “Does it hurt? Did I not prepare you well enough?”

“No,” you replied, still not pulling away. As the desperate need for even more closeness began to well up in your chest, you wrapped the hand that was cupping his cheek around his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin for how tightly you held him. “It just… it feels – you feel amazing. I wish it had always felt like this.”

“It will now,” Aemond replied, turning to place a kiss atop your head. He, too, sought to bring you closer. He brought his hand down to your waist and pulled you up so that your chests met and moved together as you breathed together. “I promise it will always feel this good. Perhaps better, once we practice a little more.”

“Oh yes!” you squeaked, finally dropping your head back to the pillow so you could look at him. “Let’s do lots of practice!”

With a laugh, he raised his brows in mock questioning. “Might I suggest we start now?”

Words escaped you for a moment, and all you could do was nod vigorously, like a child that had just been offered a whole tray of cakes. Your agreement and excitement seemed to delight Aemond, causing him to smile so wide his eyes crinkled. You instantly decided that you wanted to see that smile every day. Every hour. Every minute. For that smile was brighter than the sun itself.

“Put your legs around me, love,” he instructed, curling his hand around your thigh to guide you. Once you were positioned exactly how he wanted you, he pulled himself slightly closer to the headboard and leaned in for one last kiss, stopping just above your lips. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” you breathed against him, “so very ready.”

Aemond stayed in your bed all night, continuing to pleasure you until it was all you could do to keep your eyes open. Then, he stroked your hair while assuring you he was not leaving, which did not calm your panic when he got out of bed. But he soon returned, carrying a carafe of water and a damp towel. He murmured praises in your ear as he cleaned you and then himself, and commanded that you drink at least one full glass of water before you fell asleep.

You obeyed and afterwards fell asleep tucked into his chest. The next morning, you did not remember your last words to your husband before you drifted off, but he certainly did.

“I’m sorry I can’t say I love you,” you’d whispered, only half-awake, “but if you give me some time, I’m sure I can.”

Those words echoed through his mind as he slept, dreaming of a life where he would not have to walk halfway across the castle to reach his separate rooms. Where he could sleep like this, with his arms around you, every night. Where when he told you he loved you, you would respond in kind.

A dream he hoped he could live very soon. But until then, he would give you all the time you needed.

Waking from that dream was nearly a nightmare in itself, until he looked over and saw you still in his arms, still fast asleep. Your hair was a mess, and your nose was scrunched as you dreamed, but he loved every bit of it. He told you as much when you finally awoke.

When you insisted on following him to his rooms so you could attend the morning meal together, he did not protest. He loved watching you look around each chamber, your mind racing as you imagined how you would decorate the blank walls. He loved that, too.

What he did not love was that when you walked into the dining room, hand in hand, Aegon instantly perked up in his chair. His eyes darted between you and Aemond with dizzying speed before he raised his brows and mouthed, “Did she come?”

Aemond only glared at him, but you smiled and nodded, then held up seven fingers.

Begrudgingly, he loved that, too.

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nu-suave · 19 days

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WHO FALLS FIRST, WHO FALLS HARDER? (pt. 2) feat. toji, suguru one, two

word count: 706

summary: who falls first, who falls harder? a/n: sorry i didn’t post the past few days… i did but i made myself angry at what i wrote so i deleted it all. you’ll be missed nanami kento x reader oneshot

Toji falls first, you fall harder. There aren’t many people he’s been able to be completely emotionally and physically vulnerable with; when you first openly offer that and show him no ill will or disdain, he doesn’t believe it. As time passes, though, he comes to accept it as a fact of your character - you simply are a safe person to him, and that’s a very unfamiliar feeling. Things rapidly become a lot more meaningful than he originally intended. He was going to mooch off of you, take a warm bed to sleep in or idle company while he gambled or meaningless conversation at the grocery market. It landslides from there. Physical affection, usually a means to an end, becomes something he genuinely wants. A lot of things about you become wants. He wants to touch you, wants to spend time with you, wants to get you things. It’s hard for him to recognise at first and, in all honesty, freaks him out. He doesn’t see himself as someone made for affection or domesticity or the kind of normal thing romance proves itself to be. It causes him to overcompensate at first - he makes biting comments and is a bit more reserved. He tries to scare you off, almost. He fails.

When you fall, it's about as graceless as Toji was. You’ve been friends for a while now, and in that limbo in between for nearly just as long. He hasn’t flirted with you or tried to push you into a relationship. If he’s being honest with himself, it’s because he thinks you’re too good for him - you deserve better than what he’s currently able to give you. Unfortunately (or maybe, more accurately, very fortunately) for him, you don’t feel the same way. When your feelings for Toji hit you, they hit you hard; you’re doing something mundane, like patching him up (an increasingly common occurrence) or chatting with him while he lazes on the couch, when he makes you laugh and the entire weight of your feelings hit you over a three-second period, leaving you numb with shock. Here’s to hoping you’re more proactive about your relationship than Toji is - you might be left in that period of requited pining for longer than either of you would like, until either you gain the courage to confess or he finishes attempting to pull himself together enough to feel like he can be something good for you.

You fall first, Suguru falls harder. He has a kind of effortless charisma that initially draws you to him; he’s charming, likeable, conscientious, and good looking to boot. You know from the very beginning that he’s the kind of person you usually fall for - you’re not wrong. It’s a spark that lights quickly, and it’s a gradual blurring of feelings until you look back on the early days of your friendship and wonder if there was ever a time you weren’t in love with him. He’s thoughtlessly respectful, never stepping over or pushing your boundaries - and sometimes picking up on them before you even need to say anything. It’s like he’s just tuned into your behaviour, and never crosses a line that’d make you uncomfortable. You never feel lesser in his presence or like you’re second place, even as you battle Satoru for his attention. Just by existing, Suguru makes the people around him feel heard.

When he falls, it’s over the course of a conversation. You’re both out with your friends, and Suguru is noticeably checked out of the conversation; he doesn’t talk much, is keeping to himself in the corner, replying to any attempts to engage him unenthusiastically. You pull him aside, asking how he is and if you want to ditch them together so he can get some fresh air. He does. During that night, it mounts and mounts; you engage him in light conversation, at some point just sitting beside him and not saying anything at all. You’re just there, an unobtrusive presence. It’s more comforting than you know, and as you bid each other goodbye at the end of the night, it hits him - how long has he been feeling this way about you? How long have you been this silent support for each other?

i really hate suguru's part lmao

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader #suguru getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru x reader #getou suguru x reader #getou x reader #geto x reader

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whiskygoldwings · 15 days

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WHISKY'S FOXY FIC REC LIST

Okay! The promised Fox-centric fics rec list is here WOOOO! I’ve split this into complete and not complete. I did have grand plans about sorting it into genres but uh, that might be for later when I've regained the will to live... I’ve also been recommended a few I haven’t read, so have given those a section of their own. These are FOX-CENTRIC fics. … Mostly. I’ve said where the focus is more on someone else with Fox as more secondary!

THIS IS ALL HUGELY BIASED! I have my personal tastes, and know they don’t fit everyone else’s. Just because a fic isn’t on here doesn’t mean it isn’t good, and just because a fic IS on here doesn’t mean you’ll like it. I also simply haven’t read all the Fox fics out there! I’m trying to, but you folks keep writing new excellent fics and I can’t keep up! Also, I do like to occasionally do other things… Very occasionally…

Within the basic headers, none of these fics are in any particular order. Also, I HAVE ABSOLUTELY MISSED FICS. PLEASE REC ME ANY YOU THINK I HAVE MISSED. I’m intending to update this as I read more, these are just the ones I could remember/find at the moment!

I have included with the link – any ships, tags people may need to be aware of, length and a brief summary. I CLONESHIP. So yes, there's some fics with cloneshipping in here. Honestly, not anywhere near as many as I thought there would be. I have used the pairings as given by the author on the fic, so if I have missed a pairing, that's why. IF YOU THINK I HAVE MISSED SOMETHING PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW, PLEASE TELL ME. I do my best, but I’m very (very) fallible. I’d rather know and be able to fix it than not know and someone be hurt by something. (This literally goes for anything else).

If you have a fic that’s not on here and you think it should be – comment/message/ask!

With the intro over, let’s get into the meat of things!

COMPLETED FICS

Commander Fox’s Ultimate Bucket List – Blackkat

PAIRINGS: Fox/Mace Windu, Padme Amidala/Thorn/Stone, Depa Bilaba/Grey, Agen Kolar/Cody

WORDCOUNT: 27,509

TAGS: AU – Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Humour, Crack, Seduction, Murder Attempts, OTP: Anakin/Consequences, Romance, Friendship, Let Fox be a little unhinged 2kforever

SUMMARY: Fox has a second chance, a to-do list, a stolen lightsaber, and a complete willingness to give everyone around him grey hairs. Plus a Jedi Master to seduce. It's going to be a ride.

My thoughts: Y’ALL. WELCOME TO RAREPAIR HELL WITH ME. I actually tried to draw fanart for this I loved it so much. It is WONDERFUL. Hilarious. The characterisation of Fox is just brilliant.

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Our Guard (a docu-holo sponsored by the Coruscant Communications Bureau) – FortinbrasFTW

PAIRINGS:NO PAIRINGS

WORDCOUNT: 54,034

TAGS: Various original characters, Comedy, Fix-It, Dead Sheev Palpatine, that what we do in the shadows meets fox accidentally kills his boss au, mockumentary, bail and fox are bros, Crack treated seriously, no ships really in this but kit and fox are def some kind of exes, every clone deserves a droid sidekick

SUMMARY: Nonstop civilian protest duty for over a month, the senate's latest hobby seems to be getting abducted for kicks, and now he had to deal with a camdroid shaped pain-in-the-ass following his every move. The powers that be seemed to think that putting him and the rest of the Guard in some holo was the best way to work up some civilian sympathy. Well, at least there was no way his day could get any worse...

My thoughts: You all thought this list was gonna be just angst didn’t you!?! This is another, just excellent, hilarious Fox fic. Such a brilliant idea, and one I can absolutely imagine happening. Fox is so done, and his interactions with the camdroid are beautiful.

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To Be Free Once More (That’s Worth Fighting For) – Batsutousai

PAIRINGS: Fox/Obi-Wan Kenobi

WORDCOUNT: 154,695

TAGS: AU – Canon divergence, Fix-it, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, Jedi Shadow Investigator Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi culture and tradition, Jedi appreciation, Coruscant Guard Troopers Deserve better, Force-sensitive Clone Troopers, Protective clone troopers, Clone trooper mistreatment, Clone trooper and Jedi relationships, Institutional Abuse, Discrimination, Strangers to friends to lovers, Trans clone troopers, nonbinary clone troopers, Nonbinary Jedi characters, Sheev Palpatine being an asshole, Character death, Palpatine and some Corries die onscreen, Implied/referenced character death, Deaths of original Jedi characters are reference, The young of Melida/Daan, Clone trooper Inhibitor chips, Force-sensitive Fox

SUMMARY: As a Jedi Shadow, Obi-Wan hadn't expected to have much to do with the clone troopers. Until, suddenly, he does.

My thoughts: I uh… I already broke my own rules for this list… Oops! I’m really not sorry for it though… Obi-Wan is the central character in this, with Fox as a secondary character. However the handling of Fox and Obi-Wan’s building relationship, and the way Obi-Wan interacts with the clones/the Corries is wonderful. This is a freaking excellent story. I’m breaking the rules to recommend you something you should ABSOLUTELY read.

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Operation: Don’t Wake The Commander – AlleyMoslof

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 7,034

TAGS: Fox needs a hug, Tired Fox, Fox deserves better, These shinies are dedicated, Coruscant Guards, Let Fox sleep, Fix-it, Thorn is Chaos Personified, The Guard has no impulse control, Fox is a good bro, the adoption genes are strong with the Guard, Fox IS the Guard’s impulse control

SUMMARY: “So basically, Commander Thorn ordered you to make sure Commander Fox slept a decent amount and didn’t give you any restrictions as to how to do this.”

The shiny looked up from the ‘pad to smirk at him, “sir, yes, sir.”

My thoughts: Just adorable! This is so sweet! Those Shinies sure are dedicated, and Fox gets a well-deserved nap. *heart*

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And I Did It My Way – Miyaji_08

PAIRINGS: Fox/Quinlan Vos

WORDCOUNT: 23,039

TAGS: Hurt/Comfort, Fox Needs a Hug, Coruscant Guard troopers need hugs, Coruscant Guard troopers get hugs, Coruscant Guard troopers as family, Quinlan Vos needs a hug, Protective Quinlan Vos, Ferus Olin needs a hug, Ferus Olin gets a hug, Quinlan and Fox think they’re in a murder mystery but really it’s a comedy, The best way to get away with crime is to completely forget how and why you did it, Clone troopers and Jedi as found family, Obi-Wan Kenobi needs a drink, Protective clone troopers, Protective Jedi, Coruscant Guard troopers deserve better.

SUMMARY: Commander,” High General Windu says, brows raised in suspicion. “This is the Chancellor’s office holo, is it not? May I speak with him?”

Fox stares at the general, and then down at the black smudge on the floor where Palpatine’s body used to be. Slowly, subtly, he shifts so he’s standing on top of it.

“Uh,” he says. “…No.”

My thoughts: This is angtsy, and wonderful, and Fox is so tired and his characterisation is brilliant.

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Galaxy-Saving Memes – musicmillennia

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 3,152

TAGS: Memes, Social media, chatfic, Fix-it, crack, humour, whump, Fox needs a hug, and he GETS one plot twist, they all get one!!, unhealthy coping mechanisms, trauma, reconditioning, mind control.

SUMMARY: You can only access the page if you're GAR. The Coruscant Guard decides to infiltrate it because they are tired of being ignored, and honestly? Their memes are way better.

Or, the Guard saves millions of lives through stupid internet posts.

My thoughts: BRILLIANT. HILARIOUS. The Guard are so nonchalant about the shit they’re dealing with that they turn it into memes. *chefs kiss*

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Their Days are Darker – always_a_slut_for_hc

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORD COUNT: 23419

TAGS: Clone troopers deserve better, hurt/comfort, abuse, Fox needs a hug, Wolffe is a little shit, Whump, AU – canon divergence, Dehumanization, Gaslighting, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE

SUMMARY: After the death of ARC Trooper Fives, an altercation at 79's leads Wolffe to spend his leave snooping around the Coruscant Guard. Fox assumes he'll drop it and leave the Corries to their fate; it's what everyone else has done.

He is very, very wrong.

My thoughts: One of my all-time favourite Fox whump fics. I have re-read this several times. It does hurt, it is painful, but it does get better. Love it.

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Commander Fox is Completely Fine – Maddy_B

PAIRINGS: Fox/Quinlan Vos

WORD COUNT: 275,029

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. RAPE/NON-CON. Fox needs a hug, Tired Fox, Fox whump, Coruscant Guards, Slow burn, Dissociation, Panic attacks, Gender dysphoria, Body dysphoria, Dysphoria, Explicit sexual content, Slavery, Implied/referenced rape/non-con, all explicit sexual content in this fic is consensual, Bad parent Jango Fett, Implied/referenced torture, Mild gore, Blood and gore.

SUMMARY: Cody was still staring at him. Fox wasn't sure what made him keep talking.

"It's always the shinies who think they're invincible," he muttered, "who think they're above the rules."

Cody nodded slowly.

"Yeah," he said, voice a little hoarse, "that's usually how I lose them too."

Fox watched as his little brother finished the rest of his drink and stared down into his empty cup.

It wasn't the same, he wanted to say. That's a battlefield, this is the centre of the Republic, it's different. The truth is that it's not as different as it should be.

My thoughts: This is a long haul fic folks, but it is deliciously worth it. The angst/whump is very real. The comfort is also very real. Fox and Quinlan are plonkers who eventually get their acts together. There’s wonderful interactions with Fox and Padma, Bail and Riyo. Wonderful fic.

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Do-Over – TooManyTeeth

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORD COUNT: 109,352

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. Time travel fix-it, Fox needs a hug, Depression, Suicidal thoughts, Hurt/comfort, Brotherly love, Cuddling and snuggling, Blood and gor, Torture, Palpatine is a giant asshole, Fox gets better I promise, Abuse, The Coruscant Guard collectively need a hug, Fox needs a nap, Non-consensual kissing, Non-consensual touching, Friendship, Medical inaccuracies, Unintentional betrayal, Fox gets a hug

SUMMARY: Fox made a mistake. Fox was punished. Fox died. Fox woke up.

My thoughts: Oh the hurt and angst is very real with this one folks. So is the comfort though. Eventually! An excellent story, painful to read in places, but beautifully done. I’m very excited for the sequel!

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With Nothing to Lose, There’s Everything to Go – Batsutousai

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORD COUNT: 4,706

TAGS: Clone troopers deserve better, Clone trooper-centric, Abusive Sheev Palpatine, Past abuse, Abandonment, Fox needs a hug, Fox gets a hug, Fix-it, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, PTSD, Little bit of hurt/Lots of comfort, Family reunions, Protective siblings

SUMMARY: The end of the war arrived, but nothing changed for the Coruscant Guard.

My thoughts: If you need something to just make you feel a little bit better about the world, give this fic a read. Lovely one-shot. Lots of feels.

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Commander Fox’s Guide to Touring Coruscant – KakashiKrazy256

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORD COUNT: 7,910

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. Hurt/comfort, Bros being bros, Dialogue heavy, Fox needs a hug, And he’ll get one, Fox’s brothers telling him he matters and he short-circuits, Ponds is alive because I said so, Injury

SUMMARY: The painkiller he had been giving just half an hour prior is still working fine, leaving him relatively...alright. Nothing hurts particularly bad, but there’s a fuzziness layered over everything, making it hard to think too hard on anything beyond the first thoughts running through his head.

Go inside. Find the rest. Sit down. Drink. Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t get caught. And...and just be there to properly enjoy the company of his brothers.

Don’t forget these memories.

Fox gets injured but decides to keep it secret for the sake of his batchmates. For the prompt 'is that a bloodstain?!'

My thoughts: Lovely fic. The interactions between Fox and his brothers are just wonderfully well-written. And Fox’s pain throughout is thoughtfully done.

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Foxhunt – OysterTori

PAIRINGS: Pre-slash Bacara/Fox. Side pairings of: Ponds/Mace Windu, Thorn/Cody, Echo/Fives/Rex, Bly/Aayla Secura

WORD COUNT:14,406

TAGS: Hurt Fox, Fox needs a hug, Coruscant Guard troopers as family, Coruscant Guard and GAR, BAMF Fox, Mind manipulation, Coruscant Guard loves Fox, Protective Coruscant Guard troopers, Sheev Palpatine being an asshole, Palps dies off screen because fuck him, Fox got to murder him as a treat, All clones have a competency kink, Bacara has the biggest though, Fox gets a hug, Trans clone troopers, Clone trooper reconditioning

SUMMARY: Fox has to flee after killing the Chancellor and as the events unfold he gets hunted across Coruscant by CorSec (not something to worry about) and the GAR (something to worry about).

But his Corries have his back, as always. They won't let someone take their ori'vod away from them.

My thoughts: … Honestly I just love that Fox is a BAMF MF and everyone wants him in this! From memory, I think the story actually focuses on other characters a lot more than Fox, but it’s brilliant anyway!

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It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine – cats_and_dr_pepper

PAIRINGS: Depends on which chapters, but Fox/Thorn.

WORD COUNT: 62,395

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. Fox needs a hug, Fox whump, Protective Fox, Tired Fox, Fox deserves better, Fox needs a nap, Protective Cody, Cody’s name is Kote, Cody is so smart, Injury, Manipulative Sheev Palpatine, Sheev Palpatine being an asshole, Clone medics are scary, Angst, Whump, Coruscant Guards, Coruscant Guard needs a hug, Self-indulgent, WIP, One-shot collection, Din Djarin cameo, Parental Jaster Mereel, Force ghost Jaster Mereel, Eldritch, Angst and hurt/comfort, Hurt/comfort, Hurt no comfort, Character death, Suicide attempt, grief/mourning, Crack, hijinks and shenanigans, Graphic descriptions of injuries, Order 66

SUMMARY: WIP AND ONESHOT COLLECTION

My thoughts: I could recommend pretty much all of this author’s library, but I’m trying to limit it a little! While this is a collection of one shots, they’re just beautiful. I am particularly fond of Chaps 4 and 6/7. Folks, mind those tags and the chapter specific summaries.

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Trich – cats_and_dr_pepper

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORD COUNT: 1,328

TAGS: Angst, Whump, not too bad though, Trichotillomania, Fox needs a hug, Fox-centric, Fox whump, Sad Fox, Hair-pulling, in the least sexy way, Body focused repetitive disorder

SUMMARY: It was easy. It was easy to do. Any time Fox needed an extra… something to deal with the day on Kamino, he’d pull a hair. Never from the same place, never more than one, but for some reason, it helped. He didn’t quite know how or why, but the little stab of pain, the sound of the pluck through his skull, how sometimes the whole root sheath would slide out—it was something he could do.

On Coruscant, it gets out of control.

My thoughts: Look, I know I LITERALLY JUST SAID I was going to limit myself, but I have to rec this one. It holds a special place in my heart. I’ve had dermatillomania all my life. The two conditions are very related, and this whole fic spoke so much to me. Beautifully done depiction of the condition. My thanks to the author for this.

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Corrie Red – musicmillennia

PAIRINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 24,294

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. Lovecraftian Monsters, Eldritch Coruscant Guard, Horror, Body horror, Blood, Blood drinking, Gore, Non-linear narrative, Implied/referenced mind control, Manipulation, Angst, Fix-it, Cannibalism, No one is helping the Guard so they help themselves, With their new limbs, The Corries can have a little murder as a treat, Vomiting, Self-harm, Codependency, Temporary character death, Unreliable narrator, Protective Fox, Protective Coruscant Guard

SUMMARY: A Sith opens a Door and keeps it open. Something else slithers through, and it likes the Coruscant Guard. The Coruscant Guard likes it too.

My thoughts: DO YOU LIKE ELDRITCH HORROR!?! Boy have I got the fic for you then!!! Super excellent, wonderful body horror. Very creative, the descriptive language is beautiful. There are several more sidestories and a sequel in the works as well, which I highly recommend. This is the fic that made me love Eldritch Guard!

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But Still, Bless Me Anyway – bitebackbaby

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 52,977

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. AU- Murderbot Diaries fusion, canon-typical violence, Canonical character death, Clone trooper mistreatment, Clone trooper reconditioning, Clone trooper decommissioning, Coruscant Guard troopers-centric, Coruscant Guard VS GAR rivalry, Coruscant Guard troopers deserve better, Coruscant Guard troopers need hugs, Fox whump, Fox deserves better, Fox needs a hug, Eventual happy ending, Angst with a happy ending

SUMMARY: CG-Unit 1010 is functioning at perfectly normal parameters. It obeys orders. Enforces the law. It is not afraid of the Masters that bought it. It does not mourn the Units that fail to measure up to their exacting standards. The Behavioral Chip does not allow such aberrant behaviors.

GAR Units are given many allowances. Fox wonders, sometimes, exactly when they will face the consequences of that.

(aka: built and deployed on coruscant, the cybernetic constructs known as the coruscant guard come face to face with the rest of the galaxy, and begin to notice some discrepancies.)

My thoughts: The utter GENIUS of combining the CG with SecUnits. This is absolutely amazing. It’s not kidding about the eventual happy ending, there’s some grief to come first. YOU SHOULD ABSOLUTELY READ THIS FIC. Even if you know nothing about the Murderbot Diaries. You need not have read the Murderbot Diaries, but just so you know, YOU SHOULD.

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Tachy – postapocalyptic_cryptic

PAIRINGS: NONE WORDCOUNT: 1,806

TAGS: Whump, platonic cuddling, Protective Wolffe, Fox needs a hug, Fox whump, Tachycardia, Panic attacks, Exhaustion, Protective siblings, Order 66 happened differently, Post-war, AU, PTSD, Tired Fox

SUMMARY: “Come on, Fox, head between your knees. You know the drill.” As gently as possible, Wolffe pushes Fox upright and helps him arrange himself in an approximation of the recovery position. He’s gasping and shaking and, now that Wolffe has his hands on him, burning up. “There you go,” Wolffe murmurs, keeping one hand on Fox’s head, carding through his hair, and using the other to comm medbay. “Deep breaths, Fox’ika.”

The war is over, but Fox is far from out of the woods.

My thoughts: Short fic with Fox suffering the aftereffects of everything? Yes pls!

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Finding the Way Back – slotmachines_fearofgod

PAIRINGS: Implied Fox/Quinlan Vos

WORDCOUNT: 7,122

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. Angst and hurt/comfort, the comfort is minimal, Fox needs a hug, Coruscant-Guard troopers-centric, Protective Fox, Protective Wolffe, Fox needs a nap

SUMMARY: Wolffe stops by the Coruscant Guard complex to pick up some unruly members of the 104th, and tries to reconnect with Fox. Certain things are revealed that set off some warning bells for Fox's batchmates

My thoughts: I love Wolffe and Fox interactions. I headcanon them being close brothers, so it makes me very happy! Wolffe’s not going to let this go Fox…

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I’ve been sent up and I’ve been shot down – always_a_slut_for_hc

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 1,919

TAGS: Hurt/comfort, Implied/referenced self-harm, Touch-starved, Imprisonment, Solitary confinement, Fox needs a hug

SUMMARY: After the court martial, they put Fox away.

Just - put him away, up on a shelf like a little toy soldier. He’d laugh, if it wasn’t so fitting. They created him to do a job and he went out and did it and now they were done with him.

My thoughts: I love this fic, and basically all of the Febuwhump 2022 collection. There’s a follow up to this as well. It’s angsty folks, but SO GOOOOOD.

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Up In Our Bedroom (After The War) – lux_arcana

PAIRINGS: Queerplatonic Fox and Thorn

WORDCOUNT: 4,690

TAGS: AU – canon divergence, Dead Sheev Palpatine, Post-war, Autism spectrum, Autistic burnout, PTSD, Fox needs a hug, Fox gets a hug, Stimming, Queerplatonic relationships, Therapy, Jedi culture and tradition, Clone trooper culture, Mind control aftermath and recovery, Emotional hurt/comfort

SUMMARY: In this strange new world that Fox got to live in, he woke up safe, warm, and comfortable. Everything around him was soft, muffled, heavy. He rolled over and moved into an even warmer spot, and stretched out languidly, as cat-like a behavior as he had ever done. Without opening his eyes, he knew exactly where he was. Kamino was not safe, warm, or comfortable. The Guard Barracks, though safe, were not warm, and the only comfort they had was each other. But here -

In the Temple, he was always warm, and he was always safe, and he was almost always comfortable. His bed was soft. It was comfortable. And, as he moved into the spot Thorn had just vacated, it was warm.

“Go back to sleep,” Thorn’s soft voice whispered, and Fox did what he did best; he obeyed.

(Fox, Thorn, and the rest of the Guard, after the war.)

My thoughts: I love this fic. I love the gentleness of it. I love the pain of it. I love the recovery.

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Gar Shuk Meh Kyrayc – MageOfCole

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 1,553

TAGS: Sleep deprivation, Exhaustion, Fox needs a hug, Cody is a good bro, Cody is a little shit, Thorn is a good bro, Fox needs sleep, Clone troopers deserve better, Touch-starved Fox, Sheev Palps being an asshole, Clone troopers speak Mando’a, Mandalorian clone troopers, hurt/comfort, whump

SUMMARY: (you're no use dead)

Fox has barely slept in the last month, only enough to function in his tasks; he’s exhausted, and sore, and tired, but he has work to do. It’s his duty to always be there, ready and willing to take orders, but - Prime's tits - he's so tired.

My thoughts: I love fics where Fox’s brothers come in and make him sleep. Short, angtsy fic where Fox gets to take a good, long nap.

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Reset Restart Repeat Repose – KairaKara101

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 15,641

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. Fox needs a hug, Protective Fox, Tired Fox, Fox whump, Coruscant Guard troopers as family, Coruscant Guard troopers-centric, Protective CG, hurt/comfort, Emotional hurt/comfort, Angst, CG troopers deserve better, CG troopers need hugs, Manipulative Sheev Palps, Clone trooper reconditioning, Clone trooper decommissioning, Mind Manipulation, Clone trooper inhibitor chips, Clone trooper mistreatment, Clone troopers speak Mando’a, Isolation, Amputation, Mental instability, Mental breakdown, Mental anguish, Identity issues, Loss of identity

SUMMARY: CC-1010 held a secret that none of his current batchmates, squad mates, guard vode, and vode knew about. He’d rather take that secret to his death and beyond.

My thoughts: A really interesting look at Fox having to continually reset himself. The whump is fierce with this one.

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No One Worth Remembering – RMWrites

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 1,709

TAGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. AU, Lies, Posing as someone else, Implied/referenced character death, Manipulative Sheev Palps, Thorn and Pals are in the background, Order 66 didn’t happen, Fox deserved better, Hurt no comfort, Angst, The happy ending is only for some people, Fox needs a hug, Implied/referenced suicide

SUMMARY: Fox the Original, as he called him, had gone MIA on a mission for the Chancellor a year and a half into the war. To keep the pretense of normalcy- for losing a Marshal Commander on the “safe” posting of Coruscant would cause far too much public panic- the replacement Commander had donned the painted armor of the late Fox, took up his name and number, and studied the plethora of reports left behind to mimic his voice.

He was Commander CC-1010 "Fox"- the ninth to hold that name.

My thoughts: I LOVE this idea and I love this fic. This idea is just fantastic, and I highly recommend you go read it!

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The Guard Are (Not) Fine – redhairedmuses

PAIRINGS: Fox/Quinlan, Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Bly/Aayla Secura

WORDCOUNT: 14,419

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. Heavy angst, Angst, Angst and tragedy, Angst and hurt/comfort, Implied/referenced torture, Implied/referenced abuse, canon-typical violence, Mental breakdown, Fox whump, Fox needs a hug, Protective Fox, Fox is a good liar, Alcohol, Protective Cody, Minor character death, Creepy/manipulative Sheev Palps, Dissociation, Fox has issue, and he blatantly ignores them.

SUMMARY: In his service to the Coruscant Guard, Fox had learned to become a very good liar. Some would argue one of the best.

But how long can he keep lying to himself?

aka. the corrie guard deal with a lot of shit on coruscant and no one really does anything about it.

My thoughts: Yeah, we all know I love a good bit of Corrie angst. Here’s a delicious one.

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CHTHONIC – catboydogma

PAIRINGS: Fox/Quinlan Vos

WORDCOUNT: 17,062

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. Meet ugly, Getting together, Let Fox say FUCK, Anti-clone prejudice, Fluff, Angst, Whump, Emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, Canon-typical violence, Gore, Corpses, Mind control, Mind control aftermath and recovery, Enemies to co-workers to lovers, Worldbuilding, Planet Coruscant, CG, Coruscant Underworld, Coruscant’s Haunted, Horror elements, Falling in love, Fix-it, AU – canon divergence, Order 66 didn’t happen, Past torture, Referenced decommissioning

SUMMARY: Not even two days later, Fox revised his opinion. This wasn’t a disaster. This was a Grade-A, first order, fresh off the hot plate fuckfest. Fox’s day had gone something like this: lay in bed. Get up. Knock back some of the sludge in the mess masquerading as caf. Go through forms. Fill out forms. Bust open a closet in which the Senators for Uyter and Kinyen had both managed to get “stuck” in. Go through more forms. Fill out more forms. Get called up to the Senate dome to tell a Senator that no, the Guard did not address noise complaints. Find that the stack of datapads on his desk had somehow tripled over the last two hours. Despair at the state of his inbox. Etcetera, etcetera. And then.

My thoughts: YEEEEES DEEEELIIIICIOUS!

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Red Like My Dreams – Quarra

PAIRINGS: Fox/murder

WORDCOUNT: 8,637

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, AU – canon divergence, Blood and gore, Serial killer!Fox, Attempted murder, So much attempted murder, Murder, Unhinged!Fox, Fix-it of sorts, Fives lives, Sith flirting, Happy ending, Humour, Unhealthy relationships, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Torture, Crack treated seriously

SUMMARY: Fox wants to murder his boss so badly that he can taste it. The problem is that fucking Sheev is a difficult person to kill. That’s fine. Fox is a stubborn bastard. He can follow his heart and achieve his dreams. He just has to work at it.

or,

The one where (nearly) everyone is worried and Fox is (more than a little bit) unhinged.

My thoughts: UNHINGED FOX GETTING HIM SOME SITH-DAMNED MURDER. *chef’s kiss*

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Commander Fox’s Rules for Shinies – sleebyama

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 3,736

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Brothers, Brotherly bonding, Fox is a good bro, Ori’vod Fox, CG Dogma, Implied/referenced rape/non-con, Implied/referenced character death, Implied/referenced Abuse, Fluff and angst, Fox needs a hug, Clone trooper decommissioning

SUMMARY: Shinies are always the first to laugh at his rules.

Those who laugh are usually the ones that learn the hardest lessons.

My thoughts: Hey folks, do you like those fanon headcanons about the abused Guard? Do you like Corrie Dogma, OC shinies, and Fox adopting the shit out of people? HAVE I GOT A STORY FOR YOU!

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Don’t Ever Utter Those Words Again, I’m Begging You – Mamuzzy

PAIRINGS: Fox/Thorn

WORDCOUNT: 982

TAGS: Hurt/comfort, Injury recovery, Established relationship, Married couple, Riduurok/Mandalorian marriage traditions, Anxiety, Overprotective Fox, Cloneshipping, Whump, Crying, Art included

SUMMARY: Thorn was injured in one of his mission on Coruscant and Fox feels guilty about it.

My thoughts: Oh Thorn is so wonderfully sweet and honest! Also, THE ART! I love it so much!

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Full Body High – menphina

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 6,231

TAGS: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Angst with a happy ending, Trans clone troopers, Trans Fox, Trans female character, Fox needs a hug, Fox gets a hug, Internalized transphobia, Implied/referenced transphobia, Gender dysphoria, Panic attacks, Clone trooper dehumanization, Fox deserves better, Protective Fox, Order 66 didn’t happen, Clone trooper decommissioning.

SUMMARY: Fox looks in the mirror as he washes his hands, and there’s a lurch deep in his gut.

He doesn’t know why.

It’s his own face staring back at him, hair regulation-short, a bit of scruff around his jaw, a few grizzly scars. He runs his hand across his chin. It feels like someone else’s.

He looks away.

My thoughts: I love this fic. I love how gently Cody handles things when the command batch realise what’s happening. I subscribe heavily to the likelihood that there are trans/non-binary clones, and they deserve to have their stories heard.

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In Lieu of Flowers – kakashikrazy256

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 7,418

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. Angst, Hurt/comfort, hugs, Wolffe needs a hug, Fox needs a hug, PTSD, Malevolence arc, bad treatment of clones

SUMMARY: “We asked for funds. It wasn’t a lot. Just, just enough for a salvage mission. To get the bodies of some vode back. Or a memorial announcement, at the very least something.”

“The General got a response yesterday, from the Senate. They...they said it wasn’t in the budget. Fox, I—I’ve always known but to...to read it...we’re fucking expendable. We always have and always will be.”

Fox knows. He knows because he had been the one to draft the response and send it to Plo Koon yesterday morning.

After the destruction of Plo Koon's fleet to the Malevolence. Wolffe and the rest of the survivors are sent to Coruscant to determine their fate. Fox is there to pick up the pieces of his brother.

My thoughts: Hey folks? This one HURTS. It’s brilliant, but it’s painful.

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A Taste of Freedom (Only Makes it Hurt All The More) – MagicalStardust

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 2,104

TAGS: Fluff and angst, starts off peaceful and then the agonies start, mentions of abuse, Fox-centric

SUMMARY: Fox gets some rare time off-world and realises how good life can be, that maybe he's meant for something other than dying in an alleyway in the depths of Coruscant.

Of course, his freedom must come to an end.

My thoughts: This is so sweet, and then so painful…

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Learning Solitude – here_be_bec

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 4,088

TAGS: Fox whump, Emotional/Psychological abuse, Physical abuse, Fox needs a hug, Manipulative Sheev Palps, Hurt no comfort, Abuse of authority, Isolation

SUMMARY: It's a gradual, insidious thing, Fox's absorption into the Chancellor's office. The Chancellor wants a clone commander of his own, so he gets one. All Fox gets is a position far away from his brothers, a lesson in how to work around natborns who detest his very existence, and a seemingly endless list of monotonous jobs to keep him occupied through all his waking hours and beyond.

Fox misses Kamino.

My thoughts: OH THIS ONE HURTS SO GOOD. It’s brutal, it’s ruthless. It poses the question of what if Fox was isolated from the CG the way the CG is fanon isolated from the GAR and it answers it in such a cruel, wonderful way. Take the hurt no comfort seriously though folks.

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Our Deepest Condolences – Hasta_la_vista_byebye

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 1,343

TAGS: AU – Everyone lives/Nobody dies, Mace Windu is so done, POV Fox, POV Mace Windu, A full on Corrie Guard fic with no hurt at all, Non-binary Fox, Fix-it, Crack, ALL THE CRACK, Palps gets eaten by a Zillo beast

SUMMARY:After the Chancellor's death, tragically eaten by the Zillo Beast, the grieving Republic holds a funeral ceremony in honor of their regretted leader.

But not everybody attending is in the mood for mourning. In fact, the Coruscant Guard feels pretty great.

My thoughts: LET’S BRING BACK THE CRACK! Hilarious. Love it. Mace wants to put his head in his hands and laugh. A little humour after all the previous recs angst!!!

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A Flint and a Fire – Meshurkaan

PAIRINGS: Fox/Rex, Jesse/Kix, one-sided Rex/Fives

TAGS: Training on Kamino, friends to lovers, First kiss, First time, Canon-typical violence, Post-first battle of Geonosis, Canon temporary character death, Clone trooper inhibitor chips, Cloneshipping, Fix-it, Everybody lives, endgame Fox/Rex/Fives but that is later in the series, POV Rex, Not canon-compliant: The Bad Batch, A little bit of Mando’a, Drinking games, Clone trooper shenanigans, Drunken shenanigans, Fox’s bad taste in holodrams, Some angst

SUMMARY:Rex was engineered to be a perfect soldier, yet no amount of training could have prepared him for what he’d face on the battlefield (and off of it).

My thoughts: Oh look! I’m breaking my own rules again!!! The main POV in this is Rex, but Fox features heavily and HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS JUST GO FREAKING READ THIS FIC. I can’t WAIT for the endgame Fox/Rex/Fives!!! This is all SO DELICIOUS!

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All Of Life Is But a Game (And I’m Winning) – rook (jsunday)

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 16,582

TAGS: Coruscant Guard, Clone troopers deserve better, Clone troopers need hugs, Engineers, And that is a WARNING.

SUMMARY: It had started, as these things tended to do, with a bad idea at 79's. When it came to the telling, there were as many variations of who was there as there were batches on Kamino, but most clones generally agreed on a core group: Quorum, an engineer with the 212th, with ideas bigger than the GAR budget allowed; Harris, logistics officer in the Coruscant Guard, who had more contacts than the city planet had levels; and Ponds, commander of the 91st, who had never met a bad idea he couldn't make worse, and held the power to sign forms permitting it.

In which an idea is had, and two million clones run with it. So much bangcorn is eaten.

My thoughts: Look, maybe Fox isn’t the ONLY focus in this one, but he plays a starring role damnit!!! And there’s an EXCELLENT follow up which focuses on him and the Guard! This is wonderful, humorous, and the clones basically create themselves secret sports festivals and art galleries. Somehow, this will save the Galaxy… IT’S AMAZING.

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Blame – Jaigeye

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 862

TAGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Canonical character death, Grief/mourning, Whump/Angst, Character study, Introspection, Tragedy, Fox thinks about his choices, Clone trooper Culture

Summary: Thorn is dead. Fox isn't- at least not yet.

My thoughts: This hurts, in a dark, hopeless way. This and it’s follow-up fic are just excellent. Really well-written. Highly recommend.

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Category 5 Shitstorm – cats_and_dr_pepper

PAIRINGS: Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi

WORDCOUNT: 6,987

TAGS: Hijinks and shenanigans, Crack, Fox needs a nap, He technically gets one, Fox is so done, Mace Windu is so done, Fox and Thorn are not romantically together, it’s all a joke on Thorn’s part, Fake marriage, Grizzer is a good girl

SUMMARY: Fox clutched his cup of caf desperately in his gloveless hand. He still didn’t know where his vambrace was. Someone (Stone? Unclear.) was wearing his armor, and whoever it was didn’t have his vambrace comm either. He took a loud, slurping sip, and spat it back out immediately, directly back into the cup. Was this decaf? Disgusting. His day was getting worse.

“How,” he said, looking at each of the vagrants in front of him, “the fuck did this happen?”

My thoughts: OKAY. A THIRD ONE. I’M SORRY. But a, I promised I’d rec this one, and b, IT’S HILARIOUS Y’ALL. GO FREAKING READ IT.

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The Graveyarder – Trixree

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 10,697

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. CG Dogma, CG centric, Post-Umbara Arc, Clone trooper reconditioning, Psychologicial horror, Psychological trauma, Memory loss, Sith are Eldritch horrors change my mind, Eventual happy ending, Canon-typical violence

SUMMARY: They call them the graveyarders.

They shuffle off of the transport, armor scrubbed shiny white and new, brains scrubbed just as clean. They move aimlessly, startle when spoken to, and don’t answer to any name other than trooper. They are the dead walking, coming back from the grave, and they aren’t the vod they were.

My thoughts: This fic is just excellent. I love it so much.

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“May Those Who Defy Their Fate- - independent_variables

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 4,276

TAGS: Dialogue heavy, canonical character death, Angst with a happy ending, Guilt, Fix-It of sorts, Brotherhood

SUMMARY: Three days after Fives died, Kote visited Fox.

***

―be granted glory.”

My thoughts: Excellent, short but sweet.

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Sacrifice – cats_and_dr_pepper

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 10,050

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. Character death, Suicidal actions, Angst, Whump, Grief/mourning, Hurt no comfort, Clone trooper inhibitor chips, Mind control, Mind control aftermath and recovery, Unwilling sacrifice, Fox kills Palps, Manipulative Pals, Pals being an asshole, Protective Cody, Suicide attempt, Fox knows he’s going to die and damn it he’s going to get what he wants, Plo Koon is doing his best, Thire where did you get that slugthrower, Order 66, Order 66 Fix-it, End-of-life care, Vokara Che is so done

SUMMARY: Fox heard running footsteps from outside the office, getting closer and closer. He listened to the buzzing hum of several lightsabers and plastoid shuffling. There was a small army of Jedi and GAR outside the door, and Fox knew what he and his brothers would be used for.

Meat shields if they were lucky, executioners if they weren’t—and given that they still had their minds, he suspected it would be the latter.

“How could this happen…” Fox watched Kenobi whisper. “How could we forget?” .

“Ah, but letting them kill themselves would be too easy. It’s annoying when my little toys break themselves too early. Though, it is fun when it’s on my orders.” No, no, please, no. “Commanders, execute Order 66.”

Or, it's difficult when you realize that your actions have consequences. Permanent ones.

My thoughts: Folks, the tags are NOT MESSING AROUND. This is dark, and it’s painful. It’s also, fucking excellent. And something I could absolutely imagine Palps doing. You should read it.

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The Cadaver Remains – menphina

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 1,622

TAGS: Suicidal thoughts, Suicidal ideation, Depression, Angst, Heavy angst, Hurt/comfort, Fox needs a hug, Fox gets a hug, Fox needs therapy, (Fox does not get therapy)

SUMMARY: Fox was fine, most days. He went on patrols, chipped away at the mountain of datawork in his office, delicately soothed the egos of ruffled Senators. (Helped the medics forge decommissioning certificates. Went on missions for the Chancellor that left him shaking apart in the sonic.)

And on the days that Fox wasn’t fine, they had a system.

My thoughts: The Corries support their Fox. Especially when he’s breaking at the seams.

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If Somebody Loved You They’d Tell You By Now – weareallstardustfallen

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 3,305

TAGS: Hurt/comfort, Angst, Abuse, As usual Fox is having a very bad day, sibling relationships, hurt Fox

SUMMARY: Thorn hesitated. Fox gave him a narrow-eyed squint, waiting for him to spit it out.

“Also Commander Wolffe’s here,” Thorn said, purposely casual.

Fox sighed. “Here, picking his problems up from the tank, or here, he wants something?”

“Here, he got his boys out already and he’s still waiting around,” Thorn said apologetically, and then with an amused tilt of the head, “We told him you were busy and he said he’d wait until you were done working.”

Fox snorted. Fox, just like Thorn and the other Guard commanders, was never actually done working.

Or: Fox is maybe not okay, and Wolffe is maybe not okay with that.

My thoughts: The series for this is brilliant. Again, I love Wolffe and Fox interactions. Especially when Wolffe sticks his stubborn little heels in and refuses to give up on Fox.

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I’ll Take My Heart Clean Apart (If It Helps Yours Beat) – shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 12,050

TAGS: Episode s03e10 Heroes on Both Sides, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Blood and injury, Mental menipulation, Poisoning, Hopeful ending, Brotherhood, Family, Clone trooper-centric, Clone troopers deserve better, Clone trooper dehumanization, Nightmares, Hallucinations, Fox needs a hug, Protective Fox, Protective CG, Fox is the best big brother, But he needs to take better care of himself let’s be honest, Fox whump

SUMMARY: Fox tried to not think about the destruction that was waiting for him, or how the medical team was having trouble triaging all the injured clones and civilians, or how the Coruscant Security Force was as usual almost no help because, after all, this had been a Senate bombing and outside of their jurisdiction, or how— How the whole thing was Fox’s fault. If he just hadn’t let those cleaning droids in, they could’ve avoided the whole thing. ... “I just—I don’t know how—“ Thorn blew out a frustrated breath. Fox cracked his eyes open and saw him shaking his head to himself. Thorn's fingers were curled around Fox's armor. “One day you’ll see that taking care of yourself takes care of us, too.” ... In which everyone blames Fox for the Senate bombings. Everyone except his brothers, who, almost frustratingly so, keep trying to convince him otherwise.

My thoughts: I can just imagine fox eating himself alive over the results of this episode. Loved this.

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Mindless Shadows and Puppet Strings – WitchDetective

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 7,886

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. Fox needs a hug, Fox needs a nap, Tired Fox, Fox is not okay, Palps being an asshole, Manipulative Palps, Clone troopers speak Mando’a, Clone troopers deserve better, Ep s06e04 Orders, Overworked Fox, Heavy angst, Canonical character death

SUMMARY: Fox has been miserable since the start of the Clone Wars, but he at least thought that his life couldn't get any worse.

He was sadly proven wrong when a blackout caused him to have possibly the worst night of his life; one where he made a grave mistake that he will not be able to fix no matter how hard he wished he could.

This time, even his Corries might not be able to stop him from spiraling.

My thoughts: Fox aaaaangst. I love it. Not gonna lie. It gives me LIFE.

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Redemption Inside The Grave – kakashikrazy256

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 1,821

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. (YOU’VE BEEN FUCKING WARNED BY THAT BTW). Post-Scipio, Fox needs a hug

SUMMARY: Fox and Thorn have a conversation after the mission on Scipio.

My thoughts: I re-read this quickly because I was having trouble remembering what it was about and Y’ALL. I cried. This is heart-breaking.

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AND AFTER ALL THAT!

UNFINISHED FICS/WIPS

Life During Wartime – Chermit

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 63,750 9/? chapters

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. AU – canon divergence, Fix-it, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt/comfort, Suspense, Murder mystery, Mind control, Memory loss, Implied/referenced suicide, Cognitive dissonance, Clone trooper inhibitor chips, Fox needs a hug, The Corrie Guard is Freudian slip central, and Fox is the doublethink KING, Post-episode s6e4 Orders, Sporadic updates

Summary: Commander Fox has a lot on his plate: managing his Corries, filling out piles of forms, dealing with obnoxious Senators, and not thinking about the way he keeps waking up covered in other people's blood. All that considered, he really doesn't have time to deal with being investigated by the Captain of the 501st and the Head of the Jedi Order for two separate murders he (probably) didn't (want to) commit. But Fox is a soldier, and good soldiers follow orders, so when does he ever get what he wants?

My thoughts: I wish to make this fic into candy and eat it. OMNOMNOM. Brilliant. Will sit on the edge of my seat waiting for more. Deeeeliiiiccciiious

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The Last Reason – Meerlicht

PAIRINGS: Fox/Quinlan Vos

WORDCOUNT: 89,170 13/? chapters

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. Fox needs a hug, Mind control, Suicidal thoughts, Implied/referenced abuse, Minor character death, Platonic relationships, Fox is an unreliable narrator, Alcohol abuse/alcoholism, Dissociation, Panic attacks, Body dysphoria, It gets worse before it gets better, Miscommunication, Rated M for violence, Slow updates, Platonic cuddling

SUMMARY: Cody has a scar now, and it’s the only thing that differentiates him from Fox appearance-wise. For one, they both have the same circles under their eyes. Fox assumes that’s what comes with being a Commander. Their hands are the same, too, damaged and bruised at all times.

But the biggest difference Fox sees when he looks at Cody isn’t the scar. It’s the rage. Cody doesn’t wear that same rage.

Fox’s hands ache with the need to punch something.

Or: Fox dealing with Senators, little brothers, the terrifying ordeal of asking for help and a menace called Quinlan Vos.

My thoughts: Oh this is beautiful. And so, so painful. This is very much angst focused in the beginning, and it’s not afraid to show the worst side of things. Brilliant fic.

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And I Turned ‘Round and There You Were – never_going_home

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 3,666 2/5 chapters

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. Fox needs a hug, CG deserve better, CG VS GAR rivalry, Implied/referenced sexual assault, Implied/referenced animal death, Fox-centric, Fox whump, Fox has anxiety, Trans Bly, Angst, Angst with a happy ending

SUMMARY: Fox wakes up face-down in a pile of flimsi with his hair in his mouth. This in itself is not particularly unusual, because he’s been sleeping at his desk for the last—five months? Six months? He doesn’t care enough to recall. Whatever. Point is, it’s been a long fucking time since he’s bothered to drag himself into his bunk. His steel desk chair is comfortable enough to while away the four hours he has between finishing paperwork and starting his first shift.

(This is a lie so fucking big it beggars belief. Fox’s steel desk chair is the stuff of children’s nightmares and one day, if the war ever ends—if he lives that long—he’s going to take a great amount of pleasure in attaching several detonators to it and throwing it in the ornamental lake of the Supreme Chancellor.)

Fox hasn't been doing well. His batch notices (eventually).

My thoughts: Really enjoying this fic. All the delicious angsty-ness I hope for from Fox whump!

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Why Not’s and How To’s – Trixree

PAIRINGS: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Maul, Fox/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Clone trooper characters

WORDCOUNT: 68,091 11/17 chapters

TAGS: Legally Blonde Jedi AU, Lawyer Obi-Wan, Clone trooper angst, Clone trooper emancipation, Clone trooper-centric, Darth Maul redemption, Polyamorous character, Open marriage, Protective Obi-Wan Kenobi, Flashback heavy, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not a Jedi, Anakin Skywalker is not a Jedi, Angst and hurt/comfort.

SUMMARY: Two months after the Guard officially moves to Coruscant, the lawyer shows up.

In which Obi-Wan Kenobi never returns to the Jedi order after the war on Melidaa/Dann and instead finds another way to follow the Force's will. Namely, by fighting sentient-rights abuses all over the galaxy and emancipating the Grand Army of the Republic, one clone trooper at a time.

My thoughts: Fox-centric I said… Okay, but hear me out! The POV changes regularly in this, and Fox is absolutely one of the POVs! It’s sexy, and fun, and I’m not gonna lie, I love it! If Obi-Wan’s not your thing, probably better to steer away!

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Unexplain the Unforgivable – always_a_slut_for_hc

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 22,556 14/15 chapters

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Imprisonment, Coercion, Mind control, Torture, Dehumanization, Clone troopers deserve better, Fox whump, AU – canon divergence, The Fives incident, Clone trooper reconditioning

SUMMARY: Fox shoots - Fives lives. The commanders of the Coruscant Guard are arrested and taken into custody by Captain Rex and the rest of Torrent Company.

Something is rotten in Coruscant, and Rex thinks it's Commander Fox's heart.

My thoughts: Fuuuuck. This is another, just excellent fic. What if Rex did arrest Fox after he shot Fives? I don’t think Palps would like that very much, DO YOU???

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My Star in the Sky – Gravitymay

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 29,980 8/? chapters

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. Hurt/comfort, Misunderstandings, Blood and injury, Whump, Protective Alpha-17, Fox needs a hug, Sheev Palpatine being an asshole, Medical procedures, Fluff and angst, Minimal fluff, maximum angst, Planet Kamino, Fix-it of sorts, Anxiety

SUMMARY: commander cody, through careful investigation, uncovers disturbing information about the coruscant guard. he takes it to one of the few men he trusts to do something about it - alpha-17.

cody's trust is well placed, and what alpha finds is worse than either of them imagined.

My thoughts: This is mainly from Alpha-17s perspective, but I have been thoroughly enjoying this so far. It’s another painful, angsty one (it is my leaning, sorry!).

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For your Protection – cats_and_dr_pepper

PAIRINGS: Fox/Thorn

WORDCOUNT: 30,253 6/?

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. Beskar, Mandalorian culture, CG trooper-centric, CG troopers as family, BAMF Fox, Clone trooper inhibitor chips, Fix-it, Everyone is sassy, Everyone is gay, Angst, Whump, Eventual happy ending, Anxiety typical of an overworked soldier in the military, It’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you, Sleep deprivation, Din’s covert lands on Coruscant, Military lingo, Food issues, Planet Aq Vetina, Chatlogs

SUMMARY:Mando’ade were personally offended by their existence on all fronts, and it didn’t matter what faction. Kyr’tsad hated Jango, the Haat Mando’ade hated what the clones meant for them, and the New Mandalorians hated war and all its pieces. The last thing Fox needed was another shipment of empty, bloody plastoid delivered to the bricks.

There really was no telling which one sent the package.

A whole squad.

Gone.

Fox hoped they were dead. Anything else was too painful to think about.

Or; Fox finds a huge cache of beskar. The potential ramifications of this do not escape him. And then a new faction of Mandalorians arrives on Coruscant. Fox decides he's too tired to deal with this shit anymore.

My thoughts: SO. FREAKING. GOOD. Yes. Excellent idea. Love it.

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OTHER PEOPLE’S RECS I HAVEN’T YET READ (BUT WILL NOW BE DOING LOL!)

But Oh, Don’t You Know How It Goes (We Are All Walking Each Other Home) – Anonymous

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 108,245

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. Cyborg Cody, Emperor Cody, Dark Cody, But there’s some nice bits too!, Brainwashing, Clone trooper inhibitor chips, Non-consensual body modification, but also consensual body modification, Medical procedures, Cybernetics, Mind manipulation, Running an empire is a lot of work guys, Medical experimentation

SUMMARY: After the highly public and highly violent execution of Emperor Palpatine, the Sith Empire is under new management. It doesn't make much difference to Fox whether the Emperor is an evil murdering Sith Lord or an evil murdering cyborg, but as Fox accompanies the Emperor throughout the early days of the new Empire, he realizes there's something--or someone--strange hiding under that faceless armor.

Someone hauntingly familiar.

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Dead Dog (Bye-Bye Baby Blue) – batchmates

PAIRINGS: Background Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi

WORDCOUNT: 48,875 4/? chapters

TAGS: CREATOR CHOSE NOT TO USE ARCHIVE WARNINGS. GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. Angst, War, Politics, Conspiracy, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Graphic violence, Force-sensitive Fox, Mandalorian clone troopers, Canonical character death, Implied/referenced sexual assault, POV multiple, Additional warnings in author’s note, Dark, Dialogue heavy

SUMMARY: The way it happens is simple: at some point during your service in the Guard, you’ll lose time.

The thing wiping the Guards’ memories gets sloppy and Fox remembers the order not to let Fives leave the surface alive. It changes everything and nothing at all.

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Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge – yellow_caballero

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 33,048

TAGS: Time travel, Fox snaps like a rubber band, Fox and Leia have become unstuck in time, Fascism: good or bad? And other moral questions, The mortifying ordeal of working retail under totalitarianism.

SUMMARY: SUBJECT: Regarding Senate Guard Objectives For Today

This is a polite reminder to all guardsmen that patrol schedules for the Senate vote ratifying dictatorships are posted in the breakroom. I am also issuing a warning to linear time that days should follow sequentially and are not intended to repeat. Please cease repeating. I am getting a headache.

Additionally, I'd like to remind all guardsmen that it is illegal to harbor invisible women in the Senate. If you see a ghost claiming to be Leia Organa, please remove her from the premises. She will be making a scene.

Thank you for your cooperation in preserving the peace of the Republic, and all hail the Empire. FOX

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Invictus – Airlock_Failure

PAIRINGS: Riyo Chuchi/Fox, Embree Spicer/Dawn, Talon/Malice

WORDCOUNT: 118,993

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Hurt/comfort, Slavery, Torture, Suicidal thoughts, Suicide attempt, Clone trooper decommissioning, blood and injury, Amputation, Drug use, Sleep deprivation, Political unrest, Near death experiences, Chronic illness, Injury-recovery, Force-sensitive Fox, Force-sensitive Slick, Asexual Fox, Fox needs a hug, Fox needs a nap, Workplace violence, Violence, Espionage, Clone trooper inhibitor chips, Clone troopers deserve better, Clone trooper relationships, Clone trooper emancipation, Clone trooper medics, Cloneshipping, Implied/referenced child abuse, Implied/refered rape/non-con, Implied/reference abuse, Panic attacks, Anxiety attacks, AU – canon divergence, Minor character death, Implied/Refered character death, Kidnapping, Vaginal sex, Anal sex, Unprotected sex, Angst, Fluff

SUMMARY: The most decorated soldier of the Grand Army of the Republic doesn't care about awards or medals. Commander Fox cares about keeping his soldiers operating at peak performance. He cares about keeping the civilians of Coruscant safe from anti-Republic attacks (even if those same citizens spit in his direction on the street). Above all else, Commander Fox cares about his men, their well-being, and keeping them safe from a predatory system designed to churn them up and spit out their carcasses.

He can manage. He's fine. Really, he's great.

Except he can't stop dreaming about Kamino. And he can't help but feel like he's drowning.

SEVERAL PEOPLE RECOMMENDED INVICTUS. I can’t believe I’ve never read it somehow!!!

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Corrie Red Taints Your Soul – Lia_ka2020ad

PAIRINGS: Fox/Thire, Thorn/OFC, Fox/Wolffe

WORDCOUNT:205,891 62/80 chapters

TAGS: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, RAPE/NON-CON. Fluff and angst, Hurt/comfort, Smut, Pain, PTSD, Everyone is mentally ill, Malevolence Arc, Fox needs a hug, Fox gets a hug, Fox is a little shit, Fox deserves better, Implied/referenced sexual assault, Suicide attempt, Dead Dove: Do not eat, Substance Abuse, Clonecest, Palps being an asshole, I ship everyone, Clone trooper decommissioning, Clone sex, Clone trooper culture, Clone trooper speak Mando’a, Mando’a language, Childhood memories, Clone trooper training on Kamino, Politics

SUMMARY: Fox exists, awesome. He has brothers that he loves and even unlimited access to drugs, even better. Work is still shit though, and his mind constantly tries to murder him. Luckily his brothers are annoying bastards doing everything to keep him alive, and maybe he can even find a way to silence the voices. And to figure out how in all nine Corellian hells he is supposed to serve the Republic when it's drifting more towards Authoritarianism every day.

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A Secret Third Thing - Apollotaire

PAIRINGS: NONE

WORDCOUNT: 10,840

TAGS: Autistic Fox, Trans Fox, Meltdowns, Stimming, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, In the form of, Self-injurious stimming, Autistic burnout, Internalised ableism, Gender identity, Non-binary Stone, Non-binary Fox, Autism, Hurt/comfort, Emotional hurt/comfort, Dissociation, Echolalia, Cody's name is Kote, Fox-centric, Autistic Cody, Trans Bly, Mentions Murderbot Diaries, Post The Clone Wars, Fox needs a hug, Fox gets a hug

SUMMARY:

After the war, the effects of four years of pretending to be the perfect Marshal Commander catch up with Fox. Luckily, Fox has an amazing support system. - “I love Fox, she’s my best friend, and they love to read Murderbot. Fox is kind to those he commands, and xe secretly has a soft spot for shinies. Ze is very loved, and I am happy to be helping hir.”

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#commander fox #marshal commander fox #Fox fic recs #Fic recs #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #cloneshipping #not my fic #Whisky's Foxy fic recs

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tia-222 · 9 months

Text

Enter the void using theta waves

Link to the original post ( credits owolivia )

" But, since the void state is NOTHINGNESS it is not the symptoms. Many times people obsess over the symptoms they feel, whether they feel floaty, dizzy, or whatever else. This just leads to you being overly aware of your physical body and more than likely not entering the void. So, I personally ignore any symptoms and just continue to affirm until I’m in the void. Sometimes, I don’t even affirm, I just intend to go to the void and my awareness goes there. Let me tell you, it’s literally nothingness. It’s pitch black. You don’t feel or see anything, you just are. Literally, you’re just awareness. The first few times I entered the void state, I actually thought I had fallen asleep, only to realize I’d actually been there. So, you’ll know once you’re there; and you won’t have symptoms in the void. Remember, symptoms are just an indicator letting you know you’re correctly entering the void and a reminder to continue doing what you’re doing till you’re in the void state. Basically, when you’re in the void state, you’ll feel completely relaxed and at ease. Nothing will be in your way, you’re surrounded by pure nothingness. Just relax and affirm, your desires will manifest instantly in this state. "

" How I Personally Enter the Void : "

" Before I knew about shifting and manifesting I used the void state for relaxation (of course, I didn’t know I was at that time). Now I use it for shifting and manifesting since it’s relaxing to me. I use theta waves personally to induce relaxation, I’ll link my favorite theta waves track, I use musi to listen to them and they are absolutely wonderful! Check out Catalyst University, as they make amazing brain wave meditation tracks, there are plenty for you to choose from if the one I like isn’t for you! :smile: Also, these are very safe and reputable! I’ve used the tracks I’ve linked for 2 years and only had positive results! "

" Before I enter the void state, I typically take my nightly meds and take a nice bath (or shower). I don’t do anything fancy during my bath, I just listen to music and get cleaned up, then I dry off and get into bed. Again, until I’m ready to enter the void state, I don’t really do anything meditation wise or really affirmation wise (other than my daily affirmations), I just relax. I really just take some me time, I’ll watch some tv, maybe read something or play some video games, maybe script for fun, and get myself to a point where I’m slightly sleepy. Once I’m ready to get into the void state, I turn my TV off and make sure my room is completely dark. "

" I use theta waves (linked below) and play them using earbuds to induce a relaxed state for myself. I’ll get into a comfortable position that I don’t need to move from and begin to affirm or visualize I’m in the void state. Personally, I don’t focus on my breath at all that’s always made me anxious. I find that causes me to hyper focus on my physical body, so I focus on my heartbeat and my affirmations. Personally, I do feel like I’m floating/weightless when I’m entering the void state, but I ignore any symptoms I feel as they cause me to hyper focus on my physical body, so I’ll continue to affirm. Eventually (usually very quickly) I’ll end up in the void, I won’t hear the theta waves I played, see anything else, or feel anything, I’m just awareness, so I’ll affirm it sometimes even visualize, then when im ready, I’ll affirm to come back to either my CR or my DR. I tend to make it pretty simple and easy, keeping the whole process relaxed fo myself! "

Theta waves :

Pure theta waves Meditation

Binaural beat - theta wave

Hemi - sync theta waves

6Hz theta wave frequency

8D theta waves

#void state #void state tips #the void state #manifestion #void thoughts #neville goddard #void state methods #law of assumption #void state success story #void concept #i am state #loas Tumblr #theta state #theta state method to enter the void state

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 6 months

Note

Oh! Hi! Requests open! Can I request twst freshman bois, Ace, Deuce, Jack, Epel, and Ortho spying on twst MC who's out having their first date? They're all friends and completely platonic, they're just keeping an eye on their friend in case anything goes wrong since MC got asked out by an RSA student.

Ace Trappola:

Ace is just nosy, and he doesn’t exactly get why you’d want to date some from RSA, anyway. He tried to convince you that they could be using you for personal gain but that only seemed to hurt your feelings, telling Ace to stuff it before you went to get ready for your date. He didn’t understand why you had a reaction like that but since you were being stubborn he’d have to take it upon himself to keep an eye on you, rationalizing to Deuce that he has to do it because clearly your feelings had stopped you from seeing sense.

Deuce Spade:

Deuce didn’t want to invade your privacy and spy on you, but Ace put conspiracy theories in his head that he just couldn’t ignore. Deuce didn’t know if this RSA student had pure intent or if they intended to use you for some greater purpose, like hurting you simply because you attended their rival school of NRC. He couldn’t just wait around until you got your heart broken, he had to be at the scene to rectify the situation immediately, but it’s hard to keep his emotions in check. He ended up glaring at the person you’re with the entire time he’s secretly supervising, drawing unwanted attention as your date is suddenly sweating profusely for no reason they can explain.

Epel Felmier:

Epel has a bit of a competitive spirit in him, having to wonder why you chose an RSA student of all people to date. He doesn’t really think it bothers him until a ‘big brother’ instinct kicked in, suddenly making him feel on edge. As much as he tried to focus on other things he worried about how the date would go for you, and if that RSA jerk might be too aggressive with you… He followed you into town to quiet his anxieties, just wanting to see the person you’re on the date with to give him peace of mind. He didn’t think he’d end up staying the entire date, glued to his seat with an annoyed look on his face as he thought there was no way that RSA student was good enough for you.

Jack Howl:

Jack had said he wasn’t interested, not knowing why you even told him about your date plans. He started to wonder if maybe it was an ask for support, or a worry that you were confiding in him for a reason. He does remember what you said, including the date location, and he tries, poorly, to blend in with said location when you inevitably catch him. He pretended he didn’t hear what you said originally and that he definitely intended to come here on his own free-time, a shop that has zero things that are of any interest to him.

Ortho Shroud:

Ortho is set to kill. He’s not necessarily worried about you physically taking your RSA date on, but he did consider your emotional state in not hurting someone you liked (even if they deserved it). He’s very noticeable to you in public, so he tried to convince Idia to give him a stealth mode, a way to spy on you without getting caught and while still appearing intimidating. He keeps a close eye on your vitals and jots down mental notes for later when you get to talk, asking you all kinds of questions that make it seem like he had been sitting right next to you the entire time.

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Deuce Spade #Epel Felmier #Ace Trappola #Ortho Shroud #Jack Howl #good boys looking out for their friend.....

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its-all-stardust · 6 months

Text

Sugar || 1

Masterlist || Part Two

Steven Grant/Sugar Mommy!Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: You meet Steven in a museum gift shop and feel an instant connection. Before you walk out the door you decide, perhaps against your better judgment, that you need him to be your sugar baby. Now you just need him to let you treat him right.

Author's note: hello and welcome to the most unoriginal title ever. this was originally intended to be a oneshot, but just as I was about to finish what ended up being this first part, I realized that would be impossible (unless I wanted an insanely long oneshot, which i did not). to be honest, i don't have a real plan for this series. i don't expect it to be very long, and there may be some Marc/Reader in the future, but for now, this is just about our boy Steven.

Series note: Set before the events of the Moon Knight series. I haven't decided yet if this is going to be following canon in regards to the powers/Avatar aspect but I'll let you know whenever I decide. Steven is still an alter, Marc still has DID, and assume Marc and Jake are around and know what Steven is getting up to.

It’s not like you were looking for someone when you visited the museum that day. Typically, when you do look for a new baby, you go through the regular channels. Word of mouth, the specific sites—the free ones and the paid ones. You’ve never just seen someone out in the world and thought Them.

It just wasn’t something that was done. It wasn’t something that you do. There’s no way to vet someone you met in person, and you don’t conveniently have all their personal details laid out in a neat format sent directly to you with the results of their background check.

You always thought picking someone you met randomly was a bad idea despite the fact that you haven’t exactly heard horror stories from others in these circles. You suppose it comes to the arrangement being based on trust. And you don’t exactly trust most people.

That is until you laid eyes on Steven, the slightly mousy yet also impertinent gift shop clerk.

You walked into the gift shop looking for a bottle of water. You had spent the last couple of hours wandering the Ancient Egyptian exhibit and needed a break before walking through the rest of the exhibits on display. You don’t know when you’ll next make it to the National Art Gallery, so you figured you’d make a day of it since you didn’t have any meetings to attend or calls to make.

You aren’t exactly impressed with the man when you first walk in. In an attempt to help another customer, he bumped into one of the displays and knocked down some of the figurines, smashing them on the floor.

“I’m so sorry!” he says, falling to his knees to start cleaning up his mess while the woman he was speaking to takes her child by the arm and steps away. But then he seems to change his mind and stands again. Looking over the display, he grabs one of the surviving figurines. “Here, this one’s perfectly fine.”

“That’s okay. I think he changed his mind,” the woman says, gesturing to her son. She then quickly leaves the shop without buying anything.

The man sighs, his shoulders dropping as he sets the figurine down and mutters himself. He then walks away from the mess on the floor to the back room.

When he’s out of sight, you step up to the display. Broken pieces of several figurines depicting a bird of some sort stare up at you helplessly.

You pick up one that appears intact, examining it. Although you just came from the Ancient Egyptian exhibit, you can’t tell which god the white plaster bird is meant to be. To you, it’s simply a bird of prey; its sharp beak and talons give it away, but it lacks any particular godly features.

Finding no fault other than that it’s a rather generic figurine, you set it back on the display with the other surviving merchandise. You’re about to pick up another from the floor, hoping to make the clerk’s job a little easier, when a voice stops you.

“Oh, no, you don’t need to do that.” It’s the clerk, having returned with a broom and dustpan in hand without you noticing.

“Thought you could use a hand, is all,” you say, smiling at him as you step away from the pile of broken figurines.

The man stares at you for a moment, frozen, giving you time to study him.

Curly hair falling over his forehead, large, dark eyes, clean-shaven, and baggy clothes that don’t quite fit him properly.

Your eyes catch his name tag.

Steven.

All of a sudden, the man—Steven seems to flinch. You see a slight flush to his cheeks before he tilts his head down, hiding his face from view.

“Sorry,” he says as he starts to sweep up bits of several birds, though you’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. “Let me just clean this up, and I’ll be right with you.”

“Thank you,” you say as you wander away to look at the other souvenirs on display. You keep glancing at Steven, though, finding your interest piqued by him.

“Make a mess again, Stevie?” a woman calls as she walks into the shop.

“You know that’s not my name, Donna,” he says as the woman walks past him into the back room. He follows, though he doesn’t look happy about it.

Steven comes back quickly, now missing the broom and dustpan, and when he spots you, the tension drains out of him, if only slightly.

“Sorry about that. Do you need help with anything?” He steps close to you, though still far enough away to maintain a respectful distance.

You just need your water, and you’ll be back out in the museum in no time. With your tight schedule, you shouldn’t waste a minute if you want to actually enjoy all the exhibits. But something in you, something about Steven, makes you stay.

“Actually, I wanted to ask,” you start as you lead Steven back to the display of figurines. “Who is this even supposed to be? It doesn’t look like one of the gods.” You point to the birds he knocked down.

“Horus, if you can believe it.” He scoffs as if personally offended. “Honestly, I wouldn’t look for anything in this shop to be all that accurate,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“The gift shop in a popular museum can’t even be bothered to pay for accuracy?” you ask, even though you’re not surprised. The best way for businesses to make quick profit is to sell cheap products for far more than they’re worth.

Steven steps closer, keeping his voice low, not wanting to be overheard.

“My manager, Donna.” He gestures toward the backroom with a jerk of his head. “She’s in charge of ordering everything. When I saw she had picked out these, I tried telling her how inaccurate they were, that nobody would know who it was and have no reason to buy them. All she said was, ‘Nobody’s going to care, Stevie.’” He raises the pitch of his voice, a mocking impression of the woman in the other room.

“But you care.” It’s easy to see how much he does. Not everyone would get so worked up over an overpriced souvenir at a museum gift shop.

“Of course I do!” Steven says emphatically. “It’s why I work here. Well, not here here. Can’t say the gift shop is my favorite, but the museum—” He suddenly stops, cutting himself off as he stares at you.

You would think you’ve done something wrong, except all you’ve done is smile at him, the expression still on your face even now. Then you notice Steven is flushed again, and you can’t help but be pleased at the sight.

“Sorry, I’m just talking your ear off. You should have stopped me,” Steven says with an awkward laugh.

“I don’t mind listening to you speak.” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. Usually, you’re in better control of yourself, your words. You have to be.

Thankfully, Steven doesn’t find your honesty off-putting as some others have. He laughs again, this time with disbelief and a smile playing on his lips.

“You’re just saying that,” he says.

“You’re getting paid to sell things, Stevie, not to stand around flapping your lips,” Donna says as she walks out of the backroom, a box of merchandise in her arms to restock one of the shelves lining the walls.

“But I am getting paid to be nice to the customers, yeah?” Steven replies. Donna only rolls her eyes, a look he copies when she turns in the other direction.

You like seeing that he isn’t cowed by his frankly rude manager, even if he can’t exactly square up to her, not without likely risking his job.

What’s he like outside the gift shop when he doesn’t have to hold back? When he can say what he wants without being afraid of offending someone?

You push the thought away. You shouldn’t be thinking like that. Thoughts along those lines should be reserved for people you’ve properly vetted.

“Sorry about her. She’s…” Steven whispers, trailing off when he can’t find anything charitable to say.

“A bitch?” you supply. You don’t have to worry about offending Donna.

“Keep your voice down!” he half-heartedly scolds, placing a hand on your arm as he tries to suppress a grin. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I’d rather not get caught, thank you.”

You’re about to say something else when Steven’s face falls, horror replacing the glee. He quickly snatches his hand away, stepping back as he realizes how close he is to you.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He gestures to your arm but quickly drops his hand as if afraid he’ll touch you again.

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I didn’t mind.” You would have minded if it had been any other man, but Steven…

Stop it.

“You’re sure?” he asks tentatively, looking like a puppy about to be told he’s a good boy, eyes lit up hopefully.

You can feel yourself starting to burn with an overwhelming want.

“Absolutely,” you say, and Steven sighs in palpable relief.

“Oh, good. Still sorry, though. For not thinking and all.”

And though you tried to deny it, you can’t stop thinking that Steven…could be fun. Something alights in you the more you look at him. The different sides you’ve already seen. His helpfulness, his genuine interest, and knowledge about the place he works. The roll of his eyes and complaints about a manager. A man who’ll snark back, but only just enough to keep from getting into trouble. How he spoke to you as if you were friends before the slight mortification hit, and he realized the two of you are nothing but strangers.

You recognize something in him, and it makes you want him. Want to lavish him with affection and praise and gifts. Want him to give that same affection back to you. You want him on your arm. You want to play with him, see what makes him tick.

You want to give him all you’ve never had.

You shouldn’t think about him like this, not when you don’t know anything about him.

But you know enough. Enough to intrigue you. And he intrigues you more than any of the others you’ve been with. None of them have sparked this deep desire, not so instantaneously, not until they worked out exactly what you wanted and played that role. They weren’t like this naturally.

They weren’t like you.

But it has to be a no. You can’t. You have rules.

And yet…

You glance at your watch, the thin band flashing gold on your wrist, the crystal face sparkling up at you in the light.

“I have to get going,” you say regretfully, and Steven looks slightly disappointed. You want to keep talking to him and wipe that look from his face. You have to force yourself to take a step back.

“But I’ll see you around, Stevie.” You’re practically possessed as the nickname rolls from your lips, even though you know, based on his interaction with Donna, that he doesn’t like it.

You just need to see that fire. Need to know what it’s like when it’s directed at you.

“It’s Steven, actually,” he corrects with a slight annoyance that he tries to cover with a smile. He even taps his name tag a little more forcefully than he needs to, as if to make sure you get the point. He may like you well enough to have a chat, but he won’t put up with things that displease him, either.

Oh, he will be so much fun.

You try to smile sweetly at him, but it feels more like a predatory grin spreading across your face. “Sorry. See you around, Steven.”

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight fanfic #x reader #sugar series

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vodika-vibes · 4 months

Text

Love and Loyalty - request from @wax-birds

Summary: After losing your former Master in a Separatist attack, you're taken in by Obi-Wan Kenobi, and through him, you meet Commander Cody.

Pairing: Commander Cody x Fjedi!Reader

Word Count: 1720

Prompts: Blue Daisy - Long term loyalty; Acacia - Secret Love

Warnings: Abusive Master-Padawan relationship, Reader is very insecure

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: Here is the first of the Follower Event Requests! I freely admit that I don't often get the chance to write angst, and I decided to go a different way than I originally intended. (It was originally going to be an O66 fic where the Reader waits for Cody, but that's just too much tragedy.)

The training salle is empty. Save for you and the droid you’re training against. Your lightsaber hums in your hand, a comforting sound and an even more comforting weight, as you move through your katas.

Over and over and over.

This type of moving meditation isn’t the norm for Jedi, you should be able to just sit and meditate without needing to move, but, well, you’ve never been good at the nonmoving type of meditation.

In truth, you shouldn’t be here at all. Surely Blademaster Drallig is going to catch you and you’re going to get into a world of trouble, and isn’t that just the story of your life?

You exhale slowly as you move into the opening position of Shii-Cho, and you inhale as you start to move.

One year ago, after the death of your former master at the hands of the Separatist army, you were assigned to complete your apprenticeship under the watchful eye of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

At the time, you had been honored. Master Kenobi is well regarded across the galaxy and well respected within the halls of the temple. Both a skilled warrior and an even more skilled diplomat, you genuinely believed that Master Kenobi is the best Jedi within the order.

And you still believe that. You are fortunate that he was willing to take you under his wing. And that he was willing to correct the bad habits your former master instilled in you. And he’s been so patient as you adjusted to actually having a mentor, rather than having to do everything on your own.

In truth, the problem that you’re sitting with isn’t Master Kenobi.

No. The problem is Commander Cody.

You…had never worked with a clone before Master Kenobi took you under his wing. Oh, sure. Your old Master had a battalion that he worked with on a regular basis, but you had never worked with them.

Never been allowed to work with them.

Never even allowed on his ship, even.

Your former master told you that you would be little more than a distraction to the men in his battalion, and while you’re not entirely sure why he believed that (surely if you had been there, he would still be alive? Doesn’t that make it your fault that he’s dead?) you’re beginning to wonder if maybe he had a point.

Because you are a distraction to Commander Cody.

Not so much that he can’t do his job. If that had become a problem you would have handed your lightsaber over to Master Windu and left the order, but you know you’re still distracting him.

You finish the final stance of your kata, and then move onto Form II.

The relationship started as friendship. You appreciated his quiet humor and the fact that he didn’t seem to find you a burden on his time. In fact, he started looking for you during his down time. Cody invited you to play cards with him and his brothers, and he invited you to meet some of his batchmates, and he always seemed so thrilled whenever you agreed-

And you always agreed. It was like having a friend.

The more you agreed to spend time with him, the more he offered to take you places. And it wasn’t until 6 months later that Cody asked you if you knew that you were dating him.

That had come as a shock to you. Honestly, even now it’s still something of a shock to you. You’ve never really considered yourself as an overly datable person, really, but Cody just laughed and told you that he was more than happy to move at whatever pace made you comfortable.

You weren’t, and aren’t, against being his girlfriend, for all that you think that he can do better, but you worry. You worry that he’ll see you as the burden you know you are. You worry that, one day, he’ll look at you and realize that you’re little more than a distraction.

You worry that one day he’ll decide that the slow pace you’re comfortable with is too slow.

You worry that one day he’ll realize a secret love isn’t enough for him, and he’ll find someone new…someone better. Someone more deserving of his attention and affections.

You finish all of the katas for Form II and move onto Form III.

You slide into the opening stance of Form III, only to pause when the door to the training salle slides open.

Busted.

Maybe Master Drallig won’t be too cross with you if you promise to clean up when you finish. Though, that’s not likely. Once again, you’re being a burden on the people around you.

“You know,” The voice that comes from the doorway is not Master Drallig and you turn your head to look at the man leaning against the wall, “Normally people sleep at this time of night.”

“...Commander-” Cody arches a single brow, and a tiny smile crosses your lips, “-Cody.”

“Better.” He pushes away from the wall and crosses over to you, and as soon as he’s within arm’s reach he reaches out and brushes his fingers against your cheek, “I imagine there’s a reason you’re not sleeping?” He asks, his voice gentle.

“Couldn’t sleep.” You reply as you lean into his touch.

“Nightmares? I know you weren’t on the front lines with your previous master,” Cody offers, “They’re totally normal, I have them too.”

“That’s reassuring, but no. Not nightmares.”

“Something else then?” He moves his hand so that he’s cupping your face and his thumb rubs comforting circles across your cheek.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cody asks, his other hand coming up to cup your other cheek, and he slowly leans in to bump his forehead against yours.

You should feel smothered. Cody is everywhere, all of your senses are filled with him, but you just feel safe and protected, as though nothing could ever hurt you so long as he’s here.

“I don’t want to bother you with my worries-” You murmur.

“It’s not a bother. Not to me. Not if it’s you.” Cody replies, “And you know what General Kenobi says, a problem shared-”

“-is a problem halved, I know.” You laugh softly and then you fall silent, “I was…I was just thinking of my master. My old master.”

“He raised you. I’m sure you think about him a lot.” Cody offers, he sounds the same but there’s something strange in his force presence. It feels like…dislike.

“You don’t like him.” Or he doesn’t like you, but that doesn’t feel right with how he’s holding you.

“I never met him.” Cody deflects, “What were you thinking?”

“I…” You pause and shake your head as best as you can, “It’s dumb. It doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, cyare. Talk to me. What’s bothering you?”

You nervously gnaw on your lip, until Cody brushes his thumb across your lips to stop you, “He once said to me that I would be little more than a burden and a distraction to the men who served under him. And I’m…is that not what I’m doing now? He was right.”

“No. He was wrong.” Cody corrected, “You are not a distraction or a burden.” He pauses and his dark eyes scan your face, “I’m going to tell you some things that you need to hear, but you’re not going to like it.” He warns.

Your shoulders come up and you tense, “...okay.”

“Your old master was an abusive asshole, and everyone in the 212th knows it, including General Kenobi. Hell, at this point, all of the 501st probably knows it too.” Cody says bluntly.

Your shoulders drop and you stare at him wide eyed, “No! He never hit me!”

“Cyare,” Cody pauses as he gathers his thoughts, “He barred you from getting a proper education. He isolated you from your agemates and the men in his battalion so none of them could reach out to you. You legitimately believe that you’re a burden to everyone you meet.”

You blink at him, startled at his vehemence. “You really don’t like my old master.”

Cody stares at you for a moment, and then he chuckles, “If you could see yourself like how I see you, you’d never think of yourself as a burden or a distraction again.” He says gently, seemingly accepting that you’re not willing to talk about how your old master treated you.

“I just don’t understand why.” You finally admit, “I’m not the prettiest or the smartest or the most socially aware. I’m just me.”

“And I like ‘just you’ more than anyone else.” Cody says, “More than all of the supermodels and super geniuses in the galaxy.”

“You won’t get bored?”

It’s Cody’s turn to look surprised, “Why would I get bored?”

“Because I’m more comfortable moving slow-?” You ask.

He huffs out a breath, “Have I said something to make you think that I’m not happy with how our relationship is going? Or is this your old master’s memory poking at your insecurities?”

“...you haven’t shown any signs of being unhappy,” You finally admit, “But I’m not the most observant about those kinds of things-”

Cody presses a finger against your lips, “Then let me tell you. I am very happy with our relationship as it is. I will remain happy with the relationship as it is, even if you never want to go any further than just kissing. I am never going to get bored of you or cheat on you or leave you.”

“You can’t promise that-”

“Sure I can.” He replies with a shrug, “I am going to be forever loyal to you.”

You feel your face heat, “Forever is a really long time.”

“It’s not long enough.” Cody replies, “Not for me and you.”

You smile at him, soft and warm, and then you stand on your toes to press your lips against his. Cody’s arms immediately slide around your waist and he holds you tightly against him as he kisses you back.

He breaks the kiss first, though he keeps his lips hovering just over yours, “I take it you believe me now?”

“You’re very convincing,” You whisper.

“Good.”

And then his lips are against yours again, and for the first time all night, all feels right with the galaxy.

#star wars #tcw #vodika-vibes follower celebration #commander cody x reader #cody x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #F!reader fic

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babyouran · 2 months

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Trust Me! - y/n is introduced to the host club, though her immediate disinterest catches the members' interest to make her a part of their community.

pairing - fem!reader x host club members

apart of - ouran add-in

"Fujioka, haven't we spoken about where to do our project already? I'm afraid this isn't the right way to the library," Y/n mentioned, currently having her wrist wrapped with the other girl's fingers.

Just a few months ago the duo were placed together as partners and had grown a close relationship together. Haruhi was the first person to befriend Takahashi Y/n, not even knowing her family's occupation. She saw the girl by herself reading and figured they might have a similar interest to talk about and soon enough became friends. Such a true relationship was refreshing for both of the young ladies, someone who didn’t care about all the superficial things and just about what mattered mostly.

"Takahashi Y/n, trust me, this may not seem like a good place to study but it will soon prove useful," Haruhi tried to reassure her, pulling out the young woman's full name to show she was serious. Haruhi’s eyes were narrowed showcasing that she was on some type of mission to get the fellow young woman more involved.

"If you insist," She sighed, letting the other girl drag her around, even though she was very capable herself.

"Takahashi-sama, may I ask you a question?"

"Takahashi! I saw that your fath-'' Voices began to try and start up conversations with the girl, but none were successful since her dear friend was on a mission to get her to Music Room 3. In a rush, Haruhi fastened her speed to the room yelling a curt goodbye to the student.

"And we are here," Haruhi exhaled deeply, the girls stood in front of the door. One girl's expressions held pride and excitement while the other had confusion and a hint of worry.

"Fujio-" Y/n began, turning around but was interrupted by her dear friend.

"Again," She sighed. "Call me Haruhi, you don't have to be so formal, there aren't people watching you all the time," She smiled lightly at the slightly taller girl.

"Correct, Haruhi-chan, I'm a little confused about why we will be studying in a music room," She tilted her head, to get a better look at the sign and express confusion. "Music room three to be exact," She corrected herself.

"This is where I go after school, this is where the club I am in resonates, and sometimes it serves as a nice laugh!" She exclaimed. "Though some of them can be very annoying, they are also sweet."

"I don't need any more friends," Y/n deadpanned. "I followed my father's wishes and made one, making more would be a nuisance.”

"Nonsense! Takahashi, it's not a bad thing to make new friends, and these will be good ones, trust me," Haruhi tried to reason with her. It was clear since the beginning that Y/n was very closed off when it came to the truth of her home life. But this was a prominent feature that she thought would help connect her with the boys who resided in Music Room 3.

- flashback -

"Hello, I'm Fujioka Haruhi, pleased to meet you," She bowed in front of the girl sitting daintily in her yellow dress engrossed in a story.

"Ah," She sighed, continuing the story. "Takahashi Y/n," She turned around to face her fellow student and put on a light smile upon her lips. Though it was harder to identify the gender of the student she figured she was a girl because of her very soft nature.

"What are you reading?" Haruhi peeked over the book, getting much closer to Y/n’s face than originally intended. When she lifted her head to look into the fellow girl's eyes, their noses almost touched. Y/n didn’t flinch, she just scrunched her eyebrows in the slightest bit and took a small glance down back at her story.

"Norwegian Wood, it is a very interesting romance story,” glancing back up towards the girl she continued, “Fujioka, I'm going to make an inference and please don't be offended. You're a female correct? Yet, you don't care about social standards and little things like clothing. You're also content with people assuming you are a boy. If I may add, you differ a lot from fellow students here which concludes that, most likely, you have a different background than them here," Y/n observed, looking her up and down. "If you would like me to use he and him pronouns I will,"

Haruhi stared at the once quiet girl, she had gotten everything spot on. It was odd how easily she was able to read Haruhi since most of the students couldn't even figure out her gender. But in reality, most students did not give her the time of day to even try and figure out a basic thing as such.

"You can just use female pronouns when it is the two of us," She sat at an empty desk beside Y/n, now staring intently at her. "How did you-"

"You were kind, most richer children only talk to other children once they know their status and how it affects them. Your features also seem feminine, so in all honesty, I just took a guess," She shrugged. "Suppose I was correct,"

"Yeah, scarily correct,” Haruhi's eyes narrowed at her before a smile began to form on her lips, chuckling to herself. “Would you like to be partners for the English class? I have my guess that we will get along well," Haruhi expressed.

"I don't have anyone else myself, and my father commanded me to make a friend, so I think that is an intelligent idea," She put the book away and looked hopefully at Haruhi. For some odd reason, Haruhi felt her stomach flutter a bit, almost as if a tiny butterfly was flying about inside.

"I trust you," Y/n admitted. "But I don't trust that this situation will work in the ways you hope it will, I'm not in the mood to be bombarded by music students. I will not want to join any orchestra, I simply want to finish a new book in French I got," Y/n explained, suddenly yanking a book out of nowhere and showing it to the girl.

"Please, Takahashi-sama, I'll owe you a favor. Just give it a chance?"

"I will do it, but the favor I want you to give to me is about my name. Please refer to me as Y/n, and don't use any title after, unless it is chan," Y/n told the girl, showing a faint smile. Haruhi nodded and opened the doors to the empty classroom with boys waiting.

"Welcome to the Ouran High School Host Club, how can we help darlings like you?" A blonde asked, hand facing up with his palm open. He was not wearing the normal uniform but instead dressed in a captain outfit, as if he were the captain of a boat.

"These are your.... friends? Where are the instruments?" Y/n turned to Haruhi, very confused.

"Ah! Haruhi!" The blonde jumped from his position running over to the girl. "You need to try this sailor girl costume we got," The man jumped up and down, running to the side of the room to grab it. He resembled a very excited puppy who just got a chance to get a treat.

"Haruhi, who is your friend?" A boy with auburn hair pops up, a carbon copy of him standing on his right and staring at Y/n intently. The two looked more mischievous than comforting, silent side eyes shared.

"Haruhi, thank you for your suggestion, but I think I will just read in the library," Y/n nodded to her, swiftly making her way out of the room, her strides quickening to get out of the room. The boys' attentions were now all peeked and focused on her. Tamaki had finally recognized the new guest, dropping the dress from his grip and walking to try and reach her. The door was slammed shut as soon as Y/n made it outside, Tamaki’s face right by the large door moments from being smacked by it.

"Shoot," Haruhi grumbled. "I guess she was right again,"

"Who is she?" The other twin repeated.

"Her name is Takahashi Y/n," She told them, pinching the ends of her hair. "I thought it would be good for her to meet some new people, you guys are kind of like her in ways. It doesn’t matter much now…”

"Takahashi?" The black-haired boy with glasses walked over, his notebook propped open. "She is the daughter of the Mamoru Takahashi. That man is very well established through his electronics company. He's top of the line in the field," Kyoya informed the group, reading a page from the notebook.

"She's that popular? Wait, you don't mean the line of electronics called 'Taka', that's made by them?" Haruhi asked bewildered.

"Her family, they are an interesting sort. I don't have much about them because they are more on the mysterious side. I'm surprised you were able to befriend her," Kyoya mentioned.

"My favorite cake mixer is from them, I always ask the cooks to use it! It whips up the ingredients so good and it tastes extra yummy," The lolita type boy added, running to Haruhi. "I heard they are coming out with a new dessert maker! I can hear my tummy grumble just thinking of it!”

"I like the watches, very high tech," Mori expressed.

"The TV's are great for watching my reality shows!" Tamaki exclaimed.

"I have some of her products," Haruhi mumbled. The group turned to look at her, almost as if they were confused she could afford something. "I'm not poor, I might not have as much as you guys but some of their stuff is affordable," She rolled her eyes.

"Isn't Takahashi the one girl in our class, some people bombard her because they want to see what she would look like without that mask," Hikaru remembered, recalling that she was sitting by Haruhi on multiple occasions.

"I forget she wears that sometimes," Haruhi chuckled to herself. "I’ve grown used to it, I don't ask about it anyway since it could be personal. But it does a fine job in helping conceal her identity."

"We must get her here!" Tamaki declared. "Gather up! I have a plan, men!,” his pointer finger raised in the air, Hikaru and Karou’s own hands in a position of a salute. “Oh! Haruhi too,"

"I don't know about this.”

Y/n was sitting in the library, a mask covering the bottom half of her face as always. It did not take her long to forget about the past events and completely engulf herself in a new story.

"Psst," A person poked her shoulder, interrupting her peaceful reading bliss.

"If you would like a free product I'm not the one to ask, though we appreciate all of our customers who purchase our pro-" She started to ramble, still reading the book but remembering what her father told her to say. It was programmed into the young woman's brain by now as if memorizing lines for a play.

"No! No, that's not why we are here," The voice interrupted her, now fully gaining her attention.

"Not many people come into this library, especially in this section," She hesitantly said, very confused about why this person was here now. They were dressed up in a trench coat, wearing a fake mustache and a barre to top the outfit.

"I'm undercover, I need your help with something," They cupped their hands over their mouth, to give the image that it was a secret.

"Pardon me?" She questioned, completely muddled. "I won't take part in any 'undercover investigation'. If you need me then you will have to speak to my lawyers beforehand, or at least my father," She reached into her pocket, just to grab a bookmark as she now figured her quiet space wasn’t about to stay as quiet but the action startled the man. He rushed to keep her hand in her pocket, figuring that she might be reaching for a phone instead to make the call.

"No! No, wait look," He ripped off the mustache, making a face of hurt afterward. "Suoh Tamaki, president of the Ouran High School Host Club! I'm afraid we didn't have a proper introduction earlier, my beauty," He got up from the chair, grabbed her hand, and placed a kiss on the top of it.

"Um," She pulled her hand away, right afterward, grabbing a handkerchief from her backpack nearby and wiping off any remains. "You're a friend of Haruhi's, that's nice. But I'm not in the mood for more friends, kind offer, but no thank you," She replied, clutching her book and moving away from the once quiet spot in the library.

"You ruined it boss," Kaoru chimed in through a walkie-talkie.

"That's why we have multiple plans. Your turn boys,"

Y/n left the library, walking back to the previous classroom where lessons were held earlier that day. She was merely a foot away from the door before someone lightly bumped into her.

"Sorry, Yah!" A boy with a blonde wig yelped. "We exchange students from Germany," He answered, his twin with the same blonde wig but it was curved to the right instead of left. They had on a dirndl and kept leaning into each other.

"Vill ye help us with class?" The other asked, with a horrible impression of a German accent.

"I can't. I took a class in German culture and language when I was younger. I don't think they wear those kinds of outfits everywhere. You're the twins for that club, right? I am okay and should be leaving now," She trailed off, eyes warily looking back at the two boys bickering over a small object. Y/n made her way to the cafeteria, now having limited options of where she may go.

Finding an empty lunch table in the back, she took a seat, letting out a deep breath, and looked around for any suspecting fellows.

"Hiya!" A blonde boy popped up on her side, considerably shorter and having a younger look to him.

"Oh, hello," She gave a slight wave, eyes darting back down to her book. Y/n silently thought to herself he was just trying to be polite and that would be the end of it, what are the chances of running into someone from the same club for the third time?

"Please, please," The boy started, moving closer to Y/n and putting on a pouty face. "I-I came in here with my dad, I can't find him. He was going to get me cake, and now I can't have it," He went into a full-out sob, tears flowing down his face and hiccuping resounding around the area.

"Okay, where was the last place you saw your father?" She inquired, giving him a spectacle look, Y/n hesitantly patted the boy on the shoulder. He looked somewhat familiar, yet she couldn't put her finger on it.

"In a music room. My dad said-" He once again broke out into a fake cry while Y/n took his hand and let him lead the way to where he once was. "He's a part of a club here," The blonde mumbled.

"A club? Your father is a student. Wait a minute-"

"You found my son. Thank you. Please come in." The 'father' thanked her, now wearing the same fake mustache another blonde had tried.

"No, you both are a part of that club. Just like those other guys,” Y/n took a step away from the duo. “Why are you following me?"

"Um," The 'father' voiced refusing to look Y/n in the eyes but instead stared straight ahead.

"Do I get my cake now?" The blonde pulled out the walkie-talkie and spoke into it.

"Why are there walkie-talkies?" Y/n pondered.

"They are like that," Haruhi chimed in, sneaking up on Y/n.

Y/n flinched, stepping aside to make room for her friend, "Haruhi, your friends are kind, but I'm a little confused about all of this."

"Takahashi Y/n, in the same year and class as Haruhi and the twins. The only daughter of the Takahashi family wears a mask and enjoys her peace. Good at figuring things out," He stopped, looking at the girl whose eyes were wide open with confusion. "Well Somewhat. Yet I can't get much more on you," He walked closer to her.

"That's all you need to know, more than you do. Ootori Kyoya, your father is Yoshio, and you have three other siblings, all older. Your family is well established as well, I know more about you than you will ever know of me. It shall stay that way, I don't need people knowing much about me, it's... odd," Y/n voiced, walking into the club room and searching for a phone.

"Y/n, wha-" Haruhi began.

"I'm sorry, I have a feeling I'm going to get in trouble if I continue speaking. I hope I didn't offend any of you and our family relationships can stay well, I just need to make a call," She started plucking in the digits for the number.

"Takahashi, why must you consult your father on a friendly conversation with fellow teenagers?" Kyoya wondered.

"I can't say, I mean I'm- well," She didn't know what to say, she didn't have an excuse ready at the moment, she was caught fully off guard.

"Join the club," Tamaki spoke up, walking over and taking the phone from her hand, the butler on the other line speaking into it. "You interest me, the whole club, the school. We just have tea with fellow students, you can do the same," He offered.

"Thank you, but-"

"Think for yourself," The 'father' from earlier chirped up.

"I,” Y/n looked down at the phone resting in the hand of the club president, an inviting smile on his face. For once, she felt that she had control of her life and her choices, she felt that way when with Haruhi and wouldn’t mind it becoming something more frequent. “I suppose it could prove useful for our company, and it could be enjoyable," She muttered, a small smile appearing on her features hidden underneath the mask, though Haruhi knew Y/n enough to be able to recognize the little changes in her facial features to tell she was happy.

"Great! Y/n, welcome to the Ouran High School Host Club!”

an - hello, this was just something silly I made up to introduce y/n to the rest of the group, the next chapters will be adding y/n into episodes. (There is a reason she wears a mask, not COVID-related or sickness, it will be shown later on. Y/n often uses titles like ‘senpai’ similar to the characters in the anime/manga)

hope you enjoy it! please let me know what you think!

next chapter - Beware of the Physical Exam!

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worth-the-chaos · 5 months

Text

Adventures In Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 1

Chapter Summary: You haven’t been babysitting Dustin for very long. Underestimating his tendencies for rebellious behavior, you realize too late that he’s snuck out, with your dire search for the boy leading you to the last place you wanted to be: Steve Harrington’s house.

Content warning: swearing, inter-dimensional demogorgon bullshit, kind of strangers to friends to lovers (not necessarily all in this chapter), stancy, slow burn

Word Count: 6.5k

Author’s note: This is my first fic and it isn’t super original; it pretty much sticks to the plot of the show, but adds you to the mix! I tend to like fics that put the reader directly into the Stranger Things universe, demogorgons and all, so this chapter roughly follows Steve’s involvement in season 1 episode 8 when he goes to the Byers’ residence. This is more of a prologue and I plan to be more original with the story as it goes on, but it will still largely follow the plot lines of the series, so if that’s something you’re looking for, you’ve found it here!

Series Masterlist | Next Part

***

You knocked quickly on the door in front of you, eyes darting left and right to take in your surroundings. You were out of place here among the upper class houses in the neighborhood, with your hand-me-down and thrifted clothes screaming the opposite of prosperity. You were antsy, weight shifting from foot to foot; in fact, you were almost confident that if any of the neighbors were out and caught a glimpse of your obviously anxious form, they’d put a call in to the Hawkins police in an instant. You didn’t belong here. You scoffed at the thought. Though every fiber of your being was telling you—no, screaming at you—to leave, you really didn’t have a choice.

Not to mention the address you were at housed probably the last person you would ever actively seek out. He probably didn’t want to see you either, if you were being honest.

“Come on. Just answer,” You muttered through gritted teeth as you raised your hand to knock once more. However, before your hand could even make contact with the nice, expensive oak of the front door, it opened and you were met with the annoyed and confused glare of the one and only Steve Harrington. The expression on his face didn’t surprise you but the state of it did. Bruises and cuts littered his otherwise perfect skin, leaving you with a lot more questions than you had originally intended on asking.

“What do you want?” His words were direct, his tone short and clipped, drained from what on the outside seemed to be quite an eventful day.

“I-I, uh…I’m sorry, but what happened to you?” You breathed out. You had more pressing concerns, but you couldn’t help but wonder why King Steve of Hawkins High looked like absolute shit.

“I don’t have time for this,” he sighed as he began to shut the door.

You reached your hand through just in time to catch it as you shoved your way into the Harrington household. You knew his parents were likely on some sort of fancy business trip, so they wouldn’t be there to reprimand you for your actions. It’s what made Steve’s house the prime destination for the biggest parties in Hawkins. Parties you were rarely, if ever, invited to.

“What the hell are you doing?! I barely even know you and now you’re breaking and fucking entering into my goddamn house!”

“Technically, I’m just entering. You opened the door.”

“Are you kidding me right now, y/n?”

You were surprised he even knew your name. You tended to blend into the background, flying under the radar in your attempt to make good enough grades to maybe, just maybe, give yourself a fighting chance at attending college on scholarships. “Will you just hear me out. Please.”

You must have sounded desperate because Steve’s furrowed brow relaxed, his expression softening before he rolled his eyes, sitting down on a pristine white couch saying, “Fine. But make it quick because I have a raging headache and my patience is wearing thin.”

You breathed in a deep breath before you rattled off your reason for trespassing.

“Well, it’s kind of a long story, but I happen to babysit Dustin Henderson—or, well to be more accurate, I just started babysitting Dustin Henderson since Jonathon Byers’ brother disappeared—and everything was going fine one minute, but then I went to check on him in his room because he was being awfully quiet, and then I noticed his window was open and he must’ve snuck out, and—“

He cut you off, “Woah, woah, woah. How does any of this concern me? I mean, it’s not my fault you’re clearly a shit babysitter and can’t keep track of some seventh grader.”

“If you would just let me finish,” you warned through gritted teeth, “I’m aware of the fact that it doesn’t concern you, but I’ve been looking all over for him and I can’t find him anywhere. I’ve checked the Sinclair’s, I’ve checked the Wheeler’s, I’ve checked every location a seventh grade nerd might frequent, nothing. So, yeah, though it doesn’t concern you, I thought I might find Nancy here, given the fact that the two of you have obviously been going out, to ask her where the hell her brother is so that maybe, just maybe, I could find the damn kid I’m babysitting before I get fired from my fucking job. Now, if you could stop being so goddamn selfish for once in your life, I would really appreciate the help.”

Steve paused for a moment while he considered this. Being called selfish stung, but you weren’t wrong. The events leading to the myriad of injuries across his face seemed to prove just that. However, there was something about you in particular saying it that cut deep. You were seemingly so perfect, granted a bit odd. You were nice, you made good grades, but other than that he didn’t know much about you, so the expletive-laced explanation was a bit out of place coming from your mouth.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re a little too late to find Nancy here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she didn’t say it, but I take it things are probably pretty over between us.”

This was surprising to say the least. Nancy Wheeler wasn’t someone who you would have guessed would go for a total asshole jock like Steve, but even you had to admit, he was easy on the eyes. Your heart skipped a bit at the thought, as you suddenly also remembered that you basically broke into the house of the most popular kid at your high school. One whom you’d never really spoken to in any meaningful sense before this very instant.

“What happened?” You asked hesitantly, taking a step towards Steve as your fingers hovered over his forearm. Even though you hated nearly everything Steve stood for—popularity, prosperity, assholery—you felt compelled to comfort him. Something about him was different than you expected. When he didn’t pull away, you let your hand rest there.

“Well, speaking of Jonathan Byers, we kind of got into…an altercation. I would like to say that I won, but I think it’s clear that I didn’t. I was with Tommy H and Carol and he spray painted a bunch of awful shit about Nancy and Jonathan all over town, and I didn’t stop him, so yeah, things aren’t what I would call good between me and Nancy right now.”

Your comforting instinct told you to apologize, sympathize, but you weren’t going to condone his actions. You’d seen the “Nancy ‘the Slut’ Wheeler” graffiti earlier in your mad dash to locate Dustin. Though you didn’t know her super well, Nancy had been nothing but nice to you and she definitely didn’t deserve that sort of treatment.

“Well, how do you…feel about it?” You asked gently, internally cringing at your anxiety forcing you to find something to fill the silence with.

“I mean, definitely not good. I was an ass, and I know it, and as much as I hate that I screwed things up with Nancy, I think I’m more so realizing how shitty I was to Jonathan. I mean, he’s got enough going on without me making things more difficult…I need to make things right.” He stood up abruptly, quickly grabbing his car keys from a likely expensive decorative dish on the side table by the door.

“Woah, wait! You’re just going to leave me?” You asked incredulously. “Steve, I-I….I need help.”

“You can come with me,” he responded as he spun his keys around his index finger.

“What?”

“To the Byers’ house? You know, kill two birds with one stone? I apologize to Jonathan, you ask about the Henderson kid. Hell, you might even luck out and find him there, so what do you say?” He explained as he placed his hand gently on your back, leading you out the front door, down the driveway to his car. You tried not to think about the way his hand felt on the expanse of your back. Before you could say no, he was opening the passenger’s side door for you.

Your eyes met his, your mouth slightly parted as you weighed your options. Sure, you could handle yourself fine on the way to Jonathan’s house…but then on the other hand, Steve had a car and you didn’t, and with all of the weird things going on in Hawkins recently, it was probably best not to be a young woman walking around on her own, especially now that you were losing light. Safety reasons aside, the element that settled the internal argument for you was the look in Steve’s eyes. He wanted to do better. He wanted to be better. Who were you to deny him that?

You breathed in once more, shaking your head as you breathed out. “Alright. Let’s go.”

***

Being in Steve’s car was, needless to say, a bit awkward. You both had your own problems, brought together by chaos and regret, a combination which didn’t make for great small talk.

“So, Nancy Wheeler, huh?” You asked in an attempt to ease the tension, needing to rid the car of the weight of the uncomfortable silence.

“Yep,” Steve muttered, eyes focused on the road.

“She’s pretty cool. I mean, she’s always been nice to me.”

“She’s the best.”

You weren’t sure why, but this comment made your heart sink a little in your chest. Though Nancy had always been nice, you couldn’t help but feel a bit jealous of her. She stood out in a way that you never could. She was smart but had the money to back it up, which, in terms of social status, meant that she mattered and you didn’t. You were living paycheck to paycheck, barely functioning, picking up odd jobs all the time just to support yourself in the way your family couldn’t. You barely had the time to study or have fun, becoming the background character to everyone else’s life. Hell, you weren’t even sure you had a starring role in your own. She was also pretty in a way that you could never be, with her big blue eyes and thin frame making clearly even the douchiest of douchebags swoon. Steve was living proof.

“Y/n? Did you even hear anything I just said?” Steve’s voice finally flooded your consciousness, drawing you away from your thoughts and feelings of inadequacy.

You shook your head trying to clear out the negativity. “Sorry! I was-I just zoned out for a second, my bad,” You chuckled, your smile not quite reaching your eyes.

“I asked you why you were babysitting the Henderson kid anyway. It just seems like something that you wouldn’t be interested in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know, you’re…different. Yeah, you’re nice and make good grades and whatever, but you’re also pretty edgy. You seem like one of those weird, alt kids that would be into like pretty heavy music and shit, and babysitting just seems a little too suburban-status-quo for someone like you.”

You stared at him blankly, not really sure how to answer given that his words were more a statement of assumptions rather than a question. You opened your mouth to speak, but he interjected before you could even say anything.

“That came out wrong. What I’m saying is that you’ve always struck me as a little bit intimidating because you’re actually an individual; you don’t follow the crowd which, I mean, is admirable, but babysitting? Come on. I’m as stereotypical as they come, and I wouldn’t even babysit, especially not for some thirteen-year-old misfit who seems like more of a handful than its worth.”

“Well, for starters, you’re a guy, so no shit you’re not babysitting the youth of Hawkins, and also, I just need the money, which I’m sure is a foreign concept to you. And babysitting is kind of a piece of cake…normally. Henderson is a special case; he’s too smart for his own good.”

Steve laughed and you blushed, grateful for the darkness to hide the heat in your cheeks. His words felt like they were trying to be a compliment, but you weren’t sure how to interpret them. You guessed that maybe you stood out at least a little bit more than you had initially thought. By his description, people must be noticing you to some extent. He was noticing you.

You shook your head at the thought. What had gotten into you? Half an hour ago you hated this man, but now you weren’t too sure. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as you thought he was.

With Hawkins being a small town in rural Indiana, the drive was not long, so your conversation ended here as you pulled up to the Byers’ residence. You felt a pang in your heart as you saw the tarp-covered hole in the front of the house. From speaking with Mrs. Henderson, you knew how much of a toll her son’s disappearance had taken on Joyce. Both of you got out of the car and you made your way to the front door.

Steve knocked. When there was no response, he banged on the door again. “Jonathan! Are you there man? It’s—it’s Steve! Listen, I just want to talk.”

He continued to bang on the door. You were about to reach up and stop him, tell him that it was enough and clearly no one was home, when the door opened a crack and you were met eye to eye with Nancy Wheeler. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw you, but it only lasted for a fraction of a second before her expression settled and her brows furrowed.

“Steve, listen to me.”

“Hey. Nancy, what—“

“You need to leave. Both of you,” she added as she turned to meet your eyes. She was serious, her expression stern, but there was something else there…desperation maybe?

“I’m not trying to start anything, okay?” Steve pleaded. It didn’t make a difference, as Nancy had clearly made up her mind.

“I don’t care about that. You need to leave. Now.”

“No, no, listen, I messed up…I messed up, and I just want to make things right.” Steve was desperate, you could hear it in his voice. You wanted to try and reason with Nancy, speak on behalf of Steve, but it wasn’t your place. You went to cast your gaze downwards, trying to give the two of them a private moment, but Nancy’s gauze-wrapped hand caught your eye instead.

“Hey, what happened to your hand?” You asked hesitantly, brow furrowed, “is that…is that blood?”

You went to gently reach for her hand but she quickly drew it back and out of sight, but it was too late. Say what you will about Steve, but he was protective to a fault, and in seeing Nancy hurt, any desire to make things right with Jonathan quickly dissipated.

“It’s nothing! It-It was an accident.”

“Wait a sec. Did he do this to you? Nancy, let me in!” Steve demanded as he pushed into the Byers’ home, not dissimilar to how you had intruded upon the Harrington residence earlier. You entered behind him. Under any normal circumstances, you probably would have felt awkward, but instead you were too preoccupied with Steve’s short temper and the fires you knew you would inevitably have to put out.

Unfortunately, you didn’t have the premonition to know the literal nature of that preoccupation.

Crossing the threshold of the Byers’ residence, you weren’t entirely sure what you were looking at, but it did make your heart stop in your chest. You momentarily locked eyes with Jonathan as you looked around the room. There were multicolored lights strewn about the whole house, makeshift weapons on the coffee table, the entire alphabet painted sloppily on the wallpaper, and Jonathan’s hand had the same blood soaked gauze as Nancy’s.

“What is…what the…what is all of this?” Steve demanded.

“You need to get out of here. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.” Jonathan grabbed the fabric of Steve’s shirt attempting to force him out of the living room, but Steve planted his feet.

“Is that….is that gasoline?!” You stammered as the rest of your senses finally showed up. Your hands were trembling at your sides, and you felt like at any moment you might have a panic attack. You took a shaky breath as you attempted to calm yourself down.

“Steve! Get out!” Nancy shouted. The distinct click of a gun rang out, and Steve froze, eyes fixed on the revolver in Nancy’s hand, pointed directly at him. Jonathan’s grip loosened on Steve’s shirt as he stepped away, shock registering on his face as well.

Something was obviously very wrong. You pushed your anxiety deep down in your chest, and you took a step forward. If I could just talk to her, you thought, I can deescalate this.

“Nancy—“ you began cautiously, but as soon as you took a step she pivoted and now you were the one staring down the barrel of a gun. Your breath hitched in your throat as you slowly raised trembling hands in front of your chest. “I think you need to calm down.”

“I think you need to leave,” she responded, her voice icy. Suddenly, Steve bounded forward, grabbing your wrist and pulling you behind him. Once you were hidden behind his tall figure, you allowed yourself to break down a little, pressing yourself against him for some semblance of security.

“Is this a joke, Nancy? Put the gun down!”

“I’m doing this for you.”

“What is this?! What does that even mean?” He yelled back at her, but his words weren’t doing anything to help. His hand was still wrapped around your wrist, and his grip tightened. He was holding onto you just as much as you were holding onto him, with a fistful of his shirt balled into your delicate hand as you attempted to ground yourself. It felt intimate, and if it weren’t for your current predicament, you would have been embarrassed.

“Three. Two—“

“Nancy! The lights!” Jonathan shouted, and you peeled your face away from the solace of Steve’s back, watching as the lights flickered with a raging entropy, making it nearly impossible for your eyes to navigate the small room.

“Where is it? I don’t see it!” Nancy cried out and for the first time in the craze of blinking lights and shouting, you saw the fear on her face, her previous stoic facade shattering in the chaos. Seeing the fright in her eyes made your stomach drop, as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

Something was very, very wrong.

“Will someone please explain to me what the hell is going on?!” Steve shouted and you couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. Even with the family room being sporadically lit up like a Christmas tree, you and Steve were very much still in the dark.

No sooner had he said it did the ceiling begin to crack, something large writhing as it made its way into the small house from above. Nancy began shooting at it as you stood frozen. Finally, it burst through the drywall, falling to the floor on all fours. If someone asked you to describe what you had seen, you weren’t sure what you would’ve even said. It had pale skin, nearly translucent, and made an awful chattering sound as it started to gather its bearings.

“Go! Go! Run! Go!” Jonathan started shouting as he grabbed Nancy around the waist and shoved her in front of him as she darted down the hall. Steve turned around and did the same, his hands harshly grabbing at your sides to redirect you as you formed a human chain; Jonathan’s hand wrapped around your wrist, and your other hand wrapped around Steve’s as you made a mad dash to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

In all the commotion you barely heard Jonathan shout “jump!” narrowly missing the open bear trap on the floor. You shrieked and willed yourself to be coordinated for once in your damn life as you hurdled over the metal teeth of the trap, blindly trusting that Steve’s athleticism would kick in and he would do the same. A low growl sounded out just as the bedroom door slammed shut behind Steve, his momentum causing him to collide into you. You would have toppled over if it wasn’t for his quick reflexes, as he reached out to steady your shoulders.

“Shhh, you’re okay. It’s all going to be okay,” Steve frantically whispered, his hands still holding together your shaking form, as you stumbled backwards and collapsed down on the bed. His lips were dangerously close to your ear, and he brought a hand to the base of your neck, drawing his fingers down to your shoulder to reassure you. He was barely holding it together himself, scared out of his mind, but he brought you into this mess and he was determined to protect you first. “What the hell was that?!”

“Shut up!” Nancy and Jonathan yelled in unison. Everyone’s gaze then fixed on the yoyo that was precariously draped over the chair. Your heart thundered in your ears, your eyes welling with tears as you held your breath and waited. The lights continued to flicker, until a jolt of electricity rang out and they became static. The silence was unnerving.

“Do you hear anything?” Nancy asked.

Jonathan shook his head and slowly opened the door. The four of you stepped into the quiet of the hallway, eyes fixed on the undisturbed bear trap in the middle of the carpet. You all cautiously made your way back to the disheveled family room of the Byers’ house, Nancy and Jonathan prepped with their weapons in hand.

“This is…this—this is crazy!” Steve shouted, running his hands through his perfect hair.

You tugged on his sleeve trying to draw his attention away from what just happened; this was already a shit show, the last thing you needed was Steve losing his mind. “Steve, you need to calm down,” you begged, still shaken from before.

“Y/n, how the hell am I supposed to calm down?! This isn’t a situation where you can calm the fuck down! What the hell is going on?!” He continued to shout, grabbing your wrist and shoving it away. You tried not to take it personally, but it still hurt. You hated how quickly he had gone from comforting to cold.

Before you could open your mouth to speak, Nancy spoke up, “It’s going to come back! So you need to leave. Right now.”

Steve grabbed your wrist, your body lurching as your trajectory quickly changed, the inertia causing you to stumble while your feet attempted to keep up with Steve’s large strides. Steve fumbled with his keys as you reached the car. His shaky hands finally unlocked the door and he swung it open, about to sit when he realized that you had stopped following him, still positioned in front of the house.

“Y/n, what are you doing?”

“Steve, we can’t leave, are you kidding me? They’re in way over their heads. They need help.”

“It’s too dangerous. I don’t want you in there. It’s not up for discussion,” Steve argued, stepping around the door and reaching out to grab your wrist again. You quickly stepped back, pulling your hands out of his reach.

“Y/n, you’re not going back in there. I’m not joking.”

“Neither am I,” you shot back, turning back towards the door. You heard him call out your name again, but you were already through the front door, back in the discomfort of the Byers’ family room.

“Y/n, what the hell are you doing here? I said to leave,” Nancy warned.

“I’m not leaving. You guys need help, and I want to help.”

“Y/n—“ Jonathan began, but his warning was cut short when the lights began to flash again. You quickly grabbed a large kitchen knife from the pile of improvised weapons on the coffee table and met Nancy and Jonathan back to back in the center of the room.

“Where is it?” You asked, trying to shove the fear in your chest down, hoping it was a false alarm, that the wiring was screwy, that you were safe.

“Come out, you son of a bitch!” Jonathan yelled out. You willed your hands not to shake as you tightened your grip on the handle of the knife. Suddenly the lights went out, plunging the room into inky black darkness. You blinked rapidly, a futile attempt to get your eyes to adjust to the pitch black room.

You heard a low growl before Nancy exclaimed, “Y/N!”

You spun around, eyes meeting the nine-foot hulking form of whatever the hell this thing was, standing less than a foot from you. You didn’t even have time to scream as it lunged at you, pinning you to the floor. Your knife fell from your grasp, clamoring across the hardwood. You wish you could go back to when you hadn’t had a good look at the monster. Now you stared wide eyed as its face opened up revealing countless rows of razor sharp teeth as it shrieked, spewing thick drool across your face.

“Help me! Please! Nancy!” You screamed out as you writhed under the pressure of the beast. Its clawed fingers began tightening around your upper arm, ripping into your skin as you cried out in pain. It reared back to scream its ear piercing scream again, but something collided with it, knocking it off-kilter. Its long claws dragged across the flesh of your arm, etching larger gashes as its grip began to release.

You took this opportunity to slip away, scrambling across the floor on hands and knees as you grabbed the kitchen knife, turning around to slash the monster’s achilles. It cried out, turning back towards you, this time far angrier than it had been in the first place. This was when you realized that the collision from before had been Steve, swinging Jonathan’s nail bat as hard as he could at the creature.

He had come back for you.

He continued to swing the bat with all his might, causing the monster to stumble backwards until the resonant clang of metal hitting against metal rang out.

“He’s in the trap! He’s stuck!” Steve yelled out, causing the rest of you to spring into action.

“Jonathan, now!” Nancy shouted. Jonathan hurtled around the corner, the unmistakable flick of a lighter sounding out before he tossed it in the gasoline soaked carpet. The hallway erupted in flames that were almost too bright to bear, as the four of you covered your eyes. You took this opportunity to sprint back to the family room, quickly grabbing the fire extinguisher laid out on the rug, before bounding back to the hallway.

“Get back!” You shouted as you desperately tried to put out the fire before you were all suffocated in a fiery mix of ash and smoke. You all coughed as the smoke cleared, revealing that the monster had disappeared, no longer stuck between the teeth of the bear trap.

“Where did it go?” Nancy hesitantly asked.

“It has to be dead. It has to be,” Jonathan said, though it seemed more like he was saying it to convince himself; to speak it into existence.

Suddenly the string lights started blinking again, this time in a line leading toward them in the hallway. Your breath caught in your throat, and Steve protectively pushed himself in front of you and Nancy. The lights then blinked again, this time in a line towards the front door. This time they weren’t the erratic display of chaos from earlier, but rather an orderly demonstration of cosmos. The four of you cautiously followed the lights, weapons drawn just in case.

“Mom?” You heard Jonathan quietly ask. His eyes welled with tears, and you immediately wanted to hug the boy. He’d been through so much. He didn’t deserve this; none of you did.

You followed the lights outside the house, watching the streetlight gently flicker before all trace of the paranormal phenomenon dissipated.

“Where’s it going?” You asked quietly.

“I don’t think that’s the monster,” Jonathan responded. He didn’t elaborate and none of you asked.

Steve quickly turned to you, gently grabbing your wrist. “Y/n, you’re bleeding,” he said, his eyes widening as they focused on your blood soaked sleeve.

“It doesn’t matter. Where’s Dustin? Please tell me one of you knows,” you turned to ask Nancy and Jonathan, both of them caught off guard by your question.

“Uh, I think it really does matter, y/n. We don’t even know what the hell that thing was! You can’t just ignore—“

“They’re at the school,” Nancy interrupted. She wanted to argue with you too, to tell you that you definitely needed medical attention, but she also knew you weren’t going to listen. Hell, you’d just run back into a house with an inter-dimensional threat so her and Jonathan wouldn’t have to face it on their own.

You turned back towards Steve. “Steve, I promise I’ll let you take me to the urgent care or the hospital or whatever if you just please let me go make sure he’s okay,” you pleaded. Tears were welling in your eyes and Steve realized that he wasn’t going to be able to say no to you.

“Fine, but this is fucked up.”

***

By the time you pulled into the parking lot of Hawkins middle, it was swarming with police cars and emergency vehicles. You felt nauseous and negligent, as you frantically scanned, looking for the curly mop of hair hidden under a baseball cap. Before Steve stopped the car, you flung your door open, jogging across the lot, calling out for the boy.

“Dustin! Dustin Henderson!”

“Woah, woah, woah! You can’t just jump out of a moving vehicle!” Steve caught up with you. He wanted to reach out and put a hand on your shoulder to rein you in a little, but he decided against it, not recalling which one was torn up. You had to be in excruciating pain, but you didn’t show it. She’s pretty damn tough, Steve thought to himself. Suddenly, you both saw the Henderson boy, chatting away with Lucas Sinclair, as if nothing had happened.

“Henderson!” You growled, marching across the parking lot towards the young child.

“Y/n, I can explain—“

“Do you have any idea the hell I just went through trying to find your ass?! Where the hell were you?!”

“You’re not going to believe me, but there’s this alternate—wait, what the hell happened to your arm?”

You looked at Steve, trying to silently decide how much to tell the young boy. He was just a kid; he didn’t need to be mixed up in all of this, and neither did Lucas. To be perfectly honest, neither did the two of you, but you couldn’t change what happened. You broke eye contact with Steve and looked at Dustin, lips slightly parted as you tried to find the right words to say. Before you could even say anything, Dustin broke the silence.

“It was the demogorgon, wasn’t it?”

“What in the fresh hell are you talking about?” Steve asked, growing tired of this kid who had inadvertently caused you to risk your life trying to find him instead of just listening to his damn babysitter.

“Monster, big and scary, likely inter-dimensional?”

“You…But how do you…you know about all of this?” You asked, your heart sinking knowing that you couldn’t protect him from this.

“It took Will, and we’ve been trying to find him,” Lucas chimed in.

“B-but…but there was a funeral. He died,” you stammered, your heart aching this time as you thought back to Jonathan and Joyce and how miserable they had been over the loss of the young child.

“Look, y/n, I’m sorry I snuck out but it was to find Will. I can explain the rest but it’s going to take a while and you might want to sit down,” Dustin hesitantly spoke.

“You’re so damn lucky your mom is out of town for the next few days,” you spoke through gritted teeth, but you sat down and you listened to the boy.

***

After his explanation, you and Steve were, needless to say, a bit stunned and speechless. How the hell did three middle school boys figure all of that out? And a girl with a shaved head and super powers? You couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that Hawkins Chief of Police Jim Hopper knew about all of this either. What was there that you could trust? Your head started to spin and you were getting a bit nauseous at the thought.

“I mean, this is wild Henderson. It’s borderline unbelievable,” Steve chided. Dustin’s eyes widened and his face reddened, clearly mad that Steve wasn’t buying his story.

“Are you serious right now, Steve? You saw it! You saw the damn demogorgon! How could you possibly deny that—“

“I said borderline unbelievable, shit bird. Obviously I know some strange shit is going on, it’s just still fucking insane.”

You couldn’t agree more with him as you attempted to stand up, but your vision blurred and you stumbled. You would’ve fallen if Steve hadn’t immediately shot up to catch and steady you.

“Woah, y/n, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Steve’s eyes were darting all across your face. He wished he could read your mind but you just stared up at him with those eyes and it all remained a mystery.

“I think she needs to get that checked out. She’s losing a lot of blood,” Lucas chimed in, his brow furrowed under his camo bandana. He pointed at your blood soaked sleeve, and everyone simultaneously realized that blood was now dripping down your hand, the fabric no longer able to hold anymore liquid.

“No, no, I’m fine, I swear. Let me just walk it off. I’ll be okay,” you tried to sound confident, but your speech was slurred and there were dark spots invading your vision. Steve gently patted at the side of your face, attempting to keep you conscious.

“Y/n, just stay with us. We’re going to get you help. Just keep those pretty eyes open for me. Y/n, please!” He sounded desperate, and you fought to stay awake. The next thing you knew, he was carrying you, attempting to make it to an ambulance to get your wounds assessed by a real medical professional.

“Hey, we need you to take us to a hospital right now,” Steve spoke quickly as he sprinted to one of the EMTs on scene.

“What happened to her?”

“It’s a long story. Please sir,” Steve’s voice began to falter. The EMT gestured for Steve to hop in the back of the ambulance where he gingerly placed you on the gurney. Lucas and Dustin swiftly followed suit, going to hop into the ambulance, but the EMT stepped in front of the boys to stop them.

“Woah, where do you think you’re going?”

“Sir, if you could please let them come with us. We babysit them and I can’t leave them here by themselves,” Steve argued. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but it was the best he had to work with to convince the guy to take Sinclair and Henderson with them. Dustin looked at him with confusion, mouthing the word “we?” before Steve shot him a warning glance to fix his face before their story was invalidated.

You woke up in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV. You were no longer in your blood soaked clothes, your frame fitted with a hospital gown instead. You looked over to your left arm which had since been stitched up and was now wrapped in gauze, the bleeding slowing to a stop.

“Steve?” You called out, hoping he was still with you.

“Y/n! You’re awake!” He exclaimed rushing over to the side of the bed. You’d been out for the past hour. They had sedated you once you arrived at the hospital, saying it would be easier to tend to your wounds that way.

“Today didn’t really go how I thought it would.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Steve chuckled.

“I mean, my worst fear earlier was that I was going to get fired. I can tell you that I have significantly worse fears than that now,” you hated crying in front of people, with Steve being the last person you wanted to be vulnerable in front of, but you couldn’t help it as your eyes welled up and one stubborn tear slid down your cheek. Steve was quick to wipe it away, his hand reaching down to hold yours.

“I know, but on the bright side, I think you might be the most qualified babysitter in Hawkins,” Steve tried desperately to make you smile. It worked as you let out a wet laugh through your sob.

“I mean, I guess so,” you chuckled, your cheeks heating up at the compliment.

“You guess so? I know so. I don’t know anybody who would fight a monster with that many fucking teeth for some kid.”

“Nancy would,” you reminded him, your voice getting small again. The light in his eyes suddenly dissipated and he let go of your hand.

“Yeah, no, you’re probably right. I guess we’d all make pretty damn good babysitters,” he averted eye contact, preferring to look at his hands. In the time he’d been spending with you, he kind of forgot about Nancy. He felt guilty.

“You should talk to her, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sure she’s probably ready to put whatever happened between the two of you behind her. I mean, you really stepped up when it mattered today,” you added. You weren’t sure why you were saying it because the thought of him going back to Nancy made your heart ache, but maybe you weren’t ready for the alternative. You weren’t ready for him to look at you the way he looked at her. Not that you thought he would, but you just felt the need to create some distance. A lot had happened and this wasn’t the way you wanted him to realize you were something special, something to hold onto.

“Yeah, I guess…I mean, I guess I’ll go talk to her. Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” He looked you in the eye. Instead of seeing annoyance or indifference, you saw something new for a change: sincerity.

“Promise.”

He gave you a small smile, pausing in the doorway as he took one last look at you. You did a small wave goodbye, reassuring him that you’d be okay. With that, he took a breath and turned the corner, making his way back to the hospital waiting room where him and Nancy would patch things up. There was something about you though; something he couldn’t quite get out of his head.

He also had a sinking feeling in his chest that this wasn’t the end of whatever was going on in Hawkins. He had a feeling that the danger would linger, lurking in the shadows. He pushed the feeling aside and smiled weakly at Nancy, moving to sit in the empty chair next to her.

***

a/n: I hope y’all liked it; in theory there’s more to come (like I said earlier it’s gonna be a slow burn so yeah lol). If you feel so inspired to reboot this post that would also be pretty dope and I’d be eternally grateful <3

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five-rivers · 18 days

Text

The next part of my Kingdom of Fish pollfic! Continued from here.

It wasn't the practice he'd been intending, but… “I'm fluent in Elysian Greek.” That was the dialect Pandora's people used.

“Oh, thank goodness,” said the attendant, handing him a pair of scrolls. “People have been requesting these, and of course we don't get many people who know those dialects out this way, so…”

“Right,” said Danny. “Where should I…?”

“Oh, right here! But… oh dear, I'll need to find a booster seat…”

“I don't need one,” said Danny, quickly. “I can just hover.”

Danny needed one.

(But unlike what the attendant said, he didn't look absolutely adorable in it, nor was he perfectly precious when pouting. He wasn't pouting at all!)

He unrolled the original scroll, weighing it down with the scroll weights on the table, then did the same to the blank scroll he was copying onto.

“Are arrangements like this common?” asked Mom.

“What arrangements?” murmured Danny, keeping his voice down.

“Arrangements between groups of ghosts. Between your library and this one.”

“The library network is a bit unusual,” said Danny. The scroll appeared to be a transcription of the life story of an Eleusinian farmer. “The Library of Tongues gets relatively good deals, too, since most libraries need translators at least some of the time. But there are other groups that do similar things. Like, alliances and stuff between Realms. I think the Goblin Market started off that way. And there are the universities. Schools. Museums, too, but I don’t mess with them.”

“Why not?” asked Dad. “I’d think that they’d work closely with translators.”

“Well, yeah, but museums aren’t always very good about asking. And a lot of them get overly interested in things that are one of a kind.” Like Danny himself. He trimmed the quill pen provided to him and dipped it in the inkwell. He started writing.

“Oh, avoiding them is probably a good idea.”

“You don’t have to sound so surprised, Mom,” said Danny. “I have all sorts of good ideas.” He wrote in relative silence for a while, pen scratching at the scroll.

“What’s in that?” asked Dad.

“The writing? Record of someone’s life. Not very long.” He hummed and contemplated how to translate a complicated religious passage.

“Where were they from?”

“And when?” added Mom.

“Eleusis,” said Danny. “And, hm, there’s not a date. Usually stuff like this is pretty old, though.”

“Eleusis. As in the Eleusinian Mysteries?”

“Yeah, I think so. This doesn’t really say anything about them, but I’m sure there’s stuff in the library proper that does. Why?”

Mom sighed. “Sometimes, finding things in the Ghost Zone, it’s a bit like time travel without the time travel. It’s a window into history.”

Danny frowned slightly. It was history, and books were always a bit like that, but it wasn’t as if the person who the scroll was about was necessarily gone. There was a very good chance that they still existed. They had already been dead when they’d dictated this.

Well, it didn’t matter, he supposed. It was very unlikely that they’d ever meet the guy. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him, anyway.

He finished the scroll and rolled it up. He looked up scanning the room for the attendant. His eyes, however, caught on the large man with the bat ears and moth winds. He looked like he was suffering, his skin soft and melty. The thin man didn’t look like he was having a good time, either, fighting with his wings and an over-the-shoulder bag. Oh, and there was something broken on that printing press that he could definitely fix. And then, if he thought about it, this translation hadn’t taken him long at all. He could certainly afford the time to do a few more.

… Danny realized, then, that in addition to not having much of a chance to travel and explore, lately, he hadn’t had much opportunity to indulge his primary Obsession beyond helping in the lab, and now that he wasn’t swamped in the haze of cabin fever, it was itching its way out of his skin.

He was going to be horribly nosy about things. He could just feel it. All the practice in minding his own business he’d gotten in high school was years ago now.

#danny phantom #dannymay 2024 #dannymay #kingdom of fish #pollfic #poll fic #choose your own adventure

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a-fools-circus · 7 months

Text

Salacious Want

Papa II/f!Reader

Desc: after confessing to Secondo how you've spent your time alone, he makes sure you know that the only person allowed to touch you is him Word Count: 6.3k Tags/Warnings: bondage, bdsm, impact play, degredation, edging/orgasm delay/denial, rough sex, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, choking, dom/sub, ownership, creampie, aftercare, bc aftercare is important and i want to showcase that i think Secondo fits the duality of being both a rough dom and a tender loving dom, please note that there is one moment when the reader claims to be overwhelmed, but every moment of sex beforehand and afterwards is consensual with both participants willing

this was originally intended to be a fic for Kinktober. obviously that didn't end up working out, BUT i still wanted to write this bc i liked the idea, and i've yet to give Secondo some love so here it is ! this ended up being very fun to write and way longer than intended so i think it's a win. Secondo stans i'm starting to understand you. enjoy babes <3

also available to read on ao3 here

Minors DNI/NSFW below the cut

It was only a few hours ago when you were sat in the shadowed corner of the confession booth. The only thing separating your figure from Secondo’s was the wooden lattice in the center.

Secondo had been preoccupied with his responsibilities all day. It wasn’t his fault—the workload came with his status as Papa. You didn’t blame him for it, and he was adamant to remind you that he would rather spend his time with you. But you were left on your own. You had to sate your desires—by yourself—in private whenever you had the time. It was boring after the second or third time. Your own touch wasn’t nearly the same as his.

You knew the risks that came with teasing him (most of which would come from him), but the opportunity presented itself perfectly when you realized that he would be hosting confession. You couldn’t help yourself. You had to do something to coerce him, to convince him to focus on you instead. Taunting him with the knowledge that he missed out on your pleasure seemed like the perfect way to rile him up.

Armed with your knowledge, you taunted him from your shadowed corner of the booth, detailing every aspect of your indulgence. Every sound you made, every fantasy that crossed your mind, every part of yourself that you touched—it all came forward in your own kind of confession.

Secondo was good at appearing disinterested. Annoyingly good. You could get on your knees and beg for an hour straight, and he wouldn’t bat an eye. He knew he could make you do whatever he wanted when you were desperate to be touched, and he used it to his advantage often.

But his silence from the other side of the confessional was more than feigned disinterest. You could practically feel the disapproval radiating through the lattice, somehow knowing he was staring with that stern gaze he only gave you. He was most intimidating when he was silent, but it was even more nerve-wracking not to be able to see his reaction.

You made it worse by reminding him of his responsibilities; he had to continue carrying out the rest of confession for the following Siblings. You made your way out, leaving him to stew in his frustration as he was forced to ignore the aching arousal between his legs. That was the nail in the coffin.

Once time granted him respite from his duties, he wasted no time finding you.

Now you were sat on your knees on his bed, bent over with your face in his silken sheets. You were completely bare except for the collar around your neck and the restraints that bound your arms behind your back. You were placed near the edge of the bed, instructed to “keep your ass in the air and stay still.”

You couldn’t see Secondo, but you could sense his steely gaze scanning every inch of your body as he stood behind you. There was no doubt he could see how wet you were; after what felt like hours of sitting here bound, you were getting desperate.

The click of his shoes on the hardwood floor is the only sound in the room. Every echo of the sound makes you throb, your holes clenching around nothing. You’re sure that sight is obvious to him, too. But he says nothing as he looks over your restrained body. The anticipation in the air is thick, heavy on your mind as you wait for him to do or say something—anything.

After what felt like an hour of staring, he finally reached a hand out to brush over your thigh. The cool texture of his leather glove surprises you. Secondo’s touch is featherlight, barely grazing your body as it slowly trails inward. His pace is maddening, and you know he’s doing it on purpose.

The trail of his hand stops when his fingers hover daringly close to the spot he knows you need him most. The space beside you on the mattress sinks as his knee comes to rest there. Secondo leans over you, still barely touching your skin.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” Your senses heighten as the sound of his voice finally caresses your eardrums. You tilt your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him.

He’d discarded his regalia at this point, now wearing only the black turtleneck and dress pants he sported underneath. Just the sight of him made you want to pounce on him and make up for lost time. But you contained your impulses, humoring his demands as the threat of his dominance made you ache.

You swallow hard. The face paint he hadn’t bothered to clean off only made him look more intimidating. “You,” you whisper back to him. “You, Papa.”

“Mm. Bene…” His husky-toned affirmation almost makes you whine. “Then why did you touch it without permission?”

Secondo’s words catch you off guard at first. You start to speak, a tiny squeak leaving your mouth, but the words fail to form. You look away in embarrassment. Your eyes catch on the obvious bulge that strains against the front of his pants.

Suddenly, he grabs a fistful of your hair, tugging firmly until your shoulders rise off of the mattress. Secondo leans in further, his breath warm against your ear. The scent of patchouli and tobacco floods your nostrils. “You will answer when I ask you a question, yes?” He growls, the sound of his voice rumbling in your ears.

You swallow hard, eyes fluttering shut at the pain on your scalp. “Yes, Papa—”

“Look at me.” You do exactly as he says, your body thrumming with desire as your eyes flicker up to meet his. “Why did you touch yourself without Papa’s permission?”

“Because, I…I was desperate, Papa.” Your heart pounds in your chest at your confession. Judging by the way he scoffs, you assume your response isn’t satisfactory.

“Desperate?” Secondo echoes. You nod in agreement. “What, desperate to make yourself cum just so you can tell me what a disobedient, needy whore you are?” The leather of his gloves squeaks as Secondo tightens his grip.

The degrading term sends a surge of arousal through you. The sensation is only heightened by his grip on your hair. “No, no, Papa…I…I just wanted to be touched. I really, really needed it.”

“Oh, is that it, piccolina? You just needed to be touched?” You nod fervently, humming a small “mm-hmm” in reply despite the blatant mockery in his tone. “Perhaps I should remind you how you taunted me, then. The way you told me how hot and wet you were when you fucked yourself? How you came so quickly by your own hand?”

Secondo punctuates his annoyance with another firm tug on your hair. You whine, hissing slightly at the soreness in your neck. “I…I didn’t mean it, Papa,” you manage to choke out. “I just…wanted you to know how much I missed you…How much I need you.”

“It sounds to me that the only thing you ‘need’ is a lesson in restraint, sì?”

A whine rumbles in your throat at his suggestion. You want to fight back, to argue and prove your point, but that would only garner more punishment. You nod in response before realizing your muteness is unsatisfactory. “Yes, Papa.”

Secondo releases your hair and you fall forward, your face planting into the sheets. He rises off of the bed to return to his place behind you. His hands run teasingly over your body with gentle brushes that give you goosebumps. A shiver runs down your spine as his hands move further down.

You barely feel two of his fingers glide through your slit, your wet arousal gathering on his digits. You don’t know when he removed his glove, but you relish in the warmth of his bare hand instead of the cool leather. Your hips roll towards his touch in an attempt to gain any of the friction he seems to deny you. Your wrists twist in their restraints. His fingers spread you open to reveal your entrance.

“Look how wet you are,” he taunts. The leash attached to your collar rustles before being pulled taut. Your head jerks back, your shoulders lifting off of the bed as your back arches. You can feel Secondo’s cock—hard and straining against his pants—as he presses against you. “Open.” You hear him growl.

The demand sends a wave of heat through you. You comply, but you’re barely able to part your lips before his hand moves away from your cunt and his fingers force their way down your throat. You fight off the urge to choke in order to remain obediently willing.

“You wished to show me how much you needed me, sì?” You nod, humming around his fingers. “Show me, then. Take my hand like you would take my cock.”

You eagerly heed Secondo’s words. Your mouth sucks and licks his fingers with enthusiasm, savoring the taste of your own arousal as it coats your tongue. You ignore the way your body aches from the awkward position he’s contorted you in. Saliva seeps from your lips and dribbles down your chin, escaping you as you swirl your tongue around his digits the same way you do with his cock.

“Greedy little mouth…” Secondo growls as he watches you intently. His hand stays firmly enveloped in your mouth as he presses his body against yours. You groan around his fingers when you feel his cock press against your ass. “Look at you, drooling all over yourself, pretending my cock is down your throat. You look so desperate.”

You shift on the bed, trying to clench your legs together in a desperate attempt for friction at the sound of his degrading tone. Secondo notices immediately. His hand slides out of your mouth, not caring that strands of saliva spill from your wet lips, and delivers a harsh smack to the swell of your ass. The sound echoes in the room. The sudden sting makes you cry out, your eyes widening in surprise.

A firm tug on the leash makes you choke momentarily. “Keep your legs spread,” Secondo growls, his hand reaching down to tug at your thigh and force your legs apart while the other pulls the leash taut. “If you can’t be good, you aren’t getting touched.”

Your hands tug at their restraints, fists clenching with frustration. “I’m…I’m sorry, Papa. I’ll be good, I promise. Please touch me, please.” Your words come out in a flurry, rushed and desperate, as you pant for breath.

Secondo’s hand releases the leash, allowing you to fall forward again. His hand immediately snakes around your waist to land on the space between your thighs. Saliva-wettened fingers land on your clit and swirl in agonizingly slow circles. Your breath catches in your throat, a shaky gasp leaving your lips. Your hips jerk into his hand as a silent encouragement.

Another sudden spank takes your breath away. His hand stops its movements and you whine. “Stay still. You’ll only take what I give you, sì?”

You nod, sighing dejectedly. “Yes, Papa.”

It takes all of your strength to keep your hips in place and resist the urge to grind into his hand when he continues to swirl his fingers. Your thighs tense and your mouth falls open with whimpers and moans.

Secondo barely increases his pace at the sound of your pleasure. Your hands ball into fists in their restraints, a low groan ripping from your throat. You curse, desperately using every ounce of control to keep your hips still.

“Mia piccola puttana…she can be good when she wants to be, hmm?” He tilts his head, watching your pleasure-contorted features. His hand speeds up slightly and you gasp.

“Yes…Papa…Fuck…”

“She likes it, doesn’t she?”

“Yes…Yes, Papa, I like it…” Warmth pools in your abdomen, winding tighter with each swirl of his fingers. Your thighs begin to shake as you lose the battle of staying still. Your hips thrust desperately forward, eager to hit the orgasm that lingers so close to fruition. “Please, Papa. It feels so good…fuck..!”

Secondo pulls his hand away mere seconds before the warmth spills over. You cry out, a high-pitched whine ripping from your throat as your orgasm slowly dissipates. Your hips buck forward as if trying to chase his touch.

“Why did you—?”

“You don’t deserve to cum yet.” His voice is stern, leaving no room for argument no matter how badly you want to. “Poverina…you did not think I would give you what you want that easily, did you?” Your lips part to respond, but the words get caught in your throat. “Such a greedy whore…you made yourself cum and you think you deserve it by my hand?”

“I’m…I’m sorry, Papa. I won’t do it again, I promise.” You whine, grinding your ass against him in a silent plea. The roll of your hips is slow as you feel the outline of his rigid length through his pants.

Another harsh slap comes down on the swell of your ass. You gasp, the sting coursing through you and halting your movements. “Now you think you deserve my cock?” Secondo’s grip digs into the skin of your hips as he accuses you, his grasp so tight you can almost feel the bruises begin to form.

“No, no, Papa. I don’t.”

“No, you don’t.” He taunts. His hand massages the red handprint blooming on your ass, soothing the lingering sting. “Are you going to start being good for Papa?”

“Yes! Yes, I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.”

“Bene…” He gropes your ass, the tight grip making the welts forming on your skin sting. “Now be a good girl and ask for it. Nicely.”

“Please, Papa…I want you to touch me. Please touch me.”

Secondo scoffs at your plea. “Now I know you can beg better than that.”

A whine builds in your throat, but you swallow hard to contain it. “Please, please, please, Papa. Please touch me. I need it so fucking bad.” You pant. “I need you. I need your touch. Please.”

Without warning, two fingers push past your entrance and stretch you open. You gasp at the sensation, cursing as Secondo pumps his fingers at an unrelenting pace that gives you no time to adjust or savor the feeling. Your nails dig into your palms as you whine at each thrust of his hand.

“Fuck! Yes, yes…” You cry out, your cunt throbbing around his fingers. “Thank you, Papa. Fuck me…”

Secondo’s other hand holds you in place, gripping your hip so tight you think it’ll leave bruises. His fingers curl, searching for that sweet spot that’ll leave you crying out. As soon as he hits it, you curse in a loud gasp, your back arching to push your hips into his touch. He massages the spot with each pump of his hand, sending waves of pleasure through you that make your toes curl.

“Fuck, Papa! Yes, yes, yes. Right there. Right there.” Your moans fill the room, your cries reverberating off the ornate walls. Each plea is louder than the last. Your arms tug at their restraints, your hands flexing, desperate to hold on to something, anything.

Secondo groans, his voice husky. “Desperate whore, all worked up by my hand. You love it, don’t you?” You nod and mutter a small “mm-hmm”, too overwhelmed with his pace to form a proper response. “Fottuta troia,” he growls, taking a fistful of your hair and tugging until your shoulders lift off the bed. He leans over you, his fingers still pumping with their unwaveringly strong pace. “You answer your Papa, sì?”

You wince, whining at the mixture of pain and pleasure that courses through you. “Yes, Papa. I…fuck—I’m sorry, Papa,” you manage to squeak out between moans.

“Tell me how much you like it. Tell me how good my hand feels.”

“It feels…so fucking good, Papa,” you whine. Your words aren’t enough, evident by the way he tugs on your hair again for encouragement. His lack of response has you on edge. “You fuck me so good. I-I love the way your hand feels in my pussy.”

The tight grip on your hair is unrelenting. The awkward position you’re held in makes your back sore, but the pleasure granted to you overrides any discomfort. Warmth builds in your abdomen yet again, swirling and coiling with the need for release. Your thighs tense, your walls tightening around his fingers as your pants grow quick and loud.

“Oh, fuck…I’m…P-please…” Your voice quivers as you beg. “Please, Papa, can I cum this time?”

Secondo nuzzles against your neck, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks. “Oh, dolcezza,” his words seem sweet, but you recognize the mocking in his tone. “Asking like that, you almost have me convinced.” His fingers pull out of you, a wet, squelching noise accompanying their retreat. “Almost.”

The whine that escapes you is even louder, even more desperate than before. “No, Papa…why did you…” You stammer and whine, unable to form a complete sentence. You almost feel like you could cry as the coil of warmth slowly dissipates. He releases your hair, a grunt escaping you as you fall forward onto the mattress and he moves away. “Please touch me again, I can’t…I need to cum.” Your hips roll in the air, desperate for some form of contact.

“You need it?” You hear him echo, almost as if he’s mocking your plea.

You nod your head and hum a small “mm-hmm” with a whine. “Yes, Papa, I need it. I need to cum so fucking bad.” You shiver when you feel his fingertips reconnect with your heat for just a moment, barely grazing over your folds. “Please, just keep fucking me. I was so close, I—”

Secondo cuts you off with a harsh spank, the sound echoing in the room. His hands hold tightly onto your hips, dragging you backward until your ass is flush against his body. And his achingly hard cock that strains behind his pants.

“Greedy whore thinks she deserves to cum already…” He mutters as his hands trace the swell of your ass.

“No…no, Papa, I didn’t mean that…” You pant, your breath heavy. “I just…fuck, I want it so bad. Please…”

He goes silent as his hands continue to trace gently over your skin. The silence heightens both your nerves and your desperation. Finally, his gruff voice breaks the silence. “Tell me again, cara: who does this pussy belong to?”

“You, Papa.”

“Bene.” He presses his body more firmly against you. A quiet whimper escapes your lips at the feeling of his cock so close yet trapped beneath layers. “This pussy is mine. Mine to use and fuck whenever I feel like it.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Say it.”

“My…my pussy is yours, Papa. Yours to use, yours to fuck.” You swear you feel his cock throb behind his pants.

His torso presses against your restrained wrists as Secondo leans over you. If you weren’t so afraid of being punished and denied any longer, you’d grab ahold of his shirt and tug him closer. His hands move to your hips, where his nails dig into your skin. “You cum when I tell you to. When I decide you deserve it.” His voice is a sultry whisper, like a smooth velvet that wraps around your senses. It makes you want to forget about your own desires.

You nod, sighing at his words. “Yes, Papa.”

“If you pull another stunt like that—taunting me with your impatience—I’ll tie you up and make sure you don’t cum for hours. Do you understand?”

The thought makes you shiver in a mixture of arousal and fear. You swallow hard, nodding your head again. “Y-yes Papa…”

“Are you going to be good for Papa?” His hips roll against you, and while the friction isn’t stimulating for you, it makes you gasp nonetheless.

“Yes,” you choke out. “Yes, Papa. I’ll be good. I promise.”

“No more touching yourself without Papa’s permission, sì?”

“Yes, Papa.”

His hands squeeze your hips, but the gesture is more playful than painful. “Molto bene.”

Secondo ruts against you, dragging the bulge in his pants along the curve of your ass. He groans before moving to grind against your slick heat. The wetness of your arousal seeps through and stains the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less.

One of his hands slides up the arch of your back, avoiding your restrained wrists and caressing your spine. “You want Papa’s cock, sì?”

“Yes. Yes…please, Papa,” you whine breathlessly.

His other hand trails down your hip and over the swell of your ass before groping you firmly. His grasp is rough, making the welts that have formed from his spanks sting. “Beg for it, puttana.”

You sigh in frustration at his words. “Please, Papa. Please put your cock in me.” You fight with every ounce of restraint to keep your hips still. You want nothing more than to rub and bounce your ass against him, to hear him groan and curse at the friction. But you know doing so would earn you another punishment. “I want it—I need it—so fucking bad. Please, please.”

Secondo leans away from your body. The loss of his touch leaves you feeling exposed and vulnerable, yearning harder for him. “She needs it, she says…” You hear him mock you as the faint sound of a zipper catches your attention.

You groan at the familiar feeling of his cock as the rigid and warm flesh lands on your ass. Secondo wraps one hand around the base, his other hand gripping your hip as he guides his cock to the space between your legs. He barely brushes against you, only allowing enough contact to cover himself in your slick arousal. The light friction makes you whine.

It’s not until you feel the head of his cock rub against your swollen, neglected clit that you stop whining and start panting. It’s even harder to stay still, especially when his pace is so languidly slow.

Your toes curl with strain. “Papa, please…I can’t…I can’t wait anymore…”

Another harsh spank comes down on your ass, making you hiss. “You can, and you will.” He growls. “Be good.” He continues the light and gentle grinding, his hands moving to rest on your ass and spread you open for his viewing pleasure. “Sathanas,” he curses, the sound making you throb and clench around nothing, which he certainly notices. “Così bagnato per me...you are a desperate little whore, aren’t you?”

“Yes, fuck yes, Papa.” Your nails dig into your palms as your body tenses in anticipation. “Please give it to me.”

He slides his cock along your folds, moving back and forth in long, sensual strokes. He pulls back to guide the head of his cock to sit at your entrance and grazes it teasingly, never pushing forward with enough force to enter you. You know he’s savoring the way you whimper and squirm. You groan, the sound turning into a whine.

“Please, Papa…” Your voice is breathless at this point, so desperate you could cry. “Please, please, I can’t wait anym—Ah!”

You’re cut off by his sudden, forceful thrust forward as he buries himself inside you with one movement. The stretch of your walls stings, making you hiss and curse. Your wrists tug at their restraints and your thighs go tense as he immediately starts a rough and unrelenting pace, giving you no time to acclimate to his intrusion.

Each thrust is met with one of your loud and desperate moans. Secondo runs his hands over the curve of your hips, his thumbs rubbing gently over your skin in a manner that completely opposes his rough movements. He groans, the sound sending heat to your core, and you feel him lean over your body.

The leash suddenly goes taut. Your head is lifted off of the mattress, strangling your moans as they leave your mouth. “This is what you wanted, sì?” He growls into your ear, punctuating his question with a set of firm thrusts. “To be fucked hard and rough like the whore you are?”

“Yes! Fuck…fuck, yes…” You cry out, voice strained against the collar around your throat. “Thank you, Papa, thank you…Lucifer below, it feels…so good…”

He leans back and pulls the leash with him. His free hand holds your hip tight, his grip strong enough to make you ache. He groans, cursing something in Italian under his breath, before spanking you again. Your walls flutter around him at the pain. “Dillo di nuovo. Tell Papa how good his cock feels.” His voice is low and rough, practically a growl, as he pounds into you.

“Your cock feels so fucking good, Papa…” Your eyes flutter shut as your head becomes light. Your moans and whines are guttural, choked out by your collar. “I love it…I love the way you fuck me…Don’t stop, Papa.”

“Oh, I don’t plan on it, puttana.” Secondo punctuates the word with a particularly rough thrust, making you cry out with a strangled moan. “You’re going to cum for me—when I tell you to.”

The room fills with sounds of your pleasure; moans and cries leaving your lips and the repeated, quick slapping of skin against skin. His own groans hit your ears and excite you further. He pounds into you with a relentless rhythm, quick and hard thrusts that make your body tremble under him.

“Papa…I’m gonna—fuck…” You feel your thighs shake, unsteady as the warmth in your abdomen tightens.

“Not yet.” He snaps back. He tugs on the leash again, making your head lighter as air escapes your lungs. “Solo un’altro po…”

It’s almost impossible to hold on any longer. The heat that swirls in your abdomen coils tighter and tighter with each thrust, the impending release crescendoing with no sign of stopping. All you can choke out is a quiet, strained “please” in between his powerful thrusts.

Secondo groans at your tight and wet heat, the sound turning into a slight chuckle that reverberates in your ear as he leans in. “Poverina…you need it, don’t you?” His voice is light and sweet despite the mockery in his tone. You nod before muttering a small “yes, Papa” in return. “Cum for me, tesoro. Cum on Papa’s cock.” He growls in your ear, his pace never wavering.

It takes only a few more of his rough thrusts to send you over the edge. The sound that leaves you is one you didn’t know you could make: a loud and guttural moan built up from constant denial that spills involuntarily from your lips. Your entire body tenses and trembles underneath him as waves of pleasure make you throb and clench around him. His pace never changes, working you through the high until your muscles go lax.

His thrusts slow down until they become slow rolls of his hips against your weak body. He releases the leash, letting your head fall against the mattress with a soft thud. His hands trail over your breasts as he leans to place a small, gentle kiss on your back between your shoulder blades.

“I’ve never heard you make those pretty sounds before.” He mutters against your skin. His hands knead your chest as he continues to roll his hips against you languidly.

A weak smile forms on your face. “I…I told you I was desperate,” you pant between heavy breaths. You groan with each of his thrusts, the leisurely pace doing nothing to soothe the overstimulation. “Thank you, Papa. Thank you for—ah—letting me cum…”

His hands trail down your body, his touch tracing your curves before returning to your hips as he leans back. “Oh, I’m not done with you yet, dolcezza.”

You barely process his words before he pounds into you again. He wastes no time finding another intense and rough rhythm. Your body tenses as the overstimulation makes you whine, your hands balling into fists as they tug at their restraints. You cry out, your body shaking under the power of his thrusts.

“Fuck, Papa! Shit, shit, shit…”

Secondo’s deep groans fill the air, complimented by the wet sounds of sex. “Merda. I didn’t think you could get any tighter.” One of his hands lands on the small of your back, purposefully avoiding your bound wrists.

Every thrust sends a shock wave of pleasure through you, surges of overstimulating ecstasy that course through every inch of your body. It’s an overwhelming sensation, making every muscle tense and every moan and whimper more desperate than the last. Your noises only spur him on, each pathetic sound met with a powerful thrust that makes you whine louder.

“Papa…fuck, I can’t…it’s too much…” Your knuckles turn white as you ball your hands into fists. The overstimulation hurts, but the pain only adds to the pleasure he gives you. You trust him enough to know he’d drop everything if you were genuinely hurt. But right now, he knew you had no interest in stopping.

The leash suddenly goes taut, your head lifting off of the mattress again at his sudden tug. He spanks you again, your cry strangled by his sharp tug on the leash. “Fucking take it,” you hear him growl. Another spank makes you whine. “You’ll take my cock until I’m done with you, puttana.”

You groan at his words, your back arching into his thrusts. “Y-yes, P-Papa…”

His thrusts turn sharp and quick as he ruts against you. It’s primal and needy—almost animalistic—the way he moves. Each slap of his hips against your ass makes you hiss, the welts left from his hand stinging at every movement. Your body remains tense, every drag of his cock along your walls causing you to clench around him.

“Così fottutamente buono...questa figa è perfetta, tesoro…” You can barely hear his low, husky voice over the sound of skin meeting skin. Secondo tugs again on the leash, making you groan as your head jerks back. He leans down until his breath hits your ear. “You’re going to cum again for me, dolcezza.” His tone is clear—his words are a command, not a suggestion. “I want to feel this pussy milk my cock.”

The vulgarity in his words makes you whine. “Yeah…yes, Papa—fuck, I wanna milk your cock dry.”

“Sì, that’s what you want, giusto? You want Papa to cum in you and fill you up?” He growls in your ear, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

“Fuck, yes. Yes, Papa, I want your cum…Please, pump me full.” You strain to speak against the tight collar, but your plea is loud and desperate.

You can hear his breathing growing heavier. You can tell he’s getting close. He shoves his cock as deep as he can as his thrusts turn into forceful rolls of his hips as he grinds against you. The friction makes the marks on your ass sting.

Secondo’s free hand snakes around the curve of your hips, wasting no time finding your swollen and aching clit. His fingers swirl in time with each movement of his hips. The rhythmic pace between his deep penetration and the delicious friction of his hand makes you writhe under him.

You curse, your hips jerking wildly into his hand and against his hips, too overstimulated to find a rhythm. “Papa…Papa..!” You cry out and whine as your eyes screw shut.

He knows exactly how to make you tremble, all of the movements that send you closer to the edge and make you melt under his touch. The repeated clenching of your cunt makes him groan and curse.

“Fuck, Papa! I’m gonna…Sathanas, I’m gonna cum again, shit…” You feel your thighs shake and tremble, every muscle in your body tensed as the heat in your abdomen returns, mounting to a high.

Secondo pants, tugging on the leash again. “Dai, dai…cum for me, cum for Papa.”

The dual pleasure leaves you unable to resist, the sensations overwhelming your body. Your second orgasm is even more intense than the last. Your body shakes and your moans turn into whines as the pleasure leaves you overwhelmed. You don’t even notice the few tears that escape as you writhe and tremble. He works you through the high, his hand swirling perfectly against your sensitive core to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. He only removes his hand once your whines turn to hisses.

The continuous, rough movements enacted on your overwhelmed body borders on pain. But you know he’s close, evident by his heavy breathing and groans as he pounds into you with the last of his strength. His grip is tight on your hip as the other hand holds your leash taut to keep your body in place.

With one final powerful thrust, Secondo stills as he spills himself into you. You feel every kick and pulse of his cock as he fills you. He groans, growling something in Italian, but you’re too far gone to comprehend it. He releases his grip on the leash, allowing your head to fall to the mattress.

Your body goes lax as he pulls out of you. Both of you grunt at the sensation. A wet squelch fills the air as you whine at the emptiness, too accustomed to his presence despite how overwhelming it feels. Your hips fall flat on the bed as you pant for breath and groan at the soreness in your back.

A wave of relief courses through you as your wrists are released from their restraints. The ache in your shoulders is painfully evident now that you can move freely. You roll onto your side, blinking heavily as you look up to see Secondo’s face.

His paint is smeared in various places, streaked by beads of sweat. His chest heaves with his own heavy breaths. You get the urge to scold him for exerting himself at his age.

He leans over you, reaching down to unfasten the collar around your neck. You instinctively tilt your head to make the process easier. You sigh when the garment is removed, allowing your skin to breathe and give your neck a break. Your eyes are heavy as you watch him place the collar and restraints on the nightstand with care.

Secondo leans down again, running a hand through your hair. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Un momento, bella,” he mutters against your skin before leaning away.

You watch as he walks in the direction of the adjoining bathroom before he disappears past the doorway. A small smile graces your face. It was easy to get intimidated by him, by his steely gaze and guarded demeanor, but he showed you a tenderness that no one else could match.

It was never as evident as it is in these moments. When he walks back into the room with a damp washcloth in his hand, your heart swells. He always takes the time to treat you so gently after sex, especially when it’s rough.

He cleans you carefully, running the washcloth over your flushed skin. He moves you with a sense of care and worship, like you’ll shatter beneath his touch if he isn’t careful. The warmth of the wet fabric is soothing, making you sigh with each stroke. He occasionally leans down to place kisses along your skin.

Once you’re clean, he lays the cloth on the nightstand. You know he’ll retrieve it later, probably after you’ve drifted off to sleep. He guides you to lay against the pillows, helping you move in your sore state. You groan at the aching pain in your body—the sting of your ass, the soreness in your shoulders, the aching of your back. He runs a hand over your thigh, fingers barely grazing your skin as his touch trails over the swell of your ass.

“You’re still red,” Secondo remarks. You feel the slight tingle of discomfort, your skin warm from the welts that have formed. “You must still be sore.”

You can hear the concern in voice, almost as if he regrets what he did. “It’s alright. It doesn’t hurt that bad. I’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

You smile at him, at his worry. “Yes, I’m sure.” You extend an arm towards him, beckoning him closer with your hand. “Now come here. I want you to lay with me.”

“Oh, is that right?” He teases. Despite his sarcastic tone, he’s already kicking off his shoes. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes. It is. You need your rest too, old man.”

You hear him scoff before he climbs onto the bed and situates himself beside you. “‘Old man’, huh?” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close until your back is flush against his chest. He’s careful to keep distance between your hips so as not to irritate your welted skin. “Stai attento, mia cara. You wouldn’t want another punishment so soon, would you,”

You giggle at his words, laying your hand atop his arm and pulling him closer. You groan as you settle against the bed, attempting to allow your aching body to relax. You feel his arm move away from your waist. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, his thumb massaging firm circles into your sore muscles. The gesture makes you smile, your head turning back to look at him.

“You don’t have to do that, Papa.”

“Oh, of course I do,” he responds, his hand working towards your shoulder blades. His lips brush over your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “Mia piccola bellezza was so good for her Papa. She deserves to be taken care of.” His lips land on your neck, trailing kisses down to your shoulder. “You’re always so good for Papa,” he mutters between kisses.

He leans in to kiss you, and you turn to meet his movement. The gesture sends sparks through you. You smile against his lips, pressing into his kiss and relishing in the warmth that blooms in your chest.

You don’t know when you fell asleep after that. You laid there, allowing him to tend and care for you however he felt necessary. Not every touch was meant to massage or tend to your sore muscles, but you didn’t care. Just having his hands on your body was enough.

This was how he showed his love to you, and you found nothing but comfort and security in his arms.

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