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#whispering corridors 6: the humming
smittenskitten · 1 year
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WHISPERING CORRIDORS 6: THE HUMMING (2021) dir. Lee Mi Young
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hyeonsooya · 2 years
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KIM HYEONSOO as KIM HAYOUNG stills cut.
WHISPERING CORRIDORS 6: THE HUMMING (2021) — dir. lee mi young
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lookforastronauts · 10 months
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#137. Whispering Corridors 6: The Humming (2020) 여고괴담 여섯번째 이야기: 모교
dir. Lee Mi-young dop. Sung Seung-taek
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rye-views · 1 year
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Whispering Corridors 6: The Humming (2021) dir. Lee Mi Young. 여고괴담 여섯번째 이야기: ��교 (2021) dir. 이미영. 7.4/10
I would not recommend this movie to my friends. I would not rewatch this movie.
This had the most real-life plotline but was bad at showing spooky stuff.
It must be such a hassle to clean up all the broken glass from the window break. Went into the luggage and everything. I honestly thought it'd be more shards than bits of pieces, but this is worse.
The principal disgusts me. This is just like the dynamic in Pyramid Game. You're also telling me the principal survived?? Boo.
Kim Seo Hyung really aged elegantly. Bibi is here.
This restroom is so disgusting, I can't. We're just slipping and sliding on this floor.
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thus-spoke-lo · 1 year
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Pain Management // Trafalgar Law x afab!reader // NSFW/18+
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Previous Chapter // Next Chapter Series Masterlist // AO3 Link // Playlist
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Chapter 6: Medical Malpractice
Chapter Summary: The lines begin to blur between doctor and patient, captain and subordinate, as your "treatment" plan starts to slowly drift away from medical care and towards something else, something you can't yet name. The thorny roots of desire that have you and Law wrapped in a prickly embrace start to push you both towards things you shouldn't feel and risks you shouldn't take.
Chapter CW: afab reader, no pronouns used; gendered pet names [ex. "good girl"]; extremely dubious consent; emotional and sexual coercion/manipulation; abuse of authority [doctor/patient]; Stockholm syndrome-like behavior in reader; vaginal fingering; angst
WC: 5.4k
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Something had embedded itself in you—a thorny aberration trapped deep within your flesh, woven into the fiber of your muscles, tangled with every nerve—that seemed to possess you when you would creep down the halls late into the night, your head on a swivel as you approached your captain’s office. The soft knock at Law’s door, the impatient shifting from foot to foot, the furtive glances up and down the corridor as you waited with growing unease, a maddeningly urgent heat pooling between your thighs—it wasn’t possible that you were still in control.
An unknown something must have roused you from sleep, coiled its way around your spine and was manipulating you like a marionette, steering you on jerky limbs. But you knew the unspeakable truth: that it was you and only you, and your endless meditations on Law and the power of his healing hands, unable to rid yourself of the ghost of his touch on your skin, that compelled you to his door.
It was almost laughable how easy it had become to blur the already murky lines between doctor and patient, captain and subordinate—to grasp the veil of professionalism, the one that had already begun to lower that night in his room, in between your trembling fingers and tug it down just a little further with every clandestine visit. You’d stand there in his doorway, wistful and doe-eyed, complaining of some unknown ache, silently pleading him to invite you inside and give you release with the ministrations of his skilled hands. Law would look you over with a lascivious grin, holding his fingers against your neck and make a show of checking your pulse, grasping your slacked jaw between his thumb and forefinger to hold you steady while his eyes perused the contours of your face.
“Poor thing, did I not do a thorough job earlier?” he’d hum as he took hold of your wrist and shepherded you inside his dimly-lit room. He’d close the door behind you, quickly moving to shove the precarious stacks of papers and books on his cluttered desk to one side, making a space perfectly sized just for you. The illusion of formality afforded to you in the exam room was unneeded in the quiet perversion of his private office, and he’d lean against the wall, thumbs hooked in his pockets, his curious eyes wandering over you as you’d undress for him; you grew less and less humiliated each time, almost relishing in his shameless glances. Soon, hushed words of praised would be murmured in your ear, his ungloved fingers crooked inside you, thumb idly playing with your clit, as he started to pull you apart piece by piece.
“You’re just so needy for me, aren’t you?” he’d whisper, holding your face in a firm grasp, squishing the fat of your cheeks and forcing your attentions up towards him, urging you to meet his unceasing gaze. His steely eyes darted over you as he studied every twitch of your lips, every flare of your nostrils, every upward quirk of your eyebrows as he thrust his long fingers into you, analyzing every reaction as you pulsed around him. He’d subtly adjust his movements now and again, adapting to your responses, letting your body set the pace for him; every sigh he earned from you only the made the salacious grin on his lips stretch even wider, your subdued moans a sordid prize he wanted to win.
Your trembling legs dangled off the edge of his desk, and the temptation to wrap them around Law’s waist, to pull him into you and grind against him until he had no choice but to succumb and replace his hard fingers with his even harder arousal, never far from your mind. His quiet groans, barely audible over the lewd sounds of him plunging inside your drenched cunt over and over again, only helped to unravel you more and more, coaxing you ever closer to the edge of ruin. Eventually, he’d place his free hand on the back of your head and he’d tenderly guide you forward, inviting you to muffle your sobs in his shoulder while you clenched around his fingers, his low voice reciting, “That’s my good girl” as you rode out your waves on his hand.
Afterwards, as you sat jelly-legged and lost in the haze of desire, he’d clean you up with gentle motions, the rough towel still verging on too much against your sensitive cunt. You’d gaze out the large glass window next to you, watching the marine life drift by, and wonder if they had witnessed your covert liaison, smiling to yourself at the thought of some fluorescent fish being the unwitting keeper of your secrets.
Most nights, Law would invite you to brace yourself on his broad chest while your boneless legs somehow were maneuvered into your crumpled sweatpants. But some nights—nights when you had keened extra sweetly for him, when your trembling fingers had unwittingly wrapped around his biceps to brace your quaking body, when “I need you” came instinctively tumbling out of you like a prayer as you approached your high—he’d smile at you with half-lidded eyes and implore you to stay with him.
“I think I should keep you under observation tonight,” he’d whisper into your skin, lips almost brushing your forehead, his words outlined in the color of his own longing. You were just so very weak, he’d insist as he grasped you upper arms and lowered you to the floor—you were so clearly in need of his undivided attention that it would be tantamount to malpractice if he let you wander out into the halls in such a vulnerable state. He’d stroke your cheek, his fingers still smelling of you, and remind you that you had to be as quiet as possible; no one could know that you were huddled under his desk, wrapped in the plush red blanket that had covered the back of his chair. You had to be careful, he’d say, or else the crew might start to have notions that he was playing favorites with the newest recruit; you wondered every time if he was taking care in reminding you or himself.
You’d lay there draped in his warmth while he became immersed in his pile of work; it was charming and a little strange, you thought, to be so nonchalantly observing him writing away, flipping through pages of heavy volumes, as though he hadn’t just defiled you in that exact spot. His tired eyes would occasionally drift from his stack of open books and settle upon you, a warm flush spreading across his cheeks when you’d return his gaze with a drowsy smile. He’d mumble something barely coherent about having needed to check and make sure you were resting well before clearing his throat and focusing his attention on his cluttered mess of papers again, but not before shifting in his seat and somehow finding that his legs were resting against you. When the steady motion of the ship and the soft whir of its engine became a mechanical lullaby, Law would carefully push his chair back and settle down on the floor next to you, cross-legged and hunched over, distractedly skimming through stacks of notes.
“Don’t worry, I’ll wake you so you don’t sleep too long,” he’d say as he extended one arm over and patted you on the hip, letting his hand settle there, a gentle weight that slowly blanketed you in a comfortable affection. Inevitably, you’d be startled awake from dreamless sleep by a sharp snore and find Law passed out next to you, his book laying open somewhere near his head, his long limbs stretched out at impossible angles. You’d watch him carefully through bleary eyes before reaching a hand out from your blanket and setting it on top of his, your fingertips lazily tracing the tattoos on the top of his hand, exploring the hills and valleys of his knuckles, walking up the sinew of his forearm until he began to stir. You’d quickly settle yourself back under the covers, drifting in and out of consciousness and fitful dreams of Law, until he’d eventually wake you with a shake and the sound of your name gently rolling off his tongue.
He'd linger at the door with you, blinking slowly with weary eyes, and you’d feel the thorny obsession start to come alive again and wrap itself around your limbs. You’d thank him for letting you stay, feel the heat rising in your ears as you tried to silently will him to press his lips to yours before you left, and slip out before you found yourself uttering things better left unspoken. The halls felt longer and narrower as you’d shuffle off to your quarters, holding your breath as you’d slink back down the staircase, directing your muddled thoughts towards what was for breakfast that morning, or trying to recall where you’d left off in your navigation notes that you’d carelessly left in the library—anything to keep the twisted roots of some unnamed emotion that felt profound and painful and all-encompassing from taking hold in the garden of your heart.
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“I thought I might find you here.”
You glanced up from the pile of laundry on the counter to see Law’s lanky frame taking up the doorway, a condescending grin carved into the angles of his face.
“Did you need something, captain?” You leaned down and rifled through the basket of clothes on the floor, trying to keep your eyes and hands on anything but Law. “I don’t think I have anything of yours to pick up just yet.”
“I wasn’t needing anything in particular,” he said distractedly, running his fingers along the top of the door-frame. “I was just coming by to check on you.”
“Oh? How come?” The humidity hanging in the air felt abruptly oppressive, settling on you with the weight of twenty wet blankets.
“Well, I don’t know what kind of doctor I’d be if I didn’t keep an eye on my patients.” He slunk into the room, approaching you with the unhurried, deliberate gait of a predator trying not to frighten its prey. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m alright.” Your eyes darted around the small space while your heart fluttered wildly; the laundry room had no door, and any of your crewmates could easily walk by and see you shrinking into the wall as Law’s presence started to overtake you. If they saw how he looked at you, how you started to cave in on yourself in his shadow, it would be painfully apparent this was more than just their beloved captain giving orders. It was already a tenuous situation just existing in Law’s orbit on the ship—you worried that your crewmates could see the depravity written on your face when you looked at him, that they could smell the desperation on you whenever Law was around. The last thing you needed was for any one of them to start to put the pieces together and see the full picture of yours and Law’s increasingly precarious entanglement.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, tilting his head at you in that way that made you feel a little smaller, a little weaker, just the way you wanted to be. “You seemed a little unwell at dinner.”
“I’m fine, really.” You had felt unwell at dinner, but only because his hungry gaze kept settling on you from across the room, his piercing glare unwavering as he pushed the food around on his plate.
He pressed forward, backing you against the wall, his head tilting as he spoke, looking at you in that way—that damnably patronizing way that made you feel like you were made only to surrender to him. “You don’t have to keep things from me. You know you can trust me, don’t you?”
“Captain, please,” you quietly implored, able to taste the rising dread that settled in your mouth. You anxiously glanced around him, thinking you had heard the distant sounds of conversation reverberating in the hall. “Not here.”
“Come with me, then.” A depraved smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he wrapped his long fingers around your wrist, pulled you across the room to a storage closet, hastily ushering you inside and closing the door behind you, punctuated by a soft click.
The air was heavy with the chemical smell of cleaning supplies and laundry detergent, the only light a tiny sliver creeping in from under the door. You quickly found your back pressed against a wall and your fingers groped along the smooth surface for a light switch, finding nothing but the handle of a mop. The muffled rhythm of the washing machines could barely mask the sound of your pulse roaring in your ears, but it was enough to keep you from sensing precisely where Law stood.
“Now,” he rumbled in the darkness, “how are you? Truly?”
“Look, I already told you—”
“You don’t have to lie to me.” The warmth of his body suddenly radiated near you, his voice getting closer, reverberating deeper in your chest. “I always know when you need me.”
“I’m okay, really I am.” You hoped the near pitch-black of the room was enough to mask your fabrication. At least here he couldn’t see the way your chest shook with every heartbeat, or how your hands trembled, or how you chewed on your lower lip, trying to stem the urge to fumble in the darkness and let your hands find their way onto his muscled frame. Perhaps it was the heavy scent of cleaning products that were making you start to feel lightheaded, but you suspected it was the desire that flourished between your thighs, pulsing with every second of the unknown, that had you unsteady on your feet.
“You’re sure?” His forearm brushed you as he placed a hand on the wall behind you, caging you from the side. “You’re sure nothing is aching? Nothing’s feeling especially sensitive? Maybe feeling a little feverish?”
You exhaled a shivering “fuck” sharply under your breath. “I-I guess I do feel a little—a little achy.”
“I thought so.” His hand appeared as if from nowhere and drifted over your midsection, trailing across your hip, down your thigh, searching for something; he found your hand and nudged it, letting rest against yours. “Why don’t you show me where?”
A moment of hesitation passed, knowing you needed to stop—this was risky, even compared to the possibility of being seen slipping out of Law’s office in the early hours of morning—but reason never stood a chance against the stranglehold of arousal that gripped you whenever Law was near. You finally took his hand in yours, slowly guiding it over your body, letting it come to rest at the apex of your thighs. “Right here.”
“Good girl. See, was that so hard?” He pushed his fingertips up into you until you let out a soft yelp at the delicious pressure on your clit, the rigid seam of your jumpsuit adding extra friction that made your thighs clench together. “You have to let me take care of you. Don’t I always make you feel better?”
“Of course you do.” The words that came out of you sounded far away, dangling in space somewhere beyond you.
Law brought his heated palm up to your face, rough fingers dancing over your cheek, trailing down your jaw, lingering on the soft skin of your neck. You felt unsteady breaths against your temple, his face hovering dangerously close, so close you could have turned and found your lips on his with little effort, as he carefully undid the snap of your collar and dragged of your jumpsuit down with smooth and measured motions, letting you feel the subtle vibrations of the metal teeth as they came apart. He pulled the stiff fabric away from your body, and his touch settled on your midsection, his wide palm exploring the curves and lines of your form. He made his way down further, and tugged at the waistband of your panties, pulling and releasing so the elastic would snap back against you, sending subtle ripples over your exposed flesh with a sharp sting that made you gasp. He groaned softly at your noises, and moved down to finally press two fingers against your clothed slit.
“You’re just such a needy little thing, aren’t you?” he teased, his palm pressed against your heat.
“You”—you hiccuped as he began to make slow, insistent circles over your swollen clit—“you made me like this. You did this to me.”
“Did I?” He cupped your face with his free hand, the rough pad of his thumb pressing into your cheek. “Or were you always this way?”
You turned your head, brushing your lips against the heel of his palm. “No, I wasn’t.”
“No? Never needy like this for someone?” The words were hot in your ear, starting to scald you from the inside out. “Never wanted someone to take care of you the way I do?”
“Only for you,” you whispered into his palm. Never—never had you felt a craving this insatiable, one that you couldn’t seem to placate no matter how many times he made you come undone, one that consumed you, drove you to distraction during nearly every waking moment. Your voracious hunger frightened you, and you wondered, even as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge of euphoria, if any of it would ever be enough—if this would ever be enough to bring you satisfaction, or if your yearning was for something deeper, something always just out of reach.
“I guess you just needed the right person to pull it out of you, then.” Law toyed with you through the soaked fabric, drawing soft gasps out of you with skillful ease, the urge to moan his name settling on the tip of your tongue. You started to move your hips against him, matching his motions, feeling yourself pulsing as a blazing heat spread throughout your core. A lustful groan hitched in your throat, escaping you as a low whine, one that rapidly filled the air in the small room and he quickly shushed you, moving to place his thumb on your lips. “Do you want everyone to hear you?”
“No,” you murmured against him, “’course not.”
“No?” He pulled aside the gusset of your panties, running his fingers through your slippery folds until you whimpered. “Don’t want everyone to know how much you need me? How good I make you feel?”
You shook your head slowly, words becoming harder and harder to grab a hold of.
“That’s right, it’s our little secret.” He teased at your drenched entrance, pressing against it with the tips of his fingers, feeling you pulse and flutter as you squirmed, trying to move your hips enough that he’d slip inside you, your cunt needy and aching and already yearning for release.
“Doctor, please,” you implored, your sense of shame melting away from you with every passing moment that he wasn’t working at dissolving you into pleasure.
“Please what?” His voice was drenched in a cloying condescension, the kind that made your limbs start to grow cold and your head fill with a thick fog of arousal. “What do you want?”
You reached out with trembling hands, gripped feebly at his arms, sinking into the steely hardness of his biceps, nothing but indecency on your tongue. “Please… please make me cum?”
“Well,” he rasped, flexing his wrist, “since you asked so nicely.”
He slipped his middle and ring fingers inside your waiting walls, pumping in and out of your heated cunt with shallow thrusts, an agonizing rhythm that had the coiling tension inside you start to wind tighter and tighter with every movement. Even in darkness, he knew by instinct the motions that would light a spark at the base of your spine; after all, he had already spent hours studying you like a living textbook, committing your every sweet sigh, every soft smile of pleasure, every clench and pulse of your slick, wet heat to his memory, all in the pursuit of shattering you into a million pieces and calling it medicine.
You choked on every moan and gasp, remaining as quiet as your body would allow, fighting all your basest urges to sob with abandon and beg him for more, beg him to bend you over in the confined space and bury himself in you until his hips met the swell of your ass. It wasn’t long before you gripped his broad shoulders as you shuddered, walls spasming and contracting while he relentlessly drove his fingers into you. In your frenzy, Law’s name—not “captain,” not “doctor,” but his name—came falling from your lips faster than you could catch it, not once but twice.
He said nothing, not even so much as a chuckle, letting you contemplate your embarrassment as he slid his fingers out of you, the vulgar sounds of your leaking cunt echoing in your ears. You were never quite comfortable enough to call him Law—you hadn’t interacted with him that often aboard the Sunny to ever need to address him, and you never felt like a permanent fixture enough on the submarine to become casual with him, despite the depth of your intimate relationship. It was only in the persistent fantasies that plagued you, the ones that drove you to seek relief from him as often as you did, that you would ever call him by his name.
You waited and waited, your palms now flat against the wall behind you, and listened to the ambient gyrations of the washing machines, but still he said nothing. His body shifted, and you felt him directly in front of you, felt the warmth of trembling breaths suddenly tickling your mouth and chin as he placed his hands on the wall behind you, trapping you under him.
“Captain?” you asked the darkness, wondering if it would utter anything back.
It was then that he kissed you—softly at first, gentle grazes that seemed to test a theory, and then with an intensity that made you cling to him, using his shoulders to hold you aloft as a sudden dizziness washed over you. His insistent mouth parted your lips, his tongue gliding delicately along them; with every taste he took of you, your veins throbbed and your heart threatened to explode like a supernova.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he sputtered as he pulled away abruptly, the words spilling out through choked gasps.
“No, no, please,” you stammered, grasping sightlessly for him, tugging at his shirt to pull him closer, fistfuls of fabric in your balled-up hands. “Don’t stop.”
His palms, cool to the touch with a tremor running through them, found their way to your face. “You sure?”
There was a deluge of words you wanted to let flow from you like water—that of course you were sure, that you’d been sure since you’d watched him saunter onto the Sunny all that time ago, that you didn’t think you’d ever be more sure of anything in this vast world than you were of the fact that you wanted him to kiss you again. All that eventually came bubbling up to the surface, however, was a hushed and insistent, “Yes.”
Something in the near-total darkness had intoxicated both of you, left you both willing to be raw and exposed under the cloak of shadows, and you were willing to surrender to it, let it consume you both as you melted into one another. He captured your lips again with a hungry urgency, devouring you with a delirious fervor, his tongue gently probing, making sweeping, swirling motions inside your mouth. You carded your fingers through his hair, taking in the quiet sounds of pleasure that he moaned into you, deep and echoing inside his chest. His heart thudded beautifully under your hand, and everything suddenly felt worth it, every last absurd bit of it.
“Uhm—is someone in there?” a muffled voice asked as the doorknob jiggled.
“Shit!” you mouthed as Law pulled himself off you, a string of saliva still connecting you.
“I’m just”—Law’s voice cracked as he began to fumble with the zipper of your jumpsuit, mumbling at you to hold still—“I’m just getting some supplies. Give me a minute.”
“Oh.” Your crewmate paused, and you craned your head, listened for the sound of fading footsteps. “Well, I need more detergent, can I just grab it from you real quick?”
“Just give me a second,” Law reiterated, his volume increasing uncomfortably.
“Law, what do we do?” you hissed, enunciating wildly enough for him to make out your panicked words.
He pressed his forehead to yours before granting you one last quick kiss, this one tender and melancholy; then, barely audible, he spoke: “Room. And shambles.”
In an instant, you appeared in your room and dropped onto your mattress, the air getting punched out of your lungs in the process. You quickly scrambled to your feet, grasping at the zipper of your half-closed jumpsuit, your instinct to run back upstairs and do—well, you weren’t sure what. There was nothing you could really do without giving yourself away; you couldn’t rationalize walking into the laundry room with kiss-swollen lips and smelling of sex, trying to somehow pretend you had no idea what was going on and that you hadn’t just been manhandled in that little closet three steps away.
Instead, you sat back down, perched on the edge of your mattress with your fists pressed into your thighs. He was careless—you both were, but especially Law—and now you could only sit and wait for judgement. This whole affair could come crashing down around you, and you’d be back to the start—in a state of chronic pain, slowly losing hope for a life that didn’t involve you doubled over and clutching your abdomen, sobbing silently into your pillow. And what then—if you alienated your new crew, and Luffy was informed of your ruse, what were you to do?
You fell back onto the bed and placed a hand on your chest, inhaling to the count of five and out to the count of ten in an attempt to calm the sharp, rushing breaths that made your ribcage ache and your lungs burn. It would be fine, you told yourself—it would all be fine, and Law would still treat your illness and shamelessly break you into pieces over and over, and you would still sneak upstairs at night to tuck yourself under his desk and feel whatever fucked up kind of adored you felt when you were with him. Things wouldn’t change—they couldn’t, they shouldn’t—no, you needed him too much, needed what only he could provide you, needed him so you could feel something close to normal for the first time in a long time.
You were simply making something out of nothing, you told yourself—you were seeing mountains where there were only anthills. You were fine, you repeated over and over again in whispers—you were rational and calm and things would work out as they always did. You may have even believed it, were it not for the way your hand trembled as you held it to your heart.
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You and Law stared at each other for a good while, both of you fumbling for where to start.
“So, what happened after I left?” you finally asked as you leaned against the door, arms tucked behind you.
“Don’t worry, I took care of it.” He sat hunched over in his desk chair, his elbows resting on his thighs, fingers interlaced under his chin.
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It means I don’t think he heard anything, or if he did, he knew well enough not to say anything to me about it.”
“Well, I guess that’s good.” Hoping that your crewmate would be either oblivious enough to realize what was happening (though likely not with whom), or value Law’s privacy enough to keep his mouth shut was a hefty gamble, one you weren’t sure you wanted to have to take.
“Look...” Law trailed off as he pressed his palms into his thighs and slowly stood. “I think it’s best if you don’t come here again. Or to my private quarters.”
“What do you mean?”
The muscles in his jaw tightened and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed before he continued. “I’m of the opinion that it would be better to carry out your treatments in the exam room. Like before.”
“Oh.” You tasted the disappointment coating that oh as it left your lips, wanting to gag at the bitter flavor. Law was a keenly observant man, but it wouldn’t have taken a mastermind to read the hurt written in the downward jerk of the corners of your mouth.
“It’s clearly necessary,” he stressed, one hand on the back of his neck. “I’ve been acting recklessly.”
“If you have, so have I,” you shouted back in a strained whisper, trying not to let the whole ship know of your transgressions.
“No.” He set his mouth as he stared you down, his jaw jutting out slightly as he weighed his next words for a moment. “I am your captain. And your physician. And I’ve let my judgement become clouded, and I’ve behaved unprofessionally, and I cannot let it continue, for your sake and mine.”
You nodded as you sucked on your teeth, your gaze settled on a stain on the floor. You did understand, understood perfectly that everything he said was true—that he exercised poor judgment, that he behaved in ways not befitting of a doctor or a captain, that he was taking risks that could jeopardize things for both of you. It just didn’t matter. It didn’t matter as long as you could feed the hunger that he’d created inside you, stave off the obsessive thoughts as you closed your eyes and let him pull pleasure out of you as if it were nothing.  
He set his hand on the back of his chair, his tired eyes flitting over your face, reading into every little tic and twitch. “Your care is what comes first. We’ll resume your sessions in the exam room, once a week, with your self-care to be done nightly. Nothing changes from the original plan.”
“Understood, captain.” You waited with your palm lightly touching the door handle behind you, waited for him to say something else. But there was nothing, just the sight of his back to you as he turned his chair around and sat down at his desk, not moving, not reaching for anything, just sitting with his palms flat on the surface, sitting idly in the deafening silence that separated you.
You slid out of his office, checked the hall for any signs of life before tiptoeing into the kitchen and slumping down against the counters with a huff, letting the back of your head smack against the cabinet doors once, twice, three times for good measure. Unprofessional. The word tumbled around in your mind as elegantly as a shoe in a clothes-dryer. It’s wasn’t unprofessional for Law to offer you medical care that you were so desperate for and would have done anything to obtain, only to use it an excuse for to defile you to satisfy his own sickness, placate his own fascination with you—yet somehow, some way, it was unprofessional to kiss you?
“God, I’m so fucked,” you murmured into the atmosphere, a stunted urge to cry catching in your throat. The bramble of thorns were starting to overtake you, wrap like brittle tendrils around every limb, closing in until you could barely see the sun. It was a crush—a stupid crush, nothing else, you insisted—and yet every longing glance, every hushed word of praise, every feather light touch had you wound up more and more, had you losing your grip and sinking further into whatever deluded perversion of intimacy this was becoming.
You touched your fingertips to your chin, your skin still tingling from the sensation of Law’s wiry facial hair brushing against you. You ran your tongue over your lips, lingering on a spot where his teeth had almost pierced your skin, feeling your pulse bloom at the surface. Perhaps untangling yourself from this prickly mess could wait just a little longer, you mused as you shivered at the specter of his tongue curling against yours—just until after your next session.
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Author's Note- It took me a while to write this due to some personal issues and to be true I had expected it to be better than it came out to be.
Thank you and Enjoy your reading!
The Present As It Is
Daemon Targaryen x Sister!Reader
Part 1 ☆ Part 2 ☆ Part 3
Tag list - @minaxcarter, @eliseline, @Blackhoodlea, @little-moonbeam-666, @neenieweenie, @omgsuperstarg, @avalyaaa, @shopping, @bbgmonsay, @michelle-26, @krokietinio, @hc-geralt-23, @chevelledahuman, @thekayarlene, @narcy, @helloitsshitzulover, @muushwrites, @daringboba
GIF Credits to @valkyriethais
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Summary- 10 years have passed since the duel between the Rogue Prince and the Wolf Lord and things have changed.
10 YEARS HAD passed since that day when the Realm's Desire's wedding was interrupted. (Y/N) still wonders what would have happened if Cregan had won that challenge, but she is glad he didn't.
She remembered Daemon's brutal blows to the Lord of Winterfell. People had whispered how the Rogue Prince and the ancient sword of House Targaryen, Dark Sister, craved the wolf lord's blood.
(Y/N) remembered the twisting fear when she watched Daemon advance towards the fallen Stark Lord with the blood-hungry Dark Sister, a murderous look painted on his handsome face. (Y/N) had screamed to stop Daemon when he had placed the grand Valyrian steel sword right against Cregan's armored chest.
Whatever it was, it was the past and (Y/N) definitely loved her present and hoped for a good future. "Mother," chirped Alyssa, clearly wishing her mother's attention. (Y/N) and Daemon had decided to name her after their mother's name. (Y/N) hummed, caressing Alyssa's check.
"Can we go for a ride on Vaemar?" Vaemar was a name chosen for Alyssa's dragon by her. "Sure, we can, sweetheart. But before that, we need to find your brothers and sister." Alyssa nodded with a huge grin, already setting off to find her siblings. "You might want to check the training grounds!" (Y/N) exclaimed as she smiled, watching her daughter grin widely and disappear in the maze of corridors of the Red Keep.
(Y/N) followed her overly excited Alyssa towards the training grounds. Groans and grunts and clashing of swords became more and more apparent as they reached the ground filled with knights and young lordlings.
In the middle of the circle was Daemon with their 2 sons and eldest daughter, teaching them to defend themselves. "Father!" Alyssa exclaimed, sprinting towardsthe Rogue Prince. Daemon turned, grining as he spotted Alyssa approaching, closely followed by his dear wife.
"Daughter," he greeted calmly with a smile, crouching down to hug her. "How come did you decided to visit your lonely father?" He asked mockingly, placing the young princess on his hip as he stood up to his original height. "She wished to go on a ride on our dragons," (Y/N) said, ruffling Daevon's white hair.
Daemon's eyes brightened up as he looked at his youngest daughter who was 6 summers old. (Y/N) and Daemon both had been early dragon riders. While Daemon started riding Caraxes when he was 8, (Y/N) had started flying her mount, (D/N), at the age of 6.
"Can we join as well, mother?" Viseyna asked, handing her sword to a servant. "Sure, why not," (Y/N) grinned, looking at her beautiful children. "Go and change out of your armors and into your riding dresses," she urged her kids, who sprinted off with a nod.
Daemon sighed, smiling widely as (Y/N) turned to him. "It have been a while since all of us has took to the sky together." His hand snaked around (Y/N)'s waist, bringing her close. "Yes... let's go before our children come and find us," (Y/N) said, winking at Daemon who chuckled in response.
Once the family reunited at the Dragonpit, laughs and conversations bounced off the rather silent walls of the fort as they waited for their dragons to be brought. Caraxes' roar and (D/N)'s comparatively soft grunt grabbed the dragon riders' attention.
Daemon smiled, prideful of his mount, while (D/N) bowed her head to (Y/N), just like she has always done. Following the older two dragons were Vaemar, Zaerex and Jaenna; the mounts of the young dragon riders, except for Viserys, the Rogue Prince and the Realm's Desire's youngest son.
"Jikagon ahead, riñi," (Go ahead, kids) Daemon urged, making his own way to the red worm-like dragon. The young offsprings were quick to mount their own dragons, just the way they have been taught. Meanwhile, Viserys made his way to (D/N), waiting to follow his mother.
The giggling was constant until the dragons took to the skies, soaring across the swift, cool breeze. Viserys stared down at the city in awe, pressing himself to his mother, who kept one hand on (D/N)'s scale and the other around Viserys' abdomen in a secure manner.
"Look at the sea, Kepa," (Father) Daevon squealed as Zaerex descended down to kiss the surface of the shimmering sea. A ship or two, small on the horizon. "Gevie, iksis ziry daor, tresy?" (Beautiful, is it not, son?) Daemon asked, his eyes tender and filled with adoration.
Daevon nodded absent-mindedly, smiling down at the sea water. His hands, unconsciously, caressing Zaerex, something he had took in heredity from his own mother.
Alyssa and Viseyna seemed to have settled into a race of their own, trying to beat each other by doing something out of ordinary and enchanting. Alyssa's Vaemar being young and energetic could easily pull off more stunts than Viseyna's Jaenna, who was more fast due to her smaller structure.
Daemon and (Y/N) shared a knowing look. A content feeling warming their hearts. It didn't matter how much they had to struggle to live their present, but it didn't matter now. Now, that they had their sons and daughters close and them bonded in fire and blood.
Perhaps, not always does duty needs to be followed, sometimes, it has to be love.
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Sunshine.
Billy Hargrove x AFAB Reader
Taking a break from our regular schedule of Eddie Munson, to bring you soft smutty Billy Hargrove. Yeah, I know he's problematic as fuck, I have no excuse. Written whilst listening to Haim's exceptional album Women In Music Pt III, but primarily inspired by the track Gasoline (feat. Taylor Swift)
Warnings: 18+ only, MDI. Oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, swearing, mentions of domestic abuse.
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Billy.
6 months ago the name held little significance to you, now it consumes your days.
It was a truth universally acknowledged that Billy Hargrove was an asshole, from the moment he arrived in Hawkin’s he was an asshole, he was an asshole before that too. Everyone would tell you he was an asshole, Max, Nancy, Dustin, Steve, Mike, Chief Hopper, the school guidance counsellor. You had witnessed it yourself, although never directed towards you; volatile temper, disrespectful, slightly psychopathic tendencies.
But then there was your Billy.
Who would kiss you on the forehead when he thought you were asleep, who always held the passenger door of his car open for you, who would guide you through the high school corridors with his hand on the small of your back; a constant reassuring pressure.
The Billy, who turned up outside your bedroom window at 2am in the pouring rain, blackened eye and split lip courtesy of his father, apologising because he didn’t know where else to go, he didn’t have anywhere else to go. You had cleaned him up, silenced his apologies with soothing kisses and hushed whispers of comfort, telling him that it would be ok, that he was enough, that he wasn’t an asshole. Tangled up together on your twin bed, he was simply content to hold you, fingers tracing your features, running through your hair, eyes burning with unspoken affection; Billy wasn’t good with words.
***
It’s your birthday, and you’re exactly where you want to be, sequestered away at Lover’s Lake with Billy, spread out on a soft blanket, air balmy with the scent of Summer, heat washing over your skin. You play with the delicate gold chain adorning your neck, stopping when you get to the sun charm that sits in the divot of your collarbone.
“You sure you like it?” Billy asks, propping himself up on his elbow, his hand tracing the same path you’ve just taken.
“I love it.” You insist for the fifth time that day, your fingers comb through his curls, bringing him down to your lips.
The kiss is soft, slow, and teasing. His hand moving down the valley of your breasts, lightly brushing the underside, caressing over your naval, until he reaches your hip holding you firmly. You sigh blissfully into his mouth, feeling his lips quirk up in a small smile, kissing you more ardently, hand moving to your outer thigh now where your pretty summer dress has ridden up.
“Billy.” You whisper to the sky, as he maps out a path on your neck, gently sucking and nipping at your pulse point.
“What is it Sunshine?” He asks softly, his nickname for you filling your chest with familiar warmth, you don’t answer because he knows what you want, what you need. You take deep calming breaths as he descends lower and lower, the hem of your dress being moved up to your stomach, soft material on softer skin. He lavishes attention to the newly exposed stretch of skin, making you shift slightly beneath him, a fleeting squirm that tells him he’s doing a good job. 
He hums faintly in pleasure as he reaches your white panties, a tiny patch of dampness marking the centre, he kisses over the material, your small gasp like music to his ears.
Hooking his fingers into the waistband he draws them down your legs, smoothly, taking his time placing more kisses to your inner thighs, your knees. 
You whine quietly, reaching for him, intertwining his fingers with yours squeezing reassuringly, mouth finally making contact with your sweet cunt, nuzzling at your clit, tongue exploring the wetness gathered. You shudder, sparks of pleasure coursing through you like an electric current.
“Such a pretty pussy, angel.” He coos, two fingers slipping in with ease, moving at a maddeningly slow pace, barely thrusting, more like seeking strokes, looking for - there. He knows he’s found the right spot, a shaky “fuck” falling from your kiss bitten lips, he loves it when you swear, the sound going straight to his already hard cock. Crooking his fingers, he groans lightly as your walls spasm just slightly, not quite all the way there, not yet, but enough to make your cream slip from your swollen slit, his tongue lapping it up like it’s the sweetest honey and it is.
  He focuses the tip of his tongue back to your bud, circling tenderly, fingers moving with a little more pace within you. You bring your entwined hand up to your right breast, holding his palm against you showing him how you want to be held, delicately thumbing at your peaked nipple. He can feel your velvet walls getting tighter, your breath hitching, stomach jumping as the sensation rises. He watches your face intensely as the wave crashes down, back arching, hips bucking, head pressing back into the blanket, neck stretched in a wordless cry. He continues to work you through the trembling ripples, tongue swirling desperately, determined to draw you out to the very edge of your limit. You let go of his hand to glide your hands through his hair, the gentlest of tugs letting him know you were getting oversensitive, he places a final kiss to your glistening centre and you’re pulling him to you in earnest now.
Lips melding together, a shared moan as you taste yourself on his tongue, he shifts atop you unzipping his fly as you push his boxers down, hard length meeting your belly. You take him into your soft hand, pumping smoothly, swallowing his gasps. He lines up with your centre, body covering you, sheltering you as he eases in coaxing a whimper from you.
“I’ve got you angel.” He mutters, placing kiss after kiss to your cheeks, nose, forehead, jaw, anywhere he can reach.
As with his fingers he moves slowly once more, rocking deep within you, time ticking by like molasses, the sun beats down trapping you both in an impossible heat. He takes your hands once again, raising them behind your head, fingers lacing together, pinning you down in pleasure. A keening whine when he bites at the flesh of your throat, tongue quickly soothing the hurt.
“Billy.” You whisper again, pleading, almost like a prayer.
“I know, I know.” He chants back, the answer to your prayers.
He pushes his pelvis down and the friction is just enough to send you free falling, the gripping heat pulling him with you, he gathers you into his arms, more tender kisses to your forehead, still moving, hips pumping through the last burning strokes, your combined spend dripping to the blanket below.
“Happy Birthday sunshine.” He says, kissing you deeply, you giggle against his mouth, euphoric with release and he feels like his heart might burst.
Billy wasn’t good with words, but he didn't have to be.
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isabella-kr · 1 year
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Chapter Eight: Piccadilly 
This story will include mature themes, please only read if you are 18 years old or over.
If you are underage, you can read the Wattpad version instead as it will include no smut.
This is a work of fiction and does not represent the real Army.
Synopsis: A terrorist attack in Piccadilly Circus calls for reinforcements.
Pairing: John Price x Female!Reader
Warnings: Swearing, mention of imprisonment, use of weapons; guns, blood, explosions, mentions of war, and death.
Word Count: 4.2K
Note: Wtf is the colour of that stupid beanie??? I’ve been rewatching clips of him wearing it and I genuinely can’t tell. Is it dark grey? Dark Navy? Blue-ish grey? literally don’t know. This colour has been causing me more stress than my uni work. I’ve never had beef with a hat before, but this is genuinely pissing me off 
Note 2: For those of you who have been reading this story before this chapter came out - I have changed a minor detail in chapter 6. Her patch now says ‘LT. DOE’ (instead of Lt. No-Face) as in ‘Jane Doe’ which is used for unidentified persons, because I realised she would need an actual name for documents and General Morris would never give her a better name lmao
Series Masterlist  I  COD:MWII Masterlist
Previous Chapter I  Next Chapter 
GIF not mine
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Her boots barely made a sound when she stepped over the lifeless body of a hostile. The darkness settled upon her as she stalked out of the room, only the shine of the moon lighting the way ahead.  
The building was damp and cold, forcing her mask to be drawn over the bridge of her nose as the strong smell of growing mould invaded her senses. She would have coughed if the circumstances were different, but right now every sound she made – no matter how small and quiet – became a life-threatening risk.  
Stepping out into the creaky corridor, she was careful to step only on the least rotting-like panels. Yet despite her efforts, the old wood still creaked under her weight as she moved along the highest floor in the building. Gently, she pushed open the door to one of the only rooms she had not yet inspected and moved in with her gun at the ready.  
The laser attached to her barrel moved erratically around the run-down walls, but in the end, the room turned out to be empty. Not a soul in sight, with only her heavy, yet controlled breathing reaching her ears.  
She let out a sharp breath and turned to walk back out, only to be met with the bewildered expression of a young man. He looked afraid but was quick to lift his gun and aim it her way.  
Unfortunately for him, she was faster. Grabbing the barrel of his gun, she pulled him into the room and kicked him to the floor. He let out a pained groan, and she almost felt bad when she stood above him with her weapon raised before ultimately slamming the back of her gun against his head.
He went out like a light; his eyes closed, and arms went limp, his gun falling by his side with a loud thud. The sound was startling, and she turned still above his body, listening to any sounds within the building.  
Seconds and minutes ticked by, and when no shuffle, no creek, and whisper reached her, her shoulders deflated. The tension left her body before she began to move along the cold corridors to check the remaining areas for any hostiles who might have still resided in the building.  
She found no-one. The building was empty.  
Clicking on button on the side of her comms, she spoke, “Building C is secure.”  
“Copy,” John Price’s voice reached her through the earpiece, “Wiz, how copy?”
“B’s secure,” Southwick replied, “I’m working on the security. You know, for how shit this place looks, their computer system’s pretty good. But with my equipment, there’s nothing I can’t get into.”
“Alright,” The captain hummed, “No-Face, get on the roof.”  
Her brows creased, but she did as asked anyway, “Roger.”  
Pushing the shutters aside, she leaned out of the window, her body twisting at an awkward angle to look up, rather than down. She securely attached the heavy gun to the straps of her vest, and sat at the edge of the window, her fingers clenching and muscles tensing when she grabbed onto a plank of wood above her and pulled herself up.  
Her handgun was pulled out in an instant when her eyes settled on a nearby body crouching down on a similar blank, just on the other side of the roof. He raised his hand in defence, but it was only when she noticed the boonie hat that she lowered her weapon.  
“Almost shot you,” she commented whilst making her way towards him.  
The corner of his lips lifted into a light smile, “Good thing you didn’t.”
She let out a soft hummed and crouched beside him, her hands grasping the sniper rifle that was already waiting for her arrival, “Would’ve taken your hat and ran,” she told him, “I’m not going back to that prison.”  
He huffed out a small laugh, “If you like it so much, all you need to do is ask and I’ll get you your own.”  
She made a displeased sound, “I don’t want it for myself, Price,” she shook her head, “I’d burn it.”  
He sent her a look, and got ready to defend his honour, but was cut off by the sound of engines revving in the distance. “Wiz, your status?”
“I’m in.”  
“Good. Now wait.”  
“Copy.”  
“No-Face,” John looked into the scope of his rifle, “You take the one on the left.”  
With a nod, she looked through her scope and aimed her gun at one of the snipers below them. Their guns were also at the ready, but due to their lower position, they had no idea two highly trained soldiers also had their eyes on them.  
Just as the headlights lit up the road, the captain’s phone began to buzz. He was quick to answer, and thanks to the silence that surrounded them, she too could hear the voice that echoed from his phone.  
“John?” A female voice spoke, a voice she very clearly recognised.  
“Laswell,” he kept his voice low.
“Where are you?”
He took in a small breath, readying himself as the cars began to near the infiltrated base, “Occupied.”  
“I’ve got a problem.”  
His eyes narrowed, “Russians?”
“Word travels fast,” she confirmed, “Chemical weapons have fallen into terrorist hands. They could be anywhere. Paris, New York...”
“London,” he said whilst nodding, a silent signal to shoot.  
With a press to the trigger, both hostile snipers were thrown to the ground as the bullets struck their heads, their rifles falling from their hands in the process.  
“Wiz, now,” No-Face told him through the comms, and as the gate began to open, both her and John stood back on their feet.  
“When can you brief?” Laswell asked.  
“We just did.”  
With that, the call was ended, and the two watched as the cars drove through the open gate and into the base. British soldiers then marched out of the vehicles, rushing to further secure the area from any incoming hostiles.  
“Good job,” John complimented, firmly patting her shoulder.
“Thank you, sir,” she sent him a warm smile, “You, too.”  
With a thankful nod, he gestured for her to follow. Using a ladder at the side of the building, the two were off in no time. They successfully evaded the medics that attempted to stop them; they had no wounds, at least nothing more than a couple of bruises.  
Price’s steps had a feeling of urgency in them. He marched through the run-down base and towards one of the generals, where they spoke in low tones, so no soldier would hear what was being shared between them.  
“What’s going on?” Thomas questioned stepping beside her.  
“Laswell called,” She told him and crossed her arms over her chest, “Think we’re going to London.”  
He frowned and his brows knit, “We’re bringing the war home?”  
“The war’s already there.”  
          Her knee suddenly popped when she stretched her leg in the cramped car. Thomas’s head snapped in her direction in an instant, and the expression he held on his face looked more offended by the sound than it ever did by any friendly insults she threw his way.  
“Can you not?” He spat, visibly uncomfortable by the sound.  
Despite letting out a tired sigh and wanting nothing more than to stretch her other leg, she nodded. Her only hope was that they were close to their destination so she could get out of the loud vehicle.  
“Cheers,” he grinned at her, then directed his attention at John, who clutched the wheel tightly in his hands, “Sir, is that a new hat?”  
“Focus, Southwick,” Was the captain’s response.
He didn’t cease his talking, however. Instead, he lowered his voice so that only she could hear the words that left his mouth, “It is,” he told her, “The colour’s not as faded, and it doesn’t have a hole in it.”
“Do you just stare at his hat whenever he’s around?” she questioned with raised brows.
“You don’t?”
“Depends on which one he’s wearing,” she answered truthfully, earning a nod from her friend.
When she looked back up, her eyes caught his in the rear-view mirror. They creased as he smiled, and she didn’t stop herself from mirroring the soft expression he sent her.  
She remembered the day he bought the hat as clearly as though it had happened yesterday. It was about a week into their shared time on Leave, and he decided to take her to town. She was apprehensive at first, the thought of being surrounded from every corner by hundreds of people only flaring up her anxiety. But with some persuasion and promise he would be there the entire time – not that he could leave, but his words of assurance were welcome – she relented.  
It was awful at first. She couldn’t shake off the feeling everyone around her was staring; glaring at her. She was latched onto his arm just like the time at the beach, and upon feeling how nervous she was beside him, he pulled into a secluded shop he knew would have little to no customers.  
It was quaint and silent; a breath of fresh air from the overcrowded little town. It was the type of shop that had everything and nothing at the same time – from crystals to cigarettes and from cheap necklaces to clothes.  
“You alright?” he made sure to ask, his blues ever so concerned about her well-being.  
She assured him with a quiet hum as her eyes closed in relief, “Thank you.”  
“’Course,” he rubbed her upper back comfortingly, his hand guiding her further into the shop so they wouldn’t block the entry for other customers.  
The new atmosphere did well to calm her down, her anxiety lessening the longer they remained in the small shop. Her hand trailed along a small table, where crystals of all colours were stood proudly on display. Some were pink, some purple and a few even a beautiful, deep black.  
Her fingers gravitated towards the small pink ones, which she picked up and carefully examined in her palm. It was cool against her skin, and although the corners of the stone were a little jagged, it still felt smooth to the touch. It was a pretty pink; almost pastel, not the type to blind you, but rather soothe you when needed.  
“That’s a rose quartz,” an old lady, who sat behind the counter, told her with a gentle smile, “Symbolises unconditional love, that one. Only a pound, too!”
No-Face placed the crystal back down on the table and swiftly moved away. The rack of clothes was next; by gently dragging her fingers along the material, she checked the roughness, or perhaps the softness of the clothing. There was nothing there that caught her attention, really. Nothing that she would like to put on herself – the colours were either too bright, or the material too rough against her skin.  
She was about to pull away and move to another part of the shop before her eyes landed on a soft, cotton hat right above her. Her arm had to stretch for her grab it, but once she did, she placed it on the captain's head with an amused chuckle.  
“Really?” he raised a brow as his arms crossed over his chest.  
The corners of her lips curled into a wide smile, “Don’t like it?”
“It’s hot pink.”  
She looked at him with a thoughtful expression, and then took the hat off him, only to replace it with a bright red one instead. The look on his face was comical, and she couldn’t help but laugh when his eyes narrowed and he bit on the inside of his cheek.  
“I think it looks perfect,” she told him with a tilt of her head.
“No,” he disagreed, but did not remove the beanie, “I look like Papa Smurf.”
“Who?”
He was quick to pull out his phone and type the name into the search engine, showing her the blue character with a white beard and a bright red hat covering his head. Her hand flew to her mouth, and a snort escaped her before she managed to stop it. She turned away from him, but her shaking shoulders betrayed her laughter, yet his face could not be any more deadpanned than it was in that moment.
“You done?” He let out an exasperated breath.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” She raised her hands in mock defence and turned back to look at him. Her teeth were digging into her bottom lip to stop more laughs from rolling out of her throat, “Here.”
She took the hat off him once again and placed it back in its original position. Then, as her eyes scanned the clothes once more, she perked up.  
“How about,” she grabbed one more beanie off the shelf and presented it to him, “this one? It would match your uniform.”
“That one’s better,” he admitted with a hum, “But I don’t need a new one right now.”  
“Oh,” her smile fell.  
“What is it?”  
“Well,” she took in a breath, “I wanted to get you something... a little ‘thank you’ gift.”  
“Oh,” he scratched his beard, “You don’t have to.”  
“But I want to... John,” her eyes were pleading as she looked at him.
He couldn’t say no, really. Not when the thought of getting him something made her this happy.  
“Alright.”
“Really?” her mood seemed to brighten instantly when he nodded, “Alright, but you’re gonna have to show me how this card works. I haven’t gotten the chance to use it yet.”  
He did show her. He helped her throughout the exchange. And even now, three months later, when her eyes settled on the dark, navy-blue beanie, she couldn’t help but smile.  
The moment of happiness was cut short, as just when their eyes locked again, a far-away explosion caused them all to tense up in their seats. A bright light lit up the dark sky like a flare, causing screaming and crying to echo throughout the city.  
The car sped up then, although the sudden panic did not make it easy for them to arrive at the destination. Even though Piccadilly Circus was still miles away from where they were, people were already running around in alarm. Some civilians were getting in their car and driving the other way, others were crying on their phone with their families, and some were running down the street with fear in their eyes.
It was havoc.  
The influx of Police cars driving to the scene did not make their journey much easier. It felt like hours, but must have been only about ten minutes later, that they finally made their way to the road junction and jumped out of the vehicle.  
Their rifles were held high, and bullets began to rain in seconds of their boots hitting the ground. The terrorists were relentless, and when No-face shot at a man running their way, they were blinded by his vest exploding mere metres away from them.  
“Suicide bombers,” John spoke gruffly, his teeth gritting as they approached a tall building with the entrance blocked off by a metal of sorts. A man was by it, pushing the scrap with his shoulder when a hostile ran his way, a knife ready in his hands.  
He blocked him, but the captain was faster. The bullet was lodged in the man’s brain before he got the chance to fully get out of the building and attack the soldier.  
“Blue! Blue!” he yelled with his hand out towards the trio.  
“I see you. You armed up?” Price approached the young soldier and waved off the two.  
No-Face and Thomas shared a look and exchanged a quick nod before moving in separate directions. The bullets were still raining from both sides. The terrorists shot at the police, and the officers were sure to retaliate in a similar manner.  
The blood painted the ground like a biblical flood, coating her leather boots with a dark-red layer that she knew would be a nightmare to was off. She crouched behind a ruined car, using the bent metal of the door as a shield and shooting at the hostile men through the smashed window.  
It was carnage.  
Death intoxicated the air with its putrid smell, settling on the inside of her throat and clogging up her airways. It felt like tar was sliding down her throat, the smoke from the multiple explosions enveloping him in an unwelcome hug.  
She coughed and moved her mask to the side to spit out the thick saliva that gathered on her tongue. It was disgusting. Vile, even.  
She heard a scream in the distance. A young woman, with blood covering the side of her head cried as a hostile began to make his way in her direction.  
Without much thought, she sprang into action and sprinted to her. Shooting at the hostile, she pulled her by a wall shielding with a metal bin. She clung onto No-Face's arm as though her life depended on it, and in a way it did. Her exposed knees were scraped, her ankle swollen, and the non-bloody side of her head was beginning to bruise.
“Are you alright?” she raised her voice, speaking through the loud sirens and gunshots that surrounded them.
“My head-” an explosion, “It hurts.”  
The gunshots suddenly ceased. She stayed there for a little while longer, her arm wrapping securely around the woman’s shoulder as she made sure the area was finally secure. She pulled her to her feet then, and helped her walked as she searched for a medic.  
Thankfully, an ambulance was stood mere metres away, and once a paramedic saw her with the young woman on her arm, he rushed to her side. The civilian was taken off her hands in almost an instant, first-responders rushing around her with urgency.  
No.  
No, it couldn’t be.  
The building, which he had watched Price enter with an unknown soldier was now on fire, and she had no doubt that was where the explosion had come from. Her heart felt like it could jump out of her chest, and she wasted no time in walking towards the firefighters who were trying to put out the smouldering fire.  
Please don’t be dead. Please. Please. Please-
“No-Face,” a familiar voice caught her attention.  
Thomas was stood beside her with a bandage covering his upper bicep. His skin was coated in blood, some of it soaking into and painting his military clothing a frightening red.  
“Thomas,” she approached him with quick steps, “Are you alright?”
“Just a flesh wound,” he assured her with a pat to her shoulder, “You seen Price, though?”
She shook her head, “No. I was hoping you have.”  
“Shit.”  
“Did he say anything on the comms?” she questioned.
He shrugged, “Don’t know, I got a little distracted.”  
“Well, fuck,” she looked around wildly, her eyes widening in fright, “You don’t think he-”
His expression mirrored hers, but then he shook it off, “What- no! Nah, definitely not. He’s gotta be-”  
“Southwick get back to the medics,” A sudden order made them both turn, “You’re bleeding through.”
There, in all his uninjured glory, stood Price with his hands holding onto his vest. His brows were raised at them both, but he was most focused on the bloody bandage on Thomas’s shoulder. The soldier soon followed his line of vision and cursed, grabbing onto his injury and making his way back to the busy responders.  
“Thought you died in there,” she told him with a grumble, her feet springing to action as he began walking. He sent her an apologetic look, though his eyes quickly settled on the soldier he met prior, “What are you thinking?”  
“Not sure yet...” he said.  
London wasn’t a pretty sight at that moment. Dead bodies, covered with white sheets, littered the bloody ground, and sirens wailed all around them. It was devastating, and she could almost feel the sadness – the loss – filtering the air.  
“You saved lives today, sergeant,” John spoke as they approached the young soldier.
He was facing away from them, but even from this angle she could see the sour – almost furious – look on his face. He shook his head, “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place, sir.” He grumbled, “They sent us in half-assed, so everyone can just keep pretending we’re not at war.”  
John’s hands were back up, slotting underneath his vest, “Yeah, lie of the fuckin’ century, that is.”  
“Then why have we got our hands tied? Let’s just take the bloody gloves off and fight...” the sergeant turned to look at the captain, “sir...”  
“Go on.” His voice was soft, like the many times he was with her when she opened up to him; when she showed vulnerability.  
“We don’t stand a chance in hell with these rules of engagement, captain,” his voice was steady as he spoke, though the frustration was clear in his tone, “They can tell us where, they can tell us when... don’t tell us how. My men were tracking that cell for weeks.”
Price took a step closer and lowered his tone, “You had actionable intel on this?”
“Quite a bit, sir,” He admitted.
“Okay, Garrick,” John nodded as his phone began to buzz, “You’re with me.”
He answered the call and then walked away without a word, leaving the two alone in the midst of the quietening havoc. The sergeant’s eyes still held anger, but a certain hope was now residing in them as well.  
“If there’s one thing I know about Price,” she began, gaining the younger man’s attention, “He’s gonna get shit done... no matter what.”  
He knit his brows, eyes trailing Price’s figure before returning to her, “You think he’s gonna do something about… this?” he questioned sceptically.
She hummed in confirmation, “I’m sure of it. What’s your name?”  
“Garrick,” he wet his lips, “Kyle Garrick, ma’am.”  
“That what they call you?” she questioned, “No nickname I should know about?”
He nodded, “Gaz.”  
“Ah,” she huffed out a silent laugh, “Knew it. No-Face,” she held out her hand towards him, which he shook in a greeting.  
“Lieutenant,” a sudden voice interrupted the two.
A military medic was running towards them with a limp in his step. Blood was coating his uniform, and he himself had a bandage wrapped around his forearm. Sweat was dripping furiously down his temple, and he wiped it off once he finally reached her.  
“There’s a civilian,” he panted, “Said she needs to speak with you.”  
Her eyebrow raised in surprise, but more so confusion. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t question the medic. Instead, she wordlessly followed him to a bright ambulance which stood not too far from where she was stood with Gaz.  
The bright and colourful light from the sirens was almost blinding, reflecting off the puddles on the ground and the windows in the buildings around them. But she wasn’t much focused on them, but rather the woman who was sitting on the back on the vehicle with a man by her side.  
The same woman from before, she realised. The woman she pulled to safety when a hostile had a gun aimed right at her. She was the one who asked for her, and for a strange reason, all No-Face could feel was dread.  
Had she done something to hurt her?  
God, was she about to get fired?
No.
Positive thoughts.
You’ve done nothing wrong.  
“Miss,” the medic called, stopping in front of her with No-Face by her side.  
The woman looked relieved, and although her body ached, she rid of the blanket that enveloped her shaking body and threw her arms tightly around her. Her embrace was tight – grateful. She was crying in her shoulder as quiet and desperate ‘thank you’s left her lips.  
“You saved me, thank you! I- thank you so fucking much,” She sobbed.  
No-Face wasn’t exactly certain what to do, but seeing as her arms were still holding tightly onto her, she returned the bone-crushing hug. She patted her upper back in the same manner John Price had done for her before, and only pulled away once the woman showed signs of wanting to do so.  
“Thank you,” she said one more time before moving to the man.  
He, too, showed his gratitude for her heroic actions, and kissed his lover’s temple whilst pulling her away from the scene.  
She was still stood there, frozen, for a little while longer. Lost in her own thoughts.  
Until she felt a figure stand behind her. She knew who it was without even having to turn around, “I’m not used to it.”  
She looked at him over her shoulder and watched as John Price responded with a questioning tilt of his head.  
“Getting thanked; I’m not used to it. Don’t think I ever will be.” she confessed.
“You saved her life,” he said, “An action worth gratitude.”
“Maybe,” she looked down at her feet, “Doesn’t take away from all the lives I’ve taken, though.”  
He hummed, “No, it doesn’t, but it’s a step in the right direction.” He paused and placed a hand on her shoulder, “Now, I’m not saying you should forget about the crimes you’ve committed... but I think it’s time you forgive yourself, yeah? Can’t live like this for the rest of your life.”  
She thought over his words, and although she knew he was right, it was still difficult to accept his words. “I’ll try,” she told him.
He squeezed her shoulder, and when she looked up at him, he had a smile already plastered on his face, “That’s all I ask.”
Tag List: @jxvipike @smoggyfogbottom @stressyanddepressyfoodservice @boniscute @ohgodthebogisback @konigbabe @tapioca-marzipan @randomchick546 @jaimiespn @no-one-anon @urfavsunkissedleo @kyuupidwrites @the-sky-writes @urminebutidontwantyou @copiasratscheese @duskwo0d @bowserowser @ilovemoneyandcheese @boxofgasoline @freyjasfenrir @jimmorrison13 @carlyi @ramadiiiisme @honeyr4ven @gills-lounge @makastaco @chloeforde
A/N- Tumblr picks and chooses who I can and cannot tag sometimes, so it’s possible some people might not have been properly tagged in previous chapters. Idk why this happens I’m sorry :((
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wasabidottie · 8 months
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Loser Monologue (Nathan Prescott)
A/n: ah! this is my first tumblr post and first time writing a fanfic (If thats what you'd call it?!?) in 6 years. Let me know if i should fix anything ig?!? this fic is inspired by loser monologue by sign crushes motorist
Blackwell Academy stood as a silent witness to the echoes of a past that still haunted Nathan Prescott's thoughts. The corridors whispered of friendships forgotten and fractured. Among those memories, there was one that resonated deeper than the rest, one person who had left an indelible mark on his heart. She had been the light to his darkness, a friend who had seen through the façade he presented to the world. She had held his secrets and his pain, offering understanding and compassion when he needed it most. They had shared countless conversations, a bond that transcended the superficial, and yet, his own demons had driven them apart.
I stare at your pictures for hours on end Dreaming, fantasizing about holding you Feeling my hands on your bare skin Just being with you But I know it'll never happen But I can't stop myself from fantasizing
His heart ached as he remembered the stolen moments he had spent gazing at her photographs, his imagination weaving scenarios that would never come to pass. He wished he could turn back time, rewrite the story that had led them to this point. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the campus. Nathan stood in the shadows of his dorm. He traced his fingers over a sketch she had left behind, her talent evident in every stroke. The memory of their laughter, their shared dreams, flooded his senses.
Every word you say sends goosebumps all over my body I've tried for so long not to look at you To not look at pictures of you To cut off all contact with you But I can't stop I can't stop how I feel I don't know if I'll ever stop feeling this way At least not for a long time
His feelings for her had grown beyond friendship, beyond the boundaries of his understanding. The depth of his emotions terrified him, leaving him torn between the fear of rejection and the longing to hold her close. Nathan sat on a bench in the campus garden, the moonlight casting a soft glow around him. His thoughts were a whirlwind of memories, regret, and a love he had never been able to comprehend. He murmured his regrets into the night, the words a whispered plea to a universe that seemed indifferent: "I wish you'd look at me the way I look at you. I wish I could be with you."
Weeks turned into months, and Nathan's determination to mend his broken pieces grew stronger. He sought therapy, confronted his fears, and wrestled with the tangle of emotions within him. But the memories of her continued to haunt him, her absence a void he could never quite fill. He stood before a shoebox hidden under his bed, its contents a collection of photographs that chronicled their time together. He had tried to get rid of them, to erase the reminders of what he had lost, but he couldn't bring himself to let go. Each photo was a piece of her he could hold onto, a tether to a time when he had felt normal, when he had felt alive.
I just want to feel the warmth of your body next to mine To see your smile I want to play with your hair See it shine under the sun as it hits you just right I want to watch the sun sink behind the heavens with you Talk, laugh, make out Anything I just want anything from you
He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be transported back to those moments when her laughter had been his lifeline, her presence a balm to his scars. He found himself drawn to the glow of the school's art gallery. A soft hum of voices and the dim light spilled from within. Curiosity tugged at him, urging him to step inside.
As he entered the gallery, his eyes widened in surprise. The walls were adorned with artwork, some of it hers. Vibrant paintings that captured a kaleidoscope of emotions and stories littered the wall. A harsh contrast to the monochrome pieces Nathan gravitated to. Each canvas seemed to hold a piece of her heart, a glimpse into her world that he had missed in their time apart.
And there, in the center of the gallery, she stood, her back turned to him as she spoke to a group of art enthusiasts. The sight of her was a reminder of the bond they had shared and the emotions he had suppressed for far too long.
He moved closer, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes roamed over her, taking in the way her hair cascaded down her shoulders, the grace with which she moved, the passion that radiated from her very being. It was as if the gallery held not just her art, but her essence, her spirit.
Nathan's gaze shifted to a particular painting—a canvas that depicted a couple beneath a starlit sky, their silhouettes locked in a tender embrace. It was a scene that felt achingly familiar, as if it echoed the unspoken longing he had carried for her all these years.
The words he had held back, the feelings he had concealed, surged to the surface. The urge to reach out, to finally voice his emotions, grew irresistible. He took a hesitant step forward, his voice quivering as he called her name
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writerscurse · 1 year
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In the Eye of the Storm | Aemond Targaryen x reader | Chapter 7
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!reader
Word count: 2,333
Summary: You’re visiting King’s Landing with your family to reaffirm your younger brother Lucerys’ birthright as the rightful heir to Driftmark. During your stay, you reconnect with Aemond Targaryen. You had once been friends, but that was long ago. And the man in front of you now, is not the shy kid you used to know. Can you reconcile despite your differences or will the rift between your families break you apart?
Warnings/tags: Incest (it’s the Targaryens), slow burn, fluff, angst, violence, death, smut
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7
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A/N: This was my first time writing smut. Please be kind!
A/N: This could totally be read as a stand-alone oneshot. If you haven't read the other chapters: Aemond and reader are about to spend their first night together. Enjoy!
All works are my own. Please don’t copy, plagiarize, post on other websites or translate.
The evening after your wedding and Aemond’s coronation was filled with laughter and joy. You enjoyed seeing your families united, just as your grandsire had wanted. The feast had been glorious, speeches were held in your honour. You enjoyed your fair share of wine and shared dances with your brothers and Daemon. But mostly, you enjoyed Aemond’s company. You enjoyed his subtle touches beneath the table. You enjoyed the sweet words he whispered into your ears. You enjoyed the gentle kisses, for all the world to see. And still, you could not wait for this feast to end so you could enjoy some privacy with your newly wed husband.
When it was finally time to retire to your chambers, you bid your family goodnight and let Aemond guide you out of the great hall and through the empty corridors. You giggled all the way there, stopping every few steps to exchange heated kisses. His arms wrapped around your waist, yours running through his hair. Tongues tracing over lips, teeth biting, hands roaming over each other’s bodies, you both could not wait to have this night to yourself.
As soon as you made it to your chambers and stumbled through the doors, Aemond turned around roughly pushing you against the door behind you, pressing himself against you, his lips crashing onto yours. You felt his hands all over your body. His left hand gripping your neck, keeping you in place while his tongue swirled around yours, his other palm slowly gliding down to your waist.
Your head was spinning, but you knew you needed more. You hungrily gripped the fabric of his tunic, pulling him even closer against you, moaning into his lips. Noticing what you wanted, he briefly pulled back, taking off his shirt and tossing it on the floor.
Aemond descended back onto you, his lips gliding over your neck, placing wet kisses there while his right hand gently cupped your breast through the thin fabric of your dress. Your hands found their way to his back, instinctively scratching it, as his thumb found your hard nipple through the fabric.
He groaned and pushed himself back slightly. ‘May I’, he hummed in your ear, his fingers playing with the lace of your dress, that was holding it in place. You simply nodded, planting hot kisses on his chest while he carefully undid your dress and slid it off your shoulders.
Once the fabric hit the floor, Aemond took a step back to properly look at you. You suddenly had the urge to cover yourself. Noone had ever looked at you in this manner until now. But before you could lift your arms, your husband moved closer to you, grabbing your wrists.
‘Don’t’, he purred, ‘you are so beautiful. I want to see all of you.’ His hands softly made their way to your breasts, fingers lightly brushing over them as he placed kisses on your jawline and down your neck. 
The sensations he caused made you feel light-headed. Gasping as his fingers rolled your nipples, you pulled him closer to you, needing to feel his body on yours. Desperate for some friction, you lifted your hips against his, grinding on the hard bulge you could feel through his pants. A guttural moan escaped his lips and his head fell forward, landing on your shoulder.
You removed your hands from his hips, needily fumbling with his pants, wanting to get rid of them so badly. When he noticed your struggles, he reached down and helped you undo his pants, his eye fixated on yours, wanting to take all of you in. Once you heard the pants land on the ground, you couldn’t waste any more time. Feeling rather impatient, you let your hand trail over his bulge, stroking his hard length through the thin fabric of his undergarments. 
The moans that your actions drew from him were obscene, his movements over your body became ragged as he enjoyed the feeling of having your hands all over him. You lowered your head onto his neck, finding his soft spot and harshly biting down on it.
With a desperate grunt, Aemond pushed himself into you even harder, not wanting to leave any space between you two. Your hand was still on his cock when you felt his long fingers moving down to your hips, dipping under the fabric that covered your aching core. He briefly stopped, waiting for you to tell him to continue. You hastily nodded, motioning for him to go on and with one swift move, he tore your underwear off you. His hands gripping your thighs, he lifted you up, back still pressed against the door. 
Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his hips, wetness dripping from your folds and coating his underwear. You continued to brush your lips across Aemond’s neck and shoulders while he carried you over to the bed.
He gently placed you down on the mattress, before taking a step back to get rid of his undergarments. You watched his every move as he slowly pulled them down. Already feeling breathless, you couldn’t keep your eyes off his hard cock twitching with arousal.
A smirk formed on Aemond’s face when he caught you staring. He descended onto the bed, positioning himself above you. Heat was pooling inside you as you enjoyed having him so close to you, having him be all yours. Looking into his eye, you saw a burning desire, before he dropped his head, his tongue instantly invading your mouth. You gasped, but still wanted more. Your nails left gentle scratches on your husband’s back while your other hand reached down to grab his erection. You wrapped your fingers around it, realising just how big it was, and tenderly started stroking it. His entire body twitched at the sudden sensation. Encouraged by his reaction, you smiled into his kiss and quickened your pace on his cock.
He almost collapsed on top of you from sheer pleasure when a dark growl fell from his lips. ‘No’, he whispered, grabbing your palm and dragging it away from his hard length. He brought it up above your head, resting his hand on top of yours to keep it in place. 
‘Tonight is your night. This is special and I want you to enjoy it. You can take care of me another time’, he whispered, a cheeky grin on his face. And with that, you felt his hand brushing over your skin, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps from your throat, down to your breasts, over your stomach until he finally reached your throbbing core.
He lazily slid his finger through your wet folds, drawing a deep moan from you as he started to caress your hard nipple with his tongue. You melted into his touch when you felt him lightly biting your swollen nipple and inserting one of his digits into your aching entrance. You gasped, white flashes appearing before your eyes at the unexpected sensation. 
His finger kept pumping in and out of you and he soon added a second one. Your walls were clenching around them. Moans kept falling from your lips and when he finally placed his thumb on your swollen clit, slowly circling it, you couldn’t hold back anymore. ‘Aemond’, you cried out, making him pick up the pace.
‘The things you do to me, my love. Ao sagon sīr gevie’, he purred, ‘you’re so beautiful.’
And then you felt his fingers leaving your heat. You looked up at him, desperate for more and he chuckled slightly before pulling away and instead positioning himself between your legs. He gently lifted your thighs and rested them on his shoulders. His left hand softly caressed your stomach while the other one found its way in between your wet folds again. 
‘So wet for me’, he mused, lazily stroking your slit once more, before dipping his head and connecting his tongue with your throbbing core. Your hips jerked up as a wave of pleasure washed over you, but Aemond held you firmly in place, pushing you back down into the mattress. 
A pleased grin on his face, he brought his mouth down to your swollen clit, planting a gentle kiss on it first. When he heard the shattered breaths leaving your lips, he started sucking on it until you felt dizzy and continued to moan his name. There was nothing else on your mind at this point. All you could think about was Aemond, he was all-engulfing.
His tongue continued to swirl around your clit as he pushed two digits back inside your throbbing cunt. You whimpered and your whole body jolted at the added pressure. When he flicked his tongue across your most sensitive part, you felt a knot building inside you. 
‘Don’t stop’, you whispered, your breathing growing more rapid and you felt the pleasure rise inside you. Aemond’s fingers sped up and as you glanced down, you caught him staring right at you, a hungry shadow covering his eye. 
That look sent you right over the edge. It felt like a trail of fire had exploded inside of you and you screamed his name, unravelling around him, as his pace slowed down and he slwoly removed his lips from your folds.
You felt him gently resting your thighs back on the bed and when you opened your eyes, you found him kneeling between your legs, eagerly sucking on the finger that had just been buried inside you. Gods, he had no idea what he was doing to you.
‘So delicious’, he purred and rested his hands next to your head, lowering his head until he could place a kiss on your lips. His tongue immediately invaded your mouth and you could taste yourself on him. The realisation of this had you moaning into his open mouth. 
‘Aemond’, you breathed, ‘I need you.’ Your hands were roaming all over his chest. You just couldn’t get enough of your husband.
‘So eager for me’, he chuckled, but gladly obliged your every wish. He lined up his hard cock at your entrance and looked down on you with worry on his face.
‘This might hurt, my love. Just try to relax, I promise you, I will be gentle’, he warned and you nodded, fully trusting him. You felt him slowly lowering himself, his erection disappearing inside you. 
You gasped, pain shooting through your body. 
‘Ñuha gevie ābrazȳrys’, he praised you, ‘my beautiful wife, you’re doing so well.’ You tried to calm your breathing and the longer Aemond stayed like this, letting you adjust to his size while placing gentle kisses on your neck, the less it hurt. Pleasure took over instead of pain and you slowly lifted your hips, trying to feel more of him.
Picking up on your cues, Aemond slowly pulled back and just as you were about to feel empty, he pushed himself back into your core. Every move he made drew deep moans from you and bit by bit he started quickening the pace, thrusting into you. And the more you moaned, the harder he continued to fuck you, making your whole body quiver beneath him. 
‘Gods’, you cried out, ‘you feel so good.’ He slammed his cock even harder into your throbbing cunt. ‘Take me, my love. Make me yours, Aemond’, you begged him, pushing your hips up against his thrusts.
As he pounded you harder and harder, your screams were getting louder, your body twitching with every move he made. Shockwaves were running through your body. And then you felt his thumb back on your swollen clit, circling it hard while he continued to fuck you and claim you as his wife. 
You felt the familiar knot forming inside of you and arched your back. ‘Aemond, I’m…’, was all you managed to say before your body jerked and you dissolved into pleasure, a ragged scream escaping your mouth. 
‘Fuck’, you heard him cry out, his eye intently staring at you as he brutally pushed himself into you one last time. You could feel his cock twitch inside you as Aemond collapsed on top of you.
Shivers covered your entire body and the sound of heavy breathing filled the room. You wrapped your arms around him, gently stroking his back and playing with his silver hair that was spread out all around you. 
‘I love you’, he breathed, still unable to move.
‘I love you, too’, you giggled, your fingers drawing lazy patterns on his back.
You couldn’t say how long you had been lying together like this, but eventually, Aemond found his strength and pushed himself up, placing a loving kiss on your lips, before rolling over and getting out of bed. His absence left you feeling empty and lonely, so you kept your eyes on him, seeing what he would do next.
He walked over to the basin, getting a cloth and then coming straight back to you. You loved that you could just watch him being beside you, clothes or no clothes. He was yours now and you were his.
He sat down next to you, pulling away the sheets. ‘Let me take care of you’, he gave you a loving look, before gently dragging the cloth across your thighs and wet folds, getting rid of any mess you had both created. 
When he was satisfied, he lazily tossed away the cloth and climbed back into bed with you, covering you both with the furs to avoid the cold air. He pulled you into his embrace, softly kissing your forehead.
You looked up at him, feeling so loved right now. Your hand made its way to his face, gently stroking his cheek when a yawn escaped your lips.
‘It’s always been you, Aemond. And it will always be you’, you whispered as your eyes slowly closed, your fingers still tracing the scar on his face.
He quietly hummed, resting his head on yours. 
‘Sleep now, my queen’, he breathed, kissing your head once more before he drifted off to sleep.
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writingsofwesteros · 1 year
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Imagine if Aemond and Strong/Velaryon niece are engaged since childhood, and really Love one another, but after the incident, her mother sends her t marry some old creepy lord and Aemond is beyond himself! It’s only years later that he manages to get her back (and the creeps entire house destroyed) but she’s traumatized by the experience and we see a soft ,caring side of him, and since she doesn’t anything to do with her side of the family, she sides with the greens ,and Alicent gets a daughter
AN: Hi, I hope you like it 
6 YEARS AGO
You had only just flowered; something your mother thankfully hadn’t realised yet with all the hectic movements around you both. “Aemond.” You giggled at the sight of him and quickly as ever made your way to his side. The funeral had now finished and you were free to move away from your family.
His smile was soon moving across his face as you noted Aegon moving from his side. “What is that brother of yours doing?” You reached for his hand to hold as you played with his fingers. “His usual self.” You hummed in amusement and softly shook your head. “Of course.” You whispered.
You stayed together in comfortable silence for a moment as you looked around. Your mother comforting your brother held your attention. “When we get married, my dragon will be big enough for two.” You whispered into his ear. “We can ride together.” You promised him so sweetly.
“I would like that.” Aemond whispered and ducked his head for a moment. It was only you he would be so sweet with. “I’m so glad I get to marry you. The idea of some old stranger..” You left everything unsaid as you shivered in disgust and slight fear if you were being honest.
“This will never happen.” Aemond hummed and you could only smile; your mind and body relaxing at his words.
»»————- ★ ————-««
Childhood promises were broken that night. As well as anything else you were made of, you thought to yourself. You could still remember the cries Aemond gave out as his injury was forgotten about. “Shhh.” You whispered to your baby boy who was running to you. “Father is angry.” You hated the way your body stilled at those words. Your son followed suit as he grabbed at your hand. “Shh, he’s not angry at you.” You tried to comfort your love. “At you?” He whispered. It was moments like this that you wished your dragon had been able to come with you,
You only played with locks of his hair. Your own was tied in an elegant bun; your disinterest with appearances well known. It wasn’t as if you had anyone to impress. Your husband had his whores and you had a lonely bed. You were thankful for it; the abuse he gifted out to you was enough.
“We have visitors.” He continued to whisper; playing with your fingers when you finally turned back to him.”We do.” You hummed; confusion moving over your face as you tried to remember any talk. “I suppose we should go and greet them.” You pressed a loving kiss to his temple.
Your little boy was still ever so shy; it was endearing truly. You ruffled those locks of his before making your way through the thankfully quiet corridor. You kept the growing fear to yourself and tried to stamp on it. “We should get you some food after this.” You whispered into your son’s ear, hoping to distract him as the entrance to the hall was soon upon you both.
“Lemon cakes?” He whispered to you; his tone dripping with innocence and excitement that you wanted to protect. “Anything you want.” You whispered and kept him close against your side. 
“Wife.” The horrid, loud voice of your husband echoed in the hall as you finally stepped inside. “My love.” You whispered softly. Your tone was sweet but held no real emotion as you stepped closer. Your son stayed at your side and you heard the scoff your husband gave.
You hold only tightened as your head finally lifts up. Those eyes of yours that used to be so bright moved across the room.
The sight of your family before you was enough to break your heart all over again and take your breath away. “Y/N..” You heard your mother’s voice from the side of you but made no move to turn your head. The woman that had abandoned you with no other communication didn’t deserve your attention.
“A royal visit. I was not expecting this.” Your Lord husband moved to stand; bowing his head but you could see the annoyance. “Yes, it seems an urgent matter was brought to our attention.” Otto’s harsher voice entered the room whilst you only grew in confusion. Your hand gently stroked your son’s back without noticing.
You were also unaware of the stares coming your way. The Prince you were promised to couldn’t keep his eye off you. His fists curling in anger at the sight of you so darkened. The light he had longed for seemed so dim now. Not that it changed his intense desire and love for you. Nothing could ever do that, not even the small boy at your side who clung to his mother.
Just as he had clung to his own all those years ago when everything changed in the worst ways. It seemed he wasn’t the only one affected. He prayed to whatever Gods existed that you spared him a glance. “There are whispers of treason coming from these parts.” Otto continued whilst you only grew in confusion.
“Treason?” Your husband scoffed but even you could hear the slight quiver in his tone and your head snapped to him. “There is no treason here.” He began to babble now whilst your eyes finally turned and saw him. The silence that followed was deafening as you kept your son close; protecting him from any harm.
“We have evidence.” Otto finally announced whilst your eyes never strayed from Aemond. It seemed that was enough for your husband as he moved to run. But Aemond was quicker even as his own stare had never moved from you. A soft gasp escaped you as you watched him pounce.
“Aemond..” You softly gasped out and the air became thin and quiet as he slowly moved to stand. His hand around your husband’s throat. “Take him away. And the rest of them.” Otto ordered. “Mama…” Your son gently sobbed and burrowed into your dress. It was the only time a flash of light came over you.
“Come with me sweet love.” The sound of Alicent beside you had you turning your head; still in complete confusion. “Alicent, what…?” You began before she gently took your arm. Your eyes finally met your mother’s eye. You could tell she was itching to step forward but you only followed the Queen.
“Where is grandfather?” You whispered out. Your fingers moved through your son’s locks as he continued to look around. He looked over his shoulder without you realising and locked eyes with Aemond as he watched you leave. “He is quite ill now. He couldn’t make the trip.” Alicent softly informed you.
“I’m sorry.” You whispered; the words tumbling from you before you ducked your head down. Alicent could only watch and mourn the girl you were; the girl she had been herself once upon a time. “Who is this charming boy?” Alicent moved to change the subject. She knew you didn’t hold any love for your husband but mother’s always loved their children. 
She could see it with her own eyes. “This is Caelon.” You proudly introduced your sweet boy as you moved into the chambers.
»»————- ★ ————-««
The journey back to the capitol was quiet and interesting. You had locked yourself in the chambers and entertained your son. He had taken the news of the death of your husband incredibly well. “You can be upset.” You gently whispered as you settled on the bed with him. Your fingers moving through his locks. “I can’t be. He was no father to me.” Caelon whispered before burrowing his head into your neck. Your hold on him is only tightening. “Shh, I love you.” You whispered sweet nothings into his ear.
“Y/N..” A familiar, more deeper voice interrupted the moment. “Aemond..” You whispered out; quite breathlessly. You noticed your son looking between you both as you slowly moved to stand. “Go to the Queen.” You gently told your son and pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head. With one last look at the towering Prince; your son slipped from the room. His little feet carried him hopefully to safety. There was silence that followed when it was just the two of you. The once familiar relationship was awkward, well, for you anyway. 
The Prince could only stare. His fingers itching to touch you. “Your dragon was kept safe.” Aemond finally whispered. It was the only time he saw some flash of emotion he recognized come over you. “She is?” You whispered out; stepping closer without even realising it. The Prince’s smile tugged on his lips. “She’s waiting for you.” Aemond continued as he slowly reached for your hand. “I was waiting for you. I’m sorry it took so long.” He began to babble. The Prince was completely softening as if he was that little boy again from all those years ago. He wished you were the girl but quickly he was falling back in love with you; as if he ever fell out of it.
“It is no fault of yours.” You whispered out. You hated how quickly you were melting for him as you didn’t flinch in her closeness. “I should've tried harder.” Aemond continued; hardly hearing your words. “You are here now.” You whispered and gently placed your head onto his chest.
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jjongscardigan · 25 days
Text
PAPER RINGS₊ ⊹⟡ — p.jongseong
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07. meet cute (sort of, idk)
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#clip 1
The camera shows y/n checking out herself in a glass door. "Hi, guys" She waves and twists her body to show her outfit better. "Ootd! 하나까지 완전 우리답지" Suddenly the screen turns black and there's Ive dancing to Kitsch. The clip goes back to y/n and she's laughing. "Sorry. Ootd! Tee and trousers from Yesstyle. Shoes are Rick Owens' Geo Basket and the jacket is thrifted." Now y/n is sitting on a bench and the camera is in front of her. "I'm currently waiting for Jay because we agreed to meet up on campus. I'm scared but also super excited because we've got so much planned for you guys!" A passer-by makes her shy and she stops filming.
#clip 2
The camera pans to Jay walking towards y/n, he's got a smile on his face and you can hear y/n giggling. "Hi!" He opens his arms and the screen goes black because they're hugging. "What's up?" Y/n asks when they part, she uses the selfie stick to angle the camera so that both of them are on screen. "Good, good!" The duo starts walking around campus. "Tell the kids about our plans, Mr Park" Jay pats y/n on the head and he grabs the camera from her. "We're going to hang around in the mall near our uni and also get new guitar strings, whooo" He spins around with the camera and you can hear y/n cackle in the background. The screen goes black again.
#clip 3
Now it's a sped-up montage of Jay and y/n playing different games in an arcade. They're having fun while occasionally stopping the games to talk a bit, but it's muted because there's music over the montage. The screen shows them exit the arcade and go inside a music shop. Y/n films while Jay interacts with the owners. The music gets a bit quiet and you can hear her mutter "Wow, he's good at what he does" The music gets louder again and Jay approaches with a smile on his face and a box of new guitar strings. They walk towards a sushi restaurant and order a meal to take with them.
#clip 4
They enter Jay's car and you can see y/n taking in the interior. She has an impressed look om her face. "Hi, babies! We hung out and now we're going to" She whispers the next part "to Jay's penthouse to film a mukbang segment and learn how to play guitar" the camera pans back to Jay and he's driving while humming that song that's playing on the radio. The rest of the clip is Jay and y/n having a carpool karaoke session.
#clip 5
At Jay's (shared) house, the owner (Jay) takes over the filming while he shows y/n enter. "Hello, everyone! Today I'm showing you all my very expensive luxurious penthouse!" She spins around and does a cartwheel in the spacious corridor. When she stands up she almost bumps against a startled Jungwon. "Oop, sorry" He just shrugs and goes his way. "Cutting that out." The funky music resumes while they go upstairs towards their bedrooms and y/n asks if Riki's home. "Nope, at school" Jay answers behind the camera. She takes the filming device back and Jay opens his bedroom.
#clip 6
"Dear, babies! Before we start our guitar lessons... We have to fill up a bit. Let's have a sushi mukbang." Jay brings a small foldable table and y/n sets up the plates. "We have sashimi, uramaki, spicy tuna rolls, sake nigiri and gunkan! Eat well, everyone!" They clink their chopsticks and get to eating.
#clip 7
Jay is now tuning his guitar. "He's so cool" y/n says behind the camera. She sets the device down and goes to sit next to him. Jay has already set up his equipment and starts filming as well. "Okay, guys! Last lesson we learned how to play Seven by Jungkook. Today y/n requested ���열 Love Shine by LEEHEESANG so we're learning that." He finishes off his sentence with a smile. The rest is some from footage from Jay's video.
#clip 8
Jay is walking y/n down the street towards the bus stop. "Hope you guys had as much fun as we did!" She shows Jay who's waving at the camera. "Bye bye!"
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<- previous | masterlist | next ->
___________________________________________
taglist — @jayjongie @eclipse-777
Do NOT copy my work, thank you!
©jjongscardigan 2024
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needcake · 7 months
Text
@hetaberia-week
Day 6: sea
.
.
1583,
Madrid
It is done, his King told him as he came into his private drawing room at night, answering his urgent summons. Azores has fallen, he said, handing him the letter from their Admiral for Spain to read.
Spain looked at him, stunned into silence, receiving the letter in his numb hands.
“And the pretender to the throne?” he asked, skimming over the words, jumping lines, eyes moving too fast over the ink.
His King snorted, sitting back on his chair. “Fled to France. Rats are the first to abandon ship. I reckon the French Queen won’t want to keep him in her court for long, soon he’ll be seeking out some other hole to hide.”
The words jumped to his attention on the letter, written in ink, preserved in paper. A suggestion made by their Admiral in the aftermath of the victory over the last of the Portuguese resistance, adrenaline undoubtedly still running high. Spain turned his eyes up slowly to face his King, the implicit suggestion in his voice filling his stomach with heavy lead.
The man sat with his back against the high frame of his chair, eying him candidly in return.
“You don’t approve,” he affirmed, but Spain was quick to shake his head, dismissing the idea. It wasn’t that he didn’t approve, it was just—
“We have no evidence that the English Queen will grant him asylum.”
“You don’t know her like I do,” his King retorted, eyes turned stern, and Spain quickly looked down, fidgeting with the letter in his hands, skimming over the words again.
“Still,” he tried again, quietly, “To invade England.”
“They harbor our enemies, attack us at sea, steal our ships. They’re financing the Dutch against us, making alliances with the Moroccans and the Ottomans. We must act now,” his King reasoned emphatically, and Spain knew he was right, he could see it plainly. “We must seize the moment after this great victory. We have the Portuguese fleet on our side now, nothing and no one can stand against us.”
Spain bit into his lower lip, the written words glaring back at him, black ink on the paper. He nodded, despite the heavy weight still lodged in the bottom of his stomach. He had a bad feeling about this. This was the moment of no return.
The King hummed, pleased, and with a flick of his fingers dismissed him. “We’ll have a meeting to discuss the details once the Admiral returns. I’d like the Iron Duke to be present, you as well. And if your friend is better disposed, we could use his seafaring skills.”
At this he looked up sharply. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. The King’s eyebrows rose slightly, but Spain was adamant, setting his foot down and raising his chin. “We don’t need to bring him into this.” Portugal would only oppose, cause unnecessary strife and friction, he had just lost a King, the Dutch betrayal still hung heavily over his head. He couldn’t ask this of him. “I can do it alone,” he promised.
The King eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded. Of the boy who entered the church accompanying his mother’s coffin only the name remained. They were men of duty, Spain knew he would understand.
“Very well,” he said at last, resting his palm on his desk, looking at him with sympathy, if not pity. “We’ll make the arrangements.”
He bowed in deference, leaving the Admiral’s letter on the desk within the King’s reach before exiting the room, feeling each step heavy, as if the long corridors of the palace were gallows and he was heading for an inevitable death.
“Sir, he’s been down at the kitchens again today,” one of his servants whispered as he walked back into his chambers, readily coming closer to help him undress, pulling at strings and undoing buttons, relieving some of the weight on his shoulders. “The staff doesn’t like it. They’ve asked us to stop him from going back.”
Spain sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes, looking up at the high ceiling of his room. On a table near the fireplace, seven misshapen honey cakes sat, too sad to look at.
“Tell them they’ll have to put up with him a little longer,” he said quietly, closing his eyes. “Just a little longer.”
--
After the Duke of Alba, also known as the Iron Duke, defeated the pretender to the Portuguese throne after the death of King Sebastian, António, Prior of Crato, at the Battle of Alcântara in 1582, António fled to the Azores, where he was again defeated in 1583 by the Marquis of Santa Cruz, Admiral of the Spanish fleet. After that he fled again, this to Catherine de Medici’s court in France. His final destination would be Queen Elizabeth I’s court in England where he asked for her help regaining the Portuguese throne. In the aftermath of their victory in the Azores, the Spanish Admiral wrote to King Philip II suggesting they should form a Spanish Armada composed of the Spanish and Portuguese fleets and invade England.
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thottie777 · 3 months
Text
college matt.
part 6.
(this chapter is long as fuck and very smutty)
the next morning meg woke up seeing you in the bed opposite her “what are you doing here?” she moaned, burying her face in her pillows, “nice to see you too” you replied, keeping your eyes glued to your phone. she eventually got up and began her excessive skin care routine, explaining to you with every detail what her and matt had done the night before, in your eyes it seemed like he was putting in most of the work. the more she went on the more bothered you felt, as she went on to count the amount of times he made her finish. a knot grew in your stomach and you felt your jaw begin to clench.
when she eventually finished chattering away you simply replied “so where is he now then?” you asked, slightly smirking down, reminiscing the night you shared together. “he got his cum all over my hair when he knew yesterday was my hair wash day, i was so pissed off i kicked him out” you scoffed, god she was a cunt “you kicked him out at 4 in the morning, bit harsh” “how do you know it was at 4” “just a guess” you replied, mentally panicking but trying to play it cool, continuing to scroll through your phone. “whatever, i’m going now, i’m visiting home for the week” she said, throwing her coat on and pulling her suitcase with her, slamming the door, the same way she always does.
-
you were in paradise, the room to yourself for a week? literally ideal. days went by and you began to dread the thought of meg returning. you could have friends over, walk around with little to no clothing on and touch yourself wherever you wanted whenever you wanted, moaning loudly as you imagined your roommates boyfriends long fingers inside of you, pumping in and out.
it was tuesday evening and you connected your phone to the speaker and played your music without headphones on for the first time since the start of the school year, blasting deftones and preparing yourself for your shower. there could be a mass murder in the corridor by your door and you wouldn’t be able to hear it, you stripped down and entered your en suite bathroom, running the shower to get it warm and entering it, letting the hot drips run down your body as you began to lather yourself with vanilla flavoured lotion.
you hummed along to the music, facing towards the water, letting the suds fall onto your face and soak your hair. you trailed your fingers down to your pussy, beginning to touch yourself and rub your wet and sensitive clit, you started to rub faster, the warmth in your core throbbing and becoming slippery to the touch, whimpering as the sensation filled your body with a horny adrenaline. you felt a cold breeze hit your skin, confusing you, but were so close to finishing that you chose to ignore it. seconds later you felt a large pair of hands find balance on your hips, you pulled your hand away from your pulsing cunt, turning around and letting out a sharp scream as you made eye contact with the unexpected guest in your shower as you stood there, naked, vulnerable and dripping with water.
it was matt. nude, with a smirk on his face. he quickly grasped his hand over your mouth, muffling the sound of your scream “shhhhhh y/n it’s just me” he whispered as he crept closer to you, removing his hand and using both to push you against the shower wall, “w-wh-what are you doing?” you questioned, looking down at his large, veiny cock that was evidently hard, a sight you had fantasised over too many times. he lowered his face to yours, his body so close that his dick had started to graze the lips of your pussy, making your legs shake slightly from sensitivity, you could practically feel your heart beat through your cunt.
“i came over to give you some company and noticed you were having a lot of fun by yourself” he said with a raspy, dominant tone, his lips curled up as a smirk formed on his face, he leant closer to your ear, lips scuffing the bottom of it slightly “let me help” he demanded, beginning to trace his right hand down your body, starting by your tit and landing at tattoo by your inner thigh, his fingers so gentle. you let out a soft moan, fixated by the delicate touch from a man you had thought of too frequently. he laughed at your sensitivity and the way you began to flutter your eyes closed from such simple touching. “you, you shouldn’t be here” you let out, not truly meaning it but being overcome with guilt, still with your eyes closed and lips parted, enjoying every tingle matt was giving you. “tell me to stop then, tell me you don’t want this and have never thought about me touching you” he ordered, hands moving to your soapy fat ass, squeezing it hard, lips beginning to trail soft kisses down your neck. you were lost for words, mouth unable to form a full sentence “m-ma-matt” you moaned as he pulled you in closer, holding your trembling body, helping you stand as you were convinced you were going to flatline from horniness.
“see the thing is y/n” he began, fingers trailing down to your pussy, you couldn’t cope with the teasing, continuing to whimper and shudder under his touch “i see the way you look at me” his hand drew circles over your pussys soft lips, not yet allowing you to have the satisfaction of him greeting the warm moisture that hid underneath, his mouth nipping at your neck slightly “i notice how often your eyes stare at my mouth when i’m talking” fingers pressing between your lips, finally entering your wet cunt, he began to rub up and down, brushing your clit so gently, lathering his middle and pointer finger with your juices. you squirmed and began to grind your hips towards the movement of his hand, matt knew exactly what he was doing, how to hold you, where to touch you and he could tell how badly you wanted it, mainly from the way you were currently riding his hand. “i know you wear less clothes when i’m around, those tiny shorts that always make me hard, thin shirts so i can ALWAYS see your hard nipples, god you drive me fucking crazy y/n” he murmured down your ear, you felt yourself trembling at his touch, drunk from his words.
his fingers slipped down to your hole and began to pump in and out of you, heavily lubricated by your juices that he provoked, you moaned loudly at the penetration, gripping onto the back of his hair and thrusting yourself closer to him, your neck lolling back and eyes tight shut from pleasure. “do you know how many times i’ve thought about this y/n”he asked, holding your chin with his fingers and lifting your head up so that you were looking at him, you moaned louder as he began to pump harder, “i asked you a question” he said, his bright blue eyes had turned dark and his grip on your chin had become rougher, forcing you to make eye contact with
him, you fluttered your lashes, gazing up at him with adoration “tell me baby” you whined out. “fuck i’ve always wanted you to call me baby” he panted, as you copied his previous motions and began to kiss down his neck “i think about your mouth around my cock every morning when i wake up, i picture how warm and tight your pussy would feel every time i see you pretty face, i fantasise about the taste of your cunt whenever i have a meal, because i know, i just know you would taste better than any food i could ever eat” your heart fluttered and clit pulsed as he rubbed it with his thumb, fingers still deep inside of you, he continued to rub as he crept his other hand around you like a necklace, fingers wrapped around your throat as you began your climax from the stimulation on your clit.
“the feeling is insatiable y/n” he moaned, cock throbbing, pressed against your stomach, “the second i laid my eyes on you i knew i was done for” he sped up his motions and had you cumming hard on his hand, legs quivering, eyes rolled to the back of your head “eughhh fuckkkk matttt’ you screamed in pleasure, holding onto him tightly. his fingers left your tight hole and found their way up to your mouth as he stuck them down your throat in order for you to suck the juices off his fingers, which you did, running your tongue along them and looking up at him with innocent eyes ‘i’ll taste you properly later’ he mumbled, then lowered his mouth to kiss and bite at your neck. trailing downwards to your tits, sucking on one, licking it with his tongue and leaving dark purple marks around it as he used his hand to squeeze and tweak your other nipple, you whimpered and whined as he played with you like a sex toy, which you were more than willing to fit the role of.
his mouth left your nipple and he pushed you against the cold shower wall again “beg me not to fuck you y/n” you looked up at him confused “beg me and i’ll leave you alone, i’ll stop and we’ll never have to talk about this again, but you’re going to have to beg because right now there is nothing i want more than to be deep inside you” “i-i” you stuttered, not knowing what to say “i said BEG” he demanded somewhat pedantically, as if he were a starved animal and you were his pray, pleading for your life. you ignored his orders and lifted a leg up, spreading it and leaning it against the wall. leaving your pussy exposed and ready to be destroyed. you looked up at him and smirked, dragging him closer with your hand, gripping on the back of his hair.
you smashed your lips onto his, breathing in his air and tasting his saliva that you longed for, he kissed back even more intensely, biting your bottom lip making it bleed, your tongues massaging each other and forming a spit+blood cocktail between your mouths, the rhythm was perfect, the softness of his lips was exactly like how you pictured, like two pillows that your lips laid to rest on.
“fuck me as hard as you can” you commanded and he heavily nodded, finding your lips again and continuing the erotic make out session. he took one hand and placed it on the back of your knee you had held up, raising it higher and pushing it further against the wall, creating easy access for your soaking cunt that was calling his name. your hands were held tight against his back, refusing to let go of him now that you finally had him to yourself. you could feel his lips smirk into the kiss as he lined his hard, throbbing cock up with your entrance, just as he began to place his tip in he quickly pulled it back and began to stroke your pussy with it, collecting your juices from your entrances and dragging them up to your clit, rubbing circles around it with his tip, leaving you a whimpering mess.
he finally realigned himself after teasing you with his titanium rod (lol get the joke?) and without warning pushed his whole length into you, you groaned loudly, trying to adjust to his long length as quickly as you could. he kept a hold of your knee, using it to balance on as he thrusted in and out of you, your brain spilling with expletives and moans leaving you no space to think reasonable thoughts. he felt so good, like nothing you’ve ever felt before, no guy you had ever fucked had known their way around a pussy like he did, he railed you hard and deep, letting out groans and ‘oh my gods’ every time he hit the back of your cunt, he moved your arms so they were laying above your head against the wall, your whole body was so exposed and he was soaking it all in, it was just as perfect as he imagined.
the whole time he was inside you he was pouring out praises and affection for you ‘fuck you’re so sexy baby’ ‘such a tight cunt fuck i don’t know how long i’ll be able to hold it’ ‘perfect pussy fuck suchhhh a perfect pussy’, the words of affirmation filled your heart and core with warmth and you knew you were reaching a finish again, this time on his cock.
as he felt your cunt tighten around him from pleasure, he quickly pulled out, leaving you bewildered and empty “i’m not done with you yet” he muttered in your ear, flipping you around so your hands and arms were leaning on the shower glass and your tits were pushed up against it, nipples erect from the cold glass sensation. he steered your ass so it was in line with his cock and put his hand on the arch of your back, suggesting you to deepen the arch for him, you followed suit and he rested both hands on your hips, gripping at them as he thrusted into you again, this time harder and hitting a new range of spots. you had never felt pleasure like it, your g-spot was having the time of its life and matt was clearly enjoying your pussy, groaning louder and louder as the pumps continued.
he pulled at your soaked hair, holding it in his hand like a rein “do you like how i fuck you y/n?” he asked, through gritted teeth as he pounded in and out “do you like being reminded of how dirty you are? how much of a fucking slut you are for me” you moaned, feeling so turned on by his dominance.
when he was around megan you could tell their sex life was somewhat vanilla, and from the way he was going at you, you quickly assumed it must be a her problem.
you felt his cock begin to twitch inside you and his hand run over to your clit, rubbing it fast so that you would both finish at the same time, you screamed his name as you climaxed on his dick and felt his warm cum spill into you. he pulled out, resting his dick on your back and watched his jizz trickle down your inner thigh. he turned you back round so that you were face to face and planted a sweet kiss on your lips “can i stay for the night?” he asked softly, holding your face and kissing further, you nodded into his lips and turned off the stream of water.
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10piecechickennuggy · 4 months
Text
Magic and Secrets, ch. 6 - Sanji x Witch!OC
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WARNING: Mature content ahead!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own One Piece or the art featured above. This is a fan-created work featuring an original character.
Read Chapter 5 Here
Read Chapter 4 Here
Read Chapter 3 Here
Read Chapter 2 Here
Read Chapter 1 Here
An off-key melody echoed through the mansion’s halls. Dark pigtails bounced as Vera skipped down the long corridor, a basket filled with freshly laundered sheets in her hands. The setting sun cast golden shadows along the girl’s smiling features. 
It’d been a good day. The first in a long time - longer than the ten year old girl could remember. Vera had been able to complete all her assigned duties and even had the rare opportunity to eat lunch with the other slaves. Her mind was still replaying the conversation she’d had with Laura over a shared pastry. 
“Laura, what do you think Germa is like?” Crumbs stuck to the young girl’s lips as she spoke.
The older woman giggled, her strawberry blonde tresses falling in front of her face. “Lady Vera, you mustn’t talk with food on your face.”
Vera’s eyes grew in realization of her messy appearance, her cheeks reddening at having it pointed out. She quickly whispered a few magic words and the offending crumbs disappeared. Still not trusting her own magic, she then grabbed a rag and used it to wipe her face just to be sure.
Laura laughed louder now. The rag Vera had rubbed on her face had been previously used to polish the furniture. Now, the young witch’s cheeks were smudged with brown streeks. 
“Here, let me help you.” Laura brought her sleeve down to cover her thumb before dipping it into her cup of water. She brought the damp fabric to the girl’s cheek and began rubbing the marks away. “I’m sure it’ll be lovely there.” 
Vera frowned, her features contorting into a comical expression when coupled with her dirtied skin. “What if he’s mean to me? And what if his father or siblings are mean to me?” Her lip began to quiver.
“Shh.” Laura patted her head once she’d finished wiping the filth from her cheeks. “I’m sure Prince Sanji will make a fine husband. And if his family is mean to you, he’ll protect you.”
Once certain that Vera had been sufficiently reassured, Laura stood and dusted off her apron. “We should get back to work. There’s still lots to do before the master and mistress return.”
Thoughts of a dashing prince swooping in to rescue her now dominated Vera’s mind. She hummed and sang a happy tune, not caring if any of the other slaves heard. Her key was off, wavering between sharp and flat with every other verse. But who would correct her? The portraits of her ancestors which adorned the hallway?
Turning, she reached the master bedroom; her destination. She quickly stripped the bed of its used linens and began replacing them with those she’d been carrying. As white fabric billowed through the air and came to rest upon a plush mattress, her song continued.
Vera was lost in her thoughts, imagining another of countless scenarios for her future. If Laura said he’d be kind, then he would be. The woman had never been wrong as long as Vera had known her. Her marriage would be a happy one.
She jumped when the bedroom door slammed open.
“Quit that incessant screeching!” Misericors came barreling through the doorway, Vera’s mother clinging to him. Both were glaring at the girl.
“I-I’m sorry, sir!” Vera bowed before her stepfather, fear overrunning her previously happy mind. Had she tempted fate by allowing herself a moment of splendor?
“You haven’t finished your work yet?!” His voice was booming, dwarfing every other sensation the young girl might have felt in that moment. “It’s nearly dusk! Must I remind you of your place?!” He reached out, roughly grabbing one of Vera’s pigtails and bringing her forward. He leaned down and forced her to meet his gaze, now at eye level. 
Vera gulped audibly.
“You are a slave.” Her stepfather’s breath smelt of alcohol as he sneered in her face. “Maybe you need something to burn that fact into you.”
The smile that overtook his features was nothing short of menacing. He took a moment to look off into the distance, formulating a plan. He chuckled at his own imaginings before bringing his attention back to the girl in his grasp.
Praesentia smirked at her husband, a hand resting on his chest as the man rose to his full stature. “She’ll never forget if you do that.”
Misericors yanked on Vera’s hair, dragging her out into the hallway behind him. The girl grabbed at her scalp, attempting and failing to relieve any amount of the pain her stepfather was causing. Tears fell down her cheeks as  choking sobs ripped themselves from her throat.
Before long, the trio found themselves in one of the mansion’s many sitting rooms. A fire roared in the hearth, illuminating the space and casting stark shadows. Misericors threw Vera’s body aside. She crashed into a coffee table, knocking the objects that sat upon it to the floor. Glass shattered upon impact, spraying towards the girl. 
She brought her arms up to cover her face, causing them to take most of the damage. Shards of glass embedded themselves into her skin, drawing ribbons of blood which trickled onto the carpet below. 
From her kneeling position, the  young witch stared down at her arms - now decorated with stripes of crimson. Colorful swirls and patterns reflected the fire’s light, appearing like glitter. The sculpture had been priceless. Vera closed her ryes tightly and braced herself for a beating.
When the sound of metal scraping stone broke the silence, she turned towards the hearth. The cruel grins her mother and stepfather wore sent paralyzing shivers straight to the core of her being. When the glow of red-hot iron came into view, the girl knew what was happening.
She’d seen the mark before. All the slaves in the mansion had it on some part of their body. The more well behaved slaves had theirs in places which were more easily hidden. Laura’s was in the center of her chest, right below her clavicle. 
Vera screamed.
She willed her body to move, but fear cemented her to the ground. Her lungs began to burn, her throat feeling like it was closing. She couldn’t stop screaming long enough to take in a single breath.
“Shut it!” Her mother’s boot made contact with Vera’s left cheek. She landed on her right shoulder atop the shards of rainbow glass. Her screaming ceased, tears falling as she attempted to push her body upright. 
Praesentia moved behind her daughter and held her down, a hand covering the girl’s mouth. 
As her stepfather moved closer, Vera began to thrash against her mother’s hold. She tried to shout, but the sound was muffled by the hand over her lips. Her eyes darted around the room, unsure what she was searching for.
When the branding iron met her arm, the pain was indescribable. Blood boiled and skin melted under the searing metal. The smell was horrendous, trails of steam wafting into the air as her arm was cooked. A silent scream ripped itself from her throat.
In an attempt to ease the pain, she bit down on the nearest object - her mother’s hand. In an instant, she was released and the branding iron was removed. However, the overwhelming agony did not cease. It felt as though her entire arm was engulfed in flames. She clutched the marred skin as her mother kicked her again.
“You little brat! You bit me!” Another blow, this time to her back. Praesentia then leaned down, forcing her daughter to meet her eyes. 
Vera stared through hot tears, her dark orbs wide in shock at what had just transpired. Her mother gripped the collar of her shirt, pulling her in close before growling her next words. 
“You deserved this.”
***
Soft cotton gauze was held firmly in place beneath an adhesive bandage. “There, nice and snug.” Law patted the spot he’d just finished dressing, smiling as Vera flinched away.
“Oww!” She held the location gently and glared at the surgeon. “Stop that!”
Law chuckled, his deep voice reverberating off the wooden walls of the sick bay. “What? The witch can’t handle a little pain?” He leaned back in the chair, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. “I’d have figured after everything you’ve been through, a few stitches would be nothing.”
Vera sighed, looking down at her hand. She’d been helping Sanji prepare vegetables for dinner and slipped, cutting her thumb quite deeply. “Remind me why Chopper wasn’t the one to patch me up.” She refused to raise her eyes, preferring the view of floorboards over Law’s golden orbs.
The surgeon stood, returning unused bandages to their home within a cabinet. “Nose-ya had another invention blow up on him, so Tony-ya is a bit preoccupied at the moment.” He turned to eye the woman, taking in her features. “Would you have rather waited?”
The witch scoffed, standing from her seat on the examination table. “Thanks.” Her response carried undertones of frustration. With clenched fists, she began walking toward the door.
“Just a minute.” Law had extended his leg, blocking her path. “Have you given any more consideration to my offer?”
Keeping her eyes focused on the exit, she brushed past the man. “My answer is still no.”
Overcast skies greeted Vera when she returned to the Sunny’s main deck. Silently hoping that a storm wasn’t in their immediate future, she took a moment to gather her thoughts. 
Resting against a wall, she leaned her head back and looked up. A gull flew overhead, its mottled body almost disappearing against the gray haze of sky. Her hand raised to her arm, gently rubbing the spot where her slave mark rested beneath black fabric. 
Law had been persistent these last few days. He took her initial rejection with a nonchalance that suggested disinterest. But in their following interactions, he’d not failed to remind her that his offer still stood.
Why was he so insistent on learning about her past? Were her scars really that interesting? Or was he just nosey? Vera was willing to bet on the latter.
Brook’s voice brought her attention to the ship’s helm. The skeleton in question held a violin and bow, obviously intending to treat the crew to a song before dinner. “How’s your hand? That looked like a nasty cut!”
The girl smiled, thankful for her crewmate’s concern. “Just fine. Law stitched me up good.” She held up her now bandaged thumb for him to see.
“Very good!” Brook nodded, inspecting the masterful wrapping. “Would you mind showing me your panties as well?”
The girl laughed nervously, darting her gaze back to the kitchen. “Not today, I’m afraid.”
Brook joined in her laughter, though his was clearly genuine. “Perhaps next time, then.” He began to play his instrument, soft notes complimenting the crash of waves along the ship’s hull.
By the time she’d reentered the kitchen, dinner was nearly ready. Sanji praised her dedication to completing her work, but insisted that she sit and wait for the final side dishes to finish cooking. He’d even set the table in her absence, leaving the witch with nothing to pass the time. 
She chose to seat herself at the island and watch the cook as he worked. Long, slender fingers expertly cleaned the filth from a used pan. Long blonde bangs obscured cerulean eyes as smoke puffed from delicate lips.
Vera couldn’t believe she’d taken so long to put two and two together. Had she suppressed her memories from childhood that deeply? The man before her was an exact match for her betrothed’s photos, despite how much he’d grown. 
But it was obvious he didn’t recognize her.
His demeanor betrayed nothing of his royal upbringing. And when questioned about his origins, Sanji only spoke of growing up in the East Blue - across the Red Line from his birthplace in Germa.
Was he intentionally hiding his past?
Vera wasn’t sure of the right way to proceed. She could tell him the truth and dredge up both their pasts, or continue on as before and carry the constant reminder of her former life alone. 
Would Sanji even care if she told him? 
They were betrothed as children. The pair had never met until their adult lives, both living as completely different people than their childhood selves. They were pirates, not a prince and a celestial dragon.
Would he hate her if he knew?
The celestial dragons were despised. Sure they were the nobles of the world, but to regular citizens they were monsters. Cruelty was synonymous with the title. And though Vera had been raised as a slave and subsequently abandoned her life in Mariejois, she had still been born as one of them.
And then there was the problem of Vera’s own feelings. 
No one could deny that Sanji was an attractive man. But he was also kind, chivalrous, and the best cook Vera had ever seen. He always put his crew - his friends and nakama - above all else. His obnoxious flirting with every girl he met was concerning, but he was a true prince down to his core. A wonderful person. Just thinking about him made Vera’s heart flutter.
She rested her head on the cool granite of the countertop.
Before long, the crew gathered and dinner had been served. The conversation had been boisterous, though Vera barely participated - too distracted with her thoughts. 
Both Law and Zoro had made attempts at bringing her attention to the present moment. Zoro had tried asking about her favorite alcohol, if she liked napping, even what books she liked reading. Law had made a passing comment about her appearance. Something flirtatious she didn’t quite catch, which only got a rise out of Sanji.
When her plate and beverage had emptied, Nami invited the witch to join her and Robin for a bath. She accepted, not caring that they would see her scars or slave mark. Her friends had proven that they weren’t bothered by them - just concerned for her. But the girls didn’t pry, and so Vera had grown more trusting towards the two. 
Warm, soapy water filled the Sunny’s enormous bathtub. Floral scents wafted through the steamy air, providing a spa-like atmosphere. Vera sat at the edge, her knees to her chest while the other women washed each others’ backs.
“Your turn, Vera!” Nami’s energetic voice broke through the witch’s consuming thoughts. The navigator’s long orange locks were held in a clip atop her head. Her blue tattoo was on full display along with the rest of her body. From her slender form to her large breasts and smooth skin, she was undeniably beautiful.
Vera complied silently, standing to join her friends in the deeper water. She turned, presenting her back which Nami began scrubbing with a soft sponge. 
Meanwhile, Robin had grabbed a bottle of shampoo and offered to wash Vera’s hair. When she nodded, the archeologist went straight to work.
“Your hair is so soft!” Robin exclaimed, her hands covered in suds. 
“Thank you.” Vera blushed and looked down at her naked form. She should feel embarrassed - vulnerable and exposed. She’d not bathed with anyone else since infancy. The magnitude of trust she held for these two women surprised the witch.
“So, I’ve been meaning to ask.” Nami had finished washing Vera’s back and began scrubbing her own body. “What’s up with you and Sanji?”
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boygiwrites · 7 months
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Harley D. Dixon 6
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Author's Note. I'm back!
Sorry for the two-week wait, and thank you for your patience. I'm so lucky to have such wonderful readers :)
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The CDC shuts down in ripples.
The ceiling lights are the first to shut off. The second-hand light from the sconces is next. The fixtures die one by one in a fluttering shockwave down the corridor, leaving the solid darkness to swallow us up as they go. Then the vents turn off, which give out one last breath of cold air before going still above our heads. After that, the electric humming in the walls power down; all those hidden wires, arteries of the CDC's pumping heart of a generator flat-lining all around us. I can't even see past my eyelashes, no more.
As a final goodbye, the neon exit sign cuts out. 
Then, that's it — Total darkness and total silence. Like being trapped inside a coffin underground. I'd never even noticed all the white noise that everything used to give off, but now that it's gone, I want it back. It feels so empty without it.
I become aware of the room again.
The fight has been put on hold. The snot in my nose and the tears in my eyes have been put on hold. It feels like all three of our heartbeats and even our breathing has been put on hold. The air bulges with angry, directionless energy.
I hold my breath for a long, long time, clutching the edge of the sofa like it's a teddy bear. 
The building has died.
How can a building die?
"What the Hell was that?" Shane's voice mutters from somewhere inside the darkness.
We hear distant machinery whirring down.
Shane calls the death of the CDC a what, instead of a who, because nobody in their right mind would kill the power here. This is the last place on Earth that should be without power. I think of mysterious scientific specimens going warm in fridges, and important computer codes being lost forever. I think of the oxygen supply down here going stagnant. No, people would die before they let this happen.
I get goosepimples down my arms.
Maybe someone already has.
"Harley." A tight whisper. "Where are you?"
W— Wait, was that Dad or Shane?
Boot-steps slowly approach me.
A big hand bumps into my shoulder and feels its way down my arm.
Who—? Who is that? It might be my Dad. He was closer, last time I could see him, but I don't know.
I don't know if this is the nice hand or the mean hand. It could be Shane's, who was reaching out to me, or it could be my Dad's, who was raising the belt. There aren't supposed to be nice hands and mean hands. That's stupid. Hands are hands. My Dad's hands rocked me to sleep when I was a baby, and they lifted me onto his shoulders when I was a toddler, and they soothe circles into my back whenever I have nightmares. They pinch my cheeks and brush my hair. Those are all nice touches. I should not be scared, and yet my body is telling me that if this is my Dad's hand, I should be.
I don't remember deciding that. It goes against everything I've ever been taught.
When the fingers reach my hand, I flinch away.
I realize I don't want my own Dad to touch me.
"Hey, it's me. It's just me."
Oh, it's— it's not my Dad.
It's Shane.
I shudder against the sofa like a petrified little bunny rabbit.
I keep my mouth sealed tight, refusing to answer.
Even now, I'm still thinking about the consequences to breaking my Dad's rules. Cops are lying bastards and they can't help us, is a phrase I've come to live by. I lived by it when I told Rick I wished he was dead, and I should live by it again, now. I should tell Shane to get away from me, because my Dad wouldn't want me talking to him. My Dad's word is law. He's the angel and the devil that have made their homes on my shoulders. He's my bible; my rulebook, the worm in my ear. He's never been wrong about anything. 
I'm so, so conflicted.
In one ear, I hear my Dad saying, Don't you fuckin' speak to her. In the other, I hear my heart, saying, Answer Shane. He'll help you.
Am I gonna get in trouble for this?
I stay quiet for so long that Shane decides to speak again.
"Are you hurt anywhere, Harley?" He murmurs.
There are rattling sounds in the background. I think my Dad's tryna open the panel for the back-up power, near the bookcase. I saw that there was one in almost every room. I hope he can't hear what Shane's saying.
"You need to tell me, sweetheart," Shane says, "So I can help you. Okay?"
Shane's still using his police-man voice, but it's not the one that he must use on criminals. It's not the one he used on my Dad. It's softer, gentler. It's the one he must use on people he's saving. He's letting me know that he's my friend; he's going to help me. Nobody has ever helped me with this, before. I didn't know I was supposed to need help. I thought getting beat was just a part of life.
Sometimes, cops don't have to be brave in the face of danger. They have to be brave in the face of crying children, and bloody teddy bears, and angry men wearing wedding rings. I know, 'cause the cops used to be out the front of our neighbour Tristan's house almost every night. Their emergency car lights would dash across my bedroom window in the middle of the night. They were the color of toxic frogs — red-blue, red-blue, red-blue — like the ones I'd see on the Discovery channel during the day, so bright that they warn all the other animals to stay away. When I peeked through the shades, I'd see Tristan's Dad on his porch, putting on a charming smile as they questioned him. Then the police would knock on our door and ask my Dad what he heard. He'd tell them things like, yelling, dishes being thrown at walls, crying. They'd scribble it down on a tiny notepad, and that's exactly where it stayed, every single time. Nobody ever came to save Tristan. I wonder if Shane has seen a house like that; if he knows the signs of broken people.
I wonder if he knows more about what I'm going through than I do.
But I'm not broken. I don't need saving. My Dad is nothin' like Tristan's Dad; nothin' like Sophia's. That's why the cops were never outside our house. That's why I'm smarter than the other kids, 'cause I know that even though my Dad hits me, it only makes me better.
Panicked, I silently shake my head, no.
By answering Shane, I'm bending my Dad's rules just a little bit, but maybe I can convince him that I don't need any help at all. He can just scribble my life onto a scrap of paper and throw it in the wind, and I won't ever have to feel this way again. I'm only answering to make him go away.
"What was that?" Shane whispers.
I feel him tilt his ear closer to my mouth.
Oh, right. He can't see me. It's too dark. I have to gain the courage to answer all over again. I take a deep, deep breath. It shakes in my throat.
"No." I whisper, glancing over to where the rattling is coming from; where my Dad is standing on the other side of the room. I make my voice steady; believable. "Not hurt."
"Anywhere?" Shane questions, making me worry he doesn't buy it. His voice is the stern police-voice again, like he's interrogating me; like my answer is very, very important and he's going to stash it away somewhere to use later. That makes me even more anxious. I don't want this to get brought up again, not ever, and especially not by Shane. I just want to forget about all this.
"No." I say again, hiding the pink, chafed skin on my wrist as if he can see it.
There's a pause. I wait.
Then he speaks again, but in the nice voice.
"Okay. Very good, Harley."
The rattling becomes a slam, and I jump.
"Nothin'. Whole place is dead." My Dad's voice comes. The panel squeaks on its hinges. Then, "Where is everybody?"
Oh. I realize that we should be hearing our people. Where are they? There should be doors opening and foot-steps pattering around. We should be hearing Carol comforting Sophia, and Rick reassuring everyone that we'll figure this out. We should be hearing Glenn asking questions, and Dale asking even more from the next room over. There should be confusion all up and down the corridor. There should be voices, everywhere.
I focus very hard on the silence.
There's nothing.
"I don't know." Shane admits.
"You don't know?" My Dad mocks him, angry. "You's the last one with 'em."
"Hey. All I know is that the water got shut off 'bout ten minutes ago. We were all washing up after dinner; sinks just went dry. I was headed back down here to check how much bottles of the stuff we got left when I ran into you." He lets out a big breath. "Think we all know how that went."
Found you beatin' the shit outta your own kid, the silence says all too loudly. It stretches for so long that I almost start to think that their voices were hallucinations the whole time, and that I'm actually alone. But no, there's a warm hand in mine, and beside me, there's breathing. Heavy breathing. Angry breathing. I can tell that they both still want to kill each other. Shane was designed to hate people like my Dad, and my Dad was designed to hate people like Shane right back. They don't even gotta know anythin' about each other, except that we come from two entirely different worlds that weren't meant to mix.
"Yeah, well ya found us. Congrats." Dad's voice comes shootin' back. "You know why the water got shut off in the first place?"
Right. The water.
"No, but I reckon it's got somethin' to do with the power dying." Shane forces himself to answer. "You got a flashlight in y'all's room?"
There's a tightly-wound pause, and then my Dad spits, "Yeah."
"Looks like we won't be stumblin' around in the dark for much longer, then." Shane sighs. "Find the flashlight and try re-group. That's the plan."
"Let's get on with it." Dad's voice snaps. "Harley, let's go. I'm over here. Come grab my hand."
I freeze.
I'm holding Shane's hand already, and he doesn't even know.
Do what Dad says. My Dad has lots of rules for me, but this is the simplest one I've ever had to follow. I've never needed to think about it, just like I've never needed to think about how to breathe, or blink, or digest food. My body just does it all on its own — Ain't no thinking involved. Even a moron could follow this rule, and my Daddy ain't raised no moron. But I'm still sitting here on the floor, like a big, stupid moron, 'cause following this rule ain't comin' so naturally this time. It ain't like blinking, no more. It's like swallowing a rock.
I hear Dad let out a breath at my silence, either impatient, or desperate, or both. "Harley," He grinds out. "Come here."
I don't want to run to my Dad, but if I stay with Shane, I'll just be getting myself into even more trouble. I can't decide which is worse.
I don't know what to do. 
"Dad, I'm scared."
I almost can't believe I just said that.
I'm scared of the war that's going on inside my head. I'm scared of how I'm clinging onto a police officer's hand, and I'm scared of how my body isn't doing what it knows best, which is to find comfort in my own Dad. I'm scared that nobody's taught me how to feel this way. I'm scared that I'm already in trouble again. I'm scared of what it means when I say I don't want my Dad to touch me. I'm scared.
I'm just so, so scared.
"Don't—" My Dad tries, but then I hear him take a steadying breath, like the words got cracked to pieces inside his throat and he needed to swallow them down. I wait. There's so much I want him to say. I want him to tell me that he knows what's happening to me; that he knows what's wrong with me, and he knows why I can't take a simple beating, and he knows how to fix me. He can fix car engines and broken furniture, so maybe he can fix me, too. I want him to tell me that even though he hurt me, he loves me. I want him to apologize and scold me all at the same time. My Dad finds the words again, and he whispers them to me. "Don't be scared, baby."
I try to regulate my breathing. He's taught me how to do that, before. Maybe I can at least get that right.
"Now come here." My Dad's voice armors itself again. "I'm not askin' you again."
I feel Shane's hand flex.
"Daryl, how 'bout you cover front?" He suggests, but not because he really wants that. "Me and Harley can take up the rea—"
"No need for that." Dad declines. "She's fine wit' me. She knows that. Harley, c'mere."
Yeah, I— I know that. My Dad is the toughest man in camp, and he knows how to keep me safe better than any cop. I know that.
Shane pipes up again. "I just thin—"
"Hang on a second." Dad dismisses. "Harley. Baby, come over here."
Shane answers for me. "She doesn't have to do that."
"I ain't talkin' to you. Harley. Last time. Come here."
I think this is a test, or— or maybe it's just more begging. He's trying to gauge just how scared I really am.
Even though Shane's crouched right beside me, ready to defend me from whatever comes my way, I forget all about him until it's just me and my Dad in the room. I think my Dad's forgotten all about Shane, too; forgotten that he wants to kill him. This is more important to him right now.
It's like the night in the RV again, where my Dad scolded me for picking at my bandage but gave me a kiss afterwards. It was his way of telling me, I disciplined you, but I still love you. I know I could just get up right now, walk over to him and grab his hand like he wants me to, and I'd be telling him, You disciplined me, but I still love you. It would show him that I'm not afraid of him. It would show him it's all forgiven. It would show him that even though I was hurt, I'll recover.
I could, but something is stopping me. I just can't do it. I can't make myself get up.
Choosing to stay with Shane is the lesser of two evils, I decide, so I cower against the sofa and stay right where I am.
For so long that I don't remember ever thinkin' otherwise, I've been taught that even a spanking is a nice touch. It might hurt in the moment, and I might even cry, but it teaches me to never do what I did wrong again. If a dog is smacked upside the head for rippin' up a shoe, it's never gonna touch that shoe again. If I'm smacked upside the head for doin' somethin' dangerous, I'll never do it again. Discipline keeps me safe, and smart, and ready. I wanna be all of those things. My Dad wants me to be those things, too, 'cause he loves me. I've been spanked so many times that I couldn't count even if I used all my fingers and all my toes, but I always picked myself up right afterwards. I'd even feel proud of myself for taking it.
But with each second that passes, I think my Dad is realizing right alongside me that something is actually wrong this time. Whether it was the belt, or the fact we were arguing about my Momma, I don't know. But something broke and it ain't fixing itself, not this time. I'm not getting up. I'm not running to him. I don't forgive him. I'm not okay, and I am scared. I'm even choosing a damn cop over him.
I think that with each second that passes, we lose something that we're never getting back.
"You really gonna make me say it again?" My Dad's voice pretends to be an angry voice, but it takes on a nervous wobble that I ain't never heard before.
He's always told me that being afraid is a sign of weakness, and that I ain't weak — I'm brave. I'm his brave girl.
I want to be brave. I want to, I swear, but I can't help being scared.
"Harley. Please get over here." 
I still do not get up.
After a while, he just can't stand trying to beg me no more; can't stand the thought of his own daughter being afraid of him. He's done asking. It's time to do what he does best, which is not giving me a choice in the matter.
"Harley! Come here!"
Even officer Shane flinches.
As if I've just been shot at, I jump to my feet. I scurry through the darkness toward my Dad's voice. Shane's fingers snag on the back of my shirt, and I almost knock into three different hidden pieces of furniture, but I make sure I get over there like my life depends on it. There's that strange blockage in my body again, screaming at me that I shouldn't be doin' this, just as it would scream at me if I was running into a burning house. I can't listen to it. I can't listen to my own body, or my heart, or even my own voice, and I don't know why I ever thought I could, 'cause my Dad's voice is the only one that matters. I bump into his hip, and he catches me; grabs my arm. I try not to gasp.
I can't see it exactly, but when he squats a little to get in my face, I can imagine his frowning brows and his flaring nostrils.
"You're fine wit' me." He says, laying each word down very slowly. "You know that, don't you?"
He's not asking, no more. I am not afraid. I just have to believe this.
"I know."
No, I don't. Not completely. There will never be a moment in my life again where I know that. If I ever break a rule or anger my Dad, I'll be glancing at his pants-line, anticipating the clink and the rustle and the whip. I'll only feel safe in half-measures, 'cause even if I have memories of my Dad singing me to sleep, and patiently teaching me to fish, and cutting the crusts off my bread, and joking with me on early morning bike-rides, my body has a memory of its own — Tonight. 
I've learnt another lesson. Be afraid of Dad.
"Alright." He hesitates to say, grabbing onto my hand. I wonder if he even believes his own words. It doesn't matter. We don't have enough time to figure this out, not right now. The CDC is dead, and our friends are missing. "Let's go. Shane, you can take up the damn rear on yer own."
I can hear more of that angry breathing behind us.
"Lead the way, buddy."
I am very glad to leave the games room.
Author's Note.
This chapter KICKED. MY. ASS.
I'm sorry there's only one scene. I just needed to post it so I could get it out of my mind, and be able to move on. For some reason I totally lost my writing groove on this one. I was feeling very frustrated with how it was turning out, and I had to write about six other drafts before I finally came across one that felt right, which is the one you just read. At long last, I made it out alive!! I hate writer's block.
Hope you enjoyed reading. As always, sending love! :)
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