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barbieaemond · 1 year ago

Text

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos."

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror.

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

#likiri #liv(in la vida loca)#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x wife reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #hotd fic

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bakafurai · 5 months ago

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WOAH AU JUMPSCARE!!! hi yes this is my very self indulgent hamtoshi au I have lovingly called reversed fates!

Basically it's a ng+ au where Hidetoshi somehow travels back in time a year after wishing he could have done something to save Kotone and takes on the wildcard role in her stead. He's the only who remembers everything, but he quickly learns how little that actually helps him when it comes to the dark hour...

More details under the cut! (Huge shoutout to some of the peeps over in the Hidetoshi Server btw for their big brained ideas... ya'll are my life saviours i swear fjghf)

More details on the main gang's personas (+Hidetoshi's starting social stats)

(Note: as of writing this I have not finished P3P so I don't have a list of the Personas from Kotone's compendium yet.)

As for the velvet room, Hidetoshi gets his own Velvet Room attendant by the name of William, who I have shared a reference here, his velvet room basically looks like those film noir detective office.

Because of the nature of his arrival to the velvet room, and the fact that Kotone already filled her compendium, Hidetoshi is not allowed to fuse personas- he is however free to summon and use Personas from the compendium (William is... too nice and socially anxious to charge him money for it).

Some other info about the AU! >Kenji swaps roles with Junpei, while Rio swaps roles with Chidori. >In his au, Kenji knows Rio but hasn't seen her in 10 years so is unware she is also a persona user working with Strega. >Chidori is a regular student at gekkokan, a third year student who manages the art club. >Kotone remembers nothing, however the death incarnate within her does! The bad news is that Pharos' memories are scattered and he can only remember enough to know that he can't let her sign the contract... The good news is that Hidetoshi can see & hear him for some reason and doesn't hesitate to sign it if it means saving Kotone. >Did I mention this is a hamtoshi au? yeah this guy didn't get to confess his feelings last time around and he ain't about to mess that up twice...He just has to get to know her as a friend all over again. (oooh he internally yearns for her sooo bad you have no idea, he loves her so much) >Aigis is no longer here, instead taking her role is Makoto! He definitely wasn't there last time though... >Hidetoshi and Kenji are in 2-E, while Kotone and later Makoto are in 2-F.

#robin draws things #persona 3 #reversed fates au #hidetoshi odagiri #kotone shiomi #kenji tomochika #makoto yuki #technically its just makoto in this au but shh #hamtoshi #robin kenji posting #(also while incredibly lowkey and not a focus at all you bet your damn arses i will sprinkle some kenjikoto in there somewhere lmao)#(it's my au and therefor i can do whatever i want)

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forest-falcon · 5 months ago

Text

Not written anything in ages. Just scribbled this down while making dinner. Gonna continue to scribble this evening and hope for the best!

Scott whump plus tinies being tinies.

💙🧡💚💛❤️

The Butterfly Effect

Chptr 1

It was nothing.

Scott's head throbbed in retaliation at the thought, and the pilot suddenly regretted the English breakfast he'd savoured just a few short hours ago.

Tentative fingers explored the swelling at the back of his head.

He inhaled a hiss as the injury bit back, and the eldest Tracy found himself nose-breathing to abate his rising nausea.

Ok, so it was something...but it had to be nothing.

Nothing until he was home, dry and safe - then he could rest...sleep it off - ice it, if needs be.

Nope.

Scott lost the bile battle and found himself filling a in-flight bag he usually reserved for passengers.

Goddamn it.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back, willing the universe to equip him with a functional brain - one that could last out the two-hour flight back to Tracy Island. He just needed to plot a course, then One could bring him home.

Then, and only then, could it be something.

One hovered patiently, her hum soothing and familiar in the absence of family.

"Thunderbird One?"

Fuck. He had to get going now before younger brothers grounded his clumsy ass. Scott summoned his best game face and ignored the sensation that his hair was gelled wrong.

"John? To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He'd confess his stupidity once home. Suffer the wrath of the Virgil-brows, and worse - Grandma, if he could just skip out on a hospital stay.

"Thunderbird One, you've not moved from your current location for some time. Is everything okay?"

"Sorry John, just had some stuff on my mind. Will fill you in later. I'm setting off now."

Scott allowed his fingers to dance over the controls, trusting muscle-memory over conscious thought. Thinking seemed to be a prelude to filling further bags - a desire he had no wish to to kindle.

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yes. FAB. M'good."

One's boosters fired and Scott swiped the hologram of his brother away.

Thunderbird One began her journey back across the South Pacific Ocean.

* * *

Scott's line went quiet.

"M'good."

John chewed on a pen-cap as he turned the phrase over in his head.

"Is everything okay, John?"

EOS hovered just at the edge of his peripheral vision.

"I think so."

"Penny for your thoughts."

John chuckled. Pennies hadn't been used for decades.

"Did Scott seem... different at all to you?"

"Not noticeably."

"Can I have a reading on Scott's vitals please? I'm sure everything's fine..."

"Blood pressure is slightly low, and heart rate raised, but all within normal parameters given recent exertion on mission."

"Good."

"My records show that Scott has been working longer hours than usual. He perhaps sounded a little tired, especially given his choice of words."

"I thought so too. I'll get Virgil to check in on him when he's home. If something's bothering Scott, I'm sure Virg can work his magic with a tête-à-tête."

"Failing that, a stay on Thunderbird Five should help to take the weight off, once I've removed the artificial gravity."

John threw his pencap at the AI.

"Thunderbird Four?"

"Present and correct!"

Gordon's voice sounded like a double espresso in comparison to Scott's.

"Mission status, if you please."

"All crew have been safely extracted."

"And the vessel?"

"Four's never better."

John rolled his eyes and looked to EOS for strength.

"The ship, Gordon."

"You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that, Thunderbird Five. The sea is full of ships," Alan's voice chirped in.

John glared at the comms line. He could hear their smug, stupid smiles. He was being set up. May as well get it over with.

"What is the status of Shippy. Shippy. Bang. Bang."

"Ooooh, that ship. I mean, she's not really a ship, more of an S.S.O, strictly speaking," Gordon sniggered.

S.S.O, was nearly as bad as Brain's R.A.D, in John's book. Gordon had coined the phrase Ship Shaped Object, to define any ocean vessel not fit for purpose.

"Yeah she's toast. S.S.O Rust-Bucket's embarking on her final voyage to the ocean floor." Alan supplied.

Our amateur angler friends are back on dry land, so we'll be heading back. Clean up will have to wait until the storm has passed."

"FAB."

#thunderbirds are go #thunderfam #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderwhump #scott tracy #john tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #virgil tracy #the butterfly effect

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tgrailwar-zero · 5 months ago

Note

Perhaps once we’re fully on our feet we can join you in jolly co-operation in fighting the foe that has taken over the Moon Cell.

SLAYER: "That's the hope! That Titan that took everything- that Titan that wished to destroy humanity! We're the only ones standing in it's way!"

KEEPER: "We won't ask you to do anything you don't want to, but your help would be appreciated."

SLAYER: "Ahaha! And-- this Solar Cell is a secure box. It can bang on the 'outside' for eons if it wants, it's not getting through. Which gives us plenty of time to prepare and come up with a perfect plan. We were each summoned for a reason. That's right! You must have come for a reason! More allies, willing to go into the fray and join us in saving Humanity!"

PRIESTESS: "…Once the core of the Solar Cell gathers enough power, then we can begin our assault. It'll be far from 'jolly', our adversary carved through true Divine Spirits from the Age of Gods. Just thinking about fighting it gives me the chills, bringing back horrible memories…"

PRIESTESS: "But we can't afford to be cowardly! If something has to be done, then we'll have to do it!"

SLAYER: "Hear, hear! We ride in ready to die, and thus we shall prosper! Ahahahahahaha!"

KEEPER: "Hah, look at you, matching Slayer's energy. Well, not exactly, she's still a few notches higher. Still... I like this, it's better than your usual gloomy self. Maybe you really are feeling a bit more hope?"

PRIESTESS: "Maybe you're right, either way… I can't waver. I am of a unique body, but I was summoned with this strange Saint Graph for a reason. And if that means laying down some dragon-fox wrath, then so be it!"

PRIESTESS: "We'll show that Umbral Star the might of the Sun!"

...

You felt a shudder.

At this point, you knew the rest.

War, fire, death. It was as if not to torture your brain with irony for much longer, your mind mentally began fast forwarding through everything else. There wasn't any changing the past, after all.

At some point, you recalled that you had slain the Slayer.

...Your fractured memory told you that it wasn't easy.

You recalled the moment of your 'end'. Where you had been cast away, and sealed.

The last time you had recalled this moment, it had been more twisted. More horrifying, more monstrous, more viscous. A beast, clad in shadow, mechanically slaughtering you and casting you into the abyss.

Now, the memory was clearer.

Powerful magic coalescing, a sealing spell beyond compare. The Priestess of the Sun had her hands raised, her expression bitter and filled with betrayal and contempt. A goddess that had seen tragedy, and now was more than willing to enact divine retribution.

A voice screaming. Hoarse.

"For what reason… for what purpose?!" "Show me, tell me, do something! Please!" "Why did you destroy my world…? Why did you crush my dream…? We could have saved everything! Avenged everyone! And now... and now it's gone! Are you happy?! Are you proud?! The war is over before it even began!"

"I'll… I'll curse you! For a thousand years, I'll curse you! May you and your sins burn for a thousand, thousand eternities!"

She brought down her hands with rage, the might of a wrathful god slamming down on you and pushing you deeper and deeper into darkness.

Deeper and deeper.

Blacker and blacker.

Dark, for so long.

You felt your hands let go of the teabowl. Not even a second had passed, it seemed.

The sweet taste ended bittersweet in your mouth. Still, it felt a bit like a jolt. It'd be easy to stay in that memory forever, but waking up was the important part- as hard as it was, sometimes.

RIKYU: "..."

RIKYU: "I see."

#main post #thgw story #endless whispers #thgw: chapter 6 #thgw: chapter 6.5

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666herescared · 2 years ago

Text

Not a Great Plan(ClingPeachesAU)

I wrote this at, like, ten and kept writing till four, so I'm sorry if it's noticeable.

---------

“MK!” Mei yelled, trying to bring her friend to awareness. The monkey-formed brunette stayed unresponsive in the king’s arms.

She dashed forward and grabbed one of his stiff arms. The sage pulled her arm off and used it to throw her at the wall. She had to recover and looked at the ruler; His face contorted into a snarl with her best friend in his arms, yet he just stood with his hackles up and waited for an attack. “Leave my cub out of this!” The king yelled as he caught Pigsy’s attack and threw him into Tang, disrupting his.

Macaque created a shadow portal to trip the 5-ways immortal, but it was really hard to fight and get someone out of the protective king’s arms. “Wukong, enough! He isn’t your cub!” The black furred monkey cried, trying to knock some sense into his ex. He knew what this was, he just hoped to every single god that he was wrong.

The parental instincts of the ruler were clear. Something was blocking Wukong’s rational mind. It was made clear when he said, “Then why does he look like us, huh?!”

“What? I don’t know!” The shadow started as he summoned clones to take the kid away from the king. “You aren’t thinking clearly! You need to calm down!” Macaque yelled as the clones pulled Mk out of the golden monkey’s arms. A smile of relief crossed his face briefly before the sage tugged the child’s tail to get him back.

He put all of his effort into the clones so they could fight the king’s strength. A pained chirp came from the youngest and made the shadow’s grip slip, causing him to land in the sage’s arms. There was panic on Wukong’s face. “I know cub. I’ll deal with this.” He muttered and dodged a laser from the dragon sword. “Watch where you’re shooting that!” He yelled as the girl joined the fight again.

The celestial cub chirped again, recognizing his best friend’s sword despite the blurriness in his eyes. Mei noticed and grinned. “Yeah! It’s me Mk! I’ll get you home! I promise!” She declared with her determination renewed.

A glowing bubble wrapped around her best friend, teleporting him into Sandy’s arms. A chirp of relief came from him as light seemed to return to his eyes. “I’m here, little ma- OUGH!” It didn’t last long, ‘cause Wukong punched the water spirit in the gut and chittered to the cub once again in his arms.

The king kept the kid there as he chirped the awareness from his eyes. “Is he doing that on purpose?” Mac murmured to Tang and Pigsy.

“If he is, we’re not getting the kid back until he’s not there.” Pigsy stated, seeing the threatening glare from Wukong.

“You’re right.” Macaque admitted and commanded, “Retreat!” before shadow portaling everyone to Pigsy’s with a soft, “Sorry, kid.”

When they reached the restaurant, everyone took a moment to grow aware again. Mei was angered when she realized. “What was that, Macaque!” She yelled.

The shadow was annoyed. “Wukong can’t be stopped when he’s in an instinct haze. I know that first hand. He was keeping Mk from awareness. I can’t get someone out of that! It’s one of the problems with fighting him as a monkey.” He despised the king’s control of his mind.

“What was he chittering about anyway?” Tang asked as he calmed his husband, who was sickened by the portaling.

Macaque wracked his brain for the answer, “He was chittering something about… a story I think. He was, like, telling a children’s book from memory. It was just to keep him in that haze. ‘The Lily and the Lake’, if I heard right.” He explained, best he could.

“Never heard of that one.” Pigsy mumbled once his nausea passed.

“It’s an old story. Shocked he still knows it.” The monkey stated not mentioning that he wrote it. A long, long time ago, yet still.

Mei was sitting and mumbled, “I wish I could hear it. Maybe it’d be calming.”

The shadow wielder felt a level of sorrow and pulled his lantern from his cape. “Alright! Story time with Macaque, I guess.” He said softly as everyone gathered around him.

He cleared his throat and created an image of a lake with a lily at it’s edge. “A lake sat still in the moonlight, nothing daring to disturb it. They knew how powerful it's rage could be, and so they all stayed away; all except a single lily.”

The image came to life as a petal fell from the lily. “The lily was able to calm the water, no matter how many times it angered it. The lake would let nothing distress it’s flower, so when a petal fell; a single one, it grew enraged with the forest.”

The image changed to show rivers surrounding the lake flowing past. “Rivers heeded the warnings and burst dams, drowned creatures, and did all they could to discover the lily’s issue.”

The shadows twisted to show dams being torn down by the rivers, then returned to the lily by the lake again. “The lake was terrified by the thought of it’s lily wilting,” The picture changed to show the lake pushing against where the lily was sitting. “so it pushed more water into it, thinking it hadn’t done enough.”

The lily seemed to wilt faster in the illusion. “But it was doing too much. The lily couldn’t deny the lake, and so it fell apart; piece by piece.” The lily was gone from the image, but more grew around it. “The seeds managed to grow once the lily was gone, and this time, the lake promised it would do better. After all, it had killed it’s beloved lily.”

After the story, Macaque realized everyone had fallen asleep. He chuckled at that but gathered blankets to cover the others. They needed rest if they were going to make a plan.

Mei stood on the T.E.A remembering the story Macaque had told. She leveled her breath and stared at the mountain in front of them. They were gonna get him back. She knew it. This was the day! “We’ve gotta get in and get out quickly. The animals will try and create a diversion. We have fifteen minutes at most to get the kid.” The shadow monkey briefed everyone quickly, before portaling them onto the island. Sandy stayed back to be their get away.

They wandered for five minutes until they saw Mk. He was- still in monkey form?! Mei immediately tried to dash over, yet she was grabbed by the black monkey. “What?!” she whisper-yelled at him.

“Shh!” He shushed, all three glowing ears fanning out. “Shit. That spell… This might be harder than I thought.” He mumbled as he stared toward a necklace the cub was wearing.

“Spell?” Pigsy asked.

Macaque had that same expression he had when he heard Mk had one of those treats. “It’ll alert him if he leaves. We need to get it off.”

“Can’t we just ask him to take it off?” Tang questioned.

“If I know Wukong.. No. It’ll be bound.” The shadow monkey claimed and started walking forward, beckoning the others to follow. “Heya, Mk.” He stated, approaching the cub.

The monkey kid was startled by the older, but calmed himself and looked his way. “Macaque?” He asked, looking away from the… lake. The kid smiled and ran forward to hug the shadow. “I’m so happy to see you!” He exclaimed.

The black furred monkey hugged the cub back, a little awkwardly, and said, “Hey, kiddo! We’re here to get you.” He nodded towards the others who dashed forward to hug him.

They all greeted Mk and expressed how much they’d missed him, causing him to giggle. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Everyone paused.

“How?” Mei asked, confused.

The kid jerked himself away and wrapped his tail around his own waist. “Um- well… Y’see..” He mumbled anxiously before pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Wait. We could’ve called you this whole time?!” Pigsy didn’t believe it.

Mk flinched back with a chirp; one Macaque recognized. Someone had to chirp back to calm him- but Mac wasn’t a dad! Macaques as a species might participate in alloparenting, but that didn’t mean he had any right to respond! “Why didn’t you tell us?!” Tang sounded angry to the cub, causing another chirp; this one was apologetic.

“Guys-” The shadow tried to butt in, but Mei was actually angry.

“You mean, you could’ve talked to us this whole time, but you chose not to?!” She wasn’t helping. Macaque could tell the cub was on the verge of a much louder chirp, when a softer one was forced out of his mouth, clearly muffled internally.

He was gonna alert Wukong if he let that out- Calm him. CALM HIM YOU IDIOT! Macaque suddenly chirped back at the cub and ran forward, feeling the instincts finally kick in and cause him to hold the cub close. “It’s okay- It’s okay, Mk. They aren’t mad at you. We’re just worried.” He comforted the young monkey in his arms. He kept calming him for a short while, before Macaque remembered that… They had a time limit.

A panicked chirp came from Mk when he noticed it. Wukong was standing by the tree line, a shocked expression on his face that quickly warped into a grin as he ran forward, stopped by Mei pulling out her sword. “Stay away from our monkey man.” She stated.

“Mei! He’s not keeping me here!” Mk defended and pushed her arm down.

The shadow approached the cub with a sympathetic look. “He didn’t tell you?” He asked but he knew the answer.

“Mac! It’s not a big deal! I just wanna know whenever he decides to go!” Wukong claimed with a pout.

Mk was shocked for a moment before he yanked his hand back and walked back into Macaque, who immediately held his shoulders to comfort him. He chittered in confusion before activating his gold vision and seeing it. There was no way to leave without him knowing. Was the necklace a tracker too? How far would he have to go before it stopped knowing where he was? ‘No escape. No escape! NO ESCAPE! RUN-’

The black furred monkey chittered softly to calm him and squeezed his shoulders lightly. “Let him go, Wukong.” Macaque demanded.

“What do you mean? He can leave if he wants! I’ll just know! That way, he’ll be safe! If he takes too long, I can check in and make sure he’s okay! I don’t have to worry now! I’ll know he’s safe!” Wukong exclaimed, smiling bright as the sun and eyes glinting in fear. Wait, fear?

Fear. He was scared. Macaque figured it out. Now, he could play this scenario. “He’ll be fine if you don’t watch him. He’s twenty-two. You’ve seen him in action! What happened to ‘Believe in yourself��?” He began playing his move, but have you ever been playing a game, and then your cat knocks everything out of place?

Yea. Replace that with a dragon in human form and we’re golden. “Give it a rest, would ya?!” Mei yelled as she swung her sword, causing him to catch her wrist.

Wukong snarled and gripped it far too tight, breaking her wrist. She yelled and he muttered, “Whoops.” before picking the sword off the ground, and throwing it into the ocean. He laughed maliciously, “You’re gonna have to find that later.” He threw her into the trees, knowing she would be fine. She was a dragon, and now she had an immortality granting peach in her. “Anyone else feel like denying me my son?” He asked, back to being bubbly, no matter how terrifying he still was.

Pigsy yelled, “Mei!” before running at the king, pulling his rake out of who the fuck knows where to strike the king, but it was stopped really easily.

“Y’know; Now that you’re all immortal I don’t have to hold back. So, again,” The king started with a sadistic grin, punching the pig demon in the gut. “Anyone else feel like denying me my son?”

A loud chirp stopped the ruler in his tracks and made him turn to his cub. “Calm down, Monkey King. I… just.. Please?” He gave his best puppy dog eyes.

The sage gave a trilling chirp in response and wandered over, about to reach for his son when he noticed Macaque tightening his grip. “Peaches. Don’t hurt him.” The shadow demanded, but he just caused the king to coo at his former mate’s protectiveness.

No one would’ve suspected any violence had happened if they only saw this moment. The ruler looked so loving and calm, wearing pastel pink and white checkered pajama bottoms and a sleep shirt with his logo on it. “Of course, Plums! I wouldn’t dream of hurting him.” He stated as he pulled his cub into a hug. He noticed immediately how fast Mk’s heart was beating once he had a grip on him and then his panicked breathing. He chittered to calm the cub, before noticing the others had regrouped. His cub needed comfort. He wasn’t letting them take him till he was calm. “Whelp. I had fun, but I’ve gotta calm him down. See ya later!” The king said, trying to walk off, before his son dug his claws in, staring at Macaque for salvation. Of course, he took it another way. “Oh? Do you want him to come too?”

The shadow jerked away. “Wukong! You can’t be serious!” A fearful chirp came from the cub as he tried to reach out and comfort Mac, which managed to trigger one from the older as well.

Mk was crying in the king’s arms, but Wukong laughed- fucking laughed- and reached an arm out to Macaque, offering to come with. The shadow wielder looked to the others, all frozen with fear. If he stayed by them, they could retry this same plan. Fail. And try again. Mk was the plan man after all. Macaque knew how people work, but he wasn’t good with battle strategy. Or..

A plan brewing in his mind, Macaque portled the others away and grabbed the ruler’s hand. He knew how people work, and especially, how Wukong worked. He gave Mk a reassuring smile before they all walked up the mountain to the king’s house, where he’d set up a room for his cub. “Alright! Who wants to play?!” Monkey King exclaimed, pulling out one of his board games and presenting it to the darker monkeys. Mk smiled nervously and held up a hand before walking forward and sitting down.

Mac seriously didn’t think this through. He didn’t even consider the kid’s mental state! He didn’t know what to do when the kid seemed so thoroughly indecisive. All he could do was watch and wait.

The king was overjoyed when the shadow joined them, ever so excited for family game night, now that he had his cub and his mate. Or, well, ex-mate. For now=)

---------

Boom! Wukong is definitely yandere at this point, but still. Maybe a little closer to over protective. I don't know. Anyways, once again, feel free to make whatever in this AU and above all else,

Have fun, and happy scrolling!

#lego monkie kid #Lego monkey kid #dad wukong #Yandere Wukong #obsessive behavior #ClingPeaches AU #LMK #LMK AU #shadowpeach #Mk needs help #Overprotective wukong

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titlemewickedwonderland · 2 years ago

Text

Darkling [Rain x Phantom x Darkling (Oc)]

Summary: She was a newly summoned ghoul and she was struggling. As someone who came from the very pits of hell, nightmares and self-doubt was nothing but expected but she wasn't sure how she was going to be able to cope; until two of her new ghoul pack mates remind her how special she is.

Prompt: Hurt/Comfort dedicated to one of my special followers! I hope this makes you feel a little better and something you can return to reading anytime you need some extra comfort! @darklylucid

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Contrary to belief, Hell wasn't the lake of fire, filled with flames and with the hot stench of death. It was cold, soul-chilling cold and it was terrifying. Terrifying because you could trust nobody, nothing in the pits of hell was your friend and you always had to watch your back. Another contradiction when it comes to hell is well...when you're in hell, you can't die. Condemned souls and demons alike were immortal because well, they were already dead. Condemned souls eventually become demons in a sense after being with the realm of Hell for such a long time. No one died there because they were already dead. But most wished they would die because demons and ferals were brutal creatures. They could tear you limb from limb and you would feel everything but you would not die; even when you feel as if you are and pass out. You'll wake up whole again with maybe a new scar or two. It was brutal.

And she hated it. She wasn't new to Hell, not old enough to progress into sanity where you lose all the memory and humanity you had left like most of the souls and demons of the Pit. So it was worse off for her, she was deemed weak because she still held onto the thread of her humanity unlike those who had theirs turned off after centuries of dealing with the brutality and horror of the Pit.

That is not to say that she remained with memories of her life while alive, time did pluck them away little by little, but she knew that she had been loved by many people. She imagined that she had friends and family that missed her dearly but besides that; who she was, what her name was, what she loved to do...all of that was just a blurry mess. Not that she had much time to wonder about those things when the screams of the damned and demons alike invaded her cranium with their ungodly screeches bringing with it the iron grip of fear and need to run; run and survive another godforsaken day in the pits that never ended.

There was no redemption in Hell, only pain and suffering. So as she took on another day running from the pack of ferals chasing her with insatiable hunger in their eyes while they tracked the scent of her blood from the open wounds they had inflicted on her; she realized she was running straight through a red haze; like that of a red sand storm and her world went white...and then black.

When she came to, her entire body was aflame and her head swam as it pounded so hard she swore her skull would crack open and spill her brains out on the ground. In the haze of her pain, she heard voices around her and her instincts came to life. She moved weakly trying to find the ground beneath her feet but her body was weak and she stumbled. A pair of arms wrapped around her and her body slumped against the body belonging to it as her vision spiraled with black dots in her visions.

No, not black dots...masks. Her vision cleared little by little and she found herself staring up into the gleaming goggles of some kind of black mask belonging to a man who held her up on jelly legs. Words were being said; she couldn't make it out but she saw the fabric covering the person's mouth move so they must be saying something to her right? Were they not going to kill her or tear her apart? Why were they speaking to her?

"Rain bring her back to the dorms." a man's voice with an accent spoke up from somewhere in the room. "Let's get her cleaned up and settled in!"

She wouldn't have been able to call herself a survivor if she didn't at least try to struggle a bit when she listened to the words registering but the arms around her were firm and yet gentle as they held onto her squirming body; keeping her from herself herself.

"Hey, shh. It's okay, you're alright. You're safe honey!" the masked man - Rain, hushed her gently as he bent slightly to pick her up bridal style.

A blanket was draped around her by another figure before Rain carried her from the cold dark room and the bright lights of the hallway assaulted her sensitive vision. She whimpered and ducked her head feeling the pain behind her eyes from the light.

"Oh, I know sweetheart. It's okay, we'll get you taken care of!" another voice spoke up from beside her as a hand came into view to pull the blanket over her head a bit so that the light wouldn't bother her.

The sound of murmurs behind her faded as she began to get sleepy and she rested her head down against Rain's shoulder from the exhaustion of her summoning and the confusion of her appearance. She was almost fully asleep when the softness of a bed she laid on registered in her foggy brain and as the figures began to move away from the bed she felt the sudden urge to reach out and grab at them.

"N-no!" her words came out scratchy and filled with panic. "I don't...I won't want to be alone."

Rain hesitated before turning to look at his fellow packmates and then he unbuckled his helmet and set it down on the floor before he was crawling into bed beside her. The warmth of another living creature was a comfort she wasn't aware she had been craving until the solid weight of him rested on the bed beside her.

"Oh love no no need for the tears!" the same voice from earlier rushed out to say as a second figure knelt on the floor beside her. "Trust me, I know how it felt when I was first summoned. It's tough, but your safe. You'll be alright." a hand smoothed over her messy hair and she latched onto their wrist like a lifeline allowing the hot tears to fall as the feeling of overwhelming emotions rocked her life like a boat in an ocean.

The figure gently stroked her dirty face and wiped her tears away as Rain rested on the bed beside her letting out chittering sounds in hopes to soothe her. It was working, because before long...she fell asleep in the warmth of other living creatures; creatures that didn't want to kill her, and that was enough to let her exhaustion take hold and allow her to let go of her consciousness in favor of some proper sleep.

Hands were gripping her and voices were murmured somewhere in the darkness but when she opened her eyes she was met with two worried faces peering down at her. Her heart pounded heavy and painfully in her chest; her face must have reflected the terror she was relived when the figures crowded her in their warm embraces.

Rain and Phantom. They were safe. They were not trying to hurt her. She was at the Abbey back home in her bed. She was okay. But the terrors of her life in the pits haunted her every night for the past month that she resided topside and she was so sick of it. So tired of all the horrors that just never wanted to let go of her. She'd cried so many tears of pain and fear that she was surprised she hadn't cried herself a river to carry her away; not that they'd let her go anyway.

Ever since the day Papa had summoned her a month ago Rain and Phantom had been her rock to reality; the strength she clung to whenever she felt overwhelmed and overstimulated by the schedule that was placed in her lap. Swiss, Mountain, and Sodo- the other three within the group she's met a few days after her summoning had been worried about her and shared their kindness with her as they too tried to help her acclimate to the surface; remembering how awful it was in Hell. But it was Phantom and Rain who had been the ones who were often at her side.

Her terrors had gotten so bad that it was not a surprise that she ended up crawling into bed with one or both of them on the regular. Just like tonight, despite the safety she knew she had her terrors would not let her go and she clung to the only line she had - them.

"Hey, honey. It's okay, your okay!" Rain soothed like he did every time when she's wail and struggle as if fighting off demons only her mind could conjure up from her experiences in hell.

"That's that. You're not there anymore... you're here with us, you're safe." Phantom echoed as he stroked her hair as she clung to Rain's arm as he cradled her to his chest.

The room was dark - probably still night or early morning and she hated the fact she'd woken them up yet again knowing how tired they'd been between practice and caring for her unstable self.

"I'm sorry." she cried "I'm sorry I'm such a fuck up! I'm sorry I cause you guys to lose sleep! I'm sorry I'm so weak, I'm sorry-"

"Hey, none of that cupcake!" Phantom chided firmly as he cupped her face and wiped her tears away. "Rain and I don't give a fuck if we lose sleep. We just want to make sure you're okay! We'd never sleep again if it meant we could help you through this. You hear me cupcake?" Phantom's dark eyes searched hers and after a moment she nodded with hesitation.

"Never apologize for needing someone, sweetheart. You're our packmate now, you're our family. We'd do anything for you. You know that." Rain kissed her hair a few times and rocked her until her shaking ceased and her cries turned into sniffles.

"But I am weak, Rain. I can't let it go...I just-" she shuddered closing her eyes

"You're not alone." Rain murmured giving her a gentle squeeze. "You'll never be alone again. We'll get through this like we did all the other times. Trust me, we went through similar experiences when each of the others got summoned too. You think Phantom wasn't a handful when he was summoned?" he tried to lighten the mood and he was rewarded by a wet laugh as she desperately tried to wipe at the tears that didn't want to stop.

"Hey," Phantom shifted closer and studied her face. "Look at me, eyes on me. Hey, it's okay. You're safe. You're here with me and Rain in this moment, your safe okay?" when she nodded she was rewarded with a smile.

"I know I just...remembering that time..." her breath hitched and she clutched onto Rain's arm tighter as flashes of her nightmares resurfaced with her doubt.

"I know, but let's try getting you calmer okay? Let's try to get your breathing right. Will you breath with us?" he coaxed trying to distract her.

She nodded hesitantly.

"We know you can." Rain smiled nuzzling her head. "Breath in....and breath out." the feeling of his chest expanding as he took a breath coaxed her to match it as she inhaled shakily; never once letting go of Rain or ever taking her eyes from Phantom.

"Good, one more time. Breathe in...breathe out." Phantom echoed as he followed Rain's lead and matched his breathing to his packmates..

He smiled when she began to slowly calm down. "Good job baby. I need you to repeat after me okay?" she nodded again.

"I am safe. I am loved."

Her brows scrunched up a bit but her voice - hesitant and a bit shy repeated them but without much conviction.

"I am safe, I am loved."

Rain smiled slightly and shook his head as he took her hands and gave them a squeeze. "Gotta say it with more meaning honey. Got to say it like you mean it."

Phantom nodded along and repeated himself but put more infliction on it. "I. Am. Safe." he waited until she echoed his words; feeling a sense of pride when her voice came out less meek. "I. Am. Loved."

"I am loved." a small smile tugged at her lips despite how silly she now began to feel.

"Good job baby. I am so proud of you." Phantom matched her smile as he leaned over and planted little kisses all over her face until she was actually giggling and squirming in Rain's hold.

"We are so proud of you," Rain chipped in as he dug his fingers lightly into her sides until she was laughing and they laughed along. "So proud."

"You feel better now?"

The woman nodded wiping at her face and taking a deep breath. "Yeah.

"Good." Phantom crawled into bed and pulled her against his chest. Cradling her against him as he stroked her hair while Rain got settled against her back and wrapped his arms around her waist to hold her close.

Legs entangled together and tails curled around each other as the three settled back into bed. It was a silly notion to think that Darkling should have anything to fear anymore. Despite what she had gone through in the Pits; she no longer lived there. Papa had summoned her and given her a new purpose. Better yet, the best gift of all was a pack she would lean on and call her family instead of being alone and scared like she was before. She had nothing to fear living topside anymore and she may not believe it all the time as she still got used to her new lif. She knew for certain that even if she lost faith in herself; her boys never would.

"Love you guys." she mumbled nuzzling against Phantom and giving Rain's hand a squeeze.

"We love you too honey."

"Always cupcake."

#ghost #ghost ghouls #the band ghost #ghost fandom #ghost band #phantom ghoul #nameless ghoul #rain ghoul #rain #phantom #rain x reader #phantom x reader

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braindead94 · 1 year ago

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Class Dismiss

The second part of Power Bottom fic I made, and yes, there is a part two to this chapter. TW for this fic: kidnapping, fear, mention of blood, gun (but no one shooting) Monis DNI!!!

After that awkward, embarrassing day, you did your best to move on. It was bad enough to land on top of one of Doc Ock, who is one of the evilest geniuses in the world, in the most scandalous way possible, but for that same villain to demand a kiss? And the fact that you DID kiss him?

There is just so much wrong with that.

Not even going to acknowledge the fact that he was a good kisser.

You apply the old saying “Keep calm and carry on” into your week and move on with… modernly success. Continue to patrol your oh-so ever grateful city of yours, stopping shoplifters and purse snatchers, walking old people across the road, punching Nazis-sorry, Hydra in the face, yeah, it seems safe to say that everything was still back to normal. If you don’t count the weird dreams of him in a very red lighting that may or may not have resulted in you waking up in ruin sheets. Damn the landlord for charging the washing machine each use.

Your social life was still on the drawing board. You used to look up Jessie's IG page, but after Docs kiss, you felt dirty to even glance at your crush. What was special meant for him was tarnished by that mad man.

Hopefully Octavius would just have a laugh at this and never talk about it ever again. Well, at least you prayed he would. Maybe Dr.Doom created a memory-wiping ray and shot him as a test subject. Or Thanos would have a sudden change of heart and make all villains disappear. Fuck that sounded way to drastic….

~~~~OOOO~~~~

Daily Bulgal needed some photos of a special guest at Cornell University along with some interviews. Robert was friends with the speaker, Professor Miles Warren. Back when they fought in the Vietnam war with Dr.Conners.

He still feels mournful of how the one-armed scientist ended up becoming The Lizard, all because he wanted to help the world. You couldn’t help but sink your feelings in guilt when he talks about him as you fiddle with your lanyard with your guest pass and DB badge on it, thinking back how you could have done more if you were a scientist like him, or at least stopped him from drinking that vial. Or something.

Somehow, you felt both helpful and useless at the same time when it comes to aiding the bad guys.

“Hey Y/n, earth to Y/n. Do you read me?” You snapped out of your daze and stopped walking before your face hit a pole. “Oh shit, thanks Mr.Robertson.” He patted you on the shoulder before pushing you closer to him and away from the crowding students and teachers walking to the lecture hall.

“Are you doing okay? You seemed to be out of it lately. Was it related to that cut on your cheek?” Immediately, you touched the bandaged cheek on the side of your face as soon as he mentioned it. “Oh nah, just letting my mind wander. Ya know, just… thinking.”

Thinking about how you could have trapped the Vulture better and faster without being cut up by his wings the night prior to today. Again. Also having to sew up your suit.

Again.

The black reporter smiled coyly and elbowed you gently. “Ah, its it a boy you got your eye on? Or maybe a girl if that’s what you're into-” “No! Oh no, I don’t have time for dating.” You assure him, ignoring how your cheeks warmed at the thought of your crush. ‘God, I wish I had time to date Jessie. Or anyone for that matter.’

“No, it’s just… I feel like I’m…” you tried off, trying to kickstart your brain to think up something for him until he rubbed your back. “No need to say anything if it makes you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry for making you feel pressured. Tell you what, after this speech, and hopefully before Jamason summons us back to the office, let’s hit up some burgers and shakes. My treat.”

You beamed at him with your teeth showing (and hurting your cut cheek) just as your belly grumbled in a hurry. He laughed as you muttered that you didn’t eat breakfast. “Was it because you were trying to dress up like a schoolgirl?” He asked as he opened the door up for you and to other students.

Blinking your eyes, you looked over at your outfit again (for the 5th time that day) and reevaluated your look. “Is this too much?” You asked.

In honesty, you saw how fancy and strict the university was, so you put on a long, plaid skirt that flows past your knees. A cream-colored button up shirt was pressed and primed under a baggy, red sweater vest. It probably didn’t help that you’ve kept your old glasses that you swap the lenses with fake ones to keep up with appearances that only made you look more like a nerd.

“I just thought that since we are visiting a very prestigious college, I should look the part. Ya know, to blend in… it’s too much, isn't it.” He just shook his head no and gave you a soft smile. “No, you look very nice-” “Aya cutie! Wanna hook up with the smartest man on campus?” Called out a tall guy from behind you.

Robby immediately turned around and snapped back “If you could find him, please let him know she's not interested.” There was a series of ‘OHHHHHH's' followed by a ‘got ‘em’. You blushed and tried to raise your shoulders up to your neck like a turtle. “The nerves of some kids I swear…” Muttered the reporter as you finally made your way to the auditorium.

The moment you step into the HUGE room, a certain smell of junk food fills up your senses and your mind teleports back to the time at Oscorp.

6 years ago

High school was if anything, ‘fun’. Too many things that got dumped on teens, who are still going through puberty and a lot of mental gymnastics, were expected to do. Like “What do you see yourself in 5 years?” or “You need to pay attention because college will grade you on this”. There were also social shit that would either split everyone apart with status quo and political, and how screwed up the environment was-

You, at 17 years old, just wanted to be done with it already.

Shrugging the heavy duffle bag with many expensive camera equipment inside, you trotted after Jessie and the rest of the news club. To be honest, you joined because your crush was in it, but you found yourself actually enjoying it, so much so that you started a hobby of photography and stayed in the club for all three years of high school.

The ringleader of the club somehow got an interview with Norman Osborn in his building, Oscorp. How? Probable through Harry. Jessie was the interviewer, all styled up and ready to get his picture taken at any point. It was at this point that his growth really aided him a lot, thus making him populer.

And you kinda admit, he makes a potato bag look good on him.

Mesha directed everyone to not touch ANYTHING (while glaring at the troublemakers who stagger along in the club for an easy pass) and to not bother any scientists when they enter a few labs.

You nodded along, glancing at the tall redhead through your smudge up glasses. He caught you staring at him, and you looked away fast while trying not to blush hard. ‘Please don't’ notice me, please don’t notice me-’ “Hey Y/n.” His voice came next to you.

‘Crap’ You think as you try to look him in the eyes. “Hi! How's it going?” “I’m good. I see you brought your… ummm…. Equipment?” He asked, sounding like he was lost for words. You were about to reply when Mesha swooped in and snagged him away for preparations for the interview.

You sighed, both relieved and peeved as you got ready but you failed to notice how he looked back at you.

Norman Osborn actually graced your club with his presents, smiling and chatting up a storm with almost everyone. He shook everyone's hand, including yours (and saved your camera when it nearly fell out of your hands) and had everyone follow him. You stayed near Jessie as he asked questions that the school wrote down for him. You snapped a few shots at them and the labs you were allowed to see.

The scientists in the labs were nice enough to explain a few experiments, both technology and chemistry and write them down so that you could relay the info for the editors later. Norman would ask you if he was in the right spot for a pic, and would give you a smile on his face, even off camera as he chatted with you. Even when he is older than you, he looks very charming with his wide smile.

But your eyes still were drawn to Jessie.

Around lunch time, you were all brought to a conference room where a table full of pizzas, burgers and sushi. And not just cheap kinds, but real pricy junk food. Everyone dug in with gusto and soon the room was filled with the sounds of talks, glasses filled with sugar bevergise, and some music popular around that time. All the young people were all smiles, giddy and free. Just forgetting about their upcoming life struggles and letting themselves go with carefree glee. You smiled and joked with your old friends until you saw how low your camera batteries were.

Looking around, you saw no spaces on any of the tables, nor any chairs available. So you excuse yourself out of the room for more space (and quiet) and look through the pictures if any of them need to be rebooted. The hallway had many doors and each of them had many different rooms, also which were occupied. Except for one empty lab.

You stepped in and took a quick look around. It looked like an inventor room with many dismembered parts of robotic stuff along with four panels that jetted up from the floor. You glazed at it, putting it off as something that should not concern you and set up a charging space on the desk farthest away from all these important and *expensive* stuff and close to the door as well.

You just plugged in your camera when you spotted something hanging on the wall. Four long, metallic, tentacles looking things hung on the smooth wall with claws at the end. Your head tilted when you looked at it, pushing your glasses up on your nose again.

“I would say ‘Why don’t you take a picture, it will last longer’, but then we would have to kill you.”

You yelped as you spun around to the sudden deep voice from behind you. As you saw the tall man in a white lab coat, you tripped on nothing and fell on your ass. “Oh Go-are you alright? I’m so terribly sorry, that was a poor joke. I meant nothing by that.” Said the scientist as he knelt down to help you up. “I’m fine, I’m sorry for being in here, but I needed space to charge my stuff.” You grunted, pointed to your camera.

“Ah, you are the photographer of that school newsie club, aren't you?” He asked. You nodded as you finally took a good look at him. Two beautiful brown eyes peered down into yours as his handsome face sported a smile. You found yourself losing your words, almost how you would act around your own crush. “Ye-yeah-yes sir! I’m the photo gal-man-er.. I-” You stuttered, your cheeks dusting red the more you looked at him.

You shoved your hand out as you tried to regain your composure. “I’m Y/n! I go to high school!” Your eyes widen at how high your voice pitched when you said school. The tall heavyset man just chuckled as he took your hands into his. Oh wow, his hands are freaking HUGE!’ “Well, I’m Dr.Octavous. I go to work here.”

God you wanted to lay on the ground and let it swallow you up.

“Ye-yeah, I gather that… I’m sorry if this is your lab. I just need-” Dr.Octavius cut you off with a wave of his hand. “No, no, It’s alright. I understand the importance of your job. Please use the space as long as you need it. Just please don’t take any pictures without my permission.” You nodded eagerly, smiling at him as you shoved your hands into your pockets.

The doctor continued to chat with you, his deep voice lulling your bundle of nerves to unwind until they were loose to let yourself emersed with him. You found yourself at ease with his good nature, enraptured with his whole presents. He asked about you and your future, to which you were embarrassed to share that you didn’t know what you wanted to do. He patted you on the shoulder as his friendly face looked into yours. “It’s okay not to not have an answer at all. Not everything is set in stone. Whatever you set your mind to; you can achieve anything.”

Something that has said before but sounds nicer when he says it. The door clicked open, and you both turned to see Dr.Osborn strolling in. “Ah, I see you’ve met Otto.” He said in his pleasant, gravel voice.

Dr.Octavius, or Otto, smile faltered a bit when the CEO strolled in with a swagger in his steps. “Hello Norman. How is the club fairing the tour?” He asked. “Oh the kids are having a grand old time! Jessie, the young man back there who's acting as the interviewer, vaguely reminds me of a very young Tyrone Power. But with red hair!” He gushed before remembering you were there.

“Pardon me, you probably don’t know who that is-” “He was Diego is the Mark of Zorro, in 1940.” You stated, feeling a bit of pride swelling inside you when both men looked surprised before Norman recovered and smiled at you. “Fan of black ‘n’ white movies, are you?” “Yup.” You somewhat lied; you only watched them when your grandmother babysat you when you were little. Also helped that you mostly lived with your older folks that are still obsessed with old films.

“Isn’t she something? She let me look at her pictures so far on this tour and they all look simply marvelous.” “Indeed, though I have to ponder, Norman, are you charging her for all the photographs she's taken?” The tall man asked as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Your cheeks bloomed in red, missing how the shorter man looked back at him in disappointment.

“Lets not do this Otto, you know this can’t be helped-” “Even after all the things we’ve done? You still have the need to charge me for rent like some money-grubbing landlord-” “Otto.” Norman whispered as his blue eyes darted to you. You took the hint and tried to break away from what seemed to be something that needed to be said in private. “Its okay, I’m going back to my clu-”

“No no,” Ottos arm tighten around your shoulders a bit, causing you to stumble back into his grasp and make your glasses crooked on your face. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. If you'd like, I would love to give an interview for your school newspaper if they are interested.” You slowly nodded yes. “Sure, just let me text Mesha if she would be interested in the scientific section. If that is okay with you Mr.Osborn.”

“Please, call me Norman, and I’m fine with it if Otto is.” Both men smiled (though you couldn’t tell if it was forced or genuine, you didn’t dwell too much on it) as you texted the club president.

She was more than excited; she was ecstatic as she rounded up the troops after they finished eating and got back to work. The next 15 minutes were all about Dr.Otto Octavius and his robotics discovery with a newly built AI that could help construction workers with limb enhancers as well as nuclear theory that could replace most of the power the city runs on. You took as many photos as you could, still blushing at both Jessie, who still gave out the interview, and Otto whenever they glanced at you.

Norman stood by the sidelines and let the students ask more questions until he pressed on that time was now limited with the tour. You all said your good-byes to the tall, handsome scientist. He shook everyone's hands, including yours. As he grasped your hand, he gave you a wink for good luck for the future and it took all of your willpower NOT to trip over your feet as you tried to catch up with Jessie with Norman.

He guides you all like Willy Wonka in his factory. “Now, I think you all would be fascinated with our latest experiments on spiders. I hope none of you have any Arachnophobia.”

You blinked as your mind reverted back to the present. A feeling of revelation dawned on you as you looked about the huge auditorium and at all the students. ‘Shit… it’s been a while since I’ve thought about that day.’ You followed Robby down to the bottom steps and up to the stage where he led you to front seats. All while you continued your thinking process that you didn’t notice Robby talking to an attendant about seeing Miles first before the presentation.

‘I’ve been doing this for 6 whole years. Fuck, holy fuck this is what I’ve been doing for 5 years after graduation! HA! Here's to your stupid question “What will you be doing in 5 years”, Mr.Phil. That asshole.’ You smiled to yourself as you looked up from the stage while sitting down, just realizing that you won't have a better shot from there.

You told your coworker as such and he nodded, sharing the same idea of you hopping on stage before Dr.Warren shows up and picks a better location. He talked to the same attendant again and pointed at your Daily Bugle badges on your lanyards along with your guest passes and they nodded with permission for you to shoot Miles with your camera.

‘I wonder what my classmates are doing. Probably raising a family.’ You walked up the steps to the stage. ‘Maybe going or finishing up college. Hell, maybe they have already found their dream jobs.’ You walked around the wooden worn floor that has been played on over the years. You found a perfect stop, smiling a bit again as you gently took off your bag and searched through it for your good camera, only to quickly shuffle aside your Spider-Girl suit in fear someone was behind you.

You thought about how much you've done as Spider-Girl, meeting the Avengers and the Fantastic four was a blast (flirting with Johnny was super funny and left you blushing under your mask. Really made your heart skip a beat thinking if Jessie didn’t go out with you…). You put big names behind bars, you fought against Kingpin and lived to tell the tale. Hell, you’ve even gone to space!

Just for a day, but still! You were fighting space Nasi-again sorry, Hydra!

Even Green Goblin is in jail….

You froze, your skin grew cold just thinking of Norman before you violently shook yourself out of it mentally and resumed your setting up. All these years, you’ve done so much as Spider-Girl. A hero for all.

But what have you, your real you, have done these past few years? Your feelings of pride and accomplishments vanished. You’ve done great things as Spider-Girl, but as Y/n…

You've been working as a photographer for 6 years on the same payroll, sleeping in the same apartment that was still shitty with it’s own shitty landlord who wouldn’t lift a finger to fix something unless it really affected his livelihood (AKA threatening to call the inspector of apartment living). You never dated outside of High school, and that was before you became Spider-Girl. You’ve only had a few friends that somehow put up with your constant delays/no show/call offs.

In fact, you just realized that you were the one calling them first. They never text you for anything unless you did it first. So that means no friends. The only one in your real life who is constant is your Uncle Lenny, AKA, your only living family relative.

Shame colored your face as you finally got everything ready. ‘Damnit… am I that much of a loser outside of my hero work? I’ve been so busy, I never once thought about my own stuff. No wonder Uncle Lenny is always trying to get me to do new things.’

You put the camera's lanyard around your neck and turn it on, just in time when the lights started to dim in the back and the stage lights were turned on. Squatting down, you raised the camera to where Dr.Warren would walk out and got ready to click away.

‘Maybe after this, I’ll take Lenny out for dinner at that old diner. It’s been a while since we’ve been there and he deserves to be spoiled a bit after all he’s done for me.’ You smiled at the thought just as the Dean of the college walked on stage and started to take pictures.

The Dean gave a quick welcome talk and shared some new rules regarding colored shoes that distracted other students from studying and thus banned them in favor of brown/white/or gray shoes (boo) before he welcomed the guest of honor.

The old man with a wide mustache walked in with a limp in his foot and shook hands with the Dean and waved to the audience. There were a few flashes of cameras in the crowd and polite cheers from the younger people. He gave thanks for letting him give a talk and started on his speech.

It was an incredible story about his life after Vietnam. After he was injured, he put himself through college to study medicine and worked alongside many great minds, even got to meet Dr.Reeds before he became Mr.Fantastic (which you and others agree when Miles said he should really be called Dr.Fantastic). After graduating, he worked with other scientists and other bright minds to help the world by solving cancer cells or working on other ailments. He talked about the night where he figured out a possible cloning of blood that could be better tested on instead of animals.

You were snapping away on your good camera, gently biting your bottom lip as you focused on him. He was good, great even and you saw why Robby held him in high regard with his stories and how he presented himself. His voice was kind and warm, reminding you of a grandfatherly figure. The mid-age man was slowly wrapping up his speech by adding something inspiring for the students, smiling in good faith at them. He ended it on a high note and everyone clapped at the end of his talk.

The Dean showed up to calm everyone down and then had an attendant bring up a microphone to the front of the stand for questions. Soon, many students and reporters filed up behind the small metal stick with the microphone in it.

You had a hidden smile swapping your positions for a better position to snap pictures of the questionnaires when suddenly your spider-sense started to tingle.

“So, is that what you are really using the cloning technique or is that just your cover up?” Called out an all too familiar voice from the crowd.

Like flags changing directions in the wind, heads turned to look at the person who spoke up. A very tall man stood from the back of the auditorium in a heavy trench coat with a fedora over his head. Your stomach squeezed in fear along with your spider-sense started to buzz more. You know that coat, you’ve seen it before. You know the wearer of that damn coat. Your eyes trained on him as you put your camera away without looking.

The tall man slowly walked from the back and up to the back of the line. Miles eyes the man with a confused smile. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” He asked in a strain in his voice. “I’ve read about your ‘humanitarian’ work with cloning cells, Dr.Miles. And I must admit, it’s a very complicated and very difficult task to replicate human DNA, very brilliant and yet you squander it over a few decaying cells when it has better uses.”

Said the stranger as he strolled down the stairs. The people in line stepped aside from him, wary looks dawned on their faces, some whispers going about and you heard a faint word of a shooter. You glanced down at Robby and saw him furiously texting on his phone in a hidden way. Probably to get JJJ or calling the police.

You slowly inch back, trying to be stealthy as to get off the stage and change into your power suit. Yet, you failed to notice how Dr.Warren's eyes shifted the second the man talked about his work. Something dark and pissed off. “What do you have against my work? What other uses would I do with this scientific knowledge? Stop it and continue to test on innocent animals, or on humans?” The old man demanded.

The stranger stopped at the microphone and finally revealed his face to him with dark sunglasses staring back into the men on the stage. Doc Ock only gave him a crooked smile, his black sunglasses glinted in the light as he replied “Oh, I have a few ideas in mind.”

Docs metal arms shootout and slam their claws on the ground to lift him up. Everyone screamed and immediately started to run all together. His body raised higher in the air while one arm gently took off his hat. The trench coat opened up more and all four of them came to life, revealing him to wear a black turtleneck sweater (thank God, his chest was super distracting).

You shot up to run back, but your dumb old shoes squeaked over the wooden floor and you tripped over your feet. Then you cursed yourself for almost forgetting your backpack and you crawled over to it. ‘FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!! Need to fucking move! Need to hide and change before he-’

Miles let out a yell, causing you to turn around. An actuator pushed him to the ground as Doc Ock hovered up to the stage with ease, his face still boring that same smug smile as his fingers pressed themselves in a half-prey position. The Dean, stumbling away from him, had managed to stop. You saw his shoulders square up as he clenched his fist and yelled out “Now see here, you asshole! This is a private university an-”

Like swatting an annoying fly, another actuator swung itself at him and the lanky man flew into the air and straight into you. Without thinking, you dropped your heavy backpack and stood up to catch him.

“GAH!” You let out, feeling the wind knock out of you as the thin man collated against you. His elbow collided with your cheek, making your healing cut sting under the bandages. Both of you tumbled back onto the ground and moaned in pain. “Owwwwww….. Man, for a skinny dude, you’re kinda heavy.” You whispered. “I am trying to fix that, thank you very much.” He grunted back as he stumbled to get back up.

Brushing down your flipped skirt down (you were giving your foresight a high five for putting on boxer shorts just in case this happened) and got up to follow him until your spider-sense kicked in just when a silvery coil snapped out around your waist.

“Now where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Said the mad scientist with a tease in his baritone voice. With a hard pull, you found yourself pulled away from your escape and away from your fallen backpack and brought up to Doc Ock. Your skin turns pale upon being this close to him again, now not as Spider-Girl, but as Y/n. A civilian with no powers to everyone. A regular nobody in front of a killer doctor with metal arms fused to his back. Meeting him not as Dr.Otto Octavius, but as Doc Ock.

His handsome smile turned from crooked to what used to be a friendly one as he reached out to grasp one of your trembling hands that clutched over the actuator around your waist (What a strange familiar feeling) gently squeezed it in greeting. “I apologize, I didn’t have a chance to share my name. I’m Dr.Octavous, though, you might know me better as Doc Ock. And whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?” ‘Wait, he doesn't remember me? Thank God, but I still have to deal with this, but how?!’

You didn’t say anything, you couldn’t say anything as your mind was still wrapping it’s head around this situation. One of the actuators reached around you and lifted your lanyard plastic badges and held it up to him. You had to lean your torso closer to him when he took it with his other gloved hand and looked closer. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel him looking over you like an apex predator analyzing its prey.

“Y/n L/n, lovely to meet you.” Fuck, how your blood ran cold when your full name left his plump lips was no joke. Your spider-sense was screaming danger and your body was shaking. The older man still being pinned down started to yell at him. “Leave her alone Otto! Whatever this is, this is between you and me!”

The tall man sighed, his head moving along what you think was rolling his eyes and turned his attention to Warren. “Whatever we had can be waited for a while.” He said as one arm opened its claw and a tiny nozzle spouted out. A squirt of green gas came out of it and hovered over Miles face. You could only stare helplessly and in fear for him, only to feel slightly relieved when you saw it was only a sleeping gas. The urge to pry the stupid metal actuator around your waist and deck Otto across his stupid handsome face was great, but you couldn’t do that as Y/n.

Fuck this isn’t good.

He turned his attention towards you again with his smile returning to his face. “Sorry about that-”

“FREEZE!” Shouted black clothed men at the doors. He sighed and looked at them. You saw it was campus security, slightly chubby and a bit old for normal police work but on high alert with widened eyes and still hands. “Let the girl and the man go, then back away from them and put your hands behind your head. All of them!” One order. The rest were slowly spreading out into the room with all their guns trained on him.

Octavius just raised a thick eyebrow before raising his flesh arm and drew back his sleeve to reveal his watch. One actuator peeked over his shoulder, and he chuckled, nodding to a hidden conversation with it. “Only 3 minutes late. We can still make it work, don’t worry, sweetie.”

With a shove, you found yourself suddenly in front of the tall scientist only to have his actual arms around you and pulled you back to chest. One of the actuators joined the other to pick up Warren and lifted him up in front of you two as another arm drew near your face. Only to draw it’s dagger at your exposed neck.

‘Oh fuck no…’

“Goddamn it, put your guns down now!” Shouted one of the guards to the others. They all followed as commanded, but never looked away from you. You saw them just how you felt: powerless to do anything. Otto merely laughed before he called out “I’ll be taking my leave with present company. Don’t follow me if you wish to have them remain intact.” He backed away from the front of the stage and close to the back wall where the 4th actuator punched a hole like punching through paper.

‘This is not happening…’

The arms maneuvered to only hold Miles with one arm as the rest prepared to do something. You felt Ottos arms tighten around your body and his face lowered to your ear. “I hope you’re not afraid of heights, my dear.”

‘This has to be a nightmare…’

But all you could, with fear and helplessness, as yourself was be carried away by Doc Ock and look on as the ground begins to recede away from you.

And away from your backpack with your spider suit still inside.

#doctor octavius #otto octavius #doc ock #fanfic #Doc Ock x Reader #minors dni #Spider-Girl!Reader

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toomanyplotbunnies-sendhelp · 11 months ago

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Hello and welcome to Day 25 of "Let's Explore My Plot Bunnies"

(I did indeed get sick 😷)

Seeing as there are just a few days left of the Lantern Rite event in Genshin, I wish everyone Happy Lantern Rite!

I finished playing through the event story today, and I enjoyed it very much. But it also brought back a fic idea I had a long time ago so I decided to actually talk about it today.

This is a MHA fic idea, where Izuku is the reincarnation of Xiao from Genshin Impact. Why did my brain come up with this? Because both are small, green, and need to be rolled up in blankets and protected at all cost.

I still don't have a title for this, nor do I have a fully thought-out plan for this fic, but yeah, the idea is interesting. So if anyone has any ideas for the titles, please share them - I need the help.

Basically, after Xiao (somehow) dies in the Genshin Impact universe, he is reincarnated as Midoriya Izuku, but his memories are quite fumbled so he doesn't know who he was in his past life.

Midoriya Izuku has a Quirk in this life - the ability to summon a Spear out of thin air (usually he summons Primordial Jade Cutter.) He is still interested in Hero work, but mostly because he sees the other Pro-Heroes failing at their jobs more often than not - or rather, the other Pro-Heroes are as efficient as they could be. (My brain: "Knights of Favonious. Inefficient as ever."... Diluc get out of my head)

Regardless, Izuku and Inko are caught up on a bank robbery at one point. Here, Izuku manages to get the people out before the actual Pro Heroes arrive and uses his Quirk to do so. His Quirk attracts both the scorn of the Pro-Heroes who say that he is reckless and the admiration of the people he saved. Out of those people, four of them are extremely interested in Izuku but also not that confident to actually approach him.

Those 4 are the reincarnations of Xiao's old comrades: Bosacius (who has a Mutant Quirk that makes him have 4 arms and he is also able to use electricity in his attacks), Bonanus (who has a Quirk that let's her make use of water to create a bow and arrows to fight from afar with), Indarias (whose Quirk let's her use Fire to attack others) and Menogias (whose Quirk allows him to control the soil to create walls for protection or projectiles to attack others).

Their Yaksha name will be their Hero Name, which means that Izuku's hero name will be Alatus in this. So the other Hero Names would be Chizapus (for Bonanus); Musatas (for Indarias); Kapisas (for Menogias), and Vritras (for Bosacius).

They do in fact remember their previous life and, while they want to talk with Izuku, they don't know if he actually remembers being Xiao.

They do approach him one day, when they find Izuku at a cafe they usually frequent. That same cafe is actually run by the reincarnation of Pervases, who also remembers his previous life. Izuku ended up coming to his cafe because he needed a place to stay and relax while waiting for his mother to finish work.

After they introduce themselves, the 5 become friends. They realize Izuku doesn't remember much of anything from his previous life and, truth to be told, they feel glad that at least in one life Xiao doesn't need to suffer from guilt and karmic debt.

All 5 wish to become heroes, so they decide that maybe they could make a Hero Team. Since then, they have decided to meet at Pervases' Cafe and talk about their training plans. They even plan their hero costumes together, and they decide to wear masks as part of their costumes. (The masks are the same as the Yaksha ones they have originally)

When it is time to choose a Hero School to attend, all 5 decide to attend a lesser known one - still haven't thought of a name for it - but Izuku is tempted to apply to UA, if not to actually attend, just to test how well he can do in the UA entrance exam which is said to be incredibly difficult. Since the UA entrance exam is set on a different date from the exam of the school the 5 friends want to go to, the others encourage Izuku to try the UA Exam.

Izuku does and still saves Ochako. However, while saving Ochako, something strange happens - Izuku's Quirk evolves, and now he can use wind powers while wielding his Spear.

He still goes with Bonanus, Bosacius, Indarias, and Menogias to the school they choose, even after Izuku is accepted into UA. After the Sport Festival for UA is done, the 5 also get to go to an internship together and the Pro Hero that will become their mentor is the Underground Hero - Morax, who is known for his ability to manipulate any soil or metal/stone material and make either shields or weapons from them.

Izuku and the others train hard under Morax's guidance, and they decide that once they graduate, they will choose Morax's agency as their starting point for their hero career.

In the future, their school gets an invitation for a coordinated training class together with Class 1-A and Class 1-B from UA during the summer. That will be their formal introduction to both the students of UA and League of Villains who attack them during the class.

How will they react to the sudden attention they garnered during the summer training class - from both heroes and villains alike? And how will they continue on their path to becoming heroes while dealing with the problems that said attention brought them? Will Izuku remember his memories of his life as Xiao?

(And will there be more people that are reincarnations in this fic? Yes - the answer is a loud and resounding "yes".)

And this is about all I have for this fic.

What do you think? Good? Bad? Kinda crack?

This idea is not that well thought out in terms of plot yet, but honestly, I like the idea that my brain came up with. And Xiao's mini-quest after the Lantern Rite Event (where he released a Xiao Lantern with us) just brought back the idea to me. Also, I wanna say that I want to give Izuku and the other 4 (plus any other reincarnations) their Visions (mostly as an ornament - since they do have their Quirk that do the elemental attacks).

Regardless, I wish you a great day/night, and I hope you all take care!

See you tomorrow,

-TooManyPlotBunnies-Send Help (this time for real cause I feel terrible)

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remzarci · 1 year ago

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A Creepypasta about something that TOTALLY HAPPENED GUYS!!

Once upon a time I was hungry so I decided to go to Tiffany's for a bite to eat.

As I drove from Tiffany's I saw a yard sale. Not wanted to pass up some neat bargains I parked my car and walked over. As I looked over the wares this old man had I saw a box of old Video Games! I took a look and found SpongeBob SquarePants: Creature from the Krusty Krab. And I was his with a wave of nostalgia!

I turned to the old man and asked him how much. He had a sad look on his face and told me I can just take it! And then limped away back to his lawn chair. I felt bad so I took out my phone and began to to record him. Making HIM the main character of real life for a little bit! He didn't do anything particularly interesting outside of selling someone a DVD boxset of Friends. Anywhosen, I got back in my car and drove home! Funnily enough Ocean man was Playing but it was kind of off.

What I could make out was:

Ocean Man, let go of my hand, I don't understand, leave me on the sand

ocean man, the journey to rock bottom's bus station is a real trip

Probably nothing but it was strange.

then I got home and was getting ready to play my FAVORITE childhood game. So I dug out my Wii and started plugging things in. But then I noticed my conkeldurr sitting cuties plush was crying what I thought was blood but in actuality was Mountain Dew Code red, for FOUR minutes and TWENTY seconds!

I didn't think much of it as I continued to install my ps2

once my Wii was ready I placed the game cart in and got ready to go down memory lane.

But the title screen was strange. It looked worn and dusty. and spongebob looked a little too high def. Also Tiny Tims Tip Toe thru the Tulips with Me was playing at 1/10th speed.

And then things took for a turn.

Once I started the game...A GHOST CAME OUT OF MY TV AND STARTED PUNCHING ME IN THE FAAAAAAAAACE!!!! it just pucnhed me the face repeatedly! I tried to get away but the ghost was far too strong! Just as I was losing hope the Door swung open and there stood Markiplier!

his face wore an expression of extreme rage. his eyes were red and HYPER REALISTIC!

And then he darted over and began to stomp me in my pancreas. The ghost markiplier combo continued to beat on me as I wailed in pain! Just then Jeremy Pascal came in. And then joined in on the beating!

"Why are you all doing this to me?" I asked painfully! Then all three of them threw me into the tv where I fell sixty-NINE meters!! I watched as the ground quickly approached me and all I could say was "AW THIS IS GONNA SUCK!!" But before I could hit the ground The song The Time is Now blared as an unseen force rescues me in the nick of time!

I then awoke in a hospital bed. Sitting in the corner was the old man I turned into the main character. he told me that game belonged to his late grand-niece-in-law who, while watching a cursed looney tunes episode, died from having an anvil dropped on her and now the game is cursed unless I eat a spoonful of cinnamon without coughing it up, to cleanse the game of it's horrible curse. of summoning people to beat me up!(edited)

So! against the wishes of my nurse and doctor I limped to the store and grabbed a thing of cinnamon and went back to my house! There the trio were there ready to beat me up! But I took a HUGE spoonful of the stuff! God it was awful but through my tears I saw the Ghost get sucked back into the tv, Markiplier got weirded out and just left and Jeremy Pascal? uhhhh he just vanished. The deed was done! The game came out of my PC and I placed it back in the case. you know, it could be the brain trauma I'm suffering but I think I lesson is to be learned here and that lesson is:

Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you are going to get. -Me, Just now

So I sent the game off to sea. thanking it for such a profound lesson.

Thank you SpongeBob SquarePants: Creature from the Krusty Krab. Thank you

This has been a Crappypasta written with friend. thank you for reading!

#crappypasta #spookystory #creepypasta #write-a-creepypasta-with-friends!

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readjthompson · 1 month ago

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While watching Tales From the Void a couple of months ago, I decided that it would be fun to write a story for r/nosleep.

I Don’t Care if “The Mirthful Maidens” Sounds Like the Title of a 1920s-Era Softcore Porn Film; Those Bitches Are Horrifying

by Jeremy Thompson

When I was still in college, and drinking everything alcoholic anytime I could, I developed a bad case of the shakes. Reaching for an inebriant after even eight hours without one, my hand would quiver as if caught in its own private earthquake.

Post-graduation—pre-marriage, pre-fatherhood—I moved back in with my parents for a time while pretending to look for a decent job. I drained every liquor bottle in their cupboards within a week, then spent my every last cent on cheapo booze. When they realized what a lush I’d become, Mom and Dad locked me in their basement for two weeks with only bread and water to live on. I survived delirium tremens and acute boredom, and have been sober for nearly fifteen years since.

My college years are a blur to me now; it’s a miracle I even graduated. The friends I acquired and shed, the parties I attended, the women I bedded and later assumed I’d hardly pleasured, all seem painted fog now unraveling, some Ghost Me’s fading memories.

Thus, I’m somewhat surprised to see my hands shaking just as alarmingly as they did in the grips of my college alcoholism, as they hover over my MacBook’s keyboard, waiting for my brain to tell them what to type next.

Of course, I must start with Morty.

Morty Greenblatt was forced on me in my childhood as a sort of arranged friendship. His parents were good friends with mine, and lived just two blocks away, so carpools and get-togethers forced us to interact whether we wished to or not. We were in the same grade, and often shared the same classroom. Devoid of blood siblings, we became nearly brothers. We even started to look alike.

As elementary school segued to middle school, then high school, I watched Morty gain confidence with our peers. Jealous and awkward at parties, I tried to look elsewhere as he sucked face with girls I’d fantasized about. Everywhere we went, he amassed friends, while I faded into the background.

When I made plans for college, Morty announced that he’d be taking a year off, to travel around the world and get a better idea of his place in it. We bro-hugged goodbye and then fell out of touch. Alcoholism seized me and my social awkwardness withered.

Post-graduation, after I sobered up, I began freelance copywriting. Churning out SEO content as fast as I could, I earned enough to land my own apartment. Gina Stoneman worked at the Ralphs down the street. We began dating, then married, then our twin daughters, Kenna and Casey, were born. I became a marketing manager for Stolid Staffing Solutions and moved us into a nice, two-story home in suburbia.

While I was becoming a somewhat respectable citizen, attaining love and financial security, the only time I interacted with Morty was when we commented on each other’s social media posts with dumb emojis. So, imagine my surprise when he showed up on my doorstep one day without warning.

“I got your address from your parents,” he said, half-apologetically, after summoning me with a thrice-rung doorbell one Sunday evening. My wife was in the kitchen, washing dishes, and my daughters, twelve years old at the time, were likely in their rooms with their phones glued to their faces.

Morty moved as if to hug me, then shake my hand, but instead settled on a shoulder slap. “It’s been a long time, man,” he added, as I squinted at him as if he was a mirage.

“Uh, hey, uh, Morty,” I eventually said. If not for his occasional Instagram selfies, I’d have had no idea that this was the guy I’d grown up with. He’d bleached his hair, grown a goatee, and embraced tattoos and piercings to the utmost degree. He dressed as if he was at a Lakers game and reeked of marijuana. The shade of his eyes attested to its strength.

“Can I come in for a second? Let’s catch up, crack open a few brewskis. Oh, that’s right, you’re sober. I remember that essay you posted. Got any soda around? My mouth’s dry as hell.”

Well, what could I do but usher him into the living room? “Gina,” I called, “we’ve got a visitor! Would you fetch us a couple of Pepsis?”

Gina did as requested, introduced herself to Morty, then returned to her dishwashing. Exiting the room, she gave me a loaded look, which read, “What the hell’s this loser doing here?”

Strained conviviality had my old friend and me exchanging “Hey, remember when…” reminiscences. Punctuating our shared history, our laughter rang hollow. Then we segued to our current circumstances.

Morty had become a drywaller, I learned, though I’d surely already read that on social media, then forgotten it. He bounced between San Diego and Los Angeles to attend various concerts, and took his parents out to breakfast every other Saturday morning.

Honestly, twenty minutes into our convo, I was mentally praying for him to leave. Whatever had bound us together in our youth had long since dissolved, and I was bored beyond belief. Then Morty finally revealed what was on his mind.

“Hey, man,” he said, “it’s been cool catchin’ up with you and all, but I really came here for some advice. I mean, out of everyone I’ve known, you seem the best situated. Wife and kids, a good job, and look at that body. I bet you get your gym time in, don’t ya?”

“When I can.”

“Okay, okay. And you gave up drinkin’, too. Like, how can you stand to be around people? But that’s not what I’m gettin’ at. It’s these women I keep seein’, these Mirthful Maidens.”

“Mirthful Maidens? What’s that, some kind of folk music group?”

“Nah, man. Check this out.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and summoned an image to its screen. Holding it out for my inspection, he said, “My uncle Benjy used to collect vintage magazines. Sometimes, I’d look through ’em. This was one of his favorites.”

“WINK?” I asked, reading the magazine’s cover. Its pin-up art, credited to Peter Driben, depicted a grinning, black-haired beauty reclining in high heels, stockings, and undergarments. Just above her head were the words MERRY MIRTHFUL MAIDENS.

“Yeah, man, WINK.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Who gives a shit. Sorry, but listen, man, the mag itself doesn’t matter. I’m just sayin’ that these chicks I’m seein’ all look like the broad on its cover: long legs, slim waists, perky tits, toothy smiles, like ultra-sexpot Lois Lanes. They could be sisters or somethin’, or share the same plastic surgeon, maybe both. See what I’m gettin’ at?”

“Well, damn, congratulations. How many of them are there? Oh, to be single again.” The walls were thin in our house; instantly, I regretted my last sentence. Gina was in the kitchen, where the knives are. How could I have been so stupid?

“Nah, man,” said Morty. “This ain’t about pussy. Something’s…wrong with these women. I don’t think they’re human.”

Shaking my head, I replied, “Well, if they’re trying to get your attention, there must be something wrong with ’em.”

“Crack all the jokes you want, homie, but don’t do it around these chicks. I mean, you should hear how they laugh. It’s like they all swallowed harmonicas or somethin’, like they’ve got reeds in their throats. And, I swear to God, man, they’re always laughin’. Sometimes, when they’re in the corner of my vision, their mouths open too wide, like snakes.”

“Dude, you reek of weed, Morty,” I said. “Are you on harder drugs, too? Has anyone else seen these chicks? Have you tried photographing one?”

Ignoring those questions, Morty said, “I first saw ’em at a Crystal Stilts concert, in NYC, back in 2012. Right before the band played, I heard this strange noise behind me. Turning, I saw three of the sexiest women I’ve ever seen in person. They were all dressed in black leather, wearing black lipstick. All were staring at me, laughing their weird ass laughter. My skin really started to crawl, man. Then Crystal Stilts played one of the greatest post-punk sets I’ve ever seen, and I forgot about those bitches…until I saw four more of ’em a few months later.”

“In New York?”

“Nah, man. Cancun. A coupla buddies and me went there to swoop on some spring breakin’ bitches, get that prime pussy, ya know, that young pussy. We were watchin’ a wet t-shirt contest, starin’ at titties, salivatin’, when I saw four Mirthful Maidens standin’ off to the side, wearin’ old-fashioned, black bikinis, laughin’ at me. Man, I pointed ’em out to my homies Steve and Bill, and Bill walked over to ’em, tryin’ to fuck one. They just kept laughin’ and laughin’, and Bill came back and said, ‘They must be shroomin’ real hard.’ That night Bill fell off our hotel balcony, or maybe was pushed, I dunno. Ruined the rest of the trip, that’s for sure. Dude was dead as fuck.”

Of course, I felt obliged, at that moment, to say, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah, I bet you are, buddy. A real bleedin’ heart, that’s what you are. But where was I? Sorry, I haven’t been sleepin’ much lately. Give me a second. Okay, I’ll say this: I’ve never seen the same Mirthful Maiden twice. Over the years, I’ve seen, let me see, probably at least a couple hundred, all with that wavy black hair, all with those perfect bodies that would give any straight dude a half-chub if the chicks would ever shut their fuckin’ mouths. Always wearin’ black. They’re never with boyfriends, or any non-laughin’ friends. They’re never alone, and I’ve never seen more than nine of ’em at once. Everyone seems to ignore ’em, but I don’t know how they can. Those sounds they make, man, they’re…unhuman.”

Wow, this guy’s really gone off the deep end, I thought. “Listen, Morty,” I said. “I’ve been laughed at by women, too. I know how small it can make you feel, how cruel it makes them seem. But you’ve met some nice ladies over the years, too, haven’t you? Why don’t you focus on them?”

“Because I’m fuckin’ afraid, bro. It not just out in public that I’ve seen the Mirthful Maidens. One night, just a few weeks ago, I woke up and saw two in the corner of my bedroom. I grabbed my cellphone and ran outta there, and called the police. But, of course, the chicks vanished by the time the pigs showed up. There were some in my parents’ backyard the other day, too. My mom and dad had no clue who they were, but weren’t bothered by them. I shouted threats at the women, but they kept laughin’ and laughin’.”

“Wow,” I exhaled. “This is some kind of joke, right?” As if I couldn’t see the fervor in his eyes, or the sweat on his forehead.

“No joke, man. I see ’em everywhere I go now, in the U.S. and out of it. They’re always lookin’ at me, always laughin’ that weird ass laugh. I’ve been half-expectin’ a couple of ’em to walk downstairs as we’re talkin’.”

“Well, Morty,” I said, “I’ve never heard of such a thing before. I’ll tell you what, though. Next time you see these Mirthful Maidens, call me and we’ll confront them together. How’s that sound?”

Morty sighed. “Better than nothin’, I guess. You’ll hear from me soon enough.”

After giving him my phone number, I showed him to the door and watched his departure. He pulled a joint from his pocket, sucked fire into it, and sauntered over to his car. Carefully, he checked its interior for bogeywomen before driving off.

I felt someone touch my elbow, and nearly shat my pants. But it was only Gina, making that face she makes when she’s attempting to hide her anger.

“I heard every word you two said,” she practically hissed. “I don’t care if you guys were friends way back when, Morty Whatever-His-Last-Name-Is sounds like a dangerous crackhead and I don’t want him near our daughters or me ever again. You stay away from him, too. He’ll probably attack some poor woman someday, and you’ll be arrested as his accomplice if you’re not careful.”

After a moment of consideration, I thought, Sorry, Morty, then threw my arms around Gina and said, “Whatever you say, dear.”

I felt the tension flow from her, as her speech grew sardonic. “Jeez, I’m lucky that I didn’t laugh around that asshole. He’d have accused me of being a Martian.”

I considered her greying hair and her plump figure, which had never rebounded far back from its pregnancy weight all those years ago, and thought, Fat chance. Then, feeling guilty, as if Gina had read my mind, I offered to rub her feet.

Of course, Morty called me a few times after that, but I let him go straight to voicemail. He direct messaged me on social media, but I never wrote back. One time, he returned to my house, but my wife answered the door and told him I wasn’t home. When he asked when I’d return, she shouted, “Just get out of here, you psycho!”

A few weeks after that, San Clemente beachgoers realized that the man they’d assumed was only sleeping on his Corona Extra beach towel was turning purplish-blue, choking on his own vomit. Morty died there, on the sand, chock-full of heroin and fentanyl, on an otherwise idyllic day. It was all over social media, with old classmates of ours and folks I’d never met coming out of the woodwork to praise Morty’s many virtues and condemn opioid addiction. “My heart is open to anyone in crisis,” some wrote. “Don’t ever feel alone in your affliction.” I wondered how they’d have reacted to that Mirthful Maidens story.

Strangely enough, Gina demanded that I attend Morty’s funeral.

“But people might know that I said I’d help him, and didn’t,” I protested. “They’ll blame me for his overdose. I can’t stand being yelled at.”

“Oh, grow up, you big baby,” she countered. “It’s bad enough that you didn’t post anything on his Facebook wall. If people don’t see you there…well, word gets around, doesn’t it?” Naturally, she made no offer to accompany me.

So, the day came. Half-strangled by my new tie, feeling as if my toes were fusing together, so tight were my new dress shoes, I walked into a chapel. Sneering at the sandals worn by a few mourners, I made my way to the funeral guest book and wrote my name—clearly, lest anyone call me absent.

Feeling as if I was being pointed out by old classmates I’d rather not reconnect with, I claimed some pew space, stared lapward and twiddled my thumbs, waiting for the service to begin.

Then I became aware of a bizarre sort of sobbing. At least, I assumed it to be such until I noticed three beautiful women in the pew across the aisle. Dressed in identical, semi-formal, black dresses, they leaned forward to make heavy eye contact with me, never closing their mouths. And, indeed, their laughter sounded as if it was pouring out of harmonicas. The Mirthful Maidens, I thought, astounded. Still, no other mourner seemed troubled by them.

As one funeral officiant or another stepped behind the pulpit and began blah-blah-blahing, and the Mirthful Maidens continued belching their bizarre laughter, I wondered if I was being pranked. Had Morty paid those women to act that way, then committed suicide? Was he even dead in his open casket, or was he ready to spring up and shout, “Joke’s on you!” Was everyone but me in on it? What else could I do but flee?

And, of course, when I told my wife about it that night, after nearly an hour of cunnilingus that only one of us enjoyed, she snickered. “My, oh, my, is my big, strong, handsome man jumping at campfire stories? Does he need a kiss from his momma? Will that make it better?”

Gina kissed my forehead, then fell asleep.

Listen, whoever’s reading this, I know most people have never given any thought to the percentage of women who wear black. It’s a very flattering color choice—fashionable, elegant, mysterious, even slimming. The color fits nearly every occasion, every skin tone and body shape. So, there’s really no way to avoid it when going out in public.

Similarly, in a free society, people laugh when they please, even if what comes out of their mouths when they do so is somewhat discordant. Not all vocal cords are the same; some people laugh like Fran Drescher does. But, please believe me when I assure you that what flows from the throats of the Mirthful Maidens isn’t human.

So maybe this is some kind of It Follows/Smile kind of curse—though, rather than being the only one who can see the whatever-the-hell-they-really-are, I’m just the only person who’s bothered by them. To everyone else, it’s perfectly normal to have gorgeous chicks dressed in black, laughing and laughing, anywhere and everywhere, all the time.

A couple of months after Morty’s funeral, I was at a steakhouse with my wife and daughters. It was my birthday, so I was allowed to gorge myself on a fourteen-ounce, Oscar-style ribeye and a basket of fries, plus a couple of Pepsis to wash them down with, as my tablemates nibbled at salads. Just as I was preparing to broach the notion of dessert, a familiar sound caught my attention.

There were four Mirthful Maidens, in black V-neck dresses, occupying a table to the right of us. Meeting my eyes, they laughed their strange laughter, with nothing on their tabletop other than their folded hands.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” asked Kenna. “Why are you starin’ at those women?”

“Do you know them, or somethin’?” asked Casey.

“The Mirthful Maidens,” I muttered. “They were stalking Morty, now they’re following me.”

“Okay, that’s enough soda for your father,” said Gina, waving our waiter over. “Let’s go home and give him his presents.” To me, she whispered, “Don’t you dare make a scene.”

On the drive home, I tried to redeem myself. “None of you thought those women were strange, huh? Just sitting there, laughing nonstop, eating and drinking nothing at a restaurant.”

“They must have just arrived,” said Gina. “Don’t blame them for bad service.”

“Our service was fine, though. And didn’t you hear their laughter? Humans don’t make sounds like that. It was like something out of a nightmare.”

“God, Daddy, you’re so cringe,” said Casey. “Women are allowed to have fun in public without a man around, ya know.”

“Yeah, this isn’t the eighteen hundreds,” chimed in Kenna. “You don’t have to be frightened just ’cause they’re havin’ fun.”

“That’s telling him, girls,” Gina commended. “Never let some Neanderthal try to put you in your place. Not even Daddy.”

“That’s not what I was…ah, you know what, forget it.” If ever a man, alone, has won an argument against three ladies, I’ve yet to hear of it.

Speaking of arguments, over the years, I’ve noticed that whenever a female I know takes issue with another female and wishes to badmouth her, I’m supposed to echo that disparagement: “What a bitch,” “Who does she think she is,” etc. But whensoever a woman gets on my bad side and I speak ill of her to another lady, the lady I’m talking to always takes the other woman’s side. “Consider her perspective,” they tell me. “Every woman has had umpteen horrible encounters with horny, psychotic walking boners. How was she supposed to know if you’re a good guy or a bad guy?”

Like, suddenly, I’m Mr. Misogynist, out to undo women’s suffrage and overturn Roe v. Wade, just because I took umbrage when a drunk chick grabbed my glasses off of my head and tried them on without asking, then dropped them when handing them back, then laughed at their cracked lenses. Do you know what I’m saying, fellas?

So, yeah, just like with Morty, the Mirthful Maidens have become a regular feature in my life, appearing with increased regularity. Never have I seen the same Maiden twice; never have they shut their damn mouths.

I’ve seen them at the gym, on the street, and staring from the windows of passing vehicles. I’ve seen them in the background of old sitcoms, ravaging laugh tracks. I’ve seen them on airplanes, seen them in my dreams. And, of course, I’ve heard them, too.

Eventually, I started photographing them with my iPhone, pretending to be texting people, snapping shot after shot of Maiden after Maiden. I figured that I’d expose them on social media, create a Facebook page where others bedeviled by them could contribute. Then Gina got ahold of my phone one night and beat the shit out of me until I deleted every shot.

“Pervert!” she screamed. “What, am I not good enough for you?! You have to go around taking upskirt shots?! You’ll end up on the sex offender registry!”

“Those weren’t upskirt shots,” was my sad defense. “You don’t think it’s strange that I’m seeing women dressed in black everywhere I go, and they’re always laughing like malfunctioning androids?”

“You’ve caught your friend Morty’s delusion,” she said, “but you’re a married man, not an incel. You don’t have to view women as a hostile force. Keep this up and we’ll have to put you on some kind of antipsychotic medication.”

Naturally, I spoke no more of the Mirthful Maidens to Gina…until I arrived home from grocery shopping one Saturday and found six of them in our living room.

There my wife was—wineglass in hand, eyes twinkling with imbibed cheer—delivering high school anecdotes as if hosting longtime friends. Around her, quite drinkless, were a half-dozen beauties in black blazer jackets and black slacks, belching their hideous laughter in bizarre synchrony.

Noticing me, Gina cooed, “Oh, hello, honey. We have company today. Put those groceries away, pour yourself a soda, and come join us.”

On the way to the kitchen, ignoring the Maidens’ gazes, I paused to kiss my wife on the cheek, then whispered into her ear, “What the hell’s going on?”

“Be nice,” she hissed back at me.

Okay, I’ll admit it. During my brief time in the kitchen, I thought about fleeing through the back door, and hopping fence after fence until I was at least three cities distant. My teeth were chattering. I was more goosebumps than man. My every small hair felt ready to launch from its follicle. But, for all that I knew, my wife was in danger. So, I slapped myself across the face a few times, did some deep breathing exercises, and returned to the most surreal, one-sided conversation that I’ve ever heard.

“Oh, you absolutely must try their scallops; they melt in your mouth,” said Gina, scarcely audible over the grotesque laughter. “They make this blackened swordfish with Cajun butter, too. Oh my God, it’s so good. That’s why we ladies get married, isn’t it? So that we can force our husbands to order food we want to try, then snatch bits of it off their plates without seeming gluttonous.”

Gina’s always been talkative when in the right company, but this time, she really outdid herself. With nary a lull, she segued from food to theater, then to reality television, then to traveling, then to the challenges of raising twin daughters.

When she tried to draw me into the conversation, I nodded and mumbled nonsense, unable to hear so much as a syllable of my own utterances. I doubt that Gina even noticed. Whatever validation she acquired from the Mirthful Maidens’ unending laughter had really galvanized her. If she didn’t have to stop for a potty break, she’d have gone until her voice gave out.

After my wife exited the room, I somehow found the courage to grab the nearest Mirthful Maiden by her shoulders. “What are you doing in my house?” I demanded. “Why have you been following me? Have you hypnotized my wife, somehow? I mean, what the fuck?”

Of course, the only answer that I received was more laughter. And so, my temper overcame me and I began to shake the woman. Her head violently rocked back and forth, and her mouth stretched all the wider.

“Who are you people?” I hissed. “What are you?”

Then most of her head, from the upper jaw up, spilled over her back like a Slinky, revealing a vast chasm within her, from which indigo light spilled. I couldn’t look away from it, even as I realized that the radiance was emanated by a substance that looked like moldy cream cheese, which shaped itself into a replication of poor, doomed Morty’s face and shrieked a shriek that couldn’t be heard over the laughter.

Time fell away from me then. When next I returned to my senses, I was reclining on the couch with Gina pressing a wet rag to my forehead. My daughters were looming over me, too, biting their lips.

Sitting up, I asked, “Are they gone?”

“Are who gone?” replied Gina.

“Those women you were talking to. Did you see them leave?”

“Women? What women? You must’ve been dreaming after you passed out. What happened there, anyway? Did you drink enough water today? Let’s get you on your feet and find you a doctor.”

It’s been years since that day. Still, the Mirthful Maidens await me all across my city and beyond it, all the time, always laughing, always staring, in sunshine and pouring rain. Sometimes I sneer at those bitches or raise my middle finger at them, but mostly I pretend as if I don’t see them, just like everyone else does.

My wife now goes to the gym with me, five days a week, bouncing from weights to cardio with ease, reclaiming her old hourglass figure. She’s dyeing her hair black, too, the same color it used to be. At least, I think she’s dyeing it. Friends and strangers elbow me and tell me how lucky I am to have landed her. I wonder if they’re right.

My daughters are shedding their baby fat now and acquiring the curves people covet. They no longer seem much interested in their phones, though.

Sometimes, when I’m dining with my three ladies, in my peripheral vision, one of their mouths seems to widen more than it ought to. Sometimes, when I crack a dumb dad joke, the three of them start laughing and laughing and it seems that they’ll never stop. And don’t get me started on all the black clothes they’ve been buying.

#jeremy thompson #horror #horror fiction #indie author #am writing #horror reads #indie #free short story #short story #free story #reddit #no sleep #r no sleep

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