#Survive. And work for a better future for yourself.

[skay-ali]

The Magician and the princess

Live again. Repeat everything.

A new you.

That was supposed to happen... you had your isekai moment, you ended up in a new world, you thought you would live an adventure with what this new world gave you, a life where you would give the least of yourself, one full of small adventures and laziness.

The fewer things you do the better, just you in a nice place lying down, the grass of some meadow, the branch of a large tree even in the sand of a beach.

You couldn't fulfill your dream, unfortunately you had something else more important to do.

You were a noble woman in this world... your duties were not the problem.

You had magic, you didn't have a big goal of being the best magician or anything like that.

There was an internal war in your family, you didn't really care about that either.

There was a girl, the daughter of the king or the emperor, you don't remember her title well, only the little girl.

How can we not remember that girl, little Philomel, the false princess... A repetitive story of royalty, with many questionable parts.

But you felt affection for the girl, to think that since she found that book her life changed, she was no longer the spoiled and spoiled girl who only wanted her father to see her, to tell her that he really loved her, you saw her change, to be a new girl terrified of her future, who lived each of her days with anguish hoping that they would not kill her, a strategist and actress by obligation, by survival.

You cried, in fact you became depressed when reading her story, much more knowing that not even her real parents felt anything for her, in the end the girl settled and accepted that she would not have love from her family.

And yet she continued in that place, where her childhood ended abruptly, only to save a false father who never tried to be her father when she was a child, and the real protagonist.

Well Philomel made his decisions, many at the expense of a new future and his happiness, for people who were nothing.

And here you go, a promising castle mage.

Ready to become her friend... or something like that, you were much older than her and your feelings were to save her from her agony, to be what she never had.

A mother or an older sister, you didn't care what she chose, you just wanted to be with her, to be her rock as she goes through her entire stormy future.

"Princess Philomel" you bowed giving him a bow.

You smiled kindly and acted elegantly, you practiced it non-stop.

You had to behave in a good way, earn his trust, he was like a kitten... scared and distrustful, you had to be careful. You were still afraid, if he didn't like you or saw you as a threat, he would never approach you, your whole plan would fail.

Plans don't always go as expected, the princess just bowed and greeted before continuing on her way.

You carefully noticed her actions, she did not have the behavior of a girl, the idea that she was following the rules and regulations of nobility was absurd, her behavior was always that of a lively, naughty and even spoiled girl... that was until she found the book, where everything changed, the childish Philomel became extinct.

That Philomel acted elegantly but still avoided all the nobles at the small party was a sign that he had already started collecting allies or some of his cards to survive.

You were short of ideas, getting his attention just trying to talk didn't work, and boy did you try.

What are you supposed to do now? Try to be his teacher? That will only serve to get you closer, he could very well see you as a possible spy, or as a small person who appreciates, as happened with his butler/housekeeper, you don't remember well what his role really was.

Being his servant was also an option, but it would be suspicious for a promising mage to leave her job to be a lady-in-waiting.

There were thousands of titles and roles that you could take, even so there were risks, consequences if you took a role that was not the right one.

You attend more parties at the palace, mainly the smaller ones that were for the princess.

It was a nightmare, you couldn't get along socially with the noble ladies and ladies, the anxiety that time was passing, with you not being able to get close to the princess, as you are supposed to even be her friend.

Even the dresses enchanted with magic failed to attract their attention, you tried so hard that you even managed to make the fabric take on the appearance of fairy wings, technically you created a fake but legal and beautiful fabric.

At least you managed to attract the attention of the other ladies, who began to follow you non-stop and create some fame for you.

"What a nuisance"

"At this rate I won't achieve anything"

The desperation was high, your body was beginning to feel the consequences.

You seriously wanted to help Philomel, it was silly, absurd, idiotic but if you were inside this world, faced with the entire plot that was developing, you couldn't sit idly by.

It was a matter of luck, as a way to release part of your stress you created animals with your magic, they were just their silhouettes, like drawings, surrounded by a glow, they could move, they came to life, some stayed around you and others disappeared, but somehow a cat figure that had disappeared among nature, upon its return brought something with it, rather someone, a little lady, the princess.

You watched her in silence, as she was surrounded by all the small animals that you created, now you only saw a happy girl and without worries, she played with the small animals, these creatures strutted around her, eagerly waiting for the girl to look at them, they exploded with ecstasy when she caressed them.

"I see you're having fun, princess."

Your figure posed in front of the girl who was surrounded by your creations.

You gave him a smile when you spoke to him.

"and you guys, you know it's annoying when you get lost and even more so when you cause problems" you pointed at the adorable looking creatures, you looked at them with fake anger.

You were caught off guard to see how the animals hid behind the princess in fear.

Seriously, they saw you as a monster even though you created them with so much love and affection, ppfff child, raise them with love and they will always repay you with a stab in the back.

"Because they run away from their problems and the worst they hide behind the princess, you are... impossible" you snorted when you saw the behavior of your creations, you clenched your fist, you couldn't even think about punishing them, they were too adorable for a punishment, maybe that's why they always get into mischief, they know that they will never be truly punished and that you will fix their mistakes.

You heard the small laugh of a child, when you took your eyes off your little ones, you were able to capture how little Philomel was having fun with the situation she had in front of her.

This time he didn't fake a smile or pretend that everything was fine, he was actually happy and things in this small place in the castle were calm, without danger and pressure.

You applauded when you came up with an idea, it was risky but it was worth trying.

"Oh, since we're here with your new friend, how about we invite her to eat with us at a nice picnic?"

All your little creations jumped with excitement, you moved your hands and thought about what you wanted, with a small yellow glow hundreds of plates appeared on a tablecloth and a basket in the middle, they slowly fell to the floor.

The little creatures pushed the princess who watched your little trick in amazement.

You sat elegantly on the floor and looked at the princess.

You couldn't help but smile, you finally managed to stay close to her for more than 5 minutes without her moving away.

"What do you say, princess, you would make us very happy with your presence at our little picnic" you looked at her, hoping that she would accept.

You saw how your little ones made sad faces so that the little girl could see them.

"I..."

"Don't worry princess it will be a secret" you put a finger on your lips

"besides I have many delicious desserts, some are unknown in this kingdom" it was exhausting for you to go to different places to look for many unknown desserts, but you did everything to be able to get closer to Philomel.

You saw how the girl looked at you with skepticism, suspicious of your intentions, she was still a child and was already careful with her surroundings.

"Ahhhh but don't feel pressured, I'm not a threat, just a mage bored with her job in the palace"

"maybe another day" nervously you tried to sound less suspicious to the princess.

You quickly took a cupcake decorated with icing and a jelly bean that looked like a sphere that reflected the galaxy inside.

They turned out pretty on you, nothing better than a sweet to relieve sadness.

You were taken by surprise when the girl sat on the big blanket next to all the little animals made with magic.

You took another cupcake and held it out to him.

His hand hesitated for a second before taking the cupcake.

Well your mission may not advance much but at least you had a great picnic with little Philomel.

Step by step you continued with the girl, it was a common thing for the two of you to have picnics in the afternoons.

As you observed, she was still surrounded by those despicable people who pretended to love her, when in reality they despised her.

Poor girl, finding out that the only people who had been by her side for as long as she could remember actually had contempt for her was very sad.

But you couldn't interfere, that would raise suspicions, not only from Phil but also from his fake father.

Now you could only exchange conversations while drinking tea and eating desserts.

Slowly you got closer to the girl, it took you by surprise, when you were reading a book for the little princess and your little magic creations, you felt her lying on your legs with the little animals, all entertained by the words that came out of your mouth.

She was such a sweet girl, the little girl's action did not go unnoticed by you, when she caressed all the little animals made with magic, she took turns with each one and placed them on her stomach or her dress, she made sure that everyone had their moment, you even saw her worried about each little animal.

It was a slow day, the large garden was calm, without any visitors. Well except for you and Philmonel.

The girl had asked you to come today in the afternoon, due to the schedule that the princess had, you always expected her to tell you what day and what time she would come to the garden for her meetings, the short and few meetings that happened every week, turned into long and many meetings, when they knew each other more.

"Tell me Phil, have you ever heard of fairy godmothers?"

You were delicately braiding the girl's hair, as well as tangled flowers in her hair.

"uh.. I think I read about them in a book" she didn't pay much attention to you, you saw her concentrating on making tiny flower crowns and placing them on the heads of the little magical animals.

You saw the mini bear trying to imitate Phil's actions, one of the kittens modeling the crown on his head with great grace in front of the other animals, the rabbits lying with their crowns on the girl's lap, one of the dogs bringing flowers to the girl, the girl taking them with a smile to continue building more crowns.

"And if I told you that you exist" you continued insisting.

"uhh.... that would be interesting" there was her seriousness and lack of enthusiasm, you didn't blame her now she was trying to be a good girl so as not to bother anyone and survive.

"Come on, think more about that" you continued to insist, it was a calm day, which meant that you were very far from the main plot, it was a great opportunity to intervene without getting into trouble.

"Fairies grant wishes, don't they? Have you ever thought about a wish that you long for so deeply?"

You were direct, as much as you could, what child wouldn't want a wish without limits? Even with the role of princess, it's not that easy to be happy or get everything you want, there were limits, but when your position inside the castle was complicated, it's the same as walking on thousands of fragile eggshells that could get you in trouble if you break them a little.

Even for this girl full of fear and anxiety, having a wish could be a great light in her life.

Would she ask to flee from this place and never be found? Would she wish she were someone else? Some power or ability to help her survive.

She would even be so desperate that she would beg for her executioner or the girl who would end her life to be killed? No, she would not ask for someone's death.

Although she had her selfish actions, she cares about others.

"a wish..." the little girl was thoughtful with that question.

You smiled bitterly when you saw her so thoughtful, for her a wish was a miracle... she wasn't thinking about wealth, jewelry or dresses, she wasn't thinking about something to have fun with, but rather a wish calculated for her survival plan.

You wanted to get closer to Philomel, for her to trust you, to become her confidant, to take her away from this castle so she could have a moment of happiness, even if you changed the story, you would go wherever she asked you...

"You know what I would ask for" you brought the girl out of her thoughts when you spoke.

"a man, who is a few years older, very handsome, with a good complexion, who is kind" you began to ramble with some qualities of your perfect boy very excited.

"ah he has to be tall, I wouldn't care if he weren't a genius, I would take care of everything" you said sonorously.

"...." you only received a judging look from the girl, you felt like an alien or a weirdo.

"Come on, don't make that face" you pressed a finger on the girl's cheek, trying to make fun of her.

"at some point you will also dream and long for love."

"I don't believe it... I reject that thought" the girl spoke hurriedly, perhaps? I was embarrassed.

"Is that so? You don't have a cute boy hiding there" you continued provoking the girl.

Your fingers tangled in the small strands of hair that stood out in Phil's hairstyle, you twisted a finger over each strand giving it a loop shape.

"No!, of course not" you saw how he puffed out his cheeks angrily as he protested, wow he didn't even try to maintain his composure.

Maybe romance was still a taboo subject for the girl.

"If you find a boy... will you leave?" His question caught you off guard.

Love, such a complex word, you couldn't experience it well in your old life.... you have no memory of it, everything was blurry if you searched your mind about romance and couples.

You assume your life sucked that way so your mind had nothing.

"No, because I would do something like that, I will stay by your side and that man better do it too" faithful to your promise you ignored the distractions, friends before boys.

Of course you and Phil weren't friends yet, but you ignored that too.

"But if he doesn't want that, if he comes to hate that idea..."

Was I worried about you leaving? Ah, that was a joy for you, you were moving forward.

Today you would celebrate with a glass of wine and some desserts.

"So he's not the one Phil" your hands caressed the girl's head.

Hearing that was a relief for Philomel, just thinking about that possibility caused her worry, you came out of nowhere and bombarded her a lot with your presence, you were intrusive and annoying... but seeing your smile, your kind words, they cut her off, she wanted to believe in you, she let her guard down every time they saw each other, until you became a constant in her life. It was suspicious, I knew it well, you never appeared in the book, you were not even mentioned.

An unknown presence, possibly from another world, your strange behavior was a sign of that.

You never asked him for anything, you didn't even try to benefit from his friendship, you were the one who offered him many things, even if they sounded impossible or crazy.

You made her feel appreciated, your small gestures like desserts along with picnic parties, the conversations you had even if they were absurd, you listened to her, you actually did! You played along many times, you always smiled lovingly at her, your hands were warm, every time you landed on her head or her face, even when you gave her your hands.

You were very warm, you were like a light, you made her feel safe, loved and appreciated. Is this how a family should feel? If that was the case, he hoped he would always feel it, even if he was selfish, he wanted you to never leave his side.

[six-white-venus]

the problem with living in survival mode for all your developmental years is that when it finally does get better, you don't know what the fuck to do with yourself.

"you're still so childish," my mom had chided fondly one day when i was laughing at a crude joke that wasn't all that funny and i had to hold myself back from asking, "really?"

because in all honesty, i don't really know what it means to be a child. i didn't even know happiness before now, and i've never lived a day without the sheer intensity of my emotions crushing me. have i ever been a child? i don't know, because this is how i remember my life so far:

me, aged 6, sitting in front of the TV with my cold plate of food, watching dora the explorer

Sad.

and now

i'm still getting used to the novelty of having a full night's sleep everyday and not waking up wanting to kill myself, what do you mean i have to figure out what to do with my life? i have been handed something that i never wanted, that i never dared to hope for, and i hold this life in my palms with all the care i can muster with my jagged edges and freezing skin.

i'm living life in non-chronological order. i was 37 before i was 15, i am now 13 when i'm supposed to be 20. sometimes i feel older than life and so, so tired. the other day i found myself being hit with a wave of jealousy so large that i couldn't breathe for a second while looking at a 14 year old because i would never be able to have what she does. and it really is a new low, hating a middle schooler just a little because when i was 14 my biggest concern wasn't failing math but keeping myself from breaking my clean streak of two days by reaching for the kitchen knife. it's disorienting to walk around trying to 'act my age' because i feel like i'm in a whole new world than everyone else. everyday i'm made to write a surprise quiz that everyone but me was informed about. not everyone knows how to walk someone down the ledge. barely anyone fists their hands on their lap while listening to lectures on mental health thinking wrong, wrong, wrong that's not how depression works, that's not how children who want to die think, that's not the only reason for a young person to lose themself, that's not how misery feels on your skin, on your tongue. wrong, wrong, WRONG.

no, i don't know my plans for the future but i do know how to carry the weight of the world in my chest and how to hide finger nails bitten till raw and red and how to write with blood and how to cover it all up with a smile and- all of that is useless? oh. oh.

it feels like an elaborate joke, almost; like the universe is having a good laugh at my expense because the world is asking for a sculpture and all i have are my barely healed hands and a broken clay pot that has no hope of being salvaged. it's not about falling behind in the race, it's about being shoved into a goddamn marathon when you haven't even learned to walk yet. and no, dragging myself to the finish line on all fours with scraped knees and palms shredded by gravel is no longer an option.

how the hell do you live when all you know is to survive?

but really, it's not as bad as i'm making it sound, at least not all of it. this liminal space that hangs between childhood and adulthood and everything that comes before and after that, it's not awful. yeah, i'm still not sure if i will get into med school, but i'm falling a little bit in love with the sound of my laugh. i might have a huge void in my head where the last 6 years should be, but i'll never forget the laugh that bubbled out of my chest when my doctor halved my med dosage. i still carry my grief like a cloak over my shoulders but i've been leaving it behind in my house more and more because it's getting too warm for anything more than a t-shirt these days.

and after all that, the question still remains: what the hell do i do now?

laugh with my friends, maybe. make a mean cup of tea. learn everything all over again, from the start. smile till it sits on my face like it always belonged there. go to sleep early, because that's something i like doing these days.

what do i do now? i ask my mom and she tells me to help her with lunch. what do i do now? i ask my sister and she tells me to shut up and listen to the latest gossip from her class. what do i do now? i ask my best friend and he throws me his phone without looking and tells me to order whatever i'm craving.

what do i do now? i ask and they all say, isn't it obvious? you start living.

[vt-scribbles]

Hey! I just wanted to like. personally thank you for your tags on that post about being 13-15. I’m 20 and I’m just. I don’t know. It’s really nice to know that there’s no rush to get my shit together. You don’t have to post this if you don’t want, but from one stranger to another, thank you. I hope the future is kind to us both.

You are /more/ than welcome Anon.

I know when I was around 17-20, I wish someone would have told me that. I wish someone would have reassured me

"You're not an '''adult''' by 30. In fact, the idea of 'becoming an adult' is a lie. Everyone is a child, slowly figuring things out.

You'll be 25 and be 10 in maturity in some places, and 45 in others. You'll be 19 and be as mature as a 28 year old. 60 with the maturity of a 12 year old.

Age is a lie, maturity is a slow process, and everyone should always be growing. The idea that you become 'a mature adult' at a 'certain age' is a paradox, and is not helpful to you when you're young and scared and figuring yourself out before you can figure your LIFE out.

Your art will get better. Your friend group will get bigger. You'll laugh more, write more, reach out to your role models and realize they're all just people like you. Figuring things out. Fucking up. Being scared. We're all a little bit scared. But we all figure things out despite the fear.

So long as you take things at a healthy pace, you'll be okay. You'll feel like 'it's the end of the world' so many times, and you'll get through them. And it's worth it to stick around."

There's never a rush to get your shit together. Most people don't have their life together, or figured out. We're all just kids with back pain and bills. But, y'know. We get to watch the movies we want and eat the food we like, so. It's not so bad. <3

[thedandelionresistance]

Repeat after me: something being unhealthy or otherwise causing the person doing it distress does not make it morally wrong.

(This is part of healthism.)

[teaboot]

Sometimes at work it's not my place to tell people the things I want to say, and I find I often go home at the end of the rougher days to stand blankly in my shower and tell myself over and over what I wish I could pass on.

This accomplishes very little, and mostly just gives me a tension headache, but through it all I think I've narrowed myself down to a few solid things I'd like to tell people the most.

You can't change people. Not permanently, not for anythig. You can support them, encourage them, love them, give them tools and opportunities and resources, but you can't make them change. They can change themselves if they want to, but they have to want to, and they have to want it for themselves, because they're the only one that's certain to be with them forever.

For better or worse, you make your own choices, and blaming bad choices on others doesn't only work to absolve you of responsibility- it also robs you of control. Because if you say you only did something because I did something, then you arent only shifting blame- you're admitting that you cannot control yourself, that you cannot truly make choices for yourself, that other people can control you- and as long as you truly beleive that, you'll keep facing the same problems over and over. You'll keep letting others dictate your choices, because you'll beleive that they can, and you'll never be free.

White knights on horseback are from fairytales. Nobody can help you if ou're not willing to help yourself. To try, to put the dirty work in, to belive you're worth that effort- Act as though nobody is coming to save you. From a struggle, from pain, from bad relationships, from yourself. And when you do save yourself, because you will, because failure here isn't an option if you want to survive, you'll never find another dragon that can keep you prisoner.

Don't say anything to anyone that you wouldn't want them remembering forever.

Doing the right thing in bad circumstances is hard. It's the hardest thing. But if you make the choice to do that hard thing anyways, despite your fear, you'll go on the rest of your like knowing that you're the sort of person who did something.

The present only seems the hardest because the past I over and the future hasn't happened.

There's so much joy ahead of you, the kind you can't possibly understand until you see it yourself.

The responsibility of consequences is often disguised as the power of permission. "I won't do this if you help me", "I'll work on my anger if you do this for me", "I promised you I'd quit, but can I have just one?". The unspoken question is, "Can it be your fault if this goes badly?"

You cant make someone love you the way you need to be loved. Someone can love you very much and still be bad for you, even if you love them very much in return. Two people can love each other very, very much, and try their very best, and still be wrong for each other.

Sometimes being near to someone changes you, even in good ways, and the people you become don't fit together as well as the people you were.

Caring takes work. Even if it's real. Especially if it's real. And the most important gestures aren't the grand, poetic, songs-and-flowers-and-tears moments; they're getting out of bed even though you don't want to. Paying attention to things you don't enjoy. Scrubbing pans, or opening a window, saying "thank-you", or helping carry groceries into the house. The small things fill the big things- without the small, boring, mediocre things, big things feel hollow.

Thrre is honour and dignity in humble work.

If you are a cruel and spiteful person, then you will find every place you visit to be full of the same cruel, spiteful people. This is not because the world is as cruel as you, but because everywhere you are, you will be disliked. This is the curse that comes with being persistently cruel and spiteful.

If you are a kind and ppsitive person, you will repeatedly encounter kind and positive people, because as they grow familiar with you, they will be happier to have you near. This is the reward of being a kind and positive person.

When splitting paths with loved ones, briefly or forever, aim for your last words to always be "I love you".

[reiderwriter]

Everyone Looks Better in a Sundress

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (GN + AFAB)

Summary: The AC at the BAU decides to take a holiday during a summer heatwave, and when you decide the FBI’s dress code is merely a suggestion, you unwittingly catch Spencer’s eye.

Genre: smut (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, semi-public sex, fingering, car sex, degradation, name-calling, edging, praise-kink, dumbification, basically Spencer is a tease and the reader really gets off on using his official title.

Word Count: 3.8k

Authors Note: Hello! This is my first posted fic, so any feedback is welcome and absolutely appreciated (I tried to keep it GN!AFAB but if you notice any gendered pronouns pls lmk immediately!) I finally decided to start writing again after a few years, so I might be a bit rusty but I recently started rewatching Criminal Minds and I am so in love with Spencer! This little fic was inspired by @imagining-in-the-margins CM Summer Sunshine Fic Challenge, so big thank you to them for the inspiration! This could also develop into a multi part fic in the future, so if that’s something you’d be interested in, please let me know in the tags and comments! XOXO K

Part two!

After three years in the BAU, you should know that summers in Quantico, Virginia are nothing to play about. Sure, it could be cloudy sometimes, and summer rain did allow for some relief, but with a heatwave on the way and a week of office work ahead of you, it seemed every member of your team was excited for the office AC. 

That was, of course, until the maintenance department sent out an office-wide email telling you it was “undergoing work” for the foreseeable future. 

You received the email during your commute, and immediately turned around to change. There was no way you were surviving in your slacks and long-sleeve shirt, and, truth be told, you knew that your bosses wouldn’t mind if you were a little more relaxed in your workplace attire if you weren’t going to be spending time in the field. 

It took all of thirty seconds to shoot a message to Garcia, telling her that you’d be a few minutes late for your daily carpool, letting her know the situation so she didn’t hack into your car GPS (which she still claims she absolutely did not do the last time you accidentally slept in, but would in an emergency just to know you were safe). 

She quickly sent you a reply: “put on that floral number we picked up last week! Between you and Morgan, I'm hoping my eyes will be feasting today 😉.” 

You let out a little chuckle as you read the message, and quickly complied. A sundress didn’t sound too bad right now at all. 

The dress in question was perhaps pushing it slightly for office work. It was short, and you knew immediately when putting it on that you would spend the day pulling it down to a more appropriate length. But the shade of blue fit your skintone perfectly, and the floaty material was exactly what you needed to beat the heat. 

Grabbing your keys again before you could second guess yourself, you didn’t let your mind linger quickly on the thought that perhaps the dress was a little attention grabbing. And perhaps there was someone in the office whose attention you wanted to grab. 

-X-

The commute into the office wasn’t bad, but stepping out of your nicely temperature regulated car into a wall of heat made you thank yourself for your foresight. And it seemed that the rest of your team was dealing similarly. Walking into the office, you noticed that Prentiss had divested herself of her shirt, sitting comfortably with an iced coffee and red tank top, an electric fan inches from her face. Morgan was similarly outfitted in lighter clothes than usual, and you could audibly hear Penelope’s brain working to come up with the best heat related compliment for her work husband. You couldn’t see Hotch or Rossi, but you knew they kept their own back-up units in their offices, so they wouldn’t be struggling at all today. You assumed JJ, too, was in her office.

“Well, look at you Cutie. You’re gonna break some hearts today, I know.” You roll your eyes as you throw your bag down. You were used to Morgan’s playful teasing by now, but compliments and affirmations were always welcome. You grimaced looking down at your desk chair and realised you had another problem. Your very recent purchase of a black leather office chair was going to absolutely make your day a living hell. Before you resigned yourself to a day of sitting in the orthopedic seventh layer of hell, your heard the angelic call of your office BFF.

“It feels like the devil’s armpit in here, god, do not expect an miracles from me today, I’m collecting my laptop and immediately moving away from all the heavy heat-producing machinery in my cave. Anyone got any space at their desk for me to work at?” 

“Yes!” You replied a little too quickly. 

“Feel free to make yourself at home, Pen, I have to look over some files with Reid later anyways so I’ll just pull up a spare chair to his desk, it’s all yours.” You thanked your lucky stars that everyone was too hot to tease you about your imminent proximity to the office’s Boy Wonder. 

It turns out hiding a small, tiny, stupid crush from a team of FBI profilers wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but you were confident in thinking the only one who had clocked on so far was Penelope. And that was only because of your weekly girls nights and an unfortunate habit of spilling secrets while intoxicated. Sure, the others still teased sometimes, but that was only because the two of you were the easiest targets. And they just didn’t know how on the nose they were sometimes. 

She gave you a quick look, of the ‘we will be discussing this later’ variety but didn’t say anything else and quickly excused herself to collect her things. 

You quickly pulled up a (non-leather) chair next to Reid’s and straightened out your dress as you started searching for the file you were looking for. Although you absolutely had an ulterior motive to intruding on his space, you actually did have work to do. But the heat, and the knowledge that you’d be working closely with Reid again any minute now did nothing to help you stay focused. 

Of course, having worked on the same team now for three years meant that you’d been alone together before. In all honestly, he was your partner of choice for any field task and you complimented each other well. The two of you worked together on Geographical Profiles for the majority of your cases, using your people skills, and his practical knowledge to gain insight into the locations unsubs lived, worked, murdered and hid their victims. And of course, you were friends outside the office, too. But you felt there was a distance between the two of you that made itself known the minute you stepped off the Jet or out of the bullpen. 

As you searched the desk, you let your mind wander to what he would look like in this heat. You knew he didn’t deal with the heat well, and could often be found with his shirt sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone on the cases in the warmer climates. You thought about him panting in the heat, pushing his hair out of his face, glistening with sweat and grumbling quietly about the heat. You specifically thought back to a case from a few weeks back, where the two of you had an awkward run-in with an automatic sprinkler when you made your way to interview a witness. His purple shirt had ended up soaked, and on day six of the investigation, his go bag was thankfully short of replacement clothing. So he’d sat in the precinct, shirt semi-transluscent, completely oblivious to your brazen oggling and sudden lack of anything intellectual to say. Or anything to say in general. 

It was only as you felt yourself getting warmer (a particularly impressive feat on today of all day’s) that you had to pull yourself out of the fantasy. But of course, as you stood up to get yourself a cool drink, you realised you were face to face with the man of your fantasies. 

“Y/N? Did you need something?” He looked down at you, with a soft smile on his face. 

“Oh! No, it was Garcia, she, um, she needed somewhere to work because her office is practically a sauna with all those computers. And I was thinking, we still need to work on that report on the geographical profile from the last case, so I offered her…my…” You trailed off, noticing you were rambling and allowed yourself a second to look at the man in front of you properly for the first time that day. 

It was going to be a miracle if you got any work done ever again.  

Like you, he’d opted for a change in uniform. He’d rid himself of his usual waistcoat-cardigan combo and was left in a button down shirt. It was, as you’d hoped and prayed, open slightly more than usual at the top. You frowned unconsciously as you realised he had also pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, unhappy that you wouldn’t get to watch him do it in-person, his veins popping out as he exerted himself in the smallest way. 

A few seconds of silence passed, and you had to make yourself tear your eyes away from a droplet of sweat that was neatly making its way down his throat, tracing a line that you could only hope to one day follow with your lips.  When you snapped your eyes up to his, he nervously did the same, gripping  his bag a little tighter to him. 

“Oh, yeah that sounds good, um, let me just put my bag down and we can, uh, get started I guess.” 

“Yeah of course. I was just gonna grab a drink first, do you want one?” 

“Sure, yeah, a coffee would be good.”

“Okay, I’m no expert but that cannot be healthy in this heat. I know you’re practically a caffeine addict at this point, but I’m getting you a glass of water and you’re going to thank me, okay Doctor?”

He rolled his eyes and settled comfortably into his seat, but made no complaints as you walked away. 

-X-

“This is ridiculous, how can they expect us to work like this?” Agent Prentiss grumbled from her desk. 

“Oh, come on now, Prentiss, you can’t be complaining about a little heat, now.” 

You rolled your eyes at your coworkers playful back-and-forth, doing your best to not melt into your borrowed seat. You’d been working side-by-side with Reid for the last three hours and the heat was now unbearable. You were stuck to the seat in an uncomfortable way, especially with the extra exposed skin from your dress. It had ridden up your legs more than you expected it would, so you were constantly shifting in your seat attempting to keep yourself decent. 

The heat rolling off your teammate didn’t help. You had assumed that his love of cardigans, scarves and layers in general meant that he usually ran on the cooler side, but he was practically burning up next to you, making any and all accidental touch near intolerable. 

Each accidental brush of his fingers as you passed files between the two of you, each knock of your knees together under the desk as you moved to read over one-anothers shoulders, and every time you got up for another drink, it’s like he’s read your mind because he stood up at the same time and you had to awkwardly untangle yourself from the mess of desk chairs and office furniture. With every touch, you feel yourself getting hotter and hotter, the heat pooling between your legs embarrassingly.

It’s only when, later in the day, he brushes the seam of your skirt with his fingers when reaching over you with his other hand for a file you know for a fact he does not need, you realise that all of those accidental touches may have been absolutely intentional. 

Lowering your voice to a whisper, you bring your lips closer to his ears.”Spence, what was that?” You try to keep your voice steady, but his fingers are stil lingering closer to your sensitive areas than you found comfortable.

He drops his eyes to yours, looking you in the eye for the first time since you started working together in a comfortable silence. 

“What was what?” He asks innocently, his cheeks flushes as he starts drawing small circles on your thigh.

“You’re touching me. You’ve been touching me a lot today, Doctor.”

“Oh, I’m Doctor now, am I?” He smiles at you before quickly moving his attention back to the file he was reading. 

“Don’t change the subject.” You feel your whole body flush, as he ignores you and continues his reading, not removing his hand from your leg the entire time. 

“S-Spencer, I’m serious.”  He looks at you again then, and your heart jumps into your throat as you realise he’s removed his hand from the hem of your skirt, only to have it return under the material, moving closer and closer to where you really wanted him. 

“You know,” he whispers under his breath, so quiet you’re sure that no one could overhear, “you look really pretty in this dress.”

Your brain is short circuiting as you feel his hand on your inner thigh, failing to register the implication of his words as you do your best to stammer out a reply. 

“A-actually, Garcia chose it out for me. She said that you would-” you cut yourself off before you can say anymore. You’re surrounded by a room of your close friends and teammates and you’re doing your best not to beg your incredibly attractive coworker to push his fingers into you right then and there. Biting your lip so you don’t say anything else, you try to stand and shift away. 

But Reid is there, and with his other hand he maneouvers you even closer to him somehow.  

“She said I would what, beautiful?”

He’s so close now and you find yourself again staring at his exposed neck, wanting nothing more than to bury your head in him and kiss and lick and bite until he gives you what you want. The little circles he’s drawing on your legs are removing your inhibitions quicker than any alcohol could. 

But then he grips you a little tighter, and forces you to look up into his eyes again and respond. 

“She said that you would, uh, she said that you would’nt be able to take your eyes off of me. We were shopping together and she was just teasing and, well, yeah.”

“All dressed up for me, then? You thought you’d test the theory and see if she was right?” 

And suddenly he’s ghosting his fingers across your panties and you’re doing your best to not make any other noises as he looks you deep in your eyes.

“Do you think she was right, Y/N?” He asks. But before your brain can catch up and choose whether or not to answert, he’s pulling away. He’s standing up and he’s walking over to Morgan, file in hand, asking questions about another previous case file, and you’re left sitting at his desk questioning if any of that actually just happened.

-X-

You spent the rest of the day in a daze. Luckily, your team was so busy complaining about the heat that you were sure none of them noticed the tension you carried through the rest of your day. With the AC still not working, Garcia had gained permission from Hotch to head back to her own apartment to finish up the day with more appropriate equipment, and had quickly evacuated your desk, allowing you to retreat back to your own space. 

Emily had finished her own paperwork early due to a well-timed bet with Morgan, and had taken herself off to JJ’s office, and Morgan was meeting with Hotch in his office to discuss a potential death row intervew. So with the end of the workday in sight, only you and Reid remained in the bullpen. 

After your little run in, you knew that you weren’t going to get any effective work done. Emily had once joked that Reid’s high IQ gets slashed to 60 every time he comes in contact with an attractive woman. At the time, you’d laughed, joked along. Nowthat it was your reality, it wasn’t as funny to you. 

He’d played with you, called you beautiful, had his hands on you in the most frustratingly dizzying way- and then just as soon walked away from you. It wasn’t as if you wanted him to take you right then and there, in front of the entire office. 

In fact, you’re quite sure that no matter how horny you were, you’d have stopped him before he went any further that publically. But you weren’t as sure you wouldn’t have dragged him off to a supply closet and forced him down on his knees and under your skirt. 

To be short, you were pissed. He had left you, hot and bothered, on a day where you literally could get no relief from the heat. 

You watched him work for a while after that. His desk faced away from yours, which meant you could covertly watch him whilst he worked and he would be none the wiser. After catching yourself staring a hole into the back of his head for the fifth time in an hour, you  grunted out a curse and started packing your things up for the day. Unfortunately, you were just loud enough to catch the man’s attention. 

“Leaving so soon, princess?”

“Yes. It’s hot and I’m tired and I just want to go home and take a cold shower and get into bed.” You started packing your things up again, but you quickly noticed that Spencer was doing the same. 

“Are you leaving as well?” You asked, your stomach doing a small flip in apprehension of his answer. 

“Yeah. I’m also hot, and tired and a cold shower sounds amazing right about now.” 

You flushed at even the slightest change of a double meaning. Did he want to shower with you? Was he really going to step over that line? 

He continued to pack up his things calmly, and you did the same. You walked towards the elevator, and it wasnt until he reached from behind you to press the call button that you realised he was so closely following you. 

“And besides, your bed sounds amazing right about now.” The hairs on your neck stood up as he whispered into your ear, his hot breath fanning against your neck as you felt heat pool between your legs for the second time that day. You froze up like a deer in headlights, and as the elevator dinged open, you felt Spencer walk you in, press the button, and close the door before making his next move. 

“You didn’t answer me earlier, you know? When I asked about the dress? Do you think Garcia was right?” He had crowded you into one corner of the elevator, and your brain was still short-circuiting. Shit, maybe you were the one whose IQ was cut in half, because the man in front of you seemed more confident than you had ever seen him before. 

His placed his hands on the guard rail either side of you, as one of his legs found its way between yours and you let out a small whimper, then cursed yourself when you saw the smirk growing on his face. 

“Come on, Princess, use your words.” He teased again. 

“She wasn’t right.” You breathed out. “You looked at me a few times, but nothing too long and nothing…inappropriate, but-”

“But what?” He pushed his leg further into you, moving his hands to grip the fabric at our waist,  and suddenly you were counting your blessings that no other agent in the building had decided to use the elevator right now. 

“But you can’t keep your hands off of me.” His lips crashed into yours the second you finished your sentence, as you desperately grabbed at his hair, desperate to feel more and more of him against you despite the sticky heat. 

He pulled away reluctantly as the elevator came to a stop in the basement carpark, but you still desperately clung to him, pressing kisses into his jaw and down his neck as you breathed in the scent of his sweat on his skin. Your words had failed you, but your body was desperate to communicate exactly what you needed. 

He chuckled as he pulled you off of him, stroking your hair as he pulled you to your car. Opening the passenger side door for you and taking the keys from your bag, he placed a kiss to your temple, pulling away only enough to whisper into your ear. ”Which one of us can’t keep their hands off the other now?” 

You were hot and delirious and you were not going to interrupt him now. He climbed into the driver’s seat, something you knew he didn’t do often, and placed his hand on your leg again as he drove. 

“Spread your legs,” he ordered as soon as you were far enough away from the building. You complied immediately, not wanting to interrupt anything the man might do to you. “Good girl,” he mumbled as he immediately picked up where he left off earlier, rubbing your sensitive nub through your underwear. Your dress was pushed up now 

“You know, Garcia was right” he spoke again, his fingers snaking their way under the elastic of your underwear. You could only moan in surprise, desperately close to getting exactly what you wanted.  

“I have been staring at you this whole day. You came in this short dress, practically on display for anyone to see.” His fingers were now slowly circling your clit, going torturously slowly as you bucked up your hips for some much needed friction.  

“When you got me that glass of water, I followed you, you know. Watched you reach for the glass on the top shelf, saw your skirt riding up. We’re you so desperate for me to notice you that you put yourself on display for the entire office like a little whore?” You moaned in surprise as his words registered in your mind. 

You tried to reply, to deny and protest your innocence, but he chose that minute to thrust a finger into you, the awkward angle forced by your position in the car creating a beautiful friction. You started rocking your hips quicker against his hand, opening yourself up to him fully, and grabbing his wrist so he couldn’t pull away for a third time that day. 

“You can’t even deny it, Look at you using my hand to get yourself off. Are you gonna come for me? Gonna do it right here in your car?”  You moan out a yes as he adds another finger, stretching you out further as you whimper around him. 

“Fuck, yes Spence, I’m a whore, your little whore.” You feel that familiar coil in the bottom of your stomach tighten and soon your releasing yourself all over his hands.  Gasping for air, your head falls back on the passenger seat, and you release your grip on Spencer’s hands. 

“Good job, princess, you did so well for me. We’re almost home now, let’s get you in that shower.” You whimper a little, nodding as you allow your brain to settle once again, completely comfortable with letting Spencer take control and do whatever he needs to do with you for the rest of the night. 

-X-

[hope-for-the-planet]

If you get caught up in the mindset of "we are doomed because most humans are too dumb and selfish to solve climate change" I really encourage you to watch the first 12 minutes of this video.

I've also done my best to condense the most relevant quotes below.

"The biggest reason why we have a problem, is love. It's that we want to have children, we want them to survive, and so now there are 8 billion of us. And now that there are 8 billion of us, we want all 8 billion of those people to have pretty good lives." "[P]eople are so caught up in [...] the current moment, that you can't see how hard all of our ancestors worked to provide us with a world that has plenty of food [...], climate controlled shelter, and pretty easy transportation to anywhere within [...] 400 miles." "Humans are remarkable. We are very powerful. Give any species this level of power and they will provide opportunities for thriving for themselves and for their children. They will try and prevent their children from dying.[...] For the most part they will walk through fire to make sure that their children don't die. They will destroy the Earth to make sure their children won't die." "I don't want my son growing up thinking that the species that he's a part of is in some way evil. I feel like that's the root of a lot of [...] arm chair environmentalism. I want him thinking, humans are problem-solvers and solving problems creates new problems." "When we solve the global warming problem, we will have created new problems. And we're doing it right now. Renewable technologies use way more land [...], they impact the environment by being there [...]. And I think in the future we will uninstall a bunch of those things because we'll have other technologies that are better [...]. And the people in the future will be mad at us for the work that we did and that's fine. Just like we're kinda mad at all the people who made the world a better place by burning a bunch of coal so that we could have refrigerators [...]."

You can't hate yourself and your fellow humans into saving the world--and if you believe that all other humans are short sighted and selfish and doomed by their very nature then you are far more vulnerable to doomerism and hopelessness and giving up.

As Hank says in the video, the only reason we even know that climate change is a problem at all is because a lot of very intelligent humans were concerned about the possible impacts of fossil fuels on the future and did a whole lot of modeling and research so they could warn future humans about the risks. And we are primarily in this climate change situation in the first place because our ancestors wanted to use the readily available energy from fossil fuels to give their children and their communities better, safer, healthier lives.

Now we are trying to use brains that evolved primarily to deal with relatively little, immediate, tangible problems in small communities to solve a very large, long-term, largely intangible problem on a global scale. As frustrated as I am that we aren't solving this problem faster (and that there is small number of greedy fossil fuel executives trying to stop us from solving it for personal gain), most people are doing their best under very challenging circumstances.

Humans are driven to solve problems for the love of other humans--themselves, their families, their communities, humanity as a whole. We shouldn't base the drive to solve our current problems on disdain for ourselves and our fellow humans.

[boopshoops]

What your favorite TWST character says about you :)

As a note before I begin: I saw one of these that shamed malleus and randomly even chenya enjoyers- (claimed that they were pick mes or something? 😭) so i wanted to make one that was more positive out of spite <3 make it more about the writing and why people appreciate the characters. Take each of these with a grain of salt i spose- also a lot of them share similar themes <3

(Aka fans who have different views or even blatantly incorrect views of characters will always exist everywhere, but insulting the entirety of a group solely for enjoying a character, many for different reasons, is probably not a great idea!

I get that sometimes people suck and thats understandable, but quit generalizing ok? Ok.

From a malleus enjoyer who just thinks hes a silly little guy and im tired of feeling like i have to defend myself bc he's my blorbo 😵‍💫)

Final note: i love unapologetically taking frustration and turning it into something that can make people smile 💕 also i blindly wrote this from 11pm-midnight :))) dividers by @/cafekitsune!

Heartslabyul:

Riddle: you enjoy and/or relate to the idea of healing from the past. Working hard to improve oneself for the ones around you and yourself: creating a healthier environment where you can be happy

Trey: there is immense complexity in things that are seemingly mundane. Digging deeper and deeper to find something truly sweet and heart warming is your joy.

Cater: maybe you relate, or maybe you used to, or maybe parts of the connections made in the past/presence/future dont feel as deep as you truly want them to be. There is something beautiful about a desire for genuine human connection, but also peace in being alone. There is a safe space for you yet, just be patient. 💕

Deuce: you love drive and determination. An endless stubbornness that keeps one going against all odds. Against every person who tells someone they cant. You watch them get proven wrong, and its pure bliss.

Ace: you find the connection between people beyond words heartwarming: even the seemingly simple ones. The ability to have a connection with someone who can get up to some mischief, tease back and forth, yet be there when you need them to be one of the most valuable things.

Savanaclaw:

Leona: Adversity over a lack of belief in oneself is a very difficult thing to overcome- yet it is very possible with the right crowd, the right amount of time, healing, and effort. You think someone's worth lies more than just within their title/job/appearance, but within the fact that they are able to stand back up and keep moving onward despite the odds. The hope for that change, and the ability to get out of bed in the morning on its own is strength.

Ruggie: Despite being through so much trauma at such a young age, recovery happens anyway. Its not perfect, at times the lessons learned are even rough. The survival tactics that once helped are now hard to ditch when theyre not needed anymore, but the ability to smile and joke and keep pushing onwards is something you value in life.

Jack: Self discipline can be both extremely useful as well as harmful in different ways. You find the way people can constantly strive to better themselves at what they love and/or morally to be highly admirable.

Octavinelle:

Azul: People can be cruel. And sometimes that cruelty inspires cruelty. Sometimes its simply used as a way to move on and survive insecurities created from it. Its hard, its a fight, but those insecurities are part of what make people beautiful. They are nothing to be ashamed of, and even the many tactics and smart ways of learning to overcome cruelness can be beautiful too.

Jade: The mind is extremely powerful. Intelligence and knowledge are not the only important things, no. Using that intel to find entertainment in the surrounding world can be exhilarating. Finding and discovering new unknowns: learning their ins and outs until they're a part of you is something you can relate to.

Floyd: speaking of fun- you love what is essentially the written version of a roller coaster. Ups and downs, ins and outs. Every single twist and turn is exhilarating and new. Every different perspective provides new insight into a multitude of different things. You are along for the ride, and you are having a lovely time.

Scarabia:

Jamil: self discovery can be very difficult after purposefully suppressing parts of one's self for a long time. Yet, the healing happens anyway (once again aha <3). People discover new parts of themselves, slowly becoming more comfortable not only with their environment, but how they react to it. The discovery is freedom, and freedom is bliss to you. New traits about oneself bloom like a flower: if not in the soil, then stubbornly in the cracks of cement. You gently take that bloom from the concrete and pot it, placing it gingerly in a beam of sunlight.

Kalim: Happiness isnt only sunshine to the one smiling, but to everyone else around them. It is delightfully infectious. However, happiness isnt a constant. You think emotions all emotions should be experienced rather than suppressed, because holding back sadness for the sake of others is a disservice to one's self. Discovering your own emotions, any range of them, is what makes people uniquely human. If anyone is holding those emotions back- hell, any part of them back, they need to be let out of the cage.

Pomefiore:

Vil: "Beauty is on the inside" is a saying thats been around for a long time, but beauty comes in so many forms. It can come from the stubborn desire to improve one's self: to be kinder, to help those around you, to be good. However it is impossible to be perfect. At times, for some, this can be crushing. People are hurt unintentionally, natural frustration can brew, the wrong actions can be taken: and thats okay. You believe whats important is to pick yourself up and keep going. To err is to be human, and that is beautiful too.

Rook: Error is beautiful. Symmetry is beautiful. Asymmetry is beautiful. A crack in the side walk is beautiful. Small things are beautiful, big things are beautiful. The nurturing of something through endless care is beautiful. The undeniable traits and hobbies of every individual that make them unique are beautiful. You find the endless optimism in finding beauty to be, in itself, beautiful.

Epel: Sometimes people will view others in ways that they wish not to be perceived as. This isnt in our control, as much as we sometimes want it to be. All you can do i be unapologetically yourself. To be you to the utmost degree. To prove those who thought otherwise to be foolish. You find this strength to find value in yourself despite others opinions admirable.

Ignihyde:

Idia: you have depression /j

Ok for real-

Life can be such a cunt. It can beat a person down, down, down and leave them vulnerable enough to fear it. To fear that beating, whenever it may next come. The anxiety of never knowing what or who will come next, or what one could lose. At times it feels more comforting to find a routine in solitude. But you know that the small things that give joy will wiggle their way in with time. The broken will meet people who love and care and find comfort in the companionship of healing, even from the little things: like a new story to read or game to play.

Ortho: You value unconditional support. Support through everything: the good, the bad, the just kind of okay. Knowing that someone can have ones back for every little thing- to be there solely because they care and wish the best for others- is something you look up to and maybe even wish to be for another.

Diasomnia:

Malleus: god damn people can be so hard to read and understand. They are so complicated: they are books you have to pay attention to from start to finish. But once you reach the end, you have a deep seated appreciation for them, and for the ones who stuck around to read your book too. Even if it was just for a fleeting moment: it is a happy moment. As painful as temporary things can be, it is also what you think can make the relationships we love and have loved so valuable.

Lilia: there can be suffering everywhere. There is war. There is famine. But there are also endless new sights to see. New discoveries to be made to help those still going through famine and war. New ways to love and understand people you never thought you'd understand. The development and positive parts of humanity, even though at times it can look bleak, are ever present to you. You love the discovery: of places and of people.

Silver: you believe that there is solace in being your own individual, regardless of who you are bound by blood to. Being shaped my experiences, friends, hardships, and new places are what make a person who they are. You value finding roots in and making your own home.

Sebek: Dedication can be a hard thing to come by, but when it does it can grab someone by the reigns. Using every waking moment to cherish that thing, learn more about it, become better at something, and strive to better ones self can be very admirable to you. But, on the other hand, it also calls for the occasional rest.

OTHER (just for ones I know well enough, sorry!)

Neige: You love kindness despite hardship. One can go through horrible things and still choose to be kind. The world could begin to end, and one could still choose to be kind, because it means everything.

Chenya: Curiosity fuels exploration. It fuels art. It fuels everything. It fuels excitement. It fuels friendships. It fuels medicine. It fuels life. Curiosity is endlessly fun, and you think that is very whimsical

Meleanor: Sacrifice for others can be tragic. Knowing what another person has given up for someone else, maybe even everything, is gut wrenching but undeniably a selfless love to you.

Crewel: There can be kindness in strictness. In teachings, there can be a parental guide. There can be someone who cares for you and undeniably wants you to succeed. They know that you can, so they push you towards it. You want this support.

Trein: Love surpasses time. When the ones we love are gone, the memories of them are still held close, with the love once given to them, we can show to others through advice and guidance that comes with time. You find comfort in that.

Crowley: People are flawed. We all know this, yet despite a persons flaws... however many there may be, there is still something hopeful and human about it. About having those flaws and persisting regardless. You may even like those flaws, and the unashamed desire to press on even with them on display.

Fellow/Ernesto: Live for yourself. This is what you desire. People are often caught up in material or monetary things. After all, we live in a world that required it to survive and even be respected. To throw away those views and simply live as you see fit: regardless as to whether you earn those things or not, is something you admire.

Rollo: Sometimes the attachment we have to those we lost can be painful. Regardless, that pain is proof that there was care and love. The things done for others, whether alive or dead, are done selflessly. Grief can fuel hatred, but it can also be caused by love. To unlearn hatred and learn to love again after the fear of loss is a natural human experience. It is a process you understand and admire those who take the time and strength needed to properly love again.

Thank you for reading <3

Tags <3

@lowcallyfruity @skriblee-ksk @justm3di0cr3 @cecilebutcher @kitwasnothere

@techno-danger @thehollowwriter @distant-velleity @the-trinket-witch @scint1llat3

@beneathsakurashade @qsoap @twsted-canvas @prince-kallisto @kathxrat-01

@sillyslipperybananapeel @jadelover69 @tixdixl @twstinginthewind

[sitepathos]

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 11: The Interview

Note: Didn’t really plan on making a chapter like this, but I thought we were overdue some filler before we got into some real drama. Enjoy!

You let out a loud agitated sigh as you power down your computer and slouch in your office chair.

Since you got back from Metropolis, you’ve been working on a free update to thank all your players for their support and voting to make Salvage Rights the Indie Game of the Year; working on an update that’ll satisfy the players and be easy to develop and implement was difficult enough, but all the drama with the Waynes made it even harder.

It’s been four fucking years since you left Gotham! Even when you moved back to Goodsprings, you couldn’t help but think about all they’d done to you, from Bruce acting like you’re an intruder in his “perfect” house to Damian being your personal demon. You’d managed to put hundreds of miles between yourself and them, but they still managed to have a hold on you. Sure, you knew you were in a home you owned fair and square, not Wayne Manor, but there were still instances where you caught yourself looking over your shoulder to make sure no one was behind you or peeking around corners to make sure a room was empty before you walked in.

Even with the Megamycete constantly reminding you, it took you the better part of a year to get it through your head that you no longer needed the survival tactics that had kept you alive in Wayne Manor as you’re the only one in your house.

It’s taken the last three years, but you were finally ready to move on with your life, look towards the future and leave Gotham, Bruce Wayne, and his merry band of bastards behind. You published your game, people loved it almost immediately, and you had been rewarded for your efforts with fame and fortune.

You finally free and could actually be happy for the first time in years.

Now, he and his children come and plague you, trying to drag you back to the place you hated from day one.

He made it clear that he never considered you his son (hell, what he said the night those three bastards kidnapped you proved that), always showering Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian with a fatherly love you had slowly realized would never be meant for you and shoved you aside in favor of showcasing the children he was proud of. Eventually, you were forgotten by both Bruce Wayne and the larger world as no one in Gotham’s media class ever asked where you were, why weren’t you with them at this party, or when was he planning on throwing you your own introductory gala like his other kids.

As time went on, you took steps to separate yourself from him, never telling anyone who your father was and only accepting Gould as your proper last name (although if you ever found some guy to marry you, you’d definitely be open to changing your last name).

Then, that son of a bitch shows up and ruins everything, your face plastered all over the news, primarily in Gotham and Metropolis, and you can’t go anywhere without people staring, whispering, and bombarding you with several questions (many of them being if you could set them up with your “siblings”).

You were finally living the life you’d dreamed about and he had to go and ruin it! You’d known that Bruce Wayne is a miserable motherfucker who can’t stand to see anyone around him to be happy (you’d listened in on plenty of arguments between him and the others whenever one of them tried to strike out on their own to figure that out), but you never thought that he’d be so petty he’d try to drag you, the son he never wanted, back when he saw you happy for once in your life.

You look down at your hands and imagine what it’d feel like to have them wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life out of him and seeing him realize that despite his strength as Batman, he was powerless compared to you; the relief you would feel as you saw the life leave his eyes as he accepted that the son he never wanted was the instrument of his destruction.

You revel in the brief sensation of satisfaction that passes through you from your daydream.

(You may get your wish,) the Megamycete says, bringing you out for your fantasy.

“How do you figure?”

It doesn’t answer, but you feel sensations of anxiety and apprehension radiate from it.

“What’s wrong,” you say, getting a little afraid.

Over the last four years, you’d never known the Megamycete to be afraid of anything.

So, seems like things are about to go from bad to worse in your life.

(We reached out to the Bats. They know of both our existence and our bond with you.)

“What,” you exclaim, standing up from your chair. “You told them? Why?”

(We thought we could reason with them for you. They—)

“How could you do that? Now they know about you! They weren’t going to stop coming and my only ace in the hole is you! I’ve lost that advantage thanks to you! For a sentient mushroom that has the knowledge of thousands of people, that was a pretty stupid thing to do!”

You’re pissed. Really pissed.

You had a feeling that the night with Bruce at the Gala wasn’t the end of things and all of his children visiting you proved it. The Bats have made it clear they’ll do whatever they must to accomplish their goals and for whatever reason, they’ve decided you’re their goal.

Sure, you went overboard a little demonstating your strength when dealing with Jason and Damian, but that they had no idea your strength came from the Megamycete and that was only the surface what you were capable of. If they decided to come at you in force, they were in one hell of a surprise when you fabricated hardened mold armor right in front of them and do to them what you did to Joker. You know they’ve fought plenty of villains with powers, but the mold is stronger than all of them combined and you’d make them regret ever meeting you as you tear them apart and scatter their intestines across the ground.

But now, thanks to the Megamycete, they know that you’re not alone and who knows what else?

(We are sorry,) it says, its tone remorseful. (We thought we could persuade them to leave you alone. We were wrong.)

“Yeah, no shit! If they weren’t listening to me, what made you think they would listen to you? Hell, you know how Bruce feels about metas, knowing I’m one probably made things worse! He’s probably making some cage to hold me right now!”

You tap into the roots scattered around Gotham and focus on Wayne Manor, but are surprised to find you’re unable to connect.

(They have started removing our roots. We have accelerated the growth of the surrounding roots, but they are taking steps to prevent their regrowth.)

“So, we have no idea what they’re planning. Great, that’s just great. Terrific job, man. Really, just superb.”

(We thought we could help.)

You exhale a sigh and wave a hand through your hair, trying to come up with a plan on where to go next.

“How did it go down, exactly? What happened?”

The Megamycete uploads its meeting with them into your brain and it flashes before your eyes, from the Megamycete torturing some of them by turning into their dead ones to them learning about you killing your would-be murderers and Joker and Harley.

You thought you hated Bruce Wayne enough, but apparently you don’t hate that man enough.

How someone can be so delusional is astounding to say the least. Honestly, he deserves to be thrown in Arkham and studied, along with all the others.

They ignore you for most of your life and treat you like shit and now that you’re finally happy, they want to drag you back to Gotham.

And why?

Because they “love you?”

Bullshit.

They feel guilty and they just want to feel better. You know no one in that damn house is capable of feeling real love and once they feel better about themselves, they’ll go right back to ignoring you.

(They are truly delusional. They think their past behavior does not matter and you should be brought back to their fold.)

Yeah, you got that from Jason. The bastard wasn’t able to get away from Bruce and Gotham (because despite all his bluster, all he wants is that man’s approval) and because he couldn’t do it, he thinks you shouldn’t be able to.

Selfish, all of them.

“You fucked up. They were going to find out eventually, but thanks to you, we’re gonna have to deal with them sooner than we expected.”

(We know. We overestimated our abilities and brought trouble upon you. We apologize. Truly, we do.)

You understand where its heart was in the right place, but it still doesn’t change the fact that the Bats are probably going to be breaking down your door any day now.

Just then, there’s a knock at your door, making you freeze.

Shit, are they already here? Are they in regular clothes or are they in their capes and cowls? Are they really that desperate to bring you back to Gotham that they’d really raid your house in the middle of the day for anyone walking by to see?

You tap into the roots surrounding your house and see not Bruce Wayne or any of his kids darkening your door. Instead, you see a black haired woman dressed professionally standing on your porch.

“Who the hell is she?”

(We do not know. She is definitely not a resident of Gotham as we do not recognize her.)

That certainly doesn’t make you feel better. You know Bruce is resourceful as hell and isn’t afraid to use any dirty trick in the book to get what he wants.

(She does not appear to have ill intents. She is too delicate-looking to pose a threat to you, nor is her purse large enough to hold a weapon large enough to harm you.)

Looks can be deceiving. After all, Bruce is a member of the Justice League, where Martian Manhunter is and you can see Bruce using the alien to transform and trick you into lowering your guard. When that man gets obsessed over something, he doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

Still, you can speculate to the moon and back, but until you open the door and talk to the woman, you’ll never know for certain. Sure, it could be related to your current Bat problem, or it could be something else.

So, you walk through your house and up to your door.

“Who is it,” you call out.

“Lois Lane, Daily Planet,” she responds. “I’m here to ask Y/N Gould for an interview.”

Lois Lane? You’ve heard Bruce and the others say that name when talking about Metropolis and Superman and you’ve seen the name when reading a few news articles for school assignments, but you’ve never seen any pictures of her, so you had no idea the woman standing on your doorstep is the very woman famous for being one of the very few reputable journalists left in the world.

You unlock the door and open it just enough to stick your head out to see her face to face. You look into her eyes and see no ill intent or hidden motives.

“Mr. Gould, I presume,” she asks, a gentle smile on her face.

“You want an interview with me? What for?”

“Your relation with Bruce Wayne. As I’m sure you know, he’s the most famous man in Gotham, if he so much as sneezes in public, several news articles are written to publish it. Gotham’s media has always covered whenever he adopted another child, but out of nowhere, he appears at a video game awards ceremony and claims you’re his son and you call him a sperm donor. No one can forget when Damian Wayne appeared at a gala and was declared Bruce Wayne’s biological son. It made quite the stir when you pushed him and made it clear you had nothing but animosity towards him.”

Oh yes, you can remember the many days of fawning Damian got when he moved into the manor, leaving you bitter since all you got was a few minutes of people asking about your mother before forgetting about you in favor of all the others.

“What is it you want,” you say, trying to remain polite. “I lost years thanks to Gotham and Bruce Wayne and I’m not eager to lose any more dwelling in the past.”

“I want to hear your side of the story,” she says with a determination that surprises you. “You clearly suffered due to him and I want to help you tell your story to the world.”

You’re actually speechless at that. You know pretty much all of Gotham worships at the Alter of Wayne and his influence expands far beyond the city’s borders, leaving very few people willing to hear anything that would portray him in a negative light. It’s very safe to say Gotham is a cathedral dedicated to both Bruce Wayne and Batman.

To hear that someone with a reputation and influence like Lois Lane would want to listen to you and help you tell others your life’s story is nothing less of a shocker.

“I can’t say you’ll like what I have to say, Ms. Lane,” you say as you open the door wide and stand in the doorway. “I know Bruce Wayne is an institution of Gotham, but I can tell you that wasn’t my experience.”

“This isn’t about my opinion on Bruce Wayne or any of his children. This is about what you experienced during your stay in Wayne Manor.”

“And how much are you wanting to know?”

“Everything. Or, as much or as little you’re willing to tell me.”

Her words strike you to your core. It’s been years since you’ve had anyone really interested in what you have to say. Sure, Alfred was always willing to listen to you, but you learned early on that you had to hold back on how you really felt about Bruce Wayne and his children as any criticism you had about them was a failure on his part.

The poor man did the best he could, but those people are clearly beyond any form of help outside of being locked in padded cells.

“Come in, please,” you say, steeping aside so she could enter your home. Once she’s in, you close the door and lead her to the living room. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, soda?”

“Anything’s fine, thank you.”

She sits on the couch while you rush to the kitchen and prepare two glasses of ice water, a crystal pitcher full of more water, and a small bowl full of grapes and load it all onto a tray and carry it back to the living room. This is the first time you’ve ever had a guest and you want to make a good impression.

“So, where would you like to start,” you ask as you sit in your favorite chair, your glass of water in hand.

“I’d like to ask about your mother, if that’s alright,” she answers, pulling out a writing pad and pen from her purse. “I managed to find newspapers relating to you around the time you moved to Gotham, but they were very few and none of them had anything regarding your mother or your past.”

You stifle a chuckle at the thought of being one the front page of a few newspapers no doubt rotting in the Gotham Gazette’s archives. You were probably the center of news for all a week before Bruce adopted Tim and stole the spotlight, leading to the tradition of you being pushed further and further back whenever Bruce collected another troubled kid.

“My mom was Maria Gould, a famous writer known for romance novels set during the Age of Sail.”

“That Maria Gould,” she asks, looking up from her notepad in shock. “I didn’t know you were related to her?”

“You know her?”

“I was an avid reader of her books.” She gives a small chuckle. “I actually use to daydream of interviewing her when I first started at the Daily Planet.” He smile then shifts into a sympathetic frown. “I remember reading about her death in the paper. I knew it said she had a son, but I didn’t see the connection until now.”

“She died on my sixth birthday. It’s been sixteen years since that day and I can still remember it so clearly.”

That day haunts you to this day. You got to school so happy and excited for Momma to come pick you up after school, thinking about how much pizza you’d eat and what presents you’d get.

You had no idea that when you told her bye that day, it would be for the last time.

(Your grief is still so profound, even after all this time.)

That day ended in the loss of your Momma and your life went from bad to worse when Alfred picked you up and brought you to Gotham to live with that bastard.

“I can tell you loved you very much,” she responds, her expression sympathetic.

“Yeah,” you say, suppressing a tear. “Yeah, I did.”

“So, did you have any idea who your father was? Did she ever tell you or did you ever ask?”

“Yeah, I did ask when all my friends were celebrating Father’s Day and I realized I didn’t have a Daddy like my friends. She said that she didn’t know who he was. She didn’t say it, but when she said she was “young and dumb,” I later found out that meant she got drunk and had sex with a guy she didn’t know.” A ghost of a smile graces your face. “She said when I came along, I set her on the right path.”

“I say you did,” she responds, returning your smile. “Being a parent often makes people turn their lives around.” She jots something down in her pad before looking back at you. “So, when did you move to Gotham?”

“Immediately after the funeral. The sheriff drove me back home to pack up most of my stuff and when we got to the house, Alfred was waiting for me.”

“Wait, Bruce Wayne didn’t pick you up himself?”

“No, Alfred said he was too busy with work and couldn’t come.”

“His firstborn son loses his son and he couldn’t even make the time to get you,” she angrily mutters to herself as she writes. “And how did he react when he saw you?”

“It was almost like he was staring at a stranger in his home.”

You can still remember how you felt when you met Bruce Wayne for the first time; it was the first time you’d ever felt like someone didn’t like you and it really hurt.

“He barely said a word to me before telling Alfred he was going out.”

“Doing what,” she asks, clearly getting angrier and angrier by the second.

For a brief moment, you entertain the idea on ousting Bruce’s dirty little secret and telling the world that he’s Batman. He’d be drowning in so much attention and legal battles that he wouldn’t be able to bother you ever again.

But then, the rational part of your brain convinces you that by telling everyone Batman’s secret identity would invite a lot of trouble your way. After all, all of Bruce’s kids are vigilantes, so many would automatically assume you were one as well, leading you to being dragged into Bruce’s legal and publicity quagmire.

Also, there’s the very real possibility that all of Bruce’s enemies would come after you seeking revenge and while you were more than capable of dealing with whatever came your way, you’d really rather not deal with it altogether.

“I don’t know,” you say. “He said he had work to do, but this is Bruce Wayne we’re talking about. Chances are he was in some sleazy club with a girl on each side and one on her knees if you know what I mean.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” she agrees. “Now, a week after you moved to Wayne Manor, Bruce adopted Tim Drake. Did you two get along?”

You bark a bitter laugh. “He took one look at me and decided I wasn’t worth his attention. If you ask me, there’s always been something wrong with him. He’s always watching people, taking note of everything they do and obsessing over finding out his secrets. If you ask me, he’s not right and his parents knew it. That’s why they were always leaving him behind when they went to dig sites or parties.”

She’s definitely interested in that as she seemingly writes down everything you said, word for word.

She stifle a chuckle at the thought of Tim Drake being asked what the fuck’s wrong with him every time he goes anywhere.

“What about Dick Grayson? Everyone in Gotham says he’s everything a good big brother should be.”

Yes, you remember the celebration he got when the Gotham Gazette named him the World’s Best Big Brother for the tenth year in a row.

A celebration you weren’t invited to.

“He was a brother to me. When I first moved in, he always carved out time for Tim, but couldn’t give me the time of day. After being blown off a few dozen times in favor for of his other siblings, I eventually stopped asking him.”

“What about Jason Todd?”

“He gave me a black eye when we met.” She gasps at that. “Yeah, he’s a brute. He’s always going on about Jane Austen, but underneath that veneer of an intellectual, he’s Crime Alley trash. Honestly, Bruce should’ve just left him in that part of Gotham. With his poor anger management and proclivity for violence, he’d fit right in. Animals belong in the wild.”

“What about your half brother, Damian Wayne?”

“That little shit pulled a sword on me and nearly tried to take my head off.”

“He what?”

“Yeah, an actual sword. I was able to get out of the way, but he gave me a scar on my cheek. It took me a few years, but I was able to find a way to make it invisible, especially when I looked in the mirror. Every time I saw it, it reminded me of how little I mattered in that house.”

“What did Bruce Wayne do? Surely he knew about it?”

“He was in the room when it happened. All he did was carry him out while he was yelling insults about me and my Momma. And Dick said he had a difficult upbringing and I should forgive him.”

“Forgive him for almost killing you,” she exclaims, her eyes wide as saucers and a look of disgust on her face. “You can’t be serious!”

“I wish I was, Ms. Lane, but Dick’s made it clear that Damian’s his favorite and had he managed to kill me, I’m sure Dick would’ve just taken him out for ice cream and told him that he can’t go around killing people.” You let out a bitter laugh. “You know, he had some nerve calling my Momma a ‘whore’ when I know the secret about his mother.”

“You do,” she asks, leaning forward, her pen and pad ready, indicating you have her full and undivided attention. “Everyone’s asked Bruce about the identity of Damian’s mother and the details relating to the birth, but he’s told us nothing. Are you willing to shed some light on this?”

For a brief moment, you actually ask yourself if this is right. With all the things Damian’s done to you, is it really acceptable to tell the dirty little secret regarding his conception? After all, if you were in his shoes, you’d kill to ensure your secret never saw the light of day.

(But he would not hesitate to tell the world your secret if your situations were reversed,) the Megamycete chimes in. (And does he not deserve some comeuppance for his many transgressions against you?)

You have to admit, it has a point. And besides, this’ll give the Wayne Family a massive shitstorm they’ll have to deal with and your mind’s immediately made up.

“I know her name, but I don’t want her coming after me, so I’m afraid that part of the secret stays with me.” Lois nods, so you continue. “His mother raped him.”

She gasps and you know you’ve passed a point of no return now.

Then again, daring to defy the “great” Bruce Wayne was a point of no return, so this is just adding fuel to the fire.

“She drugged his drink and got him to agree to sleep with her, all for the sole purpose of getting pregnant because she believed him to be of a superior quality.” You lower your voice to mutter, “I can tell you she was greatly misled.”

After that, the interview breezed by, asking about how Steph and Cass treated you to the conditions you were kept in. You told her everything, about how Damian would go out of his way to make you miserable to how Bruce couldn’t be bothered to do anything for you and it was Alfred that kept you alive. In fact, it was only the poor butler that seemed to care about you and you were confident that had you died, Bruce would just be pissed about the inconvenience your death caused him, from having to find a place to bury you to making up a story to tell the media.

It was only when you told her the story involving Damian and your Momma’s pen did you realize that not only was she crying, but so were you.

You knew how that memory made you feel, but had forgotten how much it pained you until you told her every detail. Funny how the brain tries so hard to suppress the worst moments of your life.

“Why do you think they treated you like this,” she asks, trying to keep her voice even to disguise the fact she’s obviously upset. “From everything you’ve told me, it sounds like they really didn’t see you as a Wayne.”

“Because I was the consequence of Bruce’s stupidity. He got drunk and did something stupid, leading to me, and he didn’t like that he was forced to live with him and ruin his family’s image. And because I was normal.”

“Normal?”

“Yes, normal. I had a normal life with Momma while all of the have colorful backgrounds. And I’d like to think that I’m average looking and averagely intelligent with nothing special about me, compared to everyone in the Wayne Family, who always thing their the best looking and smartest people in the room. Plus, I wasn’t damaged goods until Bruce Wayne came into my life. I guess the tragic death of my Momma wasn’t enough for him to make him love me.”

Those words cause you to let out a choked sob as more and more memories of your time in Wayne Manor start surfacing, memories you’d prefer to keep buried.

“I think that’s enough reminiscing for one day,” you say, wiping your eyes and standing up.

“Yes, I think I have everything I need,” she says, doing the same thing.

“Is there anything I can get you before you go, Ms. Lane,” you ask as you lead her to the front door. “Maybe a drink or a snack for the road?”

One of Alfred’s many lessons was how to be a good host and he’d flip out if you didn’t offer her something.

“No, thank you, Mr. Gould, you’ve given me more than enough.” She hesitates for a moment before getting close to you, her arms at both your sides. You freeze up, thinking the worst is about to happen when you realize she’s hugging you. “I’m so sorry for your loss and what you had to go through growing up. No one should ever have to experience such neglect.”

Outside of Alfred, it’s been years since anyone’s hugged you. Last time you were hugged by anyone not the butler was when Momma first died; Goodsprings is the type of where everyone knows everyone and you’re pretty sure you had the entire town giving you hugs before and during the funeral.

“Thank you,” you whisper, returning the hug.

“I know it doesn’t undo the damage he’s done, but I promise this story will make everyone see who Bruce Wayne truly is.”

And with that, you two separate and you wave goodbye as she gets in her car and drives off.

(You made the right decision to tell her everything,) the Megamycete says as you close and lock your door. (We must say, we are surprised you chose not to tell her their roles as Gotham’s vigilantes. Surely the benefits of exposing them outweigh the projected consequences. Or at least balance out.)

“Believe me, I was plenty tempted, but having the enemies of Batman knocking down my door would be more trouble than it was worth. Sure, I could kill them all, but it would only be a matter of time until I was put in a situation where too many people would ask too many questions.”

“We see your point. Besides, her story will no doubt cause more than enough trouble for him and his band of misfits.”

A part of you makes you wish you were back in Gotham so you could see the backlash Bruce is about to be hit with.

Granted, it’s a small part, practically microscopic, but it’s still there.

“I understand, but—“ Bruce says before hearing a click, indicating the call has been ended.

“Another bad phone call, Master Bruce,” Alfred says as holds out a cup of tea.

“Yes,” he sighs, putting his phone in his pocket and taking the cup with one hand and rubbing his temples with the other. “The Humanitarian Ball. The event organizers said they didn’t want ‘cruel and heartless monsters’ bringing a bad name on their event.”

Ever since Lois Lane’s article titled The Forsaken Gould of the Wayne Family came out two days ago, he’s experienced set back after set back; in less than forty-eight hours, Wayne Enterprises’ stock has lost half its value, many large companies have dropped out of their business deals, and more than a few people have withdrawn their invitations for high-profile events.

But none of that compares to the massive gap between you and him getting even larger. He knew that he’d wronged you, but being able to read it in black and white just drives the point even further.

He just wishes that it could’ve stayed between you, him, and your siblings. His family may be celebrities in Gotham, but he prefers to handle the family’s drama behind closed doors.

He’s held his family together through thick and thin and he’ll continue to do so.

And he’s had a hard time doing that over the past two days.

He’s read and reread that article ever since it came out, unable to go a single day without looking at it. He had no idea that he made you feel like you were a mistake he felt embarrassed over or that because you weren’t anything like them, you weren’t worthy of his love.

He knows he’s failed you, but he wants to fix all of it! He wants to embrace you and never let go and to put you up on a pedestal for all of Gotham to bask in and know that you’re the most treasured member of the Wayne Family.

But until they find a way to rid that mushroom in your body and bring you back home, they can’t start fixing their mistakes.

The media’s had a field day with the article ever since it came out, hounding them every time they go out in public, asking them how they could sleep at night knowing they kept you in tiny guest room on the other side of the manor or about how Bruce could treat the son born from Talia drugging him with such love while treating the son born from a drunken one-night stand with such disdain.

He was shocked to learn that you knew of them being the Bats, but to learn you knew the truth regarding Damian’s birth…

Just how much did you know? Did he ignore you so much that he didn’t know you were nearby whenever he talked about anything, even sensitive information that he only talked to Alfred about.

Were you practically invisible to him the entire time you lived here?

Of course, Damian’s pissed that people are calling Talia a rapist and asking if he knew. All this made him a powder keg ready to go off, but what made him really go off was when one of his more elitist classmates made the snide remark that Damian was right to treat you like he did because you came from “some low class author” and simply weren’t worthy of being a member of high society, his son broke the boy’s nose and said he wasn’t worthy of saying your name.

He really wished Damian would’ve let him handle it by framing his parents for tax evasion and illegal business dealings (of course, he still did it, that little shit should’ve known better than to think he had the right to even think about you). They already have enough problems on their plate, they don’t need to add assault to it.

Dick really took it hard when he read that you didn’t think of him as a big brother and Lois Lane had called for him to be stripped of his status of Gotham’s Best Big Brother.

If there’s one thing Dick holds dear in this world, it’s his status as the family’s big brother and would bend over backwards for any of his siblings, be it driving them to the other side of Gotham or helping them with a case.

Dick already felt bad when he realized he’s always ignored you in favor of his other siblings, but that article pushed him over the edge, making his oldest son lose his trademark energetic behavior, choosing to spend all his time in your old room. And if Bruce is very quiet and he creeps close to the door, he can hear Dick’s muffled weeping and apologies.

His heart breaks for his oldest. If he could, he’d undo his and his children’s wrongdoings towards you and bare the memory of it if it meant you being here, where you belong, and not hating them.

Jason also took it hard; Jason knows that he has a problem with his temper and has tried everything under the sun to keep it under control, but his upbringing in Crime Alley and his torture and death at Joker’s hands have left marks on him that he’ll be dealing with for the rest of his life (and Bruce would pay any price to undo them). Jason regrets taking his anger for him out on you when he returned, thinking you were another “replacement” like Tim when he sees you and him had so much in common, you’re practically related.

Tim’s sequestered himself in his room, glued to his computer desk; he’d been in your old room almost everyday ever since they learned of their neglect towards you, thinking the almost bare room would provide some glimpse into your mind that he can use to get into your good graces and make you return home. After the article, many of them tried to rationalize that this Megamycete was twisting your mind and make you hate them so much, but that’s when Tim admitted that he found an old journal of yours, going back to when you first moved in and detailing everything they’d done to you, the last entry detailing Damian throwing your mother’s pen into the yard while it was raining.

He hates how he handled that situation; at the time, he thought you were just making a big deal over some silly little pen (fuck, that was how he really saw it back then), but you were just protecting the only thing you had of your mother, uncaring what it would cost you. He’d like to think he’s do the same thing had someone tried to take his mother’s pearls (you really are his son, aren’t you).

When Tim said he had your journal, they all tried to get it from him, Damian going as far as to bring out his sword and threaten to take it by force (Bruce really needs to consider confiscating that sword due to all the trouble it’s caused). Hell, Jason actually begged to be able to read your journal, but his son would not surrender the book and has been hoarding all the information for himself.

The girls have been silent since reading it, which is never a good sign since Steph is always making noise. He tried to comfort Cass when she read that you don’t consider her a person because of the way she looks at people, like she’s trying to find strengths and weaknesses before attacking them (apparently you also know of her upbringing as a weapon), but his second daughter wouldn’t accept his gestures, signing that you had a point and that she’d never break free of her origins as a living weapon.

And Damian… His youngest has been eerily quiet, but it doesn’t take his detective training to realize he’s fuming on the inside (it seems to be a prerequisite in this family to deal with emotions in unhealthy ways). Bruce had asked him if he was angry that you had exposed the secret of his birth and all his youngest said was that it was his penance for his transgressions against you (his heart breaks that his youngest thinks he deserves this as some sort of punishment).

He was already having a hard time containing the fallout of the world finding out his firstborn son is you, not Damian, and that he’s basically not acknowledged you at all in the last decade, but this article has made it next to impossible to find a convincing lie to tell the media that you came back willingly when they ultimately bring you back home.

“This fucking Megamycete,” he growls, setting the teacup on a nearby table not so gently. “It’s ruined everything.”

“How do you figure, Master Bruce,” the man responds, an eyebrow raised.

“It’s making him lash out, do these things. I know we wronged Y/N and he has every right to hate us, but he shouldn’t be capable of this, should he? There’s no way he’d ever say these things willingly.”

“Do you think you know Master Y/N to make such an assessment?”

That makes him pause.

He has no illusion that he never took the time to sit down with you to have an actual conversation, but his blood still courses through your veins; he’d never do something like this, nor would Damian or any of his other children.

Did your hate for them… for him run that strong? That you despise them so much that you’d expose and put them all on display for the world to see?

Would you go as far as exposing their secret identities?

“What do you think, Alfred,” he says after a moment of silence. “You obviously know him better than all of us. Would he ever do something like this?”

“I think that he wishes to exact revenge for the many years of neglect you all inflicted upon him and that this is his opening volley,” the man says with no hesitation or restraint.

That makes him flinch.

“So, you’re saying he hates us,” he asks, afraid of the answer the butler will give him.

He knows you have every right to hate him, god knows he’s made his children hate him on several occasions, but if you hate him… hate them enough to do something like this…

He knows he’s not strong enough to handle it.

“I think he’s dreamed of making all of you pay for what you’ve done to him for years. And with this Megamycete within him, I say he’s more than a match for you and the children.”

“You’d think he’d attack us?”

“When I held Master Y/N in my arms, I could see the fury beneath his tears. Master Damian use to take delight in giving Master Y/N a demonstration in his combat prowess. There’s no doubt in my mind that Master y/N wishes to return the favor.”

He won’t allow that. He’s hurt his children in multiple ways and his children have hurt one another in multiple ways over the years and every time it happened it created a rift that was never truly repaired, merely covered over. There’s been enough pain and misery in this family to last several lifetimes.

He’s fought tooth and nail to keep his children together and he’s not about to let one slip away.

He understands you want nothing to do with him or your siblings, but like it or not, you’re his son and his children belong in Gotham, under his roof.

“Have the tests on the root samples finished yet?”

“Yes, they were finished just a little while ago. I’m afraid to say that none of the toxins you have in stock had any noticeable effect on them.”

He curses at the news. He had hoped the toxins he keeps so deal with Poison Ivy would be as effective on the Megamycete, but that is unfortunately not the case.

“What about the in-depth analysis on the blood sample?”

“From what the analyzer could tell, the Megamycete seems to behave like a benign cancer, slowly eradicating Master Y/N’s native cells in order to replace them with unstable mold versions, which are able to be manipulated and altered into whatever he desires.”

That certainly makes coming up with a strategy on how to counter your abilities; sure, he has a few ideas based on a few villains and heroes that have similar abilities to you, but until he sees what you’re capable of firsthand, he won’t have anything concrete.

The thought then leads to him having an idea, one he’s eager to act on.

“I’m going out, Alfred.”

“And where are we off to, Master Bruce?”

“I’m going to see my son.”

Tag List: @space1crow @lunaluz432 @type-ink @bat1212 @eyeless-kun @deathbynarcisstick @orbitingtraveler @1s3v3n1 @nosyrobin @roseytheteacup @bunbunboysworld @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd @feral-childs-word @phoenixgurl030 @soriansick @hellcatsworld @bellethesleepypotato @prettyboys247 @marsmabe @exactlynumberonekryptonite @paolexsstuff @fantasyhopperhea @c0l1fl0r @ellaprime7 @starryperson @kore-of-the-underworld @kiarst @vanessa-boo @moxiemy @ratchetprime211 @greatwhisperspaper @tatsuri-zomushiki @bunbunbread @starsdotalk @luna57765 @solelifauna @jsprien213 @diejager @lizz-lrm @v0idl1nq @chericia @wizzerreblogs @tinybrie @lilyalone @thickasthievingtoads @creativechaosx @randomlyappearingartist @ferchu0406 @kik1010 @butterflycardigann

[cripplecharacters]

Futuristic Settings and the Erasure of Disabilities

The common theme in a lot of futuristic, sci-fi or not, settings, is the abundance of cure tropes that are thrown in there. Disabled people either don't exist, or aren't actually disabled - they get a magical device that undoes their injury, or get a mech suit that basically does the same thing.

Often the setting is treated like an excuse that can't be rebutted in any way: “but my story is set in the future where medicine is better!”

So: is that true? Does better medicine actually mean less disabled people?

Historical Accuracy

[large text: Historical Accuracy]

In 1900, the life expectancy of a person born with Down syndrome was 9 years. Try putting yourself there and imagining that 2024 is the Future - better medicine, basically sci-fi in comparison to what they had back there. In that future, what is true?

a) There's no people with Down syndrome.

b) People with Down syndrome live to be 60 years old on average.

Answer: B. The only countries with fewer people with Down syndromes are the ones engaging in widespread eugenics, which is a topic I will not be getting into in this post, but I'm mentioning because the only places without disabled people are eugenicist.

The “better medicine” of the future didn't make Down syndrome curable, it made people with it survive longer. 50% of people born with it today will live to be over 60 years old. In the future, there will be retirees with Down syndrome. In the past, 50% of them wouldn't have made it into their teens.

Why does that matter?

[large text: Why does that matter?]

Future medicine won't make disabilities disappear. It will make them more manageable. Less deadly. Easier to survive.

If you base your knowledge and perception of disability throughout the times on sci-fi novels by able-bodied writers, you're going to hate how it actually works in real life.

Have we magically- technologically gotten rid of diabetes? No, 11% of Americans have it. 103 years ago, diabetes were lethal. There aren't fewer diabetics compared to the past. They live longer. You probably know or heard of someone who has diabetes.

You need to expand your understanding on how disability and medicine work, because “future = no disability” is genuine nonsense. It doesn't work like that, and it really frustrates me how writers dead-set on “logic” in their setting fail to see this.

Are paralyzed people walking around in various mechs, or are they using better wheelchairs than those from 100 years ago? Wheelchairs that make it easier to be independent? That help with symptoms of their disabilities by preventing pressure sores, or providing alternative methods of maneuvering?

In the future, why would there suddenly be those futuristic transplant* spines instead of wheelchairs that can be used with one's brain or eyes, for those who can't move their hands, mouth, or head? Why wouldn't there be wheelbeds for those who are currently bed-bound because they can't manage being upright in any way?

*Also, how are all of these magic disability-fixing transplants never actual transplants? Receiving a transplant basically always ends up in being immunocompromised because of the very way the body works. If you're writing about humans, this isn't going to change.

Things like sign language or wheelchairs have been used for thousands of years, they're not going away anytime soon or not-so-soon.

Future = More Disabled People?

[large text: Future = More Disabled People?]

We already discussed that there are presently common disabilities that used to be lethal a century ago or even less. If we use this fact for a futuristic setting, you suddenly have a myriad of new possibilities.

There's vastly better medicine? A lot of people deal with post-rabies syndrome because it's finally survivable, but it leaves people with the effects of the meningitis that rabies cause. There's way more quadriplegic people because the survival rates are much higher. Cancer survivors are more common because people live longer. Physical therapy for people who had prion diseases because they aren't fatal anymore but cause severe disability. Head trauma is more treatable, so there's more people with TBIs and fewer people dying in vehicular accidents.

The technology is super advanced? People with locked-in syndrome can operate an AAC device with their eyes, fully customize its voice to their liking, and not have to worry about battery life of their powerchair because it has sonar panels. Canes that can fold themselves with the click of a button so that they can fit in one's pocket.

There could be so many more adapted sports. Tools and technology that can adapt a house exactly to one's needs. Wheelchairs that are actually affordable. A portable pocket sized device that makes ableds behave normally around disabled people.

The point of this post isn't to completely shit on sci-fi settings, but instead to urge abled writers to think a bit more and try to be creative in the way they go about speculative fiction. Write. Something. New. There's one billion stories about how impossible it is for disabled people to exist in the future, and it's upsetting at best to read that constantly when you're disabled. As long as there are people, there will be disabled people.

mod Sasza

[froztii]

PILLOW TALK— A. Morgan

summary -> partnered up with Arthur was the easy part, falling asleep, was not. Thankfully Arthur had some plan in mind

warnings -> language, violence, death, age gap, smut! p in v, pullout method, fingering, handjob, finger sucking, praise, pet names, mentions of anal, mdni.

Tomorrow, you and Arthur would be heading out—just the two of you. Dutch had given the orders, said he needed a pair of riders who could handle themselves, and for whatever reason, Arthur had chosen you. Not that you weren’t capable—you’d proven yourself enough times—but Arthur was particular about who he worked with. You weren’t sure if it was trust, or something else entirely.

You weren’t sure when things had started shifting between you, when the looks had started lingering, when the air had started crackling every time he stood too close. But it was there now, pressing in, thick as the summer heat.

You tapped the cigarette against your knee, then finally struck a match, bringing the tip to the flame. The first pull was slow, smoke curling past your lips, settling in your lungs before you exhaled through your nose. Arthur watched you, the firelight casting sharp shadows across his face, making his eyes look darker, more intense. "You ever get tired of this?" you asked, voice quieter now. "The runnin’, the killin’?"

Arthur considered you for a long moment, then reached for the bottle again. "Ain’t much time to get tired." He took a sip, let it sit on his tongue before swallowing. "You?"

You shrugged. "Ain’t never known anythin’ else."

He nodded like he understood, because maybe he did. You’d both been running for a long time, living on the edge of a knife, caught between lawmen and outlaws, between survival and something worse. There wasn’t any room for softness in a life like this—no room for dreaming of things you couldn’t have.

"You sure you trust me to watch your back out there?" You asked, flicking the ash from your cigarette.

Arthur’s gaze flicked up, sharp and unwavering. "Ain’t a question of trust." That wasn’t an answer. But it was all you were going to get.

A gust of wind swept through the camp, kicking up dust, making the flames dance wildly for a moment before settling. Arthur stretched his legs out in front of him, let out a slow breath, then reached into his satchel and pulled out his revolver.

He spun the cylinder idly, checking the rounds, his expression unreadable. "You ever been to Saint Denis?" He asked after a while. You shook your head. "Fancy place," he mused. "Too damn loud for my liking. Dutch, though—he thinks that’s where the future is."

His jaw tensed slightly, barely noticeable, but you caught it. "You don’t?"

Arthur huffed. "Ain’t never seen a future worth livin’ in." Something about the way he said it made your stomach twist. There was something heavy in his voice, something that made your chest ache in a way you weren’t used to. You didn’t like it. You’d seen Arthur angry, seen him ruthless, seen him crack a man’s skull without a second thought. But this? This quiet resignation? It didn’t sit right with you. "You ever think about leavin’?" you asked before you could stop yourself. "Just… ridin’ off, findin’ somethin’ better?"

Arthur glanced at you, then back down at his revolver. His fingers stilled against the metal, his thumb resting against the hammer. "Ain’t that simple."

"Maybe it is."

Arthur laughed, but it wasn’t amused. "You got somewhere in mind, sweetheart?"

The way he said it, voice lower now, like the word itself had weight, made your breath hitch slightly. "Anywhere’s better than dyin’ out here for nothin’," you said, barely above a whisper.

Arthur’s expression flickered—just for a second, just long enough for you to see something break through that careful mask he always wore. And then it was gone, buried beneath that same unreadable calm. "You best get some sleep," he murmured, pushing himself up. "We got a long ride ahead." He didn’t look at you as he turned, didn’t wait for you to respond. You watched him disappear into the dark, the glow of the fire catching against the worn leather of his holster before he was swallowed completely. You exhaled slowly, dragging one last pull from your cigarette before flicking it into the dirt.

The wind howled through the trees, and in the distance, thunder rumbled, low and threatening. The storm would be here soon. The morning was cold, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and rain on the horizon. The fire had burnt out sometime in the night, leaving behind nothing but grey ash and the faint scent of smoke. You stretched out your shoulders, rolling the stiffness from your muscles, your mind still hazy with sleep.

Arthur was already up, working on the horses, adjusting the saddles and making sure everything was in place. He barely looked at you as you pushed yourself to your feet, but you could feel the weight of his attention, even if it was only for a second. "You leavin’ without me, Morgan?" you muttered, voice still rough from sleep.

Arthur smirked, tightening the straps on his bags. "Figured I’d let you sleep in, seein’ as you ain’t much good to me half-dead."

You rolled your eyes, brushing the dirt off your pants. "Real considerate of you."

Arthur chuckled under his breath, but didn’t say anything else. He was like that—always had been. He could talk when he wanted to, could spin a lie or a story well enough, but most of the time, he let the quiet do the talking. You didn’t mind. You mounted your horse, shifting in the saddle as Arthur swung up onto his own. He adjusted his hat, his eyes scanning the sky. "Storm’s movin’ in quick. Best we get a move on." The road stretched ahead, long and empty, the kind of silence that made your nerves prickle.

You rode alongside Arthur, the two of you keeping a steady pace, the only sound the rhythm of hooves against dirt. The mission was simple enough—ride into Lemoyne, track down some bastard who’d crossed the gang, and make sure he didn’t walk away from it.

You’d done worse jobs before, but something about this one had your stomach in knots. Maybe it was the way Arthur had been last night, the way he’d asked if you ever thought about leaving, like the thought had been sitting in the back of his mind for longer than he cared to admit. Or maybe it was just that riding with him like this, alone, made you more aware of him than you wanted to be.

You didn’t like the way your pulse kicked up when he glanced at you, the way your fingers clenched just a little too tight around the reins. It wasn’t obvious—at least you hoped it wasn’t—but you could feel it, that stupid heat creeping up your neck, that second where you had to look away before he caught you staring. It was annoying. It was irritating.

And worst of all, you didn’t know what the hell to do about it. "You got a plan for this?" you asked, more to distract yourself than anything.

Arthur exhaled, shifting slightly in the saddle. "Yeah. Find the bastard. Put a bullet in ‘im."

You scoffed. "Real detailed." 

Arthur smirked, but there was something sharp in his eyes when he looked at you. "You got a better one?"

You didn’t answer. Mostly because no, you didn’t, but also because you were too busy trying to pretend that the way he was looking at you wasn’t affecting you. 

The town wasn’t far now, the road giving way to worn wooden buildings, the smell of smoke and mud hanging in the air. You could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the way the people moved, the way their eyes darted toward you and Arthur before quickly looking away.

This place had seen its fair share of violence. They knew better than to get in the way of it. Arthur pulled his horse to a stop near a small saloon, barely more than a shack with a sign hanging half off its hinges. "Reckon he’s in there.” He muttered, jerking his chin toward the door.

You adjusted your gun belt. "How you wanna do this?"

Arthur swung down from his horse, dusting off his jacket. "Quiet. If we can." His gaze flicked to yours, steady. "If not—."

"I know," you muttered, already moving to follow him. Inside, the saloon was dimly lit, the smell of stale beer and sweat thick in the air.

Arthur led the way, his movements easy but deliberate, the kind that made people pay attention even if they didn’t want to. You let him take the lead, keeping close, scanning the room. It didn’t take long to spot the man. He was sitting in the corner, half-turned away, a glass in his hand.

Arthur didn’t hesitate. "Mister.” He drawled, his voice calm, almost lazy.

The man stiffened. That was all the warning you got before everything went to hell. He went for his gun, but Arthur was faster. The crack of a shot split the air, and suddenly, the whole place was moving—men scrambling, chairs scraping against the floor, voices shouting over each other. You didn’t think, just reacted, drawing your revolver as Arthur fired again.

The man dropped, blood spreading across his shirt, his fingers twitching once before going still. Arthur was already moving. "Come on."

You didn’t need to be told twice. You covered him as he pushed through the door, gun still in hand, heart pounding. Outside, people were moving, stepping back, watching. A few men had their hands hovering near their holsters, but none of them seemed stupid enough to make a move. You swung up onto your horse, Arthur doing the same beside you.

"That went smooth.” You muttered, kicking your horse into motion.

Arthur snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, real smooth." The two of you rode hard out of town, the storm finally breaking, rain coming down in sheets, turning the road to mud. You could still feel the heat of the fight in your chest, the rush of it, the way the air had felt electric. And beneath it all, beneath the gun smoke and the storm, there was something else.

The way Arthur had looked at you. The way your stomach had flipped just a little too hard. The way this whole thing felt like it was building to something, something you weren’t sure you were ready for. And worst of all? You didn’t know if you wanted to stop it.

The rain hammered down, slicking your coat and dampening your hair as you and Arthur pushed through the mud, your horses sliding beneath you with each sharp turn. The storm had rolled in heavier than you’d expected, but you didn’t mind. It kept the town behind you at a distance, and for a moment, it felt like just the two of you—nothing else mattered.

Arthur’s gaze was fixed ahead, his jaw set as he steered his horse through the storm. You kept close, the wind whipping at your face, making it hard to focus. Still, something about the way he was so calm, so controlled, made you feel a little less unsettled. You shifted in your saddle, but your thoughts kept returning to that look—the one he’d given you in the saloon before the chaos had kicked off.

The way his eyes had lingered just a fraction longer than normal. You could feel that same tightness in your chest, that tension building up, and you hated how much it rattled you. "How far do you reckon we’re gonna make it before that storm gets worse?" You asked, trying to break the silence.

Arthur glanced over at you for a second, his expression unreadable. "Not far,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm. "We should find shelter soon."

"Great," you muttered, mostly to yourself, but the rain made it hard to tell if he heard you. You’d been out in worse weather before, but this felt different—more dangerous somehow, like the storm wasn’t just weather, it was a warning. The road ahead was barely visible through the sheets of rain, but Arthur kept pushing forward, steady as ever.

You followed close behind, your horse slipping slightly in the mud, but you managed to keep your balance. As you rode, the storm seemed to intensify, the wind picking up, making it nearly impossible to hear anything but the roar of the weather. You were beginning to wonder if you’d make it out of this mess in one piece when Arthur’s voice cut through the noise.

"Get ready," he said, his tone low, "we might have company."

Your heart skipped a beat as you instinctively reached for your gun. Your eyes scanned the road ahead, but all you could see were flashes of lightning and the thick fog of rain. "How many?" You asked, voice tight.

"Not sure yet," he muttered, "but keep your eyes open."

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were ready for whatever came next, but something gnawed at you, a feeling you couldn’t shake. The air around you had shifted, and now, you were on edge, expecting the worst. Then, through the rain, you saw them—figures moving along the side of the road, shadows in the mist, too close for comfort. You couldn’t make out their faces, but the way they moved told you everything you needed to know. They weren’t friends. Arthur didn’t hesitate. He spurred his horse forward, the sound of hooves against the soaked earth drowned out by the pounding rain.

You followed him, your heart racing as the distance between you and the figures closed rapidly. As you neared, you could hear the distinct sound of boots crunching against the wet ground, the rustle of leather. Arthur pulled his gun, his eyes never leaving the shadows ahead. "You ready for this?"

"Always.” You replied, your voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline pumping through your veins. The figures came into focus then, a small group of men, guns drawn, their faces hidden beneath wide-brimmed hats.

Without warning, one of them stepped forward, a grin on his face, though it was barely visible through the rain. "Looks like you two are lost.” He called out, his voice rough but loud enough to cut through the storm.

Arthur’s response was immediate—a shot fired into the air, a warning. "Get out of the way, unless you want trouble."

The man didn’t seem fazed. Instead, he took a step closer, his hand twitching towards his holster. "I think we’re past warnings, don’t you?"

You didn’t wait for Arthur’s signal. Your hand was already on your gun, drawing it smoothly, just as the first shot rang out. The fight was quick—too quick. The sound of gunfire, the crunch of boots on mud, the smell of gunpowder all mixed into one chaotic moment.

You and Arthur moved together, a seamless team, each shot calculated, precise. The men never stood a chance. In the end, all that remained was the sound of rain pelting the ground and the faint echoes of the struggle that had just unfolded.

Arthur holstered his gun, wiping the rain from his face, his eyes scanning the area as if expecting more. He didn’t speak, but there was something in the way his shoulders relaxed, something almost imperceptible, like he was finally allowing himself to breathe.

You exhaled, your own heart still racing, and turned your attention to the fallen men. "You alright?" Arthur asked, his voice quieter now, almost calm.

"Yeah," you said, though your hands were still shaking, just a little. "Just a bit too close for comfort."

Arthur nodded, but his gaze lingered on you longer than necessary, something unreadable in his expression. You couldn’t look at him. Not now, not when your head was still spinning from the chaos. "Let’s get out of here.” He said, his voice low, the sharp edge of command still present.

You didn’t argue, pushing your horse forward, following him as you both rode out of the danger zone, the storm still raging around you. But even as the rain poured down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm wasn’t the only thing you had to worry about.

You could feel it now, that unspoken thing between you and Arthur, the way his presence seemed to shift in your chest, like it had been there all along, waiting to crack wide open. And you didn’t know whether to run from it or let it consume you. The tension between you both had been building for days—weeks, even—and now, with everything that had happened, it was almost unbearable.

You tried to focus on the road ahead, but your mind kept drifting back to him, to the way his eyes flickered over to you, his hand steady on the reins, his posture rigid yet somehow relaxed in that familiar way. It made you feel uneasy in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

The campfire that had been burning bright hours earlier had now dwindled to a small, flickering flame, casting shadows across the tents. Arthur didn’t say much as you arrived, just a quick glance in your direction before he dismounted, tying his horse to the post with practiced ease. You followed suit, the dampness of the night air seeping through your clothes.

Arthur opened the flap of the tent, giving you a small nod before stepping inside. You hesitated for a moment, the thought of the close quarters making your chest tighten, but then you followed him in, the tent feeling smaller the second you crossed the threshold.

The rain outside continued to fall in a steady rhythm, but inside the tent, the sound was muffled, almost distant. The fire from outside barely flickered in, leaving the inside dim and quiet. You unbuckled your wet coat and set it down, feeling a shiver pass through you as you tried to warm up, your clothes still clinging to your skin.

Arthur was already sitting on his bedroll, his back to you as he untied his boots. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. You hadn’t been this close to him in a long time—alone, without the chaos of the mission, without the noise of the camp.

There was something different now, something you couldn’t explain, and it made the silence feel heavy. You sat down on your own bedroll, facing away from him, though you could still feel his presence behind you, like a constant shadow in the corner of your vision. You tried not to think too hard about the way his broad shoulders looked in the low light or the way his scent lingered in the air. His voice cut through the stillness.

"You good?" It wasn’t a question he often asked, not like this. His tone was steady, but there was something softer about it now, something that made you hesitate before you answered.

You forced yourself to turn and face him, meeting his gaze for a split second before looking away again, your fingers picking at the edges of your blanket. "Yeah," you said, the word coming out quieter than you meant. "Just tired."

He leant back slightly, his arms folding across his chest, watching you intently, as if waiting for something more. You shifted uncomfortably, the weight of his gaze settling in your chest. "You sure?" His voice was still low, but there was a note of concern in it that you weren’t used to.

You swallowed, unsure of how to respond. You hadn’t realised just how much the mission had affected you, or how much you were still carrying with you. It wasn’t just the danger, or the gunfire, or the constant feeling of being hunted—it was everything. The unspoken things, the things that had been building between you and Arthur for so long now, things you couldn’t ignore any longer. You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you believed your own words. "Yeah. I’m fine."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The silence stretched out, thick with unspoken words, heavy with that pull between you. You could feel your heart thudding in your chest, the way his presence made everything feel amplified, even the smallest movements. You weren’t sure if you wanted to run from it, or if you wanted to let it take you over.

Arthur shifted slightly, leaning forward, the space between you closing just a little more. His voice dropped lower. "You don’t look fine.” He said, his tone almost teasing but with an edge that was hard to ignore.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of your lips, even as your stomach twisted with nerves. "I’m not in the mood for your teasing right now, Arthur.” You said, your voice quieter than usual, but there was a firmness to it, a sharpness you didn’t often let slip.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and gravelly, but there was something in it that made your breath catch in your throat. You hadn’t realised how close he was now, how his presence had filled the space between you, how much you wanted to close that final gap, even though you weren’t sure why. "You never are.” He murmured, his tone softer now, but still carrying that same edge of familiarity.

There was no mistaking it now—the tension was there, thick between you. You could feel it in the way his eyes followed your every movement, the way his body seemed to lean just a little closer, his posture relaxed but still watchful. It was a game of balance, a dance neither of you had fully committed to, and the closer you got, the harder it was to stay steady.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake off the feeling of being too close, of being seen in a way that you weren’t ready for. "We should get some sleep," you said, your voice barely above a whisper, though the words felt far from convincing. Arthur didn’t say anything right away, his eyes searching yours for a moment longer, like he was trying to figure something out, something you weren’t sure you understood.

Finally, he nodded, but he didn’t move away. "Yeah," he said, his voice just above a murmur. "Guess we should." But even as he said the words, you could feel the pull between you both, the closeness that neither of you were willing to ignore, even as the night pressed in around you.

The rain fell harder outside, but in the quiet of the tent, with only the soft crackle of the fire and the sound of your breathing, the storm inside felt louder, more real. The night stretched on, the storm still raging outside, but it couldn’t drown out the tension inside the tent.

You couldn’t sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes, every time you tried to settle into the warmth of your bedroll, it felt like something was pressing in on you, making it impossible to rest. You fidgeted again, twisting onto your side, then your back, then your stomach, trying every possible position to find comfort, but it never came. You could hear Arthur’s steady breathing beside you, but the closer you were to him, the more you felt the weight of the silence between you. His presence was too overwhelming, too close.

You weren’t sure if it was his proximity or the way the air felt heavy with unspoken things, but you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in your gut, like something was about to crack open.

You turned onto your side again, facing away from him this time, hoping that would ease the unease, but it didn’t. The more you moved, the more you felt like you were drawing attention to yourself, and it only made the tension worse. You could feel him now, like his eyes were boring into the back of your head, his presence so close that it was suffocating. You didn’t dare look at him, though, because if you did, you weren’t sure what you’d see.

Maybe it was the storm outside, or maybe it was the damn tension building between you, but you couldn’t stop moving. You had to do something to keep from losing your mind.

"You done yet?" Arthur’s voice cut through the silence, low and gruff, but you could hear the irritation creeping in now. You froze, your heart skipping a beat.

You hadn’t expected him to say anything, and the sharpness of his tone made your chest tighten. "Just… can’t sleep," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. You heard him shift beside you, the sound of his bedroll rustling, and you knew he was watching you now.

"You’ve been moving like that for hours. You planning on keeping me up all night?" His voice was rough, but there was a hint of annoyance in it now, a sharp edge that made your pulse quicken.

You couldn’t help but feel a little defensive, even though you knew he was right. "Sorry." You muttered, though you didn’t know why. You weren’t sure if you were sorry for being so restless, or sorry that you couldn’t seem to get a grip on whatever was simmering between you two.

You felt him shift again, heard him let out a sigh. "You think that’s gonna help?" he asked, his tone now a little softer, but still firm. You didn’t respond. Instead, you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the glimpse of his silhouette in the dim light of the tent.

You could tell he was still awake, that he wasn’t planning on sleeping anytime soon either. The silence stretched between you two again, but this time it wasn’t as comfortable as before. It felt thick, charged with something that neither of you was willing to acknowledge. You swallowed, trying to push the feeling down, but it refused to stay buried. Your body felt like it was on edge, too aware of him, too aware of the way the space between you seemed to shrink with every passing second.

"Maybe you just need a little… distraction," Arthur said after a while, his voice low but deliberate, as if testing the waters. You frowned, not sure what he meant, but you didn’t have time to ask before he continued. "Something to tire you out," he added, his tone almost teasing now, a faint smirk in his voice.

You blinked, your stomach tightening at the suggestion. You hadn’t expected him to say that, not like that. You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. You were suddenly aware of the distance between the two of you, how far you had been from each other just moments ago, and now how it felt like everything was getting just a little bit closer. "What… do you mean?" you managed to ask, your voice quieter than before, though you didn’t think it was out of curiosity. It sounded more like you were trying to hold onto control, trying not to let your thoughts wander into dangerous territory.

Arthur didn’t immediately answer, but you could hear him shift beside you, his movements slow and deliberate. You could feel his eyes on you now, though you didn’t dare meet his gaze. "I mean," he started, his voice rougher now, like he was taking his time with each word, "If you can’t sleep, maybe you need something to wear yourself out."

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, but you could feel the weight of his words settle between you two, making the air feel thicker, heavier. Your heart raced a little faster, and you couldn’t help but feel a small flutter of something you couldn’t quite place. You turned away from him, your chest tight, not sure whether to call him out for his words or to let them hang there, unspoken. He leant back against his bedroll then, letting out a long breath, as if he was satisfied with his suggestion.

"I don’t mind giving you a hand," he added, his voice low, barely audible. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, your pulse quickening, but you didn’t know how to respond to that.

It wasn’t an offer, not really, but the way he said it made you feel like the air had shifted even further, like you were teetering on the edge of something you couldn’t fully understand.

You swallowed, your body feeling restless in a new way now. You knew he wasn’t being serious, not in the way you thought, but the tension that had been building up between you two made everything feel heavier, more intense.

You frowned, not sure where he was going with it. "What do you mean?" You asked, confusion making your voice sharper. You could feel him shift beside you, the sound of his bedroll moving.

He was closer now, the tension between you two thick enough to make the air feel heavy. "I mean," he began, his voice low, "You’re wound up tighter than a spring. Maybe you need somethin’ to tire you out." The suggestion hit you like a brick, and for a moment, you couldn’t process it. You turned your head then, eyes wide, but you couldn’t read the look on his face.

It wasn’t playful, but it wasn’t serious either—it was something else, something between a tease and a challenge.

Your body felt like it was buzzing with energy, but it wasn’t the kind of energy you could work off easily. It was something deeper, something that ran straight through you when he was this close. "Arthur…" Uou breathed, your voice barely a whisper. You wanted to say something—anything—to break the tension, but the words didn’t come.

The space between you two felt impossibly small now, like you could reach out and touch him without even trying. "What’s the matter?" He asked, his voice low and patient, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent to it. "Can’t handle it?" The question stung, but you couldn’t deny that it struck a chord deep inside you.

You opened your mouth to respond, but you didn’t know what to say. You could feel the pressure building in your chest, like something was about to burst, but you didn’t know whether to fight it or give in to it.

You didn’t want to admit it, but you felt the pull between you two, like gravity. He wasn’t moving away, wasn’t backing off, and it was making everything inside you feel ten times worse. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were too lost in it to speak.

"You gon’ let me?" Arthur said, the words slow and deliberate, like he was testing you, waiting for your reaction. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, but you couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face him because you were afraid of what you might see.

The tension in the air was suffocating now, the silence hanging like a thread about to snap.

Arthur leant in slightly, his proximity enough to make your heart skip a beat. "C'mon," he murmured, his voice soft, almost a challenge. "You know you want this."

The words hit you like a jolt, and for a moment, your brain short-circuited, struggling to form a coherent thought. The space between you two felt like it was disappearing, the way his eyes softened, and how he seemed to wait for your move. You could hear your own breath now, loud in your ears, the storm outside pounding against the canvas of the tent, but all you could focus on was the way Arthur was looking at you.

"You think I don’t want this?" You finally muttered, your voice barely a whisper. But he heard it.

His smile was slow, a little crooked, and his eyes darkened with something more intense now. He didn't reply, instead, he reached out, a hand coming to rest on your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a gentle motion. It sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn't pull away.

"You sure about that?" Arthur’s voice was barely a murmur now, his face inches from yours. The tension between you two, thick and undeniable, was suffocating. He waited, giving you a moment, and that was when it happened.

You didn't lean away, you didn't hesitate.

You closed the space between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was slow and tentative at first, like neither of you were sure what would come next. His hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently as he deepened the kiss, pulling you closer. You let yourself go, just for a moment, lost in the heat of it, the pressure of his lips against yours, the taste of him.

"Easy, girl." He growled against your lips, his prickly beard scratching at your chin. The rasp of his voice sent a shiver through you, the roughness of it matching the way his hands had tightened just slightly where they rested against you. His thumb traced slow circles against the back of your neck, his touch firm but careful, like he was still testing, still giving you room to pull away. But you didn’t.

You leant into him, your breath shaky, your heart hammering so hard you were sure he could feel it.

Arthur kissed you again, slower this time, but deeper, more certain. His lips pressed against yours with a heat that had been simmering for far too long, a fire barely held at bay.

You could taste the whiskey on him, the faint remnants of tobacco, but underneath it was something distinctly him, something you had caught whiffs of before but never like this, never this close.

His hand slid from your neck down to your waist, fingers pressing into your hip as he pulled you closer. The bedroll beneath you rustled as you shifted, your hands coming up to his shoulders instinctively, gripping onto the fabric of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. "You always this restless?" Arthur muttered against your lips, his tone half amused, half strained. His breath was warm against your skin, sending a spark straight through your chest.

"Only when you're around.” You murmured back, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

Arthur let out a rough chuckle, his grip on you tightening for just a second. "That so?" His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, trailing down to your jaw, the scrape of his beard making your skin prickle in the best way.

He took his time, tracing the line of your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he worked his way down, slow and deliberate. His free hand ran down your side, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your shirt, the weight of it making your stomach twist in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

You tilted your head without thinking, giving him more room, and he took it. His lips brushed against the pulse point on your neck, and you swore you felt him smirk when your breath hitched. "Ain't nothin' to be nervous about, darlin'," he murmured, voice thick, teasing. "Unless you want there to be."

You knew exactly what he meant, the words hanging between you like a dare, but you weren’t about to back down. You shifted against him slightly, your fingers still gripping his shirt as you breathed, "And if I do?"

Arthur paused, just for a second, just long enough to let you feel the weight of what you had said. His fingers flexed against your waist, his body tensing slightly, and when he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were darker now, unreadable. "Then you best be real sure about it," he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher. "’Cause I ain't the type to stop once I get goin'."

You stared at him, heart pounding, feeling the heat rolling off him in waves. His grip on you was steady, grounding, but there was a restraint there too, a hesitation in the way he was holding himself back. You could see it in his eyes—the way he was waiting, watching, letting you decide.

Slowly, without thinking, you reached up and touched his face, your fingers grazing over the stubble along his jaw. His breath hitched, just barely, and for a brief second, you felt him lean into your touch. It was the smallest thing, but it sent a thrill through you, a rush of something you weren’t sure you could name.

"You ain't answerin' me," Arthur said, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges. His lips were still close enough to brush against yours, his hand still firm on your waist. "You really wanna test me tonight?" The way he said it sent heat pooling in your stomach, but you weren’t about to back down.

You let your fingers trail down to the collar of his shirt, gripping the fabric lightly as you whispered, "I think you already know the answer to that."

Arthur exhaled sharply, a rough chuckle leaving his lips before he muttered, "Christ, girl, you’re gonna drive me mad."

And before you could say anything else, his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time, more urgent. His fingers dug into your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the sheer heat of him, the solidness of him, sent your head spinning. You barely registered the way you shifted, the way the space between you disappeared entirely.

All you could feel was the warmth of his hands, the slow, deliberate press of his lips, the way he kissed like he had been holding back for far too long. He wasn’t hurried, wasn’t frantic, but there was a weight to it, a slow-burning intensity that made your skin prickle with anticipation. His hand drifted up from your waist, trailing along your ribcage, not quite reaching too high, but enough to make you shudder.

Arthur noticed, of course he did, and the low hum he let out against your mouth told you he liked it. "See?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Told ya you were restless."

You swallowed hard, breath uneven. "And what’re you gonna do about it?" Arthur smirked, the kind of lazy, knowing smirk that made your stomach flip.

His fingers traced over your jaw again, lingering at the corner of your mouth before trailing lower, lower—until he hooked his thumb at the edge of your bottom lip. "Open.” He said, voice rough, firm.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because the weight of it, the sheer intensity in his voice, sent a thrill down your spine. But then you did, parting your lips just slightly, just enough for him to press his thumb inside, resting against your tongue, testing.

Arthur let out a breath, low and deep, his eyes never leaving yours. "Good girl." And that was where you lost whatever composure you had left. Your breath shuddered against the thick air between you, the weight of Arthur’s gaze pressing down harder than his thumb resting heavy on your tongue.

His jaw tensed, and for the briefest second, something in his eyes flickered, something dark, something wild, but then he huffed a rough, low laugh, shaking his head like you had just made a mistake.

"Jesus," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. His thumb dragged down, slow, tracing the curve of your bottom lip as he pulled back, leaving the ghost of his touch lingering there. He wiped his hand on his thigh, jaw clenching as he exhaled through his nose. "You ain't got a damn clue what you're askin' for, do ya?" The words were teasing, but there was something else underneath them now, something strained, something barely holding together. You swallowed hard, your pulse still hammering as you reached for words that wouldn’t come.

Arthur watched you for a long moment, his eyes dragging over your face like he was memorising every reaction, every little shift in your expression. Then, with a quiet scoff, he ran a hand down his face, muttering something too low for you to catch. His fingers twitched against his thigh, his breath coming rougher now, uneven.

He shifted slightly, his knee brushing against yours, his weight shifting between hesitation and something heavier, something you could feel simmering between you. He paused, lips just inches from your ear. Arthur’s breath hitched as you held his gaze, the weight of his hesitation heavy between you.

The air was thick, suffocating, and as his thumb brushed over your lip, you could feel the pulse of his restraint, each second stretching further than it should. You weren’t backing down now; the heat between you was undeniable, and every part of you was alive, aching for more.

His eyes flickered with uncertainty, the same conflict you had seen earlier returning like a storm rolling back in.

He pulled back, just enough to give himself some space, but his hand never left your waist. "You’re too young for me." He muttered, his voice gruff, but the way he said it made you feel something far different than what he intended.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a teasing smile. "So you don’t want this?" you asked, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge.

Arthur’s jaw clenched, and for a second, he just stared at you, as if he was weighing his next move. "Never said that," he growled, his voice rougher now, his eyes searching yours for something. "Just... don’t know what the hell I’m doin’." He leant back slightly, but only enough to give you some room to breathe, his hand still tight on your waist.

You didn’t give him the chance to pull away completely. Your lips met his again, soft at first, hesitant, but then deeper, your body leaning into his as you pressed yourself against him.

His breath faltered, the tension between you growing thick as he let you guide the kiss. He didn’t pull away, but his hands remained still, like he was waiting for some sign, some permission to move forward. His thumb brushed over your lips again, tracing the curve of your mouth, as if he couldn’t help himself, but there was still something holding him back.

Arthur’s breath left him in a rush, and before you knew it, his hand was gripping your hair, his other arm pulling you tighter against him, as if he couldn’t stop himself. "Christ.” He muttered under his breath, his lips crashing against yours in a way that made everything else fade away.

His control was slipping, and you could feel it, the way his hands shook as they moved over your body, the way his touch grew more insistent, more desperate. He paused for a moment, his lips still on yours, but his breath was heavy now, his chest rising and falling against you.

"I ain't lookin’ to ruin ya.” He muttered, the words coming out like a warning, but you didn’t want warnings.

You wanted this, wanted him, and you made sure he knew it. "Pity.” Your voice barely a whisper, but it was all he needed. His resolve snapped.

His lips crashed down onto yours again, harder this time, and you could feel the heat of his body, the fire building between you. He kissed you as though he needed it, as though nothing else mattered anymore. The kiss deepened, more urgent, more hungry, and you could feel him pressing against you, his hands moving down your body, pulling you closer with each second.

You didn’t pull away. You didn’t want to. But just as quickly as it had all started, he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours as he breathed heavily, his fingers still tangled in your hair.

"You’re gonna drive me mad," he muttered, his voice low, hoarse. You could feel his heart racing, his body tense as he fought to hold onto whatever control he had left. His hands moved to your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you back. "You’re too young for this, girl.” He said again, his voice almost pained as he looked at you, searching your face for something, anything that would tell him he wasn’t making a mistake.

You just looked at him, your chest still heaving from the kiss, and nodded. "Never said I was innocent.” You murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

He let out a strained laugh, the sound almost bitter as he ran a hand down his face. His eyes flickered with something—desire, regret, confusion—before he kissed you again, slow this time, like he was trying to remind himself of what he was doing.

His hand moved from your hair, down to your neck, his thumb brushing over your pulse. The kiss was softer now, but the heat was still there, simmering beneath the surface. He pulled away again, his breath ragged, his eyes dark. He studied you for a moment, like he was trying to read the answers in your face. "You sure you want this?" He asked, his voice rougher, uncertain. You nodded, just once, but it was enough.

"God, yes." You whispered, and this time, he didn’t pull away. He kissed you again, his touch growing more insistent, but he still held back, like he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t undo.

The kiss deepened, and for a moment, it felt like nothing else mattered. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, just the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment. But as quickly as it had started, he pulled away again, his hands shaking slightly as he ran them through his hair. "You’re gonna be the end of me," he muttered, his voice low, like he was talking to himself more than you. You didn’t say anything, just stared at him, feeling the pull between you. "You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.” He warned, his voice rough.

But you just smiled, the corners of your lips curling up slightly as you looked at him, knowing full well what you wanted, and what he wanted, too.

“Then show me, old man.” You thought you were being real cheeky. Arthur just clicked his tongue before he rolled over, now caging you between the bedroll.

“You gonna wish you ain’t runnin’ that sweet mouth.”

Like a man on a mission, one with hunger, his large hands went to the waistband of your pants, and tugged them right down, making you gasp in shock; both from his agility and the cold that kissed your thighs.

“Fuck, look at you, sweetheart. Could see that fucking wet patch from miles away. Ain’t you such a needy thing.” Arthur cooed, bringing a thumb to rub over your wetness.

You whined at the contact, hips jerking when his thumb managed to delve and kiss your clit. “Arthur, please?” You pleaded, raising your knees to be on either side of him.

“Huh, so now it’s Arthur,” he shook his head, though complied to your demands. He curled two fingers into your panties and pulled them down, exposing your sopping cunt, even through the dim moonlight, Arthur could well see your neediness. “Ain’t that something.”

“Need you real bad, Arthur. Can’t wait.” You sighed, hiking your hips up to get more of him on you.

“Quit your rushing, girl. You ain’t the only one who’s been needin’ this.” Arthur scoffed, using his forefinger to run through your folds, gathering slick.

His confession caused your heart to skip a beat. Had you been blind all along? How many opportunities had you missed?

“As much as I would love to get right to it, I need to stretch you out first, sweetheart. I’m a little to the hefty side, so bear with me.” You moaned out, eyelashes fluttering as he sunk in two, thick fingers.

“Oh, Arthur.” You felt unbelievably stretched, even though pain blossomed between your legs, it was easily overlooked by pleasure.

“Shit, darlin’. You’re real fuckin’ tight. This might take a while.” Arthur’s voice was wrecked, like he was talking through gritted teeth.

There was only so much the man could endure, and having the patience to not devour everything about you, was none of that.

“Arthur, please? I can take it, don’t need no prepping. I need you, Arthur. Don’t you need me?” You at this moment craved to feel him inside you.

“Sweetheart, if I didn’t need you, I sure as hell wouldn’t be knuckle deep in your pussy.” He chuckled, shaking his head. Arthur curled his fingers, the thick digits pressing against that sweet, spongy spot inside you, causing you to cry out. He twisted his wrist, fingers flipping with before he spread them inside you, prying you open more and more.

“Oh, fuck, Arthur.” You moaned, fingers curling against the thin blanket below you.

“Just relax. You’re takin’ my fingers so well.” He praised, feeling your juicing drip onto his palm. He lifted his thumb, the pad finding your abandoned clit, rubbing and flicking at it.

Your eyes tipped back into your head, your toes curled in your socks. Arthur’s fingers caused you to make sounds you never knew you could.

You clamped down on him, causing Arthur to his. “Shit, girl. Y’squeezin’ me real tight. Don’t even know if I could fit.”

“N-No! You’ll fit. Fuck! Have to…” you managed to get out, before your words melted to moans, something tightening and tugging in your lower belly.

“You’re pretty determined. Guess we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

At this point, your thighs were shaking, and your body was sweating, yet you managed, with trembling fingers, to reach into Arthur’s lap, and nudge at his belt, desperately trying to get it undone, but efforts were fruitless. “O-Off. Take it off.”

“Geez, darlin’. Buy me a drink first?” You rolled your eyes, more so than they were, at his joke. You sighed out when he complied, free hand meticulously able to undo his belt, and even slide it from its loops.

The rest was easier, you were able to pull his zipper down, and then reach his underwear, tugging in jarred movements, at the black fabric.

Your body shuddered as his cock sprung free. Arthur was not joking. He was huge, and had a brain melting girth to him, topped by an angry, throbbing tip. You had no idea how you were going to sit still tomorrow, or even mount your horse.

Your back arched, your cunt was making lewd, wet sounds fill the tent. You huffed and choked on moans, yet you were able to wrap your fingers around Arthur’s cock, finger tips barely touching.

Arthur hissed at the contact, as if you burnt him. “Yeah, girl. Stroke me nice ‘n slow. Don’t wanna cum too soon.”

Arthur wrapped his larger hand around yours, using yours to fist his cock as he thrusted his hips into your hand. He bent his neck, pursed his lips, before a thick glob and saliva dropped down onto the shaft of his cock, now coating your palm as you jerked him off.

“Mm, that feels pretty good. Good fucking job.” He sighed, a crease forming between his brow.

His fingers has slowed, too caught up in what you were doing, before he snapped back, vigorously rubbing at your clit, and thrusting his fingers in you.

“O-Oh, Arthur! Can’t hold on any l-longer! Oh! Oh!” You cried, fingers tightening around his cock. A rather loud moan tumbling from Arthur’s lips.

“Cum, sweetheart. Make a mess on my fingers. Shit, yeah. Let me see what you can do.” Arthur’s fingers curled once more, and that’s when white filtered in your vision, and you were cumming hard.

Your cum splashed onto his hand, dribbling down your ass, throat going raw from the sobs you were letting out. Arthur’s fingers didn’t stop until you finished.

“S-Shit, okay. Let go of me now. I think you’re ready f’me, aren’t ya, girl?”

You nodded, letting your fingers drop from his cock. Arthur shifted on his knees, now angling himself until his cock was prodding at your hole.

He wrapped his slicked hand around his cock, coating it further in your release until he was satisfied. He glanced up, waiting for you to stop him, to which you’d never.

His hand fell to your hip to squeeze it as he pushed in, slowly, letting you adjust.

You whined as he went, cunt fluttering around his veiny shaft as he sunk in, until the tufts of hair on top his balls grazed your clit. Arthur let out a long sigh, now fully sheathed inside of you.

He drew his hips back, cock glistening, under the faint moonlight that trickled through the tent, covered with your previous arousal, before he sunk back in. It was slow, he was testing the waters.

You shifted beneath him, silently telling him to hurry up, not that you wanted to get this over and done with, but you just needed more.

Arthur sniggered, he almost wanted to say ‘don’t say I didn’t warn you’ but he felt that would ruin the moment. Instead, he grounded his knees into the bedroom before he pulled out, then snapped his hips forward, hips rhythmically thrusting into yours at a toe curling pace.

Arthur’s lips were suddenly below your ear, grunting and groaning into the shell of it. “Y’know how many times I’ve imagined this, sweetheart? Enough times for me t’wonder if I was even gonna make it to heaven.”

You moaned, loudly, at his words. Fingers flying to his shoulders, even though they were covered by his shirt. “Thought you s-said I was too young for you.”

Arthur grunted, breath hot on your skin, hips pushing you up in small movements. “That’s the part that was gonna send me to hell.”

You tried to give a smile, though your lips wobbled, falling open as you moaned for him. “It didn’t stop you…n-now.”

“Should’ve.”

“Am I the best you’ve had?” You asked, with staggering confidence.

Arthur chuckled, though it came out ragged. “It’s not a competition, girl. Why? Am I the best you’ve had?”

You moaned, they slowly came out higher and higher as his fat tip nudged your sweet spot. “N-No. You’re like second bes-st.”

“Second? Guess we’ll have to change that, then.” Both of Arthur’s hands were on your hips, digging into the flesh before they spun you around, chest now meeting with the bedroll, cock slipping from you momentarily.

Arthur let out a low whistle at the sight of your bare ass. Rough palm immediately going to the ample cheeks, spreading them to see both your holes. “Y’ever gonna let me fuck you there?” Arthur asked, thumb barely grazing your tight ring of muscles causing you to gasp.

“What? No. That’s…dirty, it’s gross.” You coughed.

Arthur hummed, his cock pressing back to your cunt before sliding back in with ease. “Not t’me, girl. Not to me.”

Arthur moved his weight, now leaning forward until he was just about laying on top of you before his hips found their steady rhythm.

This new angle had him so much deeper, filling you up entirely. You didn’t mind when his rough patch of hair brushed the glove of your ass, or how your breath came out shallow as he slinked an around your neck.

Your face was smushed between his thick muscles, hair awry. This position had you leaking more.

You had no where to go, not as his cock bullied your hole, you were stuck between Arthur, all hot above you, and the bedroll. Arthur was murmuring sweet nothings to you, rolling his hips, sharing your moans. “Sweetest fuckin’ pussy ever. Gonna get me greedy over it, sweetheart. Don’t know if I’d be able to go a day without it.”

You tried to get words out, but it was almost impossible with how your cheeks were pressing together.

“What was that?” Arthur asked.

“I said…you don’t have t-to.”

Arthur grinned, hips pummelling harder into yours. “Givin’ up your pussy to this old man? How mighty generous. But don’t worry, darlin’, I don’t plan to go a day without fuckin’ you.” You clenched around him at the thought.

Arthur Morgan was going to ruin you, for good.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Drool dribbled from your lips, your fingers digging into whatever surface they could find. “A-Arthur, think I’m gonna cum again.”

Arthur sped his movements up, balls slapping into the front of your pussy as they swung. “Cum, sweetheart. Cum on my cock.” He grunted.

Your vision blurred and your brain melted, dribbling through you and out your legs as your cunt spasmed, and before you knew it, you were gushing around him.

“S-Shit, girl. Making such a big mess, good fuckin’ girl.”

Arthur pulled out, hand wrapping around his cock to jerk it before he was spilling his thick load onto your ass. He shuddered as he came, hips stilling when he finished.

Arthur groaned when he was done, chest rising as he sat up on his knees, staring at the faint sight of the mess he made of you. He sighed, pulling out a handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe his cum off you, before he was tugging your pants up your thighs, and his up his.

He slummed to the side, back to his sleeping bag while you shifted on yours. His arm found you and pulled you roght to his chest, lips ok your forehead. “Now y’better fall asleep. Don’t think I can do any more rounds.”

You snorted, though your eyelids fluttered in tiredness. “Bones can’t handle it?”

Arthur huffed. “I’ll show you what these bones can handle.”

And before long, you were sliding onto Arthur’s lap, shimmying out your clothes again, preparing for the long, long night ahead of you, even if we’re about to fall asleep.

[jcollinswrites]

Weeping Gods (WIP)

This tale sweeps you up and drops you back 3500 years into the past, straight onto the banks of the Nile, at the dawn of the Egyptian New Kingdom. The Empire has only been liberated from a hundred year old occupation. The scars left by the war are still healing and yet, threats loom on the horizon again. Some powerful artifacts have been stolen and the king entrusts you with their recovery. Suddenly finding yourself out of your depth and all out of options, you have no choice but to agree to the dangerous mission. You don't know what awaits you on this journey but you know one thing for sure: if you don't catch the enemies of the empire, you will risk more than your own life.

Take your fate into your own hands, solve mysteries, meet new friends, fall in love, learn about magic, monsters, spirits, gods, and have fun in the ancient Egyptian Kingdom in this historical fantasy novel.

The story is a work of fiction and is not historically accurate.

Features

Choose from 4 different origin characters, each with unique stories and choices that will follow you through the rest of the game: - a priest in over their head with a caring and loyal mentor - a noble very much in over their head with a problematic family - the captain of the Theban Guard, who is way too tired for this - a thief from the slums of Thebes, desperate for survival

Play as male, female or non-binary; gay, straight or bi.

Build friendships, rivalries, or find love with a young prince, a mysterious spymaster, a brooding spirit, an elite warrior… or even the pharaoh himself.

Explore Egypt through a series of adventures with a ragtag team of characters

Solve mysteries, climb the Great Pyramid of Giza, deal with the sparks of revolution, and help secure the kingdom's future

Warnings: The story will contain heavy and dark themes, excessive swearing, mental health problems, and optional sexual content, so it is recommended for mature audiences only. The whole list of triggering content can be found in the beginning of the demo.

The Romances

Narmer - A kind and patient man with a golden heart, a fierce sense of duty, a bloody past, and way too little free time.

Qenna (m/f) - The living enigma. Fun and casual at first glance, but why is everyone warning you against spending time with them?

Zaia (m/f) - Spends most of their time brooding or hiding from people, but they can be surprisingly cheeky with those they feel comfortable with.

Tabiry - A dependable and loyal woman, she is the type of person you could trust to have your back in any situation.

Ahmose (m/f) - Young and impressionable, with a dazzling smile and too much hope for a better future.

The Demo

Chapter 1 completed

Chapter 2 completed

Chapter 3 completed

Chapter 4 work in progress (patreon only)

Public demo word count : 371 000 words Patreon demo word count: 457 000 words Average playthrough on any origin: around 55 000 words

Last public update: 10. Jan. 2025. Last patreon update: 14. Feb. 2025. (First published: 14. Aug. 2024.)

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[rambling-at-midnight]

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks

Pairing: Jason Todd x Civilian!Reader. No pronouns so can be read as any gender!

Summary: Meet-ugly with the Red Hood due to a gas station robbery gone wrong.

Word count: ~2k

(I'm branching out to other fandoms, apparently. Let me know if you want a sequel. Enjoy!)

You weren't born in Gotham, so it sometimes still surprises you that you had adjusted so well to its particular brand of crazy.

You're from somewhere a little more south of New Jersey, although most places in the U.S. are a little south of Jersey unless you're a lobster farmer from Maine or a tree hugger from Vermont.

Both of those descriptions sound critical, but they weren't meant to be. Right about now you're seriously considering taking up lobster farming.

No one sane ever moves to Gotham. Everyone knows the stories, and even if most of the country didn't believe all of them, most people aren't stupid enough to disregard them. And you certainly weren't stupid. But rent was dirt cheap for a city, and so was tuition for GU's vet school. So you thought to yourself, "How bad could it really be," bought pepper spray and a taser, and accepted the admissions offer.

You'd always liked iced coffee more than green bean casserole and peach cobbler, anyway.

Reading news articles hadn't been enough to prepare you for the utter insanity of Gotham City, unfortunately. But you adapted. You always did. Upgraded your taser, memorized the bus schedule, learned the less sketchy areas of town, did your best not to get caught outside after dark. Kept your head down, ignored the crime lords and genetic experiments gone wrong and lunatics and vigilantes scurrying along the rooftops, and you'd survived for almost two years without many incidents.

But you'd gone to the library because you were critically unable to work in your apartment, gotten distracted by panicking about how little you really knew about next week's test content, and stared at the pages of your textbook for almost an hour as you fought back tears. So now you were running late and it was dark as you walked home because the buses were down. Of course they were. That lunatic that thought he was a crocodile had smashed a bunch last week and they hadn't been replaced yet.

Goosebumps prickle on the back of your neck, but you tell yourself it's nothing. Keep your head down. Criminals target the people that look most obviously paranoid first.

You're just burnt out. Severely. But the end of your sophomore year of veterinary school was looming, which meant you would have a relaxing three-month vacation before the next one started.

And no, you weren't thinking about next year's summer 'vacation' of clinicals. Because if this year was bad after a year of summer vacation, what will it do to you to have no break at all?

That's a future you problem, thankfully.

You're still feeling sorry for yourself when you reach the gas station right next to your apartment building. You walk right by it, remember what's in your fridge or pantry—thanks, grocery store self, thinking you don't need any snacking foods—then backtrack.

Since starting vet school, you've tried to be healthier with your eating habits. Brains lacking in nutrients absorb information less efficiently, after all. But you're still a sucker for Cheez-Its and energy drinks.

You won't drink it tonight, obviously.

Right as you put the items on the counter for the bored-looking cashier to scan the barcodes, something cold presses to your temple.

The cashier freezes, eyes blown wide with panic.

"Easy there," someone says to your left. A man, voice oily in a way that sets your teeth on edge immediately. "Do what I say, or I blow their brains out, then yours."

A gun.

A gun is pressed to your head.

Because of course it is. A shitty way to end a shitty day. You should have kept walking right past the gas station.

Before you moved to Gotham, you might have screamed and panicked, but you know better now. You know to stay calm.

You clench your fists to stop them from shaking so noticeably, but otherwise don't move. You've seen hostage situations before, because this is Gotham, but you've never been the hostage.

The gun feels heavy. And so cold, like it's sapping all the heat from your skin.

"Okay, dude," the cashier said soothingly. "You want the money in the register?"

The robber scoffs. "Obviously."

"All right." The cashier's voice is even and soft, unthreatening. You wonder if training for situations like these are required for cashiers in Gotham. It certainly hadn't been for your old job, although that hadn't been in New Jersey, and it hadn't been at a twenty-four seven gas station, either. "I need to get a key to unlock it, okay? So I'm reaching below the counter."

"Just get the key," the robber demands. The gun shifts against your temple. You fantasize for a half-second about acting like an action hero, disarming him and taking him down all on your own. But you're not a vigilante and you've never been in a real-life fight before. You don't think you're fast enough to get out of the barrel's way before he pulls the trigger. If you managed to shove it away, what if he fired and hit the cashier instead?

Then comes the sound of another gun clicking.

Great, you think half-hysterically. Just what we need. Even more deadly weapons.

"Lower the gun," growls a modulated voice, and everyone freezes.

The Red Hood is standing behind the robber, also pointing a gun to his head like the meme of people lined up in a church with guns aimed at the person in front of them.

The robber lets his gun dip a little bit. Distracted enough that it's not pressed directly to your temple anymore.

Not to brag, but you recover the quickest. It's probably the adrenaline.

Thank God you keep your keychain in hand while out at night. Your fingers shake, but you have your pepper spray up in a second, and the robber's turning to look at your sudden movement when you squeeze down on the nozzle.

The spray hits him directly in the eyes, and his howl of pain is immediate. But you don't stop spraying, even when the cashier starts to splutter and your own eyes water.

The gun goes off, once in the robber's hands, and a second time when it hits the ground because he's dropped it in favor of clutching his burning face.

You stop the stream of pepper spray, because now the air is spicy when you breathe, but can't force yourself to lower your hand. The Red Hood quickly handcuffs the would-be robber, which is only difficult because he's clawing at his eyes in pain, and executes a tricky-looking martial arts move to get him on the ground.

Despite everything, you're impressed.

The Red Hood is bigger than maybe anyone you've ever seen before. He could have punched the robber in half like paper, probably, but you appreciate the finesse a little bit more.

"Hey." A gentle voice, and gentle hands, take the pepper spray out of your grip. "Quick thinking there," you're complimented. By the fucking Red Hood, one of Gotham's most infamous crime lords. The first time you read about him in the papers, he was chopping off people's heads, and every story since has been similarly alarming. But he's not supposed to be here; the Red Hood stays in Park Row, which locals call Crime Alley, apparently, and you've always steered very clear from that part of town.

"Can you look at me?"

You do. Maybe he won't chop off your head if you listen well enough.

"Are you okay?"

You blink. That... does not compute.

The Red Hood doesn't save people. And he doesn't leave Crime Alley. So what's he doing outside of Crime Alley, saving people?

The robber is still screaming, eyes screwed up in pain. He's handcuffed on the ground.

"You should probably let him wash out his eyes, at least," you tell the cashier. "Pepper spray is pretty painful." You'd sprayed yourself once out of curiosity, realized how much it burned, then sprinted to the shower to rinse it off. Which, pro tip: not a good move, especially with warm water. Water reactivates it by opening your pores, or something, and when you're in the shower it just spreads all over your body.

Your eyes are watering. The Red Hood sees that, because he tells you, "Let's get some air," and tugs you out of the gas station.

He's right. The cool night air does feel good. You blink away the stinging in your eyes and he repeats, "Are you okay?" His voice is robotic from the mask, but kind of pleasant at the same time. You'd never guess just from listening to him that he's a killer.

"Yes," you say automatically. "Thanks," you add. You're lightheaded for some reason; you sway on your feet.

"You sure?" he asks critically. "You look... pale." Judging by the pause, 'pale' wasn't the word he really wanted to say. The red helmet tilts. "You weren't shot, were you?"

"I don't think so," you shrug. Then you look down at yourself and realize that there's a large bloodstain on your hip. "Never mind. I think I was."

"Jesus!" he yelps at the sight. It's kind of funny, actually, this grown man built like a brick shithouse yelping at the sight of blood. "Why didn't you say anything?"

You shrug and peel your sticky shirt away from the wound to inspect it. "I thought I just bumped something." Sure enough, it's just a graze. You weren't sure which shot had hit you, but you'd honestly been injured worse. Plus, supervising surgeries at the animal clinic you'd worked at for years has desensitized you to the sight of blood. Maybe it's also altered your perception on what 'serious injuries' count as; the amount of times you've been bitten by startled dogs...

"You need to go to the hospital."

"It's just a scratch," you argue. "I can't go to the hospital. I need to feed my cat."

"Your cat can wait. You're bleeding a lot."

"I'm already late, and if I miss dinner, he'll start pissing all over my apartment."

The Red Hood sighs. "Where do you live?"

Your mouth opens to answer on instinct. You snap it shut just in time and glare. "Why?"

"So I can feed your cat for you while you go to the hospital."

It's nice of him to offer, but... "No."

"No?"

Maybe it's not the best idea to refuse Gotham's most prominent crime lord, but it would also be pretty stupid to tell a strange man where you live. Especially when he happens to be said crime lord.

"Look," you sigh. "I'm a vet student. I have surgical tools at home to treat myself with, and I promise, under the blood, the bullet barely hit me. I've been hurt worse by Chihuahuas that hate the vet."

"There's no way I can convince you to change your mind?"

"It's been a long day," you sigh. "I really, really just want to go home." And he's blocking the path. Your apartment building is directly behind him, just calling your name.

"At least let me walk you to your building." He holds his hands up at your suspicious look and assures you, "I won't ask for the apartment number."

"I'm literally right there." You point.

He turns, sees how close you are to being home, and says, "Seriously?"

"Seriously. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were some kind of villain."

"I'm reformed," he grumbles.

"Well, good for you."

You make sure you have your keys and your wallet, then step around him and make it all the way to your building's door before he calls, "Wait!" The Red Hood's jogging to catch up to you, holding the box of Cheez-Its and energy drink you'd almost died for. "You forgot these," he says.

"Thanks," you say, taking them. It would have been a shame to waste four dollars.

"You're welcome," he says. There's something odd about his voice, but you attribute it to the mask, scan to be let into the building, and make sure it's fully closed before heading to the elevator.

Your cat is unhappy about dinner being an hour late. He weaves between your feet, making his protests loudly and viscerally known. You wince. He's worse than the dogs that bark in this building sometimes.

Your poor neighbors.

You give him his wet food, then hop in the shower to clean off your hip. It bled a lot, but once the blood washes away, it's actually not as bad as you thought. You've stitched up animals before, but never yourself, and decide against trying tonight. If it heals a little unevenly, who cares? No one will see it, anyway.

You pad the wound with gauze, tape it over, and fall into bed. Staring at the ceiling, you're forced to admit to yourself that you may be looking up more in the future. Just to see if anyone in a red helmet is running on a rooftop nearby.

It was a long day. But, strangely, almost dying wasn't the worst part of it.

Actually... it may have been the best part.

~~

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[desireangel]

Infernal Desires | Part One

Aemond Targaryen x fem!Reader

Synopsis: When your family is caught up in treasonous scandal, the Prince Regent makes an offer that is impossible to refuse. To avoid what certainly would have been death by his sword, your family promises you to a man who is followed by whispers of violence and sin.

Warnings: mdni 18+! Strictly. Dark-ish ??? Aemond! Bad language, reader is implied to be from a certain family but not really, rushed & unedited. Sexual tension, allusions to sex, mentions of death and killing, Aemond gets angry handsy, hair pulling, mention of the noose bc Aemond would never tell just anyone how he feels. This is mainly a word vomit - I am once again incapable of limiting my writing to one part.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: aaand I’m back with a rewrite of an old fic I started last year! hopefully this is somewhat decent to follow along with - I wrote this while severely sleep deprived, stressed about procrastinating my uni work and knackered from work. Let me know if we are even interested in a part 2 or if I’ve missed any warnings!

It is a debt to be paid and an alliance to be made, that is all it is. 

Easy enough for them to say. After all, it was you who suffered from the mistakes of your family and not them. They may as well have left you to the dangers of King’s Landing with nothing more than a shattered dignity and the tears that trailed down your cheeks. 

Shit. Crying wasn’t going to do anything and while you never intend to present yourself as weak to anyone, there was nothing you could do to stop the angry tears that welled in your eyes. You wondered if your parents truly pained to see their daughter cry or if the tremble in your mother’s lip was nothing more than a pretence. 

Your father stared at the ground by your feet. “It was not meant to come to this.”

“But it did. Are you really going to barter me to–”

“We are not bartering you. Stop saying that,” He snapped. “All you will have to do is take the title as his wife and give him children. It cannot be that bad.”

The glare you sent his way was full of malice and rage. How could he say that? You were better than that, smarter than that and the thought of being reduced to who knows what that man had in store for you as his wife - they may as well have cut your tongue out and made you a slave. Knowing that your family, whom you loved endlessly, were so sure of selling you so easily to a cruel man like Aemond Targaryen caused a dull ache in your chest. 

It seemed hard to breathe through the betrayal, your chest heavy with deceit and heartbreak. Had you known what your father had been planning, you could have run away and found a way to survive without the comfort of your family lands. 

“What Prince Aemond has offered has saved us,” Jericho stood leaning lazily against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at you, his little sister who would have died before leaving him to such a fate. “I do not expect you to understand the complex relationships between our Houses but consider this, dear sister. Would you rather him have the Vale burned to ashes? Have us hung from the walls of the Red Keep? I made a mistake. I know this, and I am sorry but this is the only choice we have.”

There was a tense silence. Jericho had ruined everything with little chance of repair and it was you who had to pay the price. You knew how the Crown punished Rhaenyra’s sympathisers and Jericho had damned the future of your family. What was happening is wrong - war is never worth the price it takes. You wholeheartedly agreed with that but there was something inherently stupid about putting the people you cared about at risk just to send a raven with a conditional offer of a bent knee. 

You blinked as you tried to make sense of it all. “Explain it to me. I do not understand.”

“Aemond Targaryen is Prince Regent but I was once his only friend,” Jericho said. You knew he used the word friend strategically. “He extended an olive branch. Repent our House’s treachery through our last daughter and a pin for the Vale on King Aegon’s map. You could not understand how generous that is. Refusing would have been a sentence of death.”

Friend? Generous?  You would have laughed if you could. You briefly wondered how Jericho had managed to barter with the Prince Regent before they had taken his head. Alas, it would be of no use to ask a question you would get no answer to. The men of these walls underestimated the capabilities of a woman’s mind and a woman’s strength. 

“All he gains is something to hold over your head, brother. Paying off your mistakes with my life? You have heard the stories - he has become a cruel man. Warming his bed when he sees fit and making his heirs will not fix what you did. Many have been executed for far less.”

Your father cleared his throat. “It is our only option. We have nothing more to offer in place and a ruined reputation. The family name holds the last of our power and without what little power we have left, your brother and I would lose the Vale. It is a miracle we have not already.”

“The Prince wants to dangle you over our heads? Fine. If that is what it takes for him to spare our lives.” Jericho’s voice was so rough. It was the first time you had seen him as anything other than gentle to you and you felt a heaviness at the sight of him so distressed. 

There was not much left for you outside of the empty empire that your father’s father had built for your family. At least you still had each other and your titles, and despite the situation that they’ve forced you into, at the end of the day, you all loved each other to death. It would have been a death sentence but you could have run away instead, could have found a life for yourself somehow. But how could you live with yourself knowing that you’d damned those you love because of your pride and fear of life as a princess?

So reluctantly and tearfully, you nod your head and silently agree.

Aemond wondered whether he was making the right decision by giving Jericho a second chance. If it were anyone else, he would have had them hung without a second thought. But you and your brother were different. 

It was a moment of weakness, an inexcusable lapse in his judgment to have spared Jericho’s treason because he remembered you and to have further justified his actions by claiming the Vale through your betrothal. While it was his first and foremost motivation and Aemond was bound by duty to take advantage of the opportunity, it was not the only reason he had suggested the idea at the Small Council.

There was hardly a person in Aemond’s life whom he could call a friend. There was not a soul in this world that Aemond could truly trust, not even Jericho who had been by his side for the first parts of his childhood. 

Nor you, who had at once shown him kindness in his youth despite the mockery that was often made of him. You had only accompanied your brother and father to King’s Landing on three occasions, and what started as your soft conversation and willing smiles for him had left his memory entirely until he heard word of Jericho’s treacherous message. 

Aemond, despite your attempts at friendship, had never returned your kindness. In truth, he didn’t know how to. And quickly, your smiles had turned to frowns and your attempts at friendly talk had become sarcastic remarks and quiet scoffs.

It was also a moment of selfishness and a decision made with nothing more than foolish curiosity. You had always been there, in the back of the picture and unnoticed by everyone apart from him. There was not a person in this world who had peaked his curious desire more than you and the two of you had spent the brief occasions together bickering and pestering one another. Regardless of your initial efforts, Aemond was never your friend. While he had never actually done you wrong before now, you were never really fooled by his deceiving nonchalance and forced manners. 

The indifference that you had for each other had no cause to fade. Even less so with the recent murderous, vile stories of Aemond the Kinslayer who killed his nephew and (while most wouldn’t dare utter the words beyond certain walls) who may have crippled his own brother with Vaghar’s fire. You had almost fallen to your knees upon hearing of your betrothal to such a man.

Aemond was now twenty and three but when it came to whatever distorted plot he was planning, he felt juvenile. Your brother and your father were the perfect pawns. You were the perfect leverage - perhaps a pawn yourself. As much as he convinced himself that having you in his possession would mean he would have invaluable power over your House to do exactly as he wanted within his twisted politics while he has the power to do so, the idea of having you in the palm of his hand, in his control and eventually beneath his body was exciting. 

He was never one for meaningless entertainment. But what was the harm in indulging himself this once?

It was a formality. Being presented at King’s Landing for the first time to your future husband, his family and to those whom he currently ruled over as the woman to be his wife. 

You had changed since the last time Aemond had seen you. It had only been two years but he would never admit to his surprise at just how different you had become from the cowering young girl he remembered you to be when you were just ten and four. 

He had rushed through the formalities of greeting you and your family, welcoming you into what would come to be your home. The lunch was painfully awkward as little was said between anyone. The Dowager Queen spoke formally yet kindly with your mother and shared a few words with you but you could barely engage with her conversation under the burning gaze of the Prince Regent who sat across from you.

It was over quickly, before anyone could start bickering about the traitorous reasons behind your presence. Aemond shortly convinced his mother that no escort would be needed, so long as Ser Criston Cole was there when you both were left to acquaint yourselves in private. You gulped as you were lead shamelessly into the Prince’s chambers. 

Aemond only set a glance upon Ser Criston and the raven haired man took his place outside the closed doors.

You were sure that the Prince’s chambers were as large as an entire wing of your own home yet you felt claustrophobic under his gaze. His eye was hellfire as he silently stared at you, leaning back in his chair and resting his fingers under his chin. There was little you could do but stare back at him, anxiously tapping your foot on the marbled floor.

In your eyes, Aemond had always been torturously beautiful. But here, as his gaze fell upon you and you shared the silence of his personal space, he was ethereal. It caused your breath to catch as you waited for him to address you first.

Shakily, you broke the silence. “Why am I here, my Prince?”

“You are to be my wife,” He drawled, fingers tapping on the desk that he lazily dragged his hand along. What a stupid question. “That is why you are here.”

“I believe you know that is not what I ask, my Prince.” You scowled at him. It wasn’t smart to talk to him in such a way, you knew that. He is Prince Regent, after all. A memory of your brother’s warning to be careful flashed briefly in your mind. 

His expression deceivingly calm, Aemond considered putting you in your place. He may be behaving in a way he does not recognise of himself but he would not tolerate your disrespect. 

Instead, he somewhat answered your question. “We will be married so that your brother’s treason shall be forgiven and your House will be sworn to the King. You will stay here, in my chambers. Do whatever the seven hells you please, it does not matter.”

In any other instance, Aemond would have detested the sight of you gaping at him, stumbling over your words stupidly as your wide eyes confidently held his own. You had changed. Or maybe he had just been blind to the perfect curves of your body or the way you looked at him like he ruled the realms, so submissive yet so full of fire. So tempting. 

He’d condemn himself to the noose before ever admitting to his thoughts. 

“What?” you almost gasped. There was no chance that you could stay in his chambers like this. You were sure the whispers of the Keep were already running amok with Aemond’s insistence on isolating the two of you behind the doors to his private chambers.

Aemond took pleasure in the way you seethed. “I will not make it so easy for you to return to scheming with your treasonous family.”

You could hit him. If he weren’t a Prince, you would have. “You are keeping me prisoner? For something I have had no such hand in?”

“No,” he stood from the table and in two strides, he was in front of you. So close that you could smell the woody oils he bathed in mixing with the smell of his musk and the leather of his clothes. You shuddered. “Maybe I am. Call it what you like. You can do as you please, eat as you please, wear whatever you please, you can explore these halls as you wish. I do not care. But you will listen to me and it will all be as per my will.”

Before you could respond, Aemond continued. “For all they know, I’ve made it clear to everyone that you will stay in the chambers that I have chosen for you, on the other side of that wall.”

Aemond’s eye was a violet-blue inferno as it held yours. He was closer now and you let your eyes drag across every part of his devastating face, swallowing at his beauty and wondering what lay under the leather of his eye patch. 

Struggling not to lose your breath, not to lean in to touch him and feel him, you held your head high and turned your back to him. “Fuck you.”

A gasp fell from your lips as Aemond’s hand found the back of your head in an instant, slender fingers weaving into your hair gently before closing into a tight fist and pulling back slowly so that you were forced to look up at the roof, the back of your head resting against his chest. His other hand wrapped around your waist, holding you back firmly against him. The tightness of his grip on your hair ached and left you dizzy, an unfamiliar longing for his hands to find more of you with the same fervour had you holding back a pathetic whine. 

Suddenly, you were burning from head to toe, a fire setting on your skin as he held you roughly against him, so close that you felt the feather light tickle of his breath grazing your hair when he spoke. He was scorching you through the leather of his tunic, your dress doing little to shield you from the heat of his body.

More than his anger, Aemond’s amusement made the air heavy. The way he unashamedly let his stare fall upon your lips, tucked between your teeth as you struggled to hold your glare, had your breath snatched from your lungs. 

Aemond dropped his head enough so that his lips lingered just under your ear, close enough that you could hear him draw in a breath, dragging his nose across the dip where your jaw met your neck. Your face burned at how shamelessly he had inhaled your soft scent.

“Is that how you talk to your Prince?” Aemond’s voice was low, dripping with a dominance that commanded respect. Placing his free hand on your left shoulder, he slowly turned you to face him, making sure to keep you tightly pressed against him.

Aemond was disastrously beautiful. The curve of his nose, the strength in his jaw, the way his scar painted the top of his cheek, the soft fall of his pin straight hair and the soft shine of his lips which you so badly yearned to feel. You cursed yourself for thinking such a thing as his low voice broke you out of your distraction. “This is my home. Right now, all of Westeros is mine. You are here because I said so, because I own everything. Everything. Including you. You would do well to remember your place while you are here, pretty thing.”

The fire in your blood was rage. You had never felt such desire that had your body craving another. It was anger driving you mad, it had to be. Despite your better judgment, you whispered once again, “Fuck. You.”

His jaw ticked and with a strong yank, you were flush against him. The pounding of your heart was violent and you were sure he could feel it against his chest but you were stuck under his burning gaze. Aemond was angry. And you couldn’t help but think that it suited him. It made him all the more desirable. 

Aemond was strong and hard against your body, tense as he held you so intimately yet so roughly. 

By the gods, you couldn’t even think. What was happening? 

“My Pr-”

“Quiet,” Aemond commanded. His deep voice, raspy with lust and with rage sent shockwaves down your spine. “What a mouth on you, my Lady. Fuck me, is that so?”

You muttered incoherently under your breath, the desire and the fear making your eyes flutter shut as you trembled against the Prince who held you so roughly.

“Hm,” Aemond chuckled when you let out a short whimper. He squeezed you tightly, his voice low and dark. “I could have you begging on your knees, crying for my cock all day and all night and you would never deserve it. You best careful, ñuha dāria, because I can ruin you.”

Another gasp fell from your lips and Aemond took pleasure in the way you squirmed against him, thighs pressing together as you felt the flush of his words through your body. He hummed, you were so reactive. Somehow, you fit perfectly against him, so that he could feel every little tremor he caused in your body, every goosebump that he placed on your skin. His gaze never left you, his resolve solid as iron. 

Your mouth watered at the thought of the things that Aemond could do to you. Thoughts you had never imagined yourself capable of harbouring, especially not for a man like Aemond Targaryen. It overwhelmed you - he overwhelmed you. 

But all you had to do was glance at the map that was splayed over his table and the weaponry he had discarded at the foot of it before you were trying to shove him away from you. Aemond stepped away from you upon noticing the panic in your movements. You barely noticed the flash of worry that passed through his features before he so skilfully replaced his mask. 

The rise and fall of your chest was heavy and you had the sudden urge to punch the sultry smirk right off of Aemond’s face. That was not okay. Right now, you didn’t even want to think about the way your body reacted to him, they way you would have let him have his way with you right there and then despite all the consequences that would rain down upon you. 

“I will not stay in here,” You closed your eyes to avoid his stare, chest heaving as you caught your breath and reminded yourself of the formalities of Aemond’s title. And of the possible repercussions for denying him so stubbornly. “My Prince, it is not appropriate.”

You hadn’t heard him make his way across the room until you heard the door open. Aemond hesitated, his resolve was not as strong as he had thought given the way his heart was beating as if he had run a mile. The strain at his pelvis was almost painful and his hands urged to be tangled in your hair again, squeezing your hips, feeling the warmth of your skin underneath your clothing. Perhaps you weren’t wrong and Aemond returned to his hardened self at the thought of being unable to control his desires. 

“Hm,” he drawled, stoic as ever and standing tall at the doorway and gazing down at you over his shoulder with a red hot spark in his eye. Aemond’s mind raced with a million words, many in the alluring language he knew you could not understand and they all tasted dangerous on his tongue. “You are not wrong. It is not appropriate until we are wed, ñuha dāria.”

[strawberryhotlips]

༆THE LAST WOMAN ON EARTH ☢︎︎- ➪enhypen ot7 x fem reader

SYNOPSIS: Moving to South Korea at just 20 years old to study medicine was something that made you extremely proud. You had so many plans for the future, but it seems that fate doesn't want the same for you. Overnight, a virus that affects only women spreads throughout the world, causing all the women in the world to die in a matter of weeks. You were the only one left standing, the problem? Nobody knew, only you. As time passed, you managed to survive this post-apocalyptic world, where you had to hide from men because if someone knew that a woman still existed, everything would go to hell for you. You didn't expect seven strangers to break into your house in the middle of the night and you didn't expect what was going to happen next either.

Word count: 4360

Pairing: enhypen! x fem!reader

Genre: Suspense, death, dystopian, post-apocalyptic world, angst, too much drama, slow burn, smut as the chapters go by (mdni), fluff, Possessiveness, jealousy, fights, toxicity, lots of love (I know, it sounds contradictory) enhypen are complete losers for the reader in the best way, strangers to lovers and other things that may happen later

Warnings!⚠️: Death, loss of loved ones, use of weapons, depression and anxiety problems, mentions of suicide, survival, vulgar and sometimes offensive language, graphic descriptions of traumatic events. If you are sensitive, don't read it for your own good. Rader is a little mean to the boys in this chap, but she's just defending herself! everyone is of legal age!! Heeseung is 26, Jay, Jake and Sunghoon are 25, Sunoo is 23, Jungwon is 22 and Ni-ki is 21.

Status: ongoing (16-01-2025 -)

Disclaimer: This is a work of pure fiction, everything came out of my head, the personality of the characters are not real and do not represent them in real life in any way, any resemblance to reality is purely coincidental. Everyone is of legal age in this universe. English is not my first language so you will probably find spelling mistakes.

Hii beautiful people!! I'm finally back with the second chap of this story! It took me longer than the first one, sorry for the delay! hope you enjoy it a lot! You would help me a lot by liking, reblogging and commenting! Without further ado, thank you very much and enjoy!

CHAPTER I: "Disaster"

CHAPTER II: "Loneliness"

more under the cut ☟︎︎︎

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck... that sound definitely wasn't the rain....

Your senses were sharpened to the maximum again, your hand gripping your weapon tightly and securing it close to your body. Your heart and breathing seemed to be in a race to see which one was faster, but you could be sure that your heart was the winner, as you could literally feel it pounding in your ears. Your throat suddenly felt tight and dry, nerves and anxiety on edge, you tried to swallow to moisten it, but your attempts were futile. You could feel tears stinging your eyes from the desperation you felt.

"Holy shit..." your voice was barely a whisper as you tried to process what was happening. You tried to calm yourself and sharpen your hearing so you knew how many men you were up against. Your room suddenly seemed suffocating and tiny, you felt the bubbling of a panic attack in your chest, you felt like you were going to die, your mind kept telling you that your minutes were numbered. You started to shake as one shudder after another went through your body like lightning, it was desperate and terrifying. You quietly climbed down from your bed and approached the door of your room on tiptoe. You wanted to listen better, because despite your fear, dying was not an option, not after surviving for so long. Breathing shakily, you leaned your ear against the door of your room, trying to catch a sound. Fuck, you had no idea what to do, fear made your legs shake slightly.

Meanwhile, on the second floor, the intruders were breathing heavily and panting, a sign that they had been running. Their clothes were soaked from the heavy storm outside, so the floor was filled with small puddles of water and some mud "Fuck, that was close..." one of them said, trying to catch his breath, putting a hand on his chest, feeling the strong beating of his heart as he leaned against the front door, holding it shut.

How stupid you were. In the midst of crying for your mother, you'd forgotten the most important thing: securing the fucking front door of your house.

"It was all Jake and Ni-ki's fault, we almost got caught by the police!" another voice shouted, pointing at the named ones who looked at him with a mixture of indignation and disbelief, while the first boy who had spoken looked at him with wide eyes, signaling him to shut up.

"Excuse me? no no, no way, it's not our fault, no one forced you to come with us Jay..." another of the voices said with a distinctive accent, his words tinged with contempt "And try not to scream, the police might still be around.." Jay frowned and approached this one with indignant steps "Don't be an idiot Jake, we can't let you go off alone in the middle of the night, you know crime has risen too much in the last few years, there's a reason the government declared a curfew after midnight, fuck..." his voice sounded frustrated as he looked at him seriously. "'You're a grown man, you should have a little more conscience, you both could have been killed..." he said this time with more seriousness and concern, scolding him firmly in a whisper. The weight of his words hung in the air.

Definitely none of them wanted to die, let alone go to jail, Jay was right, they couldn't just leave in the middle of the night and put themselves in danger and worry the rest of the group. It was a miracle they had found this house, a few more minutes and the police would have caught them.

"Well, sorry, it was my idea Jay Hyung..." another deeper voice said as he scratched his neck a little embarrassed and looked at the elder "Anyway, we're all fine," he said this time with a little cheeky but guilty smile trying to break the tense moment.

A sigh was heard, followed by another clear voice. "It's okay Ni-ki, make sure you don't do it again please..." he asked firmly but at the same time calmly as he looked at the one named and also at Jake who nodded silently, feeling a little guilty, he had quite a bit of leadership in his voice. Ni-ki nodded, "Okay, Jungwon Hyung..." Ni-ki's deep voice hung in the cold air of the house as Jungwon sighed again.

The house was silent for a few seconds as the boys looked around and surveyed the place, ignoring the fact that they were freezing to death from the water that had fallen on them in the middle of winter. And it had occurred to Ni-ki that it would be fun to leave (escape) from where they lived at three in the morning, Jake saw him trying to leave and joined him on the pretext that he "couldn't let him go alone because it was too dangerous", which brought them all here.

Ni-ki was the youngest of the group, which of course made him the most rebellious, and someone like that always needed an accomplice, which was Jake most of the time, which led to both of them getting into trouble quite often.

"It's a nice house...strange that it's abandoned..." another voice, different from the others, a little softer, broke the silence, praising the architecture of the place, your place. And it was true, it was a huge house, with a modern vintage style. Another of the boys nodded in agreement as he shook his head a little, trying to get the water out of his hair, "Yeah, Sunoo's right...it's pretty nice for being abandoned..." The words hung heavy in the air as the boys looked at each other, seemingly searching for answers, there seemed to be an immediate understanding between them as the named one nodded and the seven began to explore the living room, their steps cautious in the new suspicion that someone already lived in the house. Even though it seemed empty, they had to make sure they were out of danger.

On the second floor, you had managed to identify seven voices from your room, where you were still trying to calm down. So they were being chased by the police for breaking the curfew, tsk...men. Your breathing was still fast, but as you listened to their conversations, you managed to calm down a bit, knowing that because of their actions, it wouldn't be very difficult to deal with them.......

or so you thought

You could hear them walking around your living room and decided that you needed to listen more closely, their voices were a little muffled by the distance. You were about to open your bedroom door slightly, but what sounded like something falling to the floor startled you slightly as your free hand instinctively grabbed the doorknob, as if holding on to it would somehow protect you from them.

"Shit..." cursed the voice of one of the guys whose name you hadn't heard yet, furrowing his brow slightly "Pfff...what an idiot, Heeseung Hyung..." Ni-ki said, letting out a laugh as he sneered at the older one, watching as he crashed into a nearby shelf, causing a ceramic jug to fall and shatter into several pieces on the floor.

Heeseung turned his head to look at Ni-ki with narrowed eyes, "Aish...hey, what a brat...i can't see..." mild annoyance ran through his dramatic voice as he defended himself and pointed at Ni-ki who was still laughing. The other five boys chuckled a little at the amusing situation between the oldest and the youngest of the group. They got along so well, you could hear a certain camaraderie in their voices, as if they had known each other forever "I mean, ....Ni-ki isn't wrong..." the other boy, whose name you didn't know yet, remarked with a slight sideways smile that showed his fangs a little longer than usual, a cute, not-so-usual attraction.

Heeseung looked at him without any amusement on his face, judging him with his eyes. They had this habit of teasing him, not that he really minded, but he was tired, hungry and soaking wet, not in a good mood "Really, Sunghoon, you too?" he shook his head in disapproval as Sunghoon shrugged his shoulders without saying anything else and let out a small chuckle. He was really stressed out too and fuck, the current situation had affected him a lot, he hadn't had pussy in over four fucking years and he fucked so often that he was really going crazy.

Not that he was a pervert (or maybe yes), but he excused himself by saying that "fucking relieved his stress and made him perform better in his daily life"

But he had never experienced falling in love, only one-night stands, just like the other guys. The hope that he could have pussy faded deeper and deeper in the back of his mind, and he resigned himself to settling for his own hand. But he refused to accept that idea, he still had some hope. He didn't just want to fuck, he wanted a woman he could love and who would love him, he wanted to be a good love and he also had a dream of being a father, something that obviously seemed unattainable for Heeseung, in fact it seemed unattainable for the seven men.

They really wanted to fall in love...

In fact, they were all stressed about the lack of pussy.... Even Jungwon and Ni-ki, who were still virgins and had never been able to bury their sad cocks in real pussy, were sexually frustrated. But for Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon and Sunoo, the feeling of being trapped inside a pussy was like nothing else in the world and now they could only remember and even imagine because fuck, four years without sex, it was like being a virgin all over again.

But come on, their hearts needed to be stimulated as much as their cocks.

Jungwon cautiously approached the now non-existent jar on the ground, bowing slightly and examining it, "If someone was here, they would have heard us by now..." he mused with a calm expression. He straightened as he turned to look at the other boys, they were like his family, he had known them for many years and loved them like his brothers.

The only thing that illuminated the living room at the moment was the light from the occasional thunder light that came through the window like a horror movie. It was a huge place, enough for everyone to be comfortable "I think we can either spend the night here or keep the place, after all, the one we had was getting too small for the seven of us..." he looked at them, waiting for a sign of denial, but they all seemed to agree.

It wasn't a bad idea, after all. They were in the middle of the forest, far away from the city, where there was more crime by the way, and the place seemed quite cozy. Besides, if Jungwon said so, it was because it had to be. He always made sure that everyone felt comfortable, even though they often fought like siblings, which was sometimes funny, Jungwon always prioritized everyone's well-being.

"Well, we should look for the bathroom, clothes and blankets, I'm freezing...we could take a bath..." Sunoo spoke for the second time, articulating each of his words with his hands. The boys nodded. A hot shower sounded great after running through the forest in the rain, so much that their legs felt tired.

"Good idea, we should split up, go through the rest of the house and look for the things we need..." fuck no, if they went through the rest of the house they would definitely find you and that couldn't happen, they couldn't find you, so you had no choice but to find them before it was too late.

Sunghoon's voice was full of determination as he explained his idea to the others, who immediately agreed. But before they could take action, you beat them to it for your own good.

"I wouldn't do that if i were you..." Your voice finally echoed through the living room with newfound certainty, causing a sudden hush to fall over the place. Your gun was pressed against the large back of one of the seven boys, who was now undeniably tense, you could tell by the way the muscles in his back were contracting under his clothes. He was tall, blond, and seemed to have well-defined biceps.....

"No, idiot, this is not the time to think about biceps, concentrate" You mentally scolded yourself.

Instinctively, he raised both hands to let you know that he was not going to attack you. His hands were shaking slightly and he was completely stiff as he felt the cold metal of your gun against his back, which, in addition to your distinctly feminine voice, sent shivers down his spine.

From your vantage point, you could see the faces of the other six boys, pale and still as if they had seen a ghost. And no wonder, they must be more confused and shocked than ever. The torrential rain that pounded against the windows and roof was the only thing that filled the deadly silence. It was the first time you had seen people in years, your heart was beating fast in your chest and you couldn't tell if it was from fear or excitement...

or perhaps a mixture of both.

After what seemed like an eternity, one of them tried to move forward, his hair was a deep red, but quickly there was an instant click in your head as you pulled the safety off your gun, making him flinch in place, your survival instinct was at its peak "Take another fucking step and I'll blow your friend's head off..." your voice was cold as was the expression on your face, your breathing rapid, matching that of the guys in front of you who seemed more nervous than you.

Your eyes were still slightly red from crying earlier, and even though you were scared shitless inside, you didn't want to let it show, you didn't want them to notice your weakness. This time you leaned your gun against the back of the blond boy's neck, indicating that you meant business.

Fuck, they couldn't let something go unnoticed, something they thought didn't exist anymore and that they would never see again in their lives, suddenly the reality they lived in took a 180 degree turn when you appeared, you were a woman, fuck, you clearly were, and you stood in front of them and threatened to blow Sunghoon's head off with one shot. It all seemed like a lie, the last four years of their lives began to have an unbearable weight on their backs when they saw you. They began to think they were hallucinating and had to blink several times to process the information. Even so, their throats felt dry and their eyes couldn't take their eyes off you. Sunghoon began to feel impatient, yes, he was scared, but he also wanted to see you, so he gathered all his courage to speak

"M-Miss...we don't want to hurt you..." you idiot, he mentally cursed himself for stuttering slightly and scrunched up his face in an expression that clearly said 'I screwed up', he who never hesitated in front of any woman had just done it with you, which left his ego a little bruised, but he didn't care.

You clenched your jaw as you heard him speak, pressing the gun harder against his head, making him tense up even more, if that was possible, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry...really, we don't mean any har-..."

Pathetic, he begged pathetically, but a mixture of fear and emotion controlled him at that moment, he couldn't control it.

"Shut up...you talk too much for someone who is being targeted..." your voice was cutting and harsh, making it clear that there was no room for discussion in your words, making Sunghoon shut up immediately as he nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly.

You had to find a way to control the situation, no matter what. You grabbed the boy's soaked shirt from behind and pushed him down, "Get on your knees..." you ordered firmly and he obeyed immediately, kneeling on the ground, you don't have many options when you have a gun pointed at you, making it so that everyone could see you better now. You didn't mean to be so rude, but you couldn't trust them, not yet, "You too, idiots, what are you waiting for?"

Yes, maybe you were too harsh, but you had to guarantee your survival first and foremost.

With the seven men now kneeling on the floor in front of you, you sighed and thought about what to do next. You weren't going to kill them, you weren't that kind of person, even if it gave them a free hand to hurt you, you just weren't that kind of person. But letting them go wasn't an option either, what were you going to do, stay with them? you didn't know them, the most you knew was their names and from the way they looked, they were all around your age.

"Are you really a woman?" the voice of one of them broke through your cloud of thoughts. Oh God, you didn't think they were that stupid, he really just asked you that?

You raised your eyes to look at the boy who had spoken, your brow was clearly furrowed, he had some blue strands in his black hair "Jay, shut up for God's sake," Heeseung spoke softly, clearly scolding him, really, he couldn't believe his friend had asked that. But he didn't blame him, he was just as or even more stunned than Jay by your presence, which made him move slightly in his place, not wanting to alert you, he really couldn't believe his eyes either, actually none of them could.

While you thought intently without saying a word, your gun still rested on Sunghoon's head. You bit your lower lip, trying to think of a quick solution, but damn, this was clearly going to take a long time. A sigh left your lips, you were sleepy, your body was aching and your head was going a mile a second, which made your mental situation difficult as well as putting your thoughts in order. In addition, you couldn't see much because there was no light and everyone's eyes were on you, which inevitably made you a little nervous.

Meanwhile, the boys' minds were no better off than yours, still trying to process that you actually exist and are not a figment of their imagination.

Hell, they even wanted, no, they had to be in Sunghoon's place. Just knowing that you were a woman got them going, but what about your assertive dominance? The way you had brought Sunghoon, who was probably one of the strongest in the group, to his knees with a simple command from your lips was fucking attractive.

The tension in the air was thick, not only because they were threatened at gunpoint, but also because there was an undeniable sexual attraction and tension between you and them. It was impossible to control, something instantaneous that left them with their breath caught in their throats and their cocks already half hardened in their pants, including Sunghoon himself. They didn't want to look like dogs in heat or perverts, they didn't want to scare you and make you think badly of them, but it was something that was simply out of their hands.

The cold they had felt from being soaked earlier vanished at a ridiculous speed and was replaced by warmth. Their faces were slightly flushed and now that they knew you were real, they couldn't help but imagine a lot of situations in their twisted minds, but damn, besides being hard, you were beautiful, a temptation at a glance that made them clench their thighs as their erections went wild.

Sunghoon, who was closest to you, was the most affected, he could even smell your scent, so soft and delicate, the scent of a woman. He stopped himself from inhaling your precious scent with all his might, forgetting that the tip of a gun was pressed against his head.

Jungwon cleared his throat, trying to find his voice in your presence, which was quite strong, "Miss, please..don't hurt us... we can just go and..." a dry laugh came out of your throat as you looked at him with narrowed eyes, cutting off his words, "Sure, I'll let you go so you can shout that you found a woman all over Seoul..." Your words were clearly sarcastic, rejecting his suggestion outright, making Jungwon quickly shake his head in an attempt to contradict you, but your gaze was enough to make him stop trying.

"Then you'll have to let us stay here..." the rational sense of Heeseung had left his head when he dared to say those words with a tone of boldness and obviousness as he looked at you with slightly half-closed eyelids, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

It infuriated you, how could he be so arrogant when you could literally kill him at any moment? You looked at him as you let go of Sunghoon and approached him with quickened steps. You grabbed his jaw with one of your hands and roughly lifted his face to look into his eyes while resting your gun on his forehead. Your eyes betrayed your anger, but he seemed too relaxed for his own good, "You better shut the fuck up, because if you don't..." the asshole didn't let you finish as he blatantly interrupted you, "If I don't, what?..." he dared you, not only with his voice, but also with his eyes.

How fucking dare he?

"You're not going to kill us..." he said, his fucking grin getting bigger and bigger, "if you wanted to, we'd all be dead by now from the moment you walked into this room, precious..."

Oh fuck, he couldn't be that fucking arrogant, but he was right, you wouldn't kill them and you hated that he could read you so easily without even knowing you.

You clenched your jaw, wanting to break his ridiculously attractive face, because that was one little detail you hadn't been able to overlook, they were all fucking attractive, but you couldn't afford to think about that when your top priority had to be keeping yourself safe.

You clenched his jaw with your hand, your fingers digging lightly into his skin, causing a small sigh to leave his lips, "You're right, i may not want to kill you...but I'll blow your fucking balls off if you keep spitting shit..." this time he didn't dare interrupt you, instead he seemed to be lost in limbo. His gaze was fixed on your lips as you spoke each word with furious determination....

Fuck, you had fire in you

The formula was simple: danger equals adrenaline, adrenaline equals thrill, and thrill equals arousal. There was no other way to explain why they enjoyed danger so much.

The others were waiting for the scene to unfold in front of them.

So you weren't going to kill them. A relief settled in their chests when they realized that you weren't a bad person, you were just defensive, which was completely normal when seven intruders enter your house in the middle of the night. Jungwon had quickly understood and realized that Heeseung had been the first to notice, that's why he dared to talk to you like that. Now the group was less tense, they trusted their oldest member, they knew that Heeseung wouldn't risk doing something he wasn't completely sure about.

"All right, no need for anyone to get hurt, miss..." Jungwon interrupted what seemed to be a dueling stare between Heeseung and you, his words a little more confident now that Heeseung had taken it upon himself to break through the layer of harsher tension, but still he was being cautious.

Your eyes didn't leave Heeseung's and you didn't take the gun away from his head either, but his words echoed in your head and honestly, you didn't have much of a choice. Curiosity bubbled in your chest, you wondered what to do, you had been alone too long, you remembered nights when you couldn't sleep because you were so scared. Maybe letting them stay was your best option, you knew you were the last woman on earth, you were sure that if you asked them to do something, they would do it without hesitation and maybe they could protect you. Bring you out of your state of loneliness, which seemed to grow with time.

The boys' knees were starting to hurt from kneeling for so long, but the tense situation in the living room was too tense for any of them to try to make a move. Everyone was waiting to see what would happen, including you.

A sigh escaped your lips when you realized that you would have no choice but to let them stay here, but if that was going to happen, it would be under your own rules. You didn't want to be alone anymore, which didn't mean that you were going to blindly trust them overnight, because trust was a luxury you could pay dearly for if you decided to put all your cards on the table.

You let go of Heeseung's face and slowly lowered your gun, your gaze, still quite hard, shifting from him to the other guys as you took your time to study their expressions.

"Alright..I'll let you all stay..." you finally declared and your words were an immediate comfort to the seven men in front of you, but before any of them could say anything you continued "But..." you fell silent for a few seconds, letting the anticipation fill the air "if any of you do anything stupid, i swear...

i will kill you..."

CHAPTER III: "Trust Issues"

taglist 🫶🏻: @strxwbloody @ch4c0nnenh4 @aussie-boys-wife @deobitifull @engeneheree @suhwife @elairah @merwdusa @d-dilemma @liafterhours @btxtenha @wonenonly @cara9065 @otterluver05 @imnotsaika @immelissaaa

[ughdontbeboring]

young newlywed games

Feyd Rautha x WoC Reader (can be read by anyone)

Giedi Prime’s young newlyweds and their Feyd approve games.

warnings: Feyd-let’s be honest the man is a menace. Public sex-ish. Almost murder.

note: thank you to all my babes for all the love and encouragement to get some of these wisp done 😅 especially to my Feyd girlies! and to @peggyao3 for being the best! Seriously your work and your encouragement keeps me wanting to push myself more. And we’re getting closer to those 2 other fics day by day babe! 😂 @austinbutlerslovers hope you babes enjoy 🤎

just so yal know this has been in my folders as a wip since early August 🙃🥲

If yall like it, love it or fucks with it please share and comment! I love talking to y’all about our mans.

I give no permission for my work to be used anywhere.

⚔️

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it’s seemed like fate honestly so you don’t feel all that bad at the situation the young unmarried lord of house Moritani finds himself in. Not that being unmarried would matter to your husband.

He is slightly bent since he is taller then you just a bit. His eyes peering softly into yours asking for your permission as his hand points downward to the useless cloth you dropped -rushing away to find somewhere to continue your sulking even if it was petty and partly unfounded. 

Your breathless from you rush across the fortress so your “you may” comes out a lot more inviting then maybe you initially intended it to. You were ok testing the waters a bit but you had no desire to risk true punishment for either of you. 

Not when you couldn’t grantee the safety of the young kind man before. Who may be a little too kind for the dark cold walls of this fortress. 

He nods with a pleasant smile as he starts to lean forward. 

But the movement that happens at the end of large moonlit hand is swift. He doesn’t utter a single word but a gasp as you hear clear and promising the swoosh of a very familiar blade and growl as the metal is gently laid at the man’s neck. 

You know the blade is too sharp to actually press against his neck he would draw blood too soon and if you know your husband if only for a short time you know he likes a little fear before blood is drawn. 

Just something to whet his appetite before the main meal.

He likes to get his point across if anyone is unclear.

You don’t look at your husband though you can feel him burning a hole into the side of your face as there’s no need for him to look at the man before you, he doesn’t matter to Feyd, honestly couldn’t matter less to either of you, you think sadly. Not during this little stare down that’s left boiling over from this mornings bickering -more on your side then his- while you laid in your husband’s warm strong embrace. 

“You may” you repeat while straightening your spine to convey more authority and not have your disappointed in the man who’s clearly afraid of your husband displayed so openly, he would just gloat.

Even if his sudden fear and immobility is completely justified and necessary for his survival, you were hoping for a little more from him. 

Just enough to get you what you wanted without having to ask. You were better than that or so you’ve told yourself a million times since laying eyes on your future husband as he stood covered in blood on the area floor 4 months ago. 

You weren’t supposed to be enjoying him let alone this. Especially not by the hands of a feared psychotic man. The man that plagues everyone’s nightmares even your parents. What would they think if they could see you now?

But none of that matters now, not when desire pools hot as this plants sun low in your core threatening to drip down your legs any moment from the sight of the lethal and slightly unhinged man before you. Your husband the na-Baron Feyd Rautha Harkonnen.

Feyd says nothing but pushes the knife up just a bit so the young lord is standing at his full height, the fear of the blade or Feyd your not sure maybe both causing him to stretch his neck as much as possible trying to create as some space. 

Space you know Feyd will not afford him. The simple act of him trying to pull away would cause Feyd to react and the knife would most likely end up in his neck anyway. 

You sigh in defeat when you see the man is clearly too scared to do anything. 

“You may leave” You relent with an eyes roll. 

Though he doesn’t move his eyes trained on the knife at his throat. His face is red and he’s starting to sweat. 

Feyd turns the blade flat against his throat and pushes into his neck harshly causing a little blood to pearl along his skin in silent permission for the man to leave with his life. 

Much to your displeasure he is quick to flee. 

You are slightly irritated, but luckily your husband is too irritated with you also to be as smug as he would normally be. He loves to get you worked up. Loves to watch you react to him. 

Like a child you stomp your foot and huff before you glance at him, rolling your eyes then heading in the opposite direction of him. You’ve had enough of his games today. You have yet to have anything you consider win under your belt.

“Do you think they desire your affection more then they fear me wife?” He asks his long legs keeping him smoothly on your heels, pride heavy in his raspy voice. Satisfaction pouring off of him in waves. Oh so now comes the smug bastard.

You smirk knowing your next words could end very badly but you want to take him down a notch he’s too high on his horse for you right now. To please with his ability to instill fear into others.

“Well na-Baron I know had I offered my tight wet cunt he’d gladly lay down his life just for a taste, like most men in this very hall would, and the same as all the other planets I’ve been too” you speak openly but in a normal conversational tone in the greats halls were your both passing those of noble houses and status in GP and servants of the fortress who accompany them. 

You want your husband -though you know he’s aware, very little if anything gets past him- and everyone else to know that you do in fact know you effect you have on men. Even the men here who act as if they are unaffected by your beauty simply because it is not the standard here. 

You and your husband know they lust for you secretly but only you know the true extent of their desire and how far they’d be willing to take it if only you gave them the impression you were interested from their open stares when your husband is no where in sight. They fill their greed of you openly when Feyd is safely on the other side of the fortress or in the arena or better yet on another planet for his duties, which you haven’t accompanied him with yet in the few times he’s had to leave you because it’s recommended you stay to keep helping your body get adjusted to the atmosphere here so you have a better chance at conceiving sooner. 

You hear the growl before you feel yourself roughly pushed into the black wall, a gasp leaving you at the force and surprise. It wasn’t hard enough to truly hurt but enough to get your attention about how closely you were playing with fire. 

Nothing stops in the busy hall but you know they’re curious and nervously watching as they try to act nonchalant. 

“You can’t be talking about my cunt little wife” Feyd grits with barely controlled rage covering his handsome face that you know those passing can hear, he’s shaking, the thought alone of all the men who’d gladly die for a chance to have your sweet royal cunt. 

Yes he knew this but he chose not to think about such things unless he hears or see something he doesn’t like. Something he would take a man’s life for thinking or saying. Like what just happened and what disgusting filth has left your pretty mouth about another ever having you. 

No. He would remind you. Remind everyone. He always does. 

You’re staring up at him breathlessly and your round eyes give away your excitement as he nudges a strong thigh between your legs. 

His hand is quick to follow, as he hikes up your skirt, your bare leg coming into view in the hallway were anyone is too scared to actually watch directly, before his long rough finger tips meet your damp panties. 

You roll your hips while letting a whimper escape as your cunt presses into his fingers more, suddenly desperate to feel him.

“Because this cunt” He emphasizes by rubbing while adding more pressure, digging into your clothed lips to get to that pearl he loves so much. Damn these panties you curse, you wanted to feel his bare skin on you. “Because this cunt is my cunt. And any man or woman who even thinks of this cunt will die in such a horribly creative way people will avoid you to try and spare their lives. I will wipe them, their family and any indication of them from the memory of this universe and the next. A whole family line gone because someone thought of my pretty tight little wet cunt” He rasps above you as you shake, you bite into your lip so hard so no one actually hears your moaning as you cum in your panties and all over his fingers. It was too easy how you fell apart for him. 

His other hand is hold your jaw in a death grip so you don’t look away from his blue eyes. You don’t even remember when he had grabbed your face in the first place. 

But your face burns bright red with embarrassment as you continue to chase the overwhelming feeling of your orgasm on his long thick fingers. Your body shakes pinned under his as wave after wave of your pleasure washes over you. 

You try to turn your face to hide from just how much you love this but he doesn’t let you.

He tugs on your lips your puffy clit trapped within with just enough pressure to rip a yelp from you and people start to scurry away. Men with tight trousers, and women hot and soaked from the open display of ownership their desperate for the na-baron to show them. Such affection he’s never shown, not until you. They’re quick to be out of sight, all afraid to still be around when the na-Baron is done with you and what anger may still linger. 

Giedi Prime nobles and foreigners trying to flee and not bask too much in the erotic tension that has sudden started to suffocate the hallway from the young na-Baron and na-Baronness. 

Newlyweds unlike anything Giedi Prime has seen. 

Feyd brings up his wet fingers, catching your attention, you’re even dripping down his hand. How you’ve managed that through your underwear you’re not sure but not surprised with the man hovering above you. He rubs it along your bottom lip, his eyes smoldering as he follow his fingers, it’s then when realized you had broken skin and your bottom lip was bleeding. You smell the metallic just under your nose mixed with your essence. 

He’s swift when he moves in. Groaning with deep pleasure as he kisses you passionately without restraint, the taste of your wetness and your blood mixing over both of your tongues as you both fight for dominance. His body chases yours back into the wall and you feel his hard cock grind into your stomach. 

You could cum again in this hallway just from the friction of his hot heavy cock against you. 

You pull away from the delicious taste and his soft full lips, he makes a noise of protest as he moves back in and starts to suck on your neck. 

You and Feyd have not always or mostly even seen eye to eye since your families married you and as much as you’ve avoided trying to feel anything for him the games have gotten hard to resist. He’s been hard to resist. You don’t know if you can call it love yet or ever but his desire and devotion to you is clear and been consistent since your wedding night. 

Even so it still kills you to say this to him because you’ve never openly admitted how much you enjoyed being with Feyd all those times he’s made you cum crying on his cock, fingers and tongue. Even some toys. You’ve never been the one to initiate anything sexual between you two but you couldn’t stop yourself if you tried as you feel the words leap off your tongue in a hurry. Completely desperate and full of need. A need only he could tame. You think he has broken you for any other man.

“Husband” you plead in his ear as your fingers caress his head. 

He grunts into your neck as he moves lower to your cleavage, his tongue licking over your exposed skin before trying to dip below the hem of your neckline. 

“Husband, please take me to your bed chambers” you beg. 

His motion stops and his head shooks up trying to gauge you. Piercing Blue eyes like the ocean of your home planet watch you in only a way he could. And when he see the desire and no trace of uncertainty he quickly picks up cradling you in his arms as you squeal and wrap your around his neck.

Maybe this life full of fear, death and games wrapped in the na-Baron arms and snug on his cock wouldn’t be so bad. 

⚔️