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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 7 months ago

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1968 [Chapter 7: Apollo, God Of Music]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 8.7k

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“My uncle, he is a doctor in Zabrze,” Ludwika says, red Yardley lips, Camel cigarette. No one cares if she smokes; she’s not campaigning to be the next first lady. Fosco is puffing on a cigar. Mimi sips drowsily at her Gimlet; you could use a few shots, but you’re making do with a Pink Squirrel, something sweet and feminine and without any bite. “So I go to him and he gives me a bottle of chlordiazepoxide.”

“Oh, Librium,” Mimi says, perking up.

Ludwika waves her hand dismissively; cigarette smoke wafts through the air. “Whatever. The next day I have my audition. A tiny man who thinks he’s God. And I give it a real shot, I try my best, I’m nice, I’m charming, but he doesn’t like me. He says my teeth are too big, like a mouse’s. This is very rude. I did not comment on his fidgety little rat hands. But okay, no problem, I have a plan. No one will stop me from getting out of Poland.”

“You drugged him?” you ask, incredulous, grinning.

“You are a criminal,” Fosco tells Ludwika. “I will call J. Edgar Hoover, you should not be so close to positions of power.”

“Listen, listen,” Ludwika insists. “Here is what I do. I thank him very much for his consideration, and then as I leave I drop my purse and things go everywhere. I filled it before I left my apartment, of course. Anything I could find, empty lipstick tubes and perfume bottles, old makeup compacts with broken mirrors, coins, hair pins, tissues, pens, gum, Krówki candies, it is an avalanche. And when he bends down to help me pick up the mess—I have to encourage him, ‘oh sir won’t you grab that, I am just a stupid girl in a very short dress,’ you understand—I put the pills in his tea.”

“How many pills?” you ask.

“I don’t know. You think I had time to count? Maybe seven.”

“Seven?!” Mimi exclaims, and you take this to mean it was a generous dose.

“What? He did not die,” Ludwika says. “I wait two days and then I go back to his office. And it is so strange, can you believe it, he does not remember my audition! So I remind him that he thought I would be perfect for the ad he is shooting in Paris. He keeps squinting at me and saying ‘are you sure, are you sure?!’ Of course I’m sure! A week later, I am standing under the Eiffel Tower with a bottle of Coca-Cola. And then I book a job in London, and then another in New York City, and one of my new model friends sets me up on a blind date with Otto. Lunch in Astoria at a horrible Greek restaurant. Who wants to eat pie made out of spinach?! Now I am here with you people, and the journalists love when I smile for them with my big mouse teeth.”

All four of you laugh at your table, an elite club, the ones who married in. It’s Alicent’s 60th birthday, and the ballroom of the Texas State Hotel in downtown Houston is raucous with clinking glasses and chatter and music and the shutter clicks of photographers. The DJ is playing Fun, Fun, Fun by the Beach Boys. Alicent is dancing with Helaena and the children, and it’s the happiest you can ever remember seeing her. Otto, Aemond, and Sargent Shriver are deep in conversation by the bar, furrowed brows and Old Fashioneds, today’s newspapers and tomorrow’s itinerary. Criston is standing with the men but watching Alicent, face wistful, silver streaks in his jet black hair, and it occurs to you that they must have grown up together: Alicent a 19-year-old bride and Criston her husband’s fledgling bodyguard, the person closest to her age in the household, near and trusted and forbidden, orbiting adolescent twins like Artemis and Apollo. You keep looking around for Aegon. No one else seems aware that he’s gone.

“Otto thought he died and went to heaven when he found you,” you tell Ludwika. “His Eastern Bloc defector princess.”

“He is going to bring my mother to the States. I would be anything he wanted me to be. I would be a model, or a housewife, or a nurse. I would be Bigfoot! But this…” Ludwika gestures broadly: to the ballroom, the city, the latest stop on the campaign trail. “It is not so bad. I never expected to serve the Polish people so far from home. You know how you stop communism? You show the world that capitalism can do more for them. There must be a path to a better life, wars must be ended, injustices must be dealt with. Aemond will do that.” She grins at you, exhaling smoke through her nostrils. “You will help him.”

You reply a bit wryly: “It’s an honor.”

“We are like four legs of a table,” Fosco observes. He points at Ludwika with his smoldering cigar. “You are a Slav fleeing the Russians. My family has ancient titles in Italy and yet no castles, no land, we are essentially homeless. Mimi’s father is a third-generation oil tycoon from Pennsylvania. And she was supposed to fix Aegon.”

“I don’t think I succeeded,” Mimi confesses.

“And then when it was time for Aemond to get married…” Fosco turns to Mimi. “Do you remember? What an ordeal. The discussions went on and on and on. She must be smart, she must be sinless, she should be from a self-made family, a real rags-to-riches story of the American Dream.”

“Right.” Mimi nods groggily, reminiscing. “And from the South.”

“Yes! But not the Deep South. No, no. Someplace Aemond could actually win. Texas, Tennessee, North Carolina. Or Florida, of course.” Now Fosco notices how you’re looking at him, because you’ve never heard this before. He quickly pivots. “But the weekend Aemond met you, it was settled. Nobody could compare.”

His tone is odd; it suggests backstories, history, mythology. Ludwika appears to be just as intrigued as you are, taking a drag off her Camel, her eyes narrowing until they are thin and catlike. You ask: “Who else was being considered?”

“No one,” Fosco answers—too quickly—and he and Mimi exchange an uneasy glance.

What did Aemond and I talk about the night we met? you think dizzily. In those first hours, minutes, thirty seconds? Where I’m from. What I was studying.

Fosco, a true Italian, then attempts to deflect by flirting. He makes emphatic, passionate motions with his hands. “You were just so captivating, so clever…”

“And young enough that Aemond could easily beat Aegon’s record of five children,” Mimi adds. Fosco clears his throat and glares at her. Mimi realizes what she’s said and gazes forlornly down into her Gimlet, mortified, groaning softly. You’ve had one c-section already, and no living son to show for it. At most, you might be able to give Aemond two or three more children; and you don’t even want them. You want Ari back. You want to touch him, to hold him, even if only for a moment, even if only once.

“It’s fine,” you try to reassure Mimi, but everyone can tell it’s not.

Ludwika breaks the tension. “You do not want twenty kids anyway. Your uterus will fall out onto the floor.” And you’re so caught off-guard that all you can do is smile at her from across the table, knowing, appreciative. It’s a strange thing to be grateful for.

“She’s right,” Mimi says mournfully. “They had to sew mine back in.”

Fosco pleads: “Stop, stop, I will need a lobotomy.”

Mimi slurps on her Gimlet. “It’s sad. I used to love sex.”

“Mimi, please,” Fosco says, wincing, holding up his palms. “You are like my sister. I prefer to think you are the Virgin Mary.”

Ludwika sighs dramatically and looks to where Otto stands on the other side of the ballroom. “I used to love sex too.”

Now you’re all howling again, rocking back in your chairs. The DJ is playing Go Where You Wanna Go by the Mamas and the Papas. Cass Elliot is the real talent in that group and everybody knows it, but of course any mention of her must be dutifully accompanied by: If only she was more beautiful. If only she could lose weight and find a husband.

“I think you like it, yes?” Ludwika says to you like a dare, puffing on a fresh Camel, red lipstick staining the white paper, blood on sheets. She combs her manicured fingernails though her voluminous blonde hair. “I could tell when I met you. You dress like Jackie Kennedy, but you are not such a statue. She belongs in a museum. I can imagine you at the Summer of Love.”

Fosco and Mimi shift uncomfortably. It’s not the sort of thing they would ever ask you. It’s too personal, too easily a segue into criticizing Aemond. It’s a usurpation of the natural order. Mimi guzzles her Gimlet and flags down a waiter to get another. Fosco takes off his glasses and cleans them with his skinny black necktie.

Sex. You think back to before you began to dread it. This is difficult, like trying to remember Greek words or British manners, which fork to use with each course. Memories from another lifetime come back in flashes: tangled up with your first boyfriend in his tiny dorm room bed, Aemond peeling off your still-dripping swimsuit on the floor of your hotel room during your honeymoon in Hawaii. You shrug and give Ludwika a nod, a brisk, ungenerous answer in the affirmative. “I always feel like I could keep going.”

Paradoxically, this does not end the conversation. Ludwika, Fosco, and Mimi study you with the same bewildered, gear-spinning curiosity. After a moment Ludwika says: “Not after you’ve finished, surely. I am half dead by the end if it’s good.”

“Finished?” you ask, puzzled. All three of them gawk at you, then at each other.

Aegon breezes into the ballroom wearing the Gibson guitar he bought in Manhattan, blue like the Caribbean or the Mediterranean or the crystalline waves off the coast of Hawaii, dotted with fish and sea turtles. Your eyes go to him immediately and stay there; you can feel the swirling warmth of blood in your cheeks. As Aegon passes the table, he squeezes your shoulder—brief, familiar, welcome—and Fosco raises his thick eyebrows. Mimi is too busy gulping down her Gimlet to notice. Ludwika chuckles, low and wicked, then slides a makeup compact out of her Prada purse to check her lipstick. Aegon goes to the DJ and yells something over the music. He’s fucked up already, you can tell, pills or booze or both.

Fosco stops a passing waiter. “Signore, did you hear who won the United Nations Handicap?”

The waiter stares blankly back at him. “What?”

“The turf race at Monmouth Park. I have $200 on Dr. Fager.”

The DJ abruptly cuts off the music. Aegon gives his guitar a few practice strums to make sure it’s in tune. He stumbles when he walks, he lurches and sways. His blonde hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead. He is woefully underdressed. His white shirt is half-unbuttoned, his denim shorts tattered; on his feet he wears black moccasins. There is a small gold hoop in each of his ears. Otto keeps telling Aegon to take them out, and every time Aegon ignores him.

“Happy birthday, Mom,” you hear him say to Alicent, and she presses a palm to her heart, her dark eyes wide and shining. “When I first heard this, it made me think of you.”

Otto and Sargent Shriver—the aspiring vice president—are glowering at Aegon. Aemond smirks as he nips at an Old Fashioned, amused; but he makes sharp, intentional eye contact with each of the three journalists. You will tell the right version of this story, he means. You will not print anything we wouldn’t want written, or my family will be your enemies for life.

As soon as Aegon plucks the first few chords, you recognize the song. “Oh, that’s really funny.”

“What?” Fosco asks.

“It’s Mama Tried.” You stand and begin clapping, then motion for the rest of the table to do the same. They obey without protest, though Mimi can’t seem to keep track of the beat. Aegon is beaming as he sings.

“The first thing I remember knowin’

Was a lonesome whistle blowin’

And a youngin’s dream of growin’ up to ride

On a freight train leavin’ town

Not knowin’ where I'm bound

And no one could change my mind but Mama tried.”

Cosmo sprints over from where he had been dancing with Alicent. He grabs your hand and tugs you towards the center of the floor. “Let’s go, let’s go!” he shouts impatiently.

“Call the FBI, I’m being kidnapped,” you say to Fosco and Ludwika as you let Cosmo drag you away.

“One and only rebel child

From a family meek and mild

My Mama seemed to know what lay in store

Despite all my Sunday learnin’

Towards the bad I kept on turnin’

‘Til Mama couldn’t hold me anymore.”

At the heart of the ballroom, Criston has swooped in to dance with Alicent, slow chaste circling. Helaena has floated off to the bar to chat with Otto, who keeps all his smiles for her. The children—Targaryens and Shrivers alike—are stomping and cheering and alternating between various moves: the Mashed Potato, the Twist, the Swim, the Loco-Motion, the Watusi, the Pony in pairs. Aemond whistles to a photographer and then nods to where you are holding onto one of Cosmo’s tiny hands as he spins around at lawless, breakneck speed. Of course this would make for a good image: you being maternal, you promising the American people that they will one day have not only a first lady but a first family.

“And I turned 21 in prison doin’ life without parole

No one could steer me right but Mama tried, Mama tried

Mama tried to raise me better, but her pleading I denied

That leaves only me to blame ‘cause Mama tried.”

Cameras flash and the crowd keeps clapping. Cosmo giggles wildly each time he almost falls and you pull him back to his feet. There is a hand skimming around your waist, a listless powder blue dress your husband chose for you. Aemond replaces Cosmo as your dance partner. Aegon’s 10-year-old daughter Violeta spirits Cosmo away; Aemond reels you in close, one palm pressed into the small of your back, his left hand gripping your right. When you steal a glimpse of Aegon—still strumming, still singing—he doesn’t look so triumphant anymore. His grin is frozen and artificial. His drunk muddy eyes go steely.

“I need you to do something for me,” Aemond begins.

Of course, you once would have said. Anything. “What is it?”

“I want you to cut your hair like Jackie.”

You’re so stunned your feet stop moving. Aemond coaxes you back into the steps. “No.”

“Think about how much more versatile it would be. Jackie is an icon, she’s sophisticated, she’s mature.”

“If you wanted a wife in her thirties, you could have easily found one.”

“Honey—”

“I do everything you ask,” you say, barely more than a whisper. “Everything. I wear what you want me to. I go where you want me to. I spend ten hours a week getting my hair fixed. I keep it up, I keep it presentable. But I’m not chopping it off.”

“You’re never going to be able to wear it down anyway,” Aemond counters, so calm, so rational, like your skull is nothing but incendiary feminine mania. “If I win, you’ll be surrounded by staff and journalists for years. You can’t be photographed with it down, you look about eighteen. And like you live on a park bench in Haight-Ashbury.”

“It’s my hair. I’m keeping it.”

Aemond leans in and says, cold and severe: “You’re my wife, and everything that’s yours belongs to me.” Then he kisses your cheek as cameras click and strobe. “Think about it. Now smile.”

You force yourself to. The crowd applauds as Aegon finishes singing and flees the dancefloor. The DJ puts on Light My Fire by The Doors. You and Aemond leave in opposite directions: he goes to talk to Eunice Kennedy, who is hugging her 3-year-old son Anthony to her chest; you return to your table to drain the last of your Pink Squirrel. You need something stronger. You need to be alone so you can collect yourself.

Now Aegon has shed his guitar and is standing with his back to the wall, smoking a Lucky Strike and talking to some campaign staffer—she looks like a girl, but she’s probably your age—who is gazing up at him worshipfully. She says something that makes him laugh, his head thrown back, his eyes sparkling, and you feel like you’re waking up from your c-section all over again, your belly split open and rearranged, aching, stabbing, nauseous.

“Are you okay?” Ludwika asks, scrutinizing you.

“I’m perfect. I’ll be right back.”

You hurry out of the ballroom, the music fading behind you. You slip into one of the elevators in the lobby and hit the button for the top floor, where Aemond’s entourage has booked every suite. As the door is closing—as only a foot of space remains—Aegon shoves his way into the elevator, startling you. The door shuts behind him and you begin the ascent. Aegon slams the red emergency stop button, and the elevator jolts to a halt.

“What the hell are you doing—?!”

“What pissed you off, huh?” Aegon taunts, stepping closer. You back away from him until you run out of room; not because you want the distance, but because you’re afraid of what you’ll do if it’s gone.

“Nothing. I’m so great, I’ve never been better, can’t you tell?”

He’s so close you can feel the heat rising off his flushed skin, you can see the miles-deep murky blue of his irises, open water, shipwrecks and drowning. “You want all this to be over? You want the women with their big, adoring eyes and their short skirts to disappear? Grow up. Stop acting like a kid. Ask for it.”

“Ask for what?”

“You know.”

If you touch him now, you won’t be able to stop. There’s nowhere for us to go. There’s no way out of this family, this year, this world. “I don’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Aegon barks out a sardonic, cutting laugh. “Yeah, you’re definitely 23.”

“I thought you loved girls young enough to be your daughters. Isn’t that what gets you hard?”

“You’re a fucking coward.”

“You’re sweating on me, you pig.”

“You want it so bad,” Aegon whispers as he presses himself against you, his ribs and thighs and hips, and you clutch for the walls of the elevator so you don’t reach for him instead. His left hand is tearing your hair out of its clips and pins so it falls free like you used to wear it; the right is all over your face, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks, touching you ceaselessly, ravenously, a blind man reading chronicles of braille. You’re trying to turn away from him, but he keeps pulling you back in. You’re breathing his rum and nicotine, you’re gasping in low, starved moans. It might be more intimate than kissing, than sex. He’s already felt your body. What he asks for now is your soul. His words are warm and aching as he murmurs through loosed strands of your hair: “Tell me you want it, please, just tell me, just tell me, tell me and it’s yours.”

Your palms land on his bare, damp chest, and Aegon starts unfastening the last buttons of his shirt. Instead, you push him away. Aegon lets you. He surrenders. “I can’t,” you choke out. You hit the red button, and the elevator resumes its rise to the top floor of the hotel.

“I’m really fucked up right now,” he says with sudden realization, swaying, staring down at his feet like he fears he’ll lose track of them.

“I’m aware.”

“I’m sorry. I think…I think I wanted that to happen differently.”

“I can’t trust you when you’re like this,” you say. I feel like I can’t trust anyone. Aegon looks up at you, his glassy eyes large and wounded. When the elevator door opens, you step out and he stays in, riding it back to the lobby.

In the suite you share with Aemond, you turn on the radio and spin the dial until you find a Loretta Lynn song. You go to the minibar cabinet and down two tiny glass bottles of vodka, something that won’t make you smell like too much of a drunk. You’ll have to fix your hair before you go back to the ballroom; you’ll have to change your dress. You’re painted with Aegon’s sweat and smoke. You can’t risk your husband noticing. You slide open the top drawer of the nightstand on your side of the bed and take out the card you keep there, the one that travels with you to each stop on the campaign trail. Loretta Lynn croons from the radio, wronged and wrathful.

“If you don’t wanna go to Fist City

You’d better detour around my town

‘Cause I’ll grab you by the hair of your head

And I’ll lift you off of the ground

I'm not a-sayin’ my baby is a saint, ‘cause he ain’t

And that he won’t cat around with a kitty

I’m here to tell you, gal, to lay off of my man

If you don’t wanna go to Fist City.”

You lie on the floor and peer up at the card in your hands: jubilant cartoon cow, festive party hat. You know exactly what’s written on the inside; it’s etched into your memory like myths passed down through millennia. Nevertheless, you read it again. The original message is still crossed out, and there’s an addendum below it in hasty black ink: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf!

You graze your thumbprint across Aegon’s scrawled signature. It’s smudged now. You do this a lot. One day his name might disappear altogether from the stark white parchment, from memory.

You close the card and hug it to your chest like a mother holds a living child.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s going on between you and Aegon?”

Alarmed, you meet Aemond’s gaze, two reflections in the vanity mirror. It’s the next morning, and you’re finishing up your makeup. Your dress and jacket are striped with black and white, your jewelry is silver, chains on your wrists and small tasteful hoops in your ears. “Nothing.” There is a lull you have to fill before it becomes suspicious. “He’s been helpful, he’s been…you know. Ever since Mount Sinai.”

Aemond adjusts his cerulean blue tie, studying himself in the mirror. He’s still wearing his leather eyepatch. Putting in his glass eye is the last thing he does before leaving the suite each day. “He was a comfort to you.”

“Well, he was there.”

“Because I told him to be,” Aemond says, resting his hands on the back of your chair. “Someone had to stay at Asteria to keep tabs on things, to let me know what you were up to. Aegon was the most expendable. Mimi and the kids make for good photos, but Aegon…he’s not especially endearing to the public. Those few years as the mayor of Trenton just about ruined him. I’d love to make him the attorney general if I win, but I don’t think the people would stomach it. Maybe if he behaves himself he can have the job for my second term.”

Eight years, you think, unable to fathom it. Eight years in a fishbowl. Eight years lying under Aemond as he tries to get me pregnant with children neither of us can love.

Aemond leans down to touch his lips to the side of your throat. “I’m glad you’re finally friends,” he says. “Aegon’s not all bad. But don’t let him get you in trouble.”

“I wouldn’t.” What did you and Aemond talk about before Ari died? What was this marriage built on? The senate, the presidency, civil rights, poverty, the Space Race, Vietnam, Greek mythology. Everything but each other. Dreams and ideals that would dwarf any mortal, would render them invisible.

“And watch out for any reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They’d kill for Nixon. If they can twist your words, they will.” He gets something from inside his own nightstand: the bloodstained komboskini from when he was shot in Palm Beach. He places it in your right hand, all 100 knots. “Give this to someone today. You know how to do it, you’ve always understood this part. Pick the right person, the right moment. Make sure there are plenty of cameras around.”

“Where am I going? Lunch with the mayor’s wife, that’s this afternoon, isn’t it?”

Aemond nods. “And a few other stops. Then we’re going to the Alamo in San Antonio tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He recoils, reaches for the left half of his face, kneads the scar tissue there as nerve pain radiates through his flesh all the way down to the bone. Once you felt such agonizing pity for him; now all you can think about is the matching scar you wear on your belly, hidden and shameful and a badge of your inadequacies: your body too weak to protect Ari, your mind too pliable to resist being ensnared by the crushing gravity of this man, this family, this life.

“How can I help?” you ask Aemond, because it’s the right thing to do. And randomly, you find yourself remembering the statue of Apollo in Helaena’s garden back at Asteria, the god of music, healing, truth, prophesy.

“You can’t.” Aemond goes to the bathroom to force his glass eye into its socket. You depart for the hotel lobby where Ludwika and Mimi, your companions for the day, are already waiting. Ludwika is wearing a rose pink Chanel skirt suit. Mimi—relatively functional, as she hasn’t been awake long enough to ruin herself yet—is dressed in delicate dove grey.

Alicent, Helaena, and the children are scheduled to tour a local high school and library; Criston, unsurprisingly, is going with them. Aemond, accompanied by Otto, has a series of meetings with local business leaders and politicians. Aegon and Fosco are headed to the Michael E. DeBakey Veterans Affairs Medical Center to promise maimed soldiers that Aemond will end the war that carved out bits of them and filled the voids with screaming nightmares. The limousine you share with Ludwika and Mimi ferries you first to the NASA’s Manned Spacecraft Center. Mimi is entranced by the reflective surface of the helmets, coated with gold to divert blinding sunbeams; in turn, the astronauts are entranced by Ludwika, who leaves lipstick smudges on their cheeks when she kisses them. Next is a tea party hosted by Iola Faye Cure Welch, the mayoress of Houston since 1964 and the mother of five children. And as you nibble daintily at triangle-shaped sandwiches and trudge through small talk about flowers and furniture, you can’t stop smiling. You can’t stop thinking about how ridiculous Aegon would think this is if he was here.

The driver mentions one last stop, then coasts through midafternoon traffic towards the city center. You spend the ride touching up your hair and makeup. Ludwika offers to let you borrow her seduction-red lipstick; you politely decline. You step out of the limo and shield your eyes from the glare of the Texas sun. It takes your vision a moment to adjust, and then you realize where you are. The sign above the main entranceway reads: Houston Methodist Hospital. The air snags in your throat, your lungs are empty. Your hands tremble violently. The earth rocks beneath your white high heels. Mount Sinai is the last hospital you walked into, and you left with your son in a casket so small it could have been mistaken for a shoebox.

“Alright, let’s go,” Ludwika says, linking an arm through yours. Mimi, badly in need of a drink, is looking deflated and edgy. “We are almost done. And I have been promised a medium-rare steak for dinner! Mushrooms and onions too! The Statue of Liberty did not lie. This country is a golden door.”

“I can’t.”

Ludwika stares at you. “What?”

“I can’t, I can’t go in there.”

“What is she talking about?” Ludwika asks Mimi, who shakes her head, mystified.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

They’ve never seen you like this. They don’t know what to do. They listen to you, that is the hierarchy; but it’s too late to change course now. Journalists are approaching in a swarm. Nurses and doctors are gathering by the front door to welcome you.

He knew, you think, suddenly furious. Aemond knew, and he didn’t tell me.

“It will be okay,” Ludwika says, patting your back awkwardly. “We are here with you. Nothing bad will happen.”

“Oh,” Mimi breathes, understanding. She looks at you with sympathy that shimmers on the surface of the opaque, polluted lake of her mind. Then she catches Ludwika’s eye and skims a hand down her own slim midsection. Ari, she mouths, and Ludwika’s face falls.

The doctors and nurses are whistling and applauding; the journalists are snapping photos and scrounging for quotes. You feel your conditioning over the past two years taking over: straight posture, gentle smile, hands clasped demurely together. But you are locked away somewhere underneath.

“Do not worry,” Ludwika tells you softly. “We will talk, we will make it easier for you.” Then she and Mimi begin boisterously shaking hands and thanking people for coming as you make your way through the crowd of journalists and towards the main entrance of the hospital.

People are saying things to you, but you don’t really hear them. You reply with words you won’t remember afterwards. You nod frequently and go wherever you are led. Doctors are explaining new research into placenta previa and c-sections. Nurses are showing you a state-of-the-art NICU for premature infants. Someone is placing a baby in your arms, and you can’t do anything but accept it numbly. You can’t look down at it, you can’t allow yourself to feel the weight of some other woman’s child. You wear your smile like armor and let the photographers capture their snapshots, painting a frame around you, deciding where you live.

Then you are introduced to the parents, women in hospital beds and men perched in chairs beside them, just like the one where Aegon slept at Mount Sinai. They take your hands when you offer them and tell you about their small children, sick children, dying children. One patient just delivered twins. The first did not survive beyond a few hours, but the second is in an incubator and gaining strength. You recall the komboskini stained with Aemond’s blood and take it out of your purse, give it to the suffering mother, watch faith rise in her face like dawn over the Atlantic. But you won’t remember her. You cannot allow yourself to.

Outside as you, Ludwika, and Mimi are headed back to the limousine, the journalists make one last attempt to poach a headline-worthy quote. “Mrs. Targaryen! Mrs. Targaryen!” a young man shouts, clambering to the front of the horde and jabbing a microphone in your face. “I’m from the Houston Chronicle. Can you tell me how the senator feels about the failure of the most recent phase of the Tet Offensive?”

You are in a fog; you don’t feel real, this moment and this city don’t feel real, and so you cannot remember what Aemond would want you to say. “The Vietnam War has claimed too many lives already. We should have never sent our men there to die. But since that is done, the best thing we can do now is end the draft immediately and then withdrawal from the region as soon as the South Vietnamese are able to defend their own territory, which is their responsibility.” The journalist already considers this effort fruitful and begins to retreat, but you have one last point to make. Ludwika and Mimi watch you anxiously. “I lost someone in Vietnam. I met him when I was in college. He had a good heart, and he joined because he thought it was wrong for poor men to have to fight while rich kids got exemptions, and he was killed in action in October of 1965.”

“This was a friend?” the journalist asks, eyes glowing hungrily. Then he adds as an afterthought: “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

“A boyfriend. Corporal Cameron Marino from Schenectady, New York. People called him Cam.”

A solemn murmur ripples through the crowd. Hats are removed, hands held to chests. “Rest in peace, Cam,” someone says. Maybe they have somebody they care about in Vietnam, a friend or a lover or a brother. You wave goodbye and climb into the limousine. The outpouring swells as you vanish: We love you, Mrs. Targaryen! God bless you, Mrs. Targaryen!

In the lobby of the Texas State Hotel, you tell Ludwika and Mimi not to follow you. They have to listen. After some hesitation, Mimi heads for the bar in the ballroom; Ludwika asks the staff at the front desk if she’ll be able to make a call to Poland with the phone in her room. You take the elevator to the top floor. Fosco is in the hallway, on his way back from one of the vending machines with a Fresca. When he sees your face, his jaw drops.

“Dio mio, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you say, tears biting in your eyes. You pass him, digging your key out of your purse.

“Are you sure—?”

“Fosco, please. I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he says doubtfully. Then he seems to get an idea and strides away with great purpose. You take shelter in your suite, silent and dim; Aemond isn’t back yet. You brace yourself against the locked door and sob into empty, trembling hands, at last hidden away where no one can see you, where no one can be disturbed or disappointed. You know now that none of it was healed—not the loss, not the revelations—but only buried, and now it’s all been unearthed again and the pain shrieks like exposed nerves.

It’s not fair. Ari deserved better, I deserved better.

There’s nothing you can do. Your hands ache to hold someone that no longer exists. You can’t unlearn the truth of what your marriage is.

There are two knocks, quick and rough. “Hey, it’s me.” And there’s such pure intimacy in those words. You know my voice. You know why I’m here. “Open the door.”

“I’m okay, just, just, just leave me alone—”

“Open the door,” Aegon says again. “Or I’ll get security up here to do it for you.”

Swiping the tears from your face, you let him in. He’s dressed in baggy black shorts, nothing on his feet, an unbuttoned stolen green army jacket. You once thought he wore those to play the part of a revolutionary from the comfort of his East Coast seaside mansion. Now you understand it’s because he misses Daeron, because he believes he should have gone to Vietnam instead. There are several dog tags strung around his neck; some of the veterans at the medical center he visited must have gifted them to him.

“What’s wrong?” Aegon’s eyes sweep over you, seeking, horrified. “What did he do?”

You can’t answer, you can’t breathe. You back away from him as more tears spill down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey, let me help you. Please don’t be upset. Did he say something, did he hurt you?” Aegon reaches out, and as soon as he touches you your knees buckle and you’re on the floor, trying not to wail, trying not to scream, and Aegon is pulling you against his chest—bare skin, borrowed metal—and his hands are on your face and in your hair, and his lips are against your forehead as he murmurs: “Shh, shh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.”

“Whatever it is, I can help.”

“I had to go to a hospital and hold babies and I, I, I never even got to touch him, not once, not ever, and I can’t now because he’s gone. He’s locked in some fucking vault, he’s just bones, but he was supposed to be a person, and those other babies are going to get to grow up but he isn’t, and it’s not fair.”

“You’re right,” Aegon agrees softly, still holding you.

“No one else knew him.”

“I did. I was there the whole time.”

“Only because Aemond made you stay.”

“No,” Aegon swears. “I was supposed to spy on you. He never told me to do any of the rest of it. I stayed because I wanted to.”

“You did,” you say, very quietly, weakly, conceding.

“And I’m still here now.”

Your lungs aren’t burning quite so much. Your tears are slowing. You unravel yourself from Aegon, averting your eyes. Now you’re ashamed; you aren’t in the habit of revealing to people how much you’re splintering like cracked glass, fresh fractures every time you think to check the damage. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry.”

“Look, I don’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories, but this is definitely not the most embarrassing thing I’ve seen you do.”

You laugh, only for a few seconds, and Aegon smiles as he mops the tears from your face with the sleeve of his army jacket. Then he turns serious again.

“Can I ask you something? It’s very personal. It’s offensive, honestly. But I have to know.”

“You can ask.”

“Do you want more children?”

More children. Because Ari was real. “Not now. Not with Aemond.”

Aegon nods, suspicions confirmed. “Can you do that sponge thing you told me about?”

“No. I think he’d be able to feel it, he’s…” You gesture vaguely. It’s difficult to say. “He’s big.”

Aegon didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want to have to think about it. He flinches, just enough that you notice. But as much as he’d like to, he doesn’t change the subject. “What about the pill?”

“No doctor is going to write me a prescription without my husband’s permission. Especially considering who my husband is.”

“I hate this fucking country,” Aegon hisses. “Puritanical goddamn hellscape. Old Testament bullshit.” He drags his fingers through his hair a few times, then pats your cheek like he did before: twice, gently, playfully. “Come on. Let’s go smoke.”

“I can’t do it on the balcony. Someone might get a picture.”

“Okay. No big deal. We’ll go to the roof.”

You stare at him. “The roof?”

“You really think I haven’t already been up there?” He stands and offers you his hand. “You’ll love it. The view is fantastic.”

The view is good, but the grass is better. You know that it makes some people useless, others paranoid, but for you it’s always painted the world a color that is softer, kinder, lighter, more bearable. You and Aegon lie next to each other, smoking and watching twilight fall over Houston like a spell. You’ll have to shower and gulp some Listerine before Aemond gets anywhere near you. It’s interesting; each day you seem to acquire new secrets to keep from him.

Aegon asks: “Where would you be right now if you weren’t Mrs. Targaryen?”

“Probably married to someone worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay, but let’s say you weren’t. Let’s say you can do whatever you want.” He points up at the lavender sky and acts like he’s moving the emerging glimmers of stars around with his fingertip. “There, I’ve changed your fate. Who would you be?”

You ponder this. “I want to teach math to kids and then spend every summer break getting baked on some beach.”

Aegon cackles. “Hell, sign me up.” He lights a third joint for himself with his tiny chrome Zippo. “Those are the people doing the real work. Teachers, nurses, farmers electricians, plumbers, welders, firemen, therapists, janitors, public defenders. The normal, unglamorous types.”

“You don’t think presidents and senators make a difference?”

“Sure they do. But only like 5% of the job is actually helping people. The rest of it is schmoozing and tea parties and making speeches, because looking and sounding good is better than doing good. They’re addicted to vapid pretenses that make them feel important. You live like that and you forget how to be a human. I mean, look at Nixon. The man was raised as a Quaker, one of the most peaceful religions on earth, and now he’s planning to throw ten or twenty thousand more boys into the great Vietnamese meatgrinder and probably napalm the hell out of Cambodia and Laos while he’s at it to get the communists’ supply lines. The man’s got no idea who he is anymore. I’d feel sorry for him if I wasn’t so terrified he’s gonna start World War III.”

I wonder who Aemond was a few decades ago. “What makes you feel important?”

“Nothing,” Aegon says. “I’m not under any delusions that I matter.”

“I think you matter, old man.”

“Really?”

“A little bit. About this much.” You hold your hand up to show him the infinitesimal space between your thumb and index finger, and Aegon chuckles, his eyes glazed and bloodshot.

“Let’s do it,” he says with sudden, forceful conviction. “If Nixon wins in November, we’ll get out of here. I’ll go back to Yuma to teach on the reservation and you can come with me. You get a math class, I take English, or Music, or both, whatever. We’ll buy a bungalow out in the desert and make s’mores every night and look up at the stars. I’ll show you how to play guitar if you give me algebra lessons.”

You peek over at him, intrigued. “Is that all we’re going to do?”

“Well we’ll fuck, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” You giggle; it’s ridiculous, it’s paradisical, it’s insane how good it sounds. But surely that’s only because you’re high. “I don’t know how Mimi would feel about that.”

“She won’t care. She doesn’t want me anymore, hasn’t in years. Sometimes she just forgets that when she’s wasted. Mimi can go to Arizona too. We’ll load up the kids in a van and strap her to the roof.”

Now your voice is somber. “She was supposed to fix you.”

“Yeah,” Aegon says: slow, meditative, guilty. “I think Mimi and I have a few too many of the same demons.”

You roll over, push yourself up on your palms, and crawl to the edge of the rooftop. You prop your elbows on the ledge and gaze out into the city lights, the sky turning from violet to indigo to primordial darkness. Aegon joins you, staring down at the distant aquamarine rectangle of the hotel pool.

He asks: “You think I could make that?”

“No.”

“Should I try?”

“You definitely shouldn’t.”

“A few months ago, you would have pushed me off this roof.”

You shrug. “You’ve proved yourself useful.”

“That’s why you like me now? Because I’m useful?”

“Who said I like you?” you tease, smiling.

“You like me,” Aegon says, grinning and smug, radiant in the silver moonlight and urban incandescence. “You like me so much it scares you. But there’s no need to panic. It’s okay. I know the feeling.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You want to touch him, you want him to touch you, you want to study every arc and angle of him like he’s a marble statue in a garden: too beautiful to be mortal, too fragile to be divine.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three nights later in Nebraska, there is a knock on the door of your hotel suite. The nannies have herded the children off to bed; the adults are unwinding downstairs in the courtyard of the Sheraton Omaha, designed to resemble an Italian garden. There’s a brand new Jacuzzi that you’re looking forward to taking a dip in. You finish pulling on your swimsuit, white and patterned with sunflowers, a one-piece with a flared skirt.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Richard Nixon,” Aegon says through the door. “Naked. Horny. Please love me.”

You laugh and let him in. He’s leaning against the doorframe in Hawaiian swim trunks and nothing else, pink sunburn glowing on his soft chest. He holds up a brown paper bag and shakes it.

“For you.”

“What is it, heroin?” Instead, you open the bag to find small, circular packs of pills. “No way. You did not.”

“That’s enough for six months,” Aegon says, smirking, proud of himself. “I’ll be back again in February. Guess that makes me your dealer, babe. I don’t accept cash, checks, or cards, only sexual favors. You want to get down on your knees, or should I?”

“How did you get these?”

“I told a doctor they’re for one of my whores.”

“Maybe they are.”

You’ve surprised him, you’ve got him thinking about it now. His face flushes a splotchy, charming pink. “So, uh, you coming down to the courtyard?”

“Yeah. Right now. Just let me hide these first. Are there instructions in here…?”

“Mm hmm,” Aegon says, still distracted, studying the entirely unremarkable carpet. You stow the paper bag of birth control pills in the bottom of your bras and panties drawer, then walk with Aegon to take the elevator down to the ground floor. You both notice the bright red emergency stop button and share a glance, smirking, taunting.

In the courtyard, Alicent is struggling to pay attention as Helaena identifies each and every species of plant and explains where in the world it is native to. Fosco is simultaneously teaching Criston how to yo-yo and berating him for not believing the Cubs will end up in the World Series. Fosco has apparently bet $500 on them. Ludwika is stretched out on a lounge chair like a cat and reading a copy of Cosmopolitan. Aemond, wearing his eyepatch and a blue pair of swim trunks, appears to be arguing with Otto over the contents of a newspaper article. Mimi is alone in the Jacuzzi, bubbles rumbling all around her as she slumps against the rim, a frosty Gimlet clutched in one hand.

“Mimi, get out of the Jacuzzi,” you order.

“I’m fine!” she slurs, and you groan, knowing you’re going to have to drag her out.

Aemond is approaching; no, not approaching, raging. “What the hell is wrong with you? What the fuck is this?” He hurls the newspaper at you, the Houston Chronicle. The headline reads: To Mrs. Targaryen, ending the Vietnam War is personal. “Why would you tell somebody that? Other papers are going to start reporting this. You gave them his full name. They’ve found his school, his friends, his gravesite in motherfucking Arlington National Cemetery—”

“You set me up,” you say. “You didn’t tell me about the hospital.”

Aegon takes the newspaper from you and frantically skims the article. “Hey, man,” he tells Aemond as he pieces it together, attempting to deescalate. It’s not a skill you knew he possessed. “She was rattled, she wasn’t thinking clearly. And there’s nothing bad in this article. It makes her sound invested and sympathetic, not…um…whatever you’re thinking.”

“You don’t get it,” Aemond seethes. “Journalists are going to start hounding his friends, his classmates, people who lived in his dorm building. Nixon’s newspapers will publish any gossip they can dig up about what she did when she was in school. Things people saw, things people overheard—”

“What, the fact that she had one boyfriend before she met you? That’s worthy of a nuclear meltdown?! Better prepare for Armageddon, a woman got laid, launch the goddamn warheads!”

“She doesn’t get to have a past! She should understand that, she signed up for this, she knew exactly what was expected of her!”

“And what about your past?” Aegon says, low and searing, and Aemond goes quiet. Their eyes are locked on each other: Aegon defiant, Aemond unnerved. You try to remember if you’ve ever seen that expression on his face before. You don’t think you have. Not even when he was shot and half-blinded. Not even when Ari died.

“What does that mean?” you ask your husband. Still staring at Aegon—tangled in a thorny, silent battle of wills—he doesn’t reply.

There are swift, thudding footsteps. Otto grabs Aegon by his hair, hooks a finger through the small gold hoop in his right ear, and tears it straight through the earlobe. Aegon screams as blood streams down his face, feeling the ravaged fringes of his flesh.

“I told you to take those out,” Otto says. “Now remove the other one before I rip it free, and go get yourself stitched up.”

You do something you’ve never done before, never even thought of. You strike out with both hands and shove Otto so hard he goes staggering backwards, his arms wheeling. The others are yelling and rushing over. Aemond is trying to yank you to him, but he can’t get a grip on your swimsuit. “I will kill you!” you roar at Otto. “I will push you down a staircase, I will slit your fucking throat, don’t you ever touch him!”

Alicent is weeping, appalled, trying to get a look at Aegon’s damaged ear. Criston is helping her, moving Aegon’s bloodied hair out of the way. Fosco links his arms around your waist and drags you out of Aemond’s reach just as he’s getting his fingers beneath a strap of your swimsuit. Helaena is covering her face with her hands and wailing. Ludwika is shrieking at Otto: “What did you do? Don’t give me that, what did you do?!”

You are engulfed with rage, red and irresistible. You’re trying to bolt out of Fosco’s grasp. You want to claw Otto’s eyes out; you want to put a bullet in him. As you struggle, you catch a glimpse of the Jacuzzi. You don’t see Mimi anymore.

“Wait,” you plead, but nobody hears you over the noise. You look desperately at Fosco. “Where’s Mimi?!”

Once he figures out what you’re trying to say, he whirls towards the Jacuzzi. “No!” he bellows, releasing you, and careens across the courtyard. You dash after him. Now the others understand, and they come running too. You see it just before Fosco dives in: there is a shadow at the bottom of the Jacuzzi. When he bursts up though the roiling water, he is carrying Mimi, limp and unconscious and blue.

Everyone is shouting at once. Fosco lays Mimi down on the cobblestones of the courtyard. Criston sends Ludwika to call an ambulance, kneels beside Mimi, checks for a pulse. Then he begins CPR. When he breathes air into her flooded lungs, there is no response, no resurrection.

“No, no, no, she has to be alright!” Aemond says, and everyone knows why. If she’s not, this will consume the headlines for days: no victorious campaigning, no speeches or photos, just a drowned alcoholic with a damning autopsy report.

“Oh my god,” Otto moans, pacing. “This can’t be happening, not this year, not now…”

Alicent seizes your hand and squeezes it until you think it will break. She is reciting prayers in Greek. Helaena is curled up under a butterfly bush, sobbing hysterically. When he realizes this, Otto hurries to comfort her.

“Don’t watch, Helaena. Let’s go inside, I’ll walk with you, there’s nothing more we can do here.”

“Mimi?!” Aegon commands, slapping her hard across the face. “Mimi, come on, wake up! Mimi? Mimi!” She’s still motionless, she’s still blue. Aegon turns to you, blood smeared all over the right side of his face. He’s petrified, he’s in shock. “I think she’s…she’s…”

“She’s gone,” Criston says; and he lifts his palms from her hollow body. The silent sky above is a labyrinth of bad stars.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fic #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii x you

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pterribledinosaurdrawings · 2 years ago

Note

could you tell me more about spoonflower? i'm interested in uploading my own designs, but i'm not entirely sure how it works or how much it pays. thank you!

Sure! When you first upload your design, it'll look like this.

The standard DPI for printing on all the fabric sites I've seen is 150, and since I made this pattern at 200 DPI that means Spoonflower will print it bigger than I want it unless I change it here. So I click on the "change DPI" thing, type in "200" and click "change". Sometimes I find it doesn't save, so I always go back later to check and make sure it did save the right DPI.

(You can avoid this by just changing your image to the right DPI before uploading, but sometimes I want the option to make it a bit bigger, just in case.)

If you want to make multiple sizes of the same pattern available you'll have to upload a different version for each one and change the size individually. For example, I drew my Bathroom Dinosaurs pattern pretty large and at 150 DPI, and left that as is for the big version.

But I wanted a small version too, so for that one I changed it to 670 pixels per inch so it'd print much smaller.

You write in the title, tags, and description, and you can put any links to other pages or references in the "Additional Details" section.

(Leaving links isn't usually necessary, but sometimes it is, like how I wanted to leave a link to the original 1760's teapot for my crinoid fossil pattern.)

At this point, you can order things printed with your design, but nobody else can yet. You have the option to show the design publicly, but I like to keep it private until I've ordered my proofs and can sell it.

Now, to order proofs! DO NOT GET THE CUT SWATCHES!!! They are SO much more expensive than getting a fill-a-yard, because cutting and packaging all the little pieces is a lot of extra labour. Wether you have a few designs, or a lot, just get a fill-a-yard.

To make a fill-a-yard you first need to make a collection. Collections can be either public or private, so I keep a private collection called "new designs to proof", and I put all my new designs in there until I've ordered them. You can also add other people's patterns to a collection, so if you have extra space to fill up or you want little bits of a bunch of other people's patterns for a quilt or something, add whatever you want to your collection.

On the collections page when you hover your mouse over one you'll see a little patchwork symbol show up in the middle along the bottom edge, and you click on that.

That'll take you here, and you choose a layout and a fabric.

For some reason the fabric options here are a bit limited and vary depending on the layout. I like to get either the 1 yard/42 designs in cotton poplin, or the 2 yards/48 designs in cotton sateen, but there are plenty more you could try.

I'll click the latter for this example. (The squares in this one are the perfect size for pleated face masks, and I have a few made from mine and my friend's fabrics.)

Then you just click on a design and click on however many squares/rectangles you want it to fill. It usually takes a few seconds for them to show up.

You can have just one little sample of each, or you could make half the fabric be one design and fill up the rest with little samples. (That's what I did for my brown monster waistcoat - I printed juuuust enough of a fill-a-yard to cut out a waistcoat from, and the rest was other samples.)

You can change it around if you want. Once you're happy with it, put it in the cart and buy it!

I'm not going to order this one since it's an example with designs I've already proofed, but here's what my monster patterns looked like when they arrived.

Also, I want to point out that you could VERY easily make some really fun pride flags using the fill-a-yard! You might have to have it be only part of the fabric, depending on the number of stripes, but you could make it be any texture or pattern you want. Here's a quick example I did with other people's patterns by searching "(colour) marble texture".

With only 4 stripes I'd have to fill the rest of the space in with something else and cut it off, but it would still be pretty big! (The edge of that purple stripe looks jagged in the preview, but they print perfectly straight.)

I have not done this, but someone should! Just wash it, trim the blank edges off, hem it, and you've got a flag!

(Don't do this with the 2 yards/4 designs option though, it looks like nice stripes in the thumbnail but it's made for infinity scarves and there's a gap and dotted line down the middle for cutting. Bleh.)

Anyways, once your samples arrive you can make the designs available for sale! If you have any changes you'd like to make, to the size it prints at or the pattern itself, you can make them now.

I found the small version of the Bathroom Dinosaurs print was too small when I first got my proofs, so I just reduced the DPI a bit.

And you can replace the image with a new, edited version by clicking "upload revision".

So when my brown coffin pattern printed really washed out and grey, I replaced it with a more saturated version and was good to go, no need to order another proof.

Down at the bottom of the design editing page you can now click on the options to list it publicly, and to sell it on fabric and/or wallpaper. I make all of them available on fabric, and some on wallpaper if I deem them to be appropriately large.

They'll pay you 10% of the sales price of the fabric, or slightly more if you sell over a certain amount in a month. There's a whole page of questions and answers about it.

You also get a 10% discount if you order fabrics with your own designs. (Although, personally, if I'm ordering my own designs on fabrics for me then I'd prefer to get them from somewhere like ArtFabrics, since they use reactive dyes instead of inks, so their blacks actually print black and don't make the fabric stiffer like Spoonflower's do. And also because they're here in Canada so there's less shipping cost. Sadly they don't have an option to sell your designs though.)

Spoonflower also has weekly design contests which are announced a few weeks in advance and have pretty big store credit prizes (the first place one is 200 USD), and I've entered a few times, but I don't vote often because Spoonflower is such a huge site that there are frequently over a thousand entries and it's really time consuming to scroll through them all.

Ok, that's everything I can think of! I also put all my patterns on sone things on Redbubble, since they have options for repeating patterns on some things.

#ask #spoonflower #fabric #advice #I'd been meaning to answer this one for WEEKS

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katanablue · 5 months ago

Text

I originally had a totally different idea for this but I think I may just do a part 2 hehehe. ALSO IF ANYONE GOT ANY GOOD 07 DONNIE FICS ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Warnings: NONE JUST DONNIE BEING A CUTE GRUMPY DORK.

Another day another long boring shift full of talking to idiotic people who don’t know the difference between hardware and software and explaining to one too many elderly people that ‘No, you cannot print out the Internet.’

He’s just finished a call, rubbing the space between his eyes as he feels his daily headache come on. He’s impressed that he’s managed to nearly finish his workday without it appearing until now. He groans low in his throat, debating on getting up to grab a glass of water so he can take a pill or just sucking it up these last 30 minutes.

He gets his answer when an incoming call rings through his headset, making Donnie roll his eyes hard and into the back of his skull. He inhales deeply through his nose to prepare himself, letting it out when he clicks on a key to answer the phone.

“Thank you for calling tech support, this is Donatello speaking, how can I help you today.” He doesn’t bother putting on his customer service voice, his headache dully throbbing now as he waits for the other person on the line to start rambling about their dumb issue.

“Hi, how are you today?” You say, giving the standard pleasantries before delving into your computer issue.

Typical, of course his last call would try to make small talk.

“I’m fine ma’am, thank you. How can I help you today?” He repeats it, resisting the urge to roll his eyes again and leans back in his chair, swaying gently side to side. He thinks about what he should eat after, his eyes trailing to the clock in the Lair that signifies in big red letters that it’s nearly 2 a.m. Not the latest he’s stayed up but today’s shift was particularly exhausting. Maybe it’s the full moon or something, ‘Mercury in Gatorade’ as Mikey would sometimes call it.

“Hello?”

Shit. He totally just fucking zoned out on you.

“Apologies ma’am, I didn’t quite catch that. Would you mind repeating it?” Great, he just extended this call by about 2 minutes.

“Oh, that’s alright! I’m dealing with an issue with my laptop’s ability to open programs fast. It’s taking forever just to open something and I’m not quite sure why.” You repeat your issue, quietly sighing as you aimlessly move your mouse around your screen, hoping that the guy on the other side will be able to help with you.

Donnie immediately knows what the problem could be; slow processing speeds a fairly common issue for him but thankfully an easy fix.

So he starts by asking the standard questions: do you have any programs that take a lot of space? Any tabs open that you aren’t using? Anything running in the background?

When you tell him ‘no, no and no’, that’s when he sits up from his chair and squints his eyes. If those aren’t the cause of your laptops slow speed then what could it be?

“Well,”

Ah, there it is.

“I do play a few games but those have never caused me problems before. Could that be it?”

Normally Donatello’s irritation would increase when the customer would ‘suddenly remember’ something that could be pausing their problem. You, however? Didn’t spark that within him for some reason. In fact, besides your calm demeanor, it’s the way you spoke so kindly to him combined with the fact that you also game apparently that has Donnie not wanting to snap at you.

“Like what?” He asks, being sure to keep it professional.

And when you list his all time favorite game among some others that he’s obsessed with, he has to practically force himself to not totally geek out. Sure he’s played some of the popular games nowadays like League or Valorant, but hearing you say that you modded some old PS1 games to play on your laptop practically skyrockets his excitement.

Which in turn makes his headache pound harder.

He’s unable to keep himself from hissing when a pang shoots right through his skull, knowing you heard it when you trail off your sentence.

“Are you alright?”

Maybe it’s because he’s had a long day or maybe it’s because this seems to be shifting into a migraine, but the concern and sincerity in your voice makes an odd feeling bubble in Donnie’s chest. Surely no one would ever be genuinely worried over an I.T guy, not when you have more pressing matters on your hands.

“My apologies miss, I’m just uh, dealing with a bit of a headache right now. Although I think it’s turning into a migraine.” He grunts through his clenched jaw, swinging carefully around in his chair as he searches for his bottle of Advil only to suck his teeth when he shakes the container and hears absolutely nothing rattling around.

“Oh no, I’m sorry! Do you want to go grab some medicine? I don’t mind waiting.”

The corner of Donnie’s lip twitches upward. He brings his hands to massage at his temples, the motions doing something to relieve the tension in his head but not nearly enough.

“I unfortunately just discovered that I’m out of medicine. But that’s alright, I’ll pick some up after this call.” He doesn’t bother hiding his sigh, settling back in his seat as he prepares to ask you more questions to help you out.

“What about any oils? Got any of those? Usually lavender or peppermint do the trick.” You put him on speaker and go to your Safari on your phone to begin looking up other remedies, wanting to assist this poor I.T man.

Donnie’s not quite sure why you’re trying to be helpful but at this point he doesn’t exactly care, the throbbing getting worse by the second.

“It could also be too much pressure, literally, around your head. Do you wear headbands or anything like that? Could also be your headphones.”

“No, no headbands. And my headphones have cushioning all around so not those either.” He responds, debating on texting Mikey to bring him the peppermint oil that April bought for Splinter last Christmas.

“Ah, a man of comfort.” You laugh, fingers quickly typing in your question into the search engine.

Donnie finds himself smiling faintly at the sound, a fleeting thought of ‘Wow, I want to hear that again’ passing through his brain.

“Well, I can’t use regular headphones for gaming. I’m also a fan of those games that you play.”

You blink in surprise, your scrolling faltering for half a second before continuing on.

“No way, really?”

And so you talk for the next 20 minutes about said games; reliving memories, talking about specific moments you wish you could experience again, the soundtracks, the characters. Everything.

For the first 10 minutes, Donnie kept reminding himself that he was just prolonging his work call, that he should drive the focus back onto your issue so he can hang up and clock out. But the more he talked to you, the more he said ‘fuck it’ and allowed himself this one rare moment of normalcy.

He also nearly forgot about his raging migraine, until it pleasantly reminded him that it was still present with a sharp stabbing pain behind his eyes.

It’s what snaps him back to reality, his face grimacing from the white hot torment happening in his skull.

“I’m so sorry, we should really get back to your computers issues.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

God, why did he feel so awful saying that? And why did it make his stomach twist when hearing just how disappointed you sounded? It’s something he’ll have to dissect later, not when he’s already 30 minutes past the standard call time for support.

“Let’s see what we’re working with here.”

This is one of the rare times Donnie wishes he wasn’t so smart with technology because in less than 5 minutes he solves your problem. He wishes he could just be a little average to talk to you more even if it’s computer stuff.

“Alright, you shouldn’t have a problem anymore. Anything else I can help you with?”

Please say yes please say yes please say yes.

“No, I’m all good. Thank so much Donatello!”

“Donnie! You can call me Donnie.”

Fuck.

“Just your friendly I.T tech support here to help you 24 hours a day.”

Double fuck.

Why did he say that? It’s standard spiel protocol but still, how utterly lame…

You can’t help but giggle at him, your cheeks hurting from smiling so much from this total stranger.

“Alright then, Donnie. I’ll know who to ask for if I ever need help again.”

He smiles and asks for your name, just so he’ll know who he’s talking to if you ever do call again. He repeats it back to you once you tell him, the word rolling off his tongue in such a way that makes you feel giddy and grinning like a kid in a candy store.

“Have a good night, please don’t hesitate to call back if you’re still experiencing technical difficulties.”

And by Darwin he hopes you do.

#tmnt #tmnt 2007 #donatello x reader #2007 donnie #my writings

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missmarveledsblog · 4 months ago

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The one ( Bucky barnes x reader odindotter)

summary : just the grumpy teddy bear bucky pinning after thor sister that's been there through everything

warning: none , Bucky being a cutie , John walker being an ass , sam being the best wing man , mutual pining

One person , one singular person was all he wanted to see after it all . after the blip , the war against the mad tyrant and yet he was now staring at the face of a man he loathed , one who didn't deserve to hold the shield his best friend and brother had for a century. John walker stood an ego based attention hog who had the wrong morals and ideal that steve would generally cringe at . even with all this their was one person that occupied his mind , one that could truly make sense of all the craziness that he was now landed in. He walked as johns chest puffed out appearing to make himself so much bigger that he was , the words spilling from his mouth all bullshit and that thing he pass of as charm well a bag of rocks could do better and possibility even smarter . Bucky came to see her , knowing she was the only one that could truly understand what it is like to be in a place so alien and having those feeling of they didn't feel they belong in a sense. She could of been in new asgard with the rest of her people but she like this strange place. What made it funnier was he was actually of this planet and same time if someone told him it was mar or some shit he would actually believe them because still even after everything this didn't feel like earth . He watched her pretending to care , even the scowl of annoyance that grace her face that would of had loki proud. "So i think that why cardio is so important" john finished off the suggestable comment . " you know my brother would love to hear stuff like this" she smiled letting the poor mans hope rise. " although i find it all a bit boring more into the intellect of everything" her head tilted she had the man like a mouse on a string . " i mean yeah science of things but at the end of the day brawn defeat the brain" he chuckled . " i'm a goddess your brawn wouldn't tire me nor my brain" she rolled her eyes clearly done with the conversation scanning the room . " i bet i could tire you out" he winked . " the only way you could tire me out is too keep talking because it kinda putting me asleep" she fake a yawn before adding the stretching her arms to prove her point . " wow you really add to the bitchy princess stereotype" he scoffed. " oh little man i made it" she walked off eyes lighting up when she saw the man before her . " finally someone interesting" she called making the other man scoff.

It wasn't her intention to be bitchy maybe it was having loki as a big brother or the fact the man before her didn't know his ass from his elbow and yet he held something so important in his hands. She could of kept walking , ignored it and she was going to til his mouth opened once more. " really the killer" that sentence that made the fires of hel seem small to how it made her feel. " excuse me you back of the warehouse version of captain america , you wouldn't know the real downfall of earth or it's people . you hold that shield yet don't know one thing it represents nor the man that held it before you and yet you try cast you opinions on someone who went through so much and still stand before us today , if my father was alive he would agree that not one of us would have the same kind of heart and fight if we went through what that man has went through , all that pain and torture that would break you in a click of a finger" she snapped. " doll seriously it's ok" bucky said although someone should told his face with the smile having her defending him . " jame buchanan barnes and many other saved this whole universe and you dare try insult him , that shows you don't deserve that title you parade" she scoffed leaving john walker standing almost speechless . " hey little princess" sam called cutting bucky from speaking. " hello shall we leave or midgard will need a new captain" she smiled brightly . " actually we need your help" sam winked . " i feel like i should say no but lets go" she chuckled .

She sat on the ledge of helicopter watching the idiot well her favourite idiot fall to the ground and sam following after liking the new and improved wings. " you gonna jump out now?" torrez asked in awe and well slightly nervous giving who the woman is before him. " nah idiots forget i could of teleported us" she giggle before she was gone from his sight. Leaning over bucky as he lay out on the ground . " that was very stupid" she smiled holding her hand out. " well i mean i got down didn't i" he smirked back up at her. " your an old man it's quite dangerous" she laughed . " how old are you again" he shot back. " times different i mean in earth human years i'm only what twenty five" she tapped her chin . " wait so how old was loki when you know tried taking over earth " sam came to their side. " earth years sixteen" she walked off causing sam mouth to get louder at the new found knowledge . " your telling me grown ass loki , destroying new york with his alien ass army was 16 earth years old " . " yeah i mean time was something that many asgardians had to get use to being here" she shrugged. " i like it better when you where the thousand year old princess" bucky teased. " so you didn't feel like a creep my little pinning buck" sam whispered she heard it yet kept walking pretending to be oblivious to sam's constant teasing . " no but seriously loki was sixteen" sam asked making her roll her eyes . which led to her spending the rest of the time trying to explain the time differences and space and time which was probably a waste of her time as he began asking to convert their fellow avengers ages to asgardian . which then she used to tease him then turning it around. " so would it make you feel better after losing to parker" she smirked watching his face fall. " we didn't lose" bucky spoke up . " yeah redwing came in" sam added. " so redwing did, what you couldn't" she smiled. " no no now don't spin this" sam huffed. " well i mean you're so concerned with ages" she smiled. " here's me thinking you were sweet and soft like thor but your like loki" sam chuckled . " i mean me and loki did get to chat a lot , great teacher glad he left something behind " she smiled softly as sam realised his words . " shit i didn't , sorry really y/n" he began rambling . " it's ok really lets get going" she walked ahead only for bucky to slap sam at the back of the head. " bird brain, and stop with the remarks she finds out i love her well i'm screwed i love my best girl " he hissed.

Even after all this time it was so hard , so stressful and completely heartbreaking to even think of her brother . loki and thor was all she had after her parents life had perished and granted she still have thor but through everything knowing once and for all that loki was truly gone , well sometimes it can take longer for a heart to heal after so much loss especially when your not fully over the others before it. The rest of the trip it was like she was somewhere else from the taunts of zemo to the fake disguise of the winter soldier it seemed as though the whole thing was getting worse bringing back scars for them all to the surface. All mentally dealing with something that was bigger then themselves . all dealing with pressures or ghost of their own past . he could see in her eyes thinking of all they lost , close friends and family behind the eyes he could stare into all day . she been around through it all , from when steve found him the first and second time . the day he pulled him from the river when she promised to take care of steve , through the battle of the airport, on the run while he was in wakanda she stayed learning how they did it and being the friend he needed. To the war how she held them all up loss after loss , she lived through the blip trying to find a way to get them back , a way to stop the mad tyrant and he wonder in that time was he on her mind like she would of been on his if the role were reversed. She would give her all for those she loved and still felt like she needed to give more it was another reason to add to that ever growing list of why he loved her .

Then now here they were louisiana celebrating the new captain america , the right choice , the one he couldn't agreed more not that he would admit that out loud . although he wish sam would shut up about y/n odinsdottir . he didn't want to scare her off being his friend , the whole time when everything was wrapped up in a bow it's all the new cap could bring up . he watched her laugh and play with the children , how even thought the sun was shining her smile was even brighter . " you know instead of still doing the whole mean steamy stare you could actually do something about it" sam nudged him playfully as sarah looked to the two. " oh if you don't i will" she winked . then the laugh got louder as he watched her walking towards him eyes locked on his and that damn smile that made him melt like a puddle. Her hand coming to his face , cupping his cheeks before her lips on his . " you know i can hear you both no matter how much you whisper" she winked turning to walk off only to feel his hand to wrap in her pulling her flush to his chest . " and you left it til now cruel doll" he smirked leaning forward . " hey girl can only wait so long plus again it's not like i didn't give you chances all these years " batting her lashes leaning up to kiss him once more only for clash of thunder shot through the sky making them jump apart. " he got the girl , my man buck nasty got the girl" sam cheered . " he always had the girl" she kissed him once . the one he wanted to see the most was truly and finally his ,his peace and his girl.

#buckybarnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson #marvel fanfiction #marvel #mcu #reader #bucky x reader #sebastian stan #sebastian stan characters #seb #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #james barnes #winter soldier #john walker

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it-came-from-an-orchard · 3 months ago

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Wonderland! Bunnydoll

It's secret to nobody that @endomentendo Wonderland AU has been spreading the same way an invasive root does in a garden (Don't tell Queenie) What some might NOT know, is that the Bunnydollers have successfully bullied them with love and pretty art to make the ship part of their canon Heck, Ragatha's mood allignement change! I call that a major victory!

So to commemorate the change and because @kookies2000 has infected half of the burrow with the WonderBug, I present thee with a small little something.

Its not very good but I had fun. And I think that all Wonderland its about

Leaves fall, birds chirp.

Twigs snap, Branches shake.

The grass crumples, dirt and sand raises in the air.

The sounds of idle laughter chimes in, carried by the hollow whistle of the wind. Empty steps mark the ground.

The sensible response is to shake your head, turn around, and go back from wherever you came from.

The sensible and logical thought that pricks at the mind and tells you ‘There’s nobody there’.

So stupid and wrong.

Out of all the creatures in the forest to find, those that find you first are probably some of the worst, and by the very nature of their bodies, this one is the most dangerous of all, as they dont get found out if they don't wish to be.

The laughter echoes around, and if you were to close your eyes— Well, you would be really stupid, because nobody should do that in a forest. Who knows where you could trip going around blind like that?

But if despite better judgment, you still close your eyes, or at least, the one working eye, it's almost like if windchimes were all around the forest.

Such a pretty laugh.

How can people say Chesires are bad when they laugh like that?

“Jax! I’m not supposed to wonder this deep in, you know that!” Little Pretty Red Locks and a smile, you are not angry or mad, yet you try “At least tell me what are we looking for!”

The empty, dusty steps wave off the dirt path, leaving purple prints instead as they go up the trunk of a mighty tree

“Seriously? I have to climb? In this dress?” Only mad people talk to themselves, so this really isn’t that weird of a sight, that is, if there was anyone else with Pretty Red Locks and a smile. “Mother is gonna be upset at me if I return to the party with tears on my dress…!”

She could have chosen not to climb, stay down on the ground, but then the enchanting laughter knew she wouldn’t. Too many a year had passed, at least he thought so, since they first started to play this game. A Cat and a Mouse.

Why would a little mouse be in pursuit of a cat, you ask? Probably to ask for some milk, or to share a cookie.

But there is no cat or a mouse in sight, just Pretty Red Locks and a smile.

Climbing trees is easy, it barely takes a breeze, yet the doll struggles getting around the branches, silly girl, your dress is on the way, Why did you ever think that was appropriate clothing to go tree climbing? Mad idea, indeed.

Leaves fall, branches creak, and the laughter is no more. A low hum bouncing around the canopies of the trees. A nameless tune that has no lyrics, and even when it does, their meaning is meaningless. Still, Pretty Red Locks tries to sing it, no matter how many times she gets it wrong. What a crazy thing to try

“Are we there yet?” She huffs and puffs the lack of air in her lungs, settling in a big sturdy branch. Yeah, they were there. That’s as good as it could get “I know I’m not a kid anymore, but you could try and give me a hand still!”

“Now, why would I do that?” The voice of nobody speaks, much mirth and much mischief in the way they sound. Just like the laughter from before “You got yourself up here without my help! If you couldn’t, why try?”

“You told me to follow you, then disappeared and got me here!” Still airless, still amused. Are you not afraid of being this high up?

“If I disappeared, you got yourself here” Fight a disembodied voice about semantics, if you weren’t mad before, you will be after.

“Well, We’re here-- Or *I* am here now. So what's the surprise?”

“What surprise?”

“I’m not going to start that with you”

“Start what?”

Laughter again, but it's not the voice of the nobody, Pretty Red Locks laughs.

It’s a pretty laugh.

“The view is nice from up here” Again talking to herself, because there was no other voice to answer her “You always like to be somewhere high, don’t you?” Talking to oneself means nobody answers you, but Pretty Red Locks and a smile didn’t seem to be bothered by that, her lips splayed in a wide smile for the empty space right beside her on the branch “I guess it's part of your nature”

The hollow wind carries the small hum of a melody. Down below littles colorful dots dance around unhearable music. It wouldn’t be long now until they realized the missing person among them.

“Having fun on your regular birthday?” The voice of nobody spoke, though it was lacking a bit of that usual charm. Wonder where it had gone

“What other types of birthdays are there?” The doll only got silence as a response, right, she was answering a question with another question “Yes, it’s very fun. I’m glad you came by”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the end of the world~!”

Swinging her legs over the void of the fall, the doll swallowed the rest of the questions she wanted to ask, her conversation partner wasn’t in a responsive mood and talking to herself wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, even if she did it more often than most

“I’m gonna give you your gift now” The disembodied voice spoke and the doll felt her insides tickle as if full of loose flower petals

“Does that mean I can see you n-” Ragatha wanted to say something dumb, because she was about to answer a statement with a question. A dumb and also rude thing to do

Thankfully, she was saved from the embarrassment by a pressure over her mouth. Her lips. It felt… Warm. slightly moist, a bit fuzzy.

Such an odd feeling

Not only was her mouth covered by something, Ragatha blinked once and she was sure something was holding the sides of her arms. It was firm yet kind, the way she always felt when dancing atop the roof of the castle, or balancing over the railing of the balconies or now, over at the top of the trees.

She pursed her lips and that pressure moved. Ragatha realized now that she couldn’t quite breath with this strange block against her mouth, but just before she could start to worry about running out of air, the pressure left her mouth. The one around her arms remained.

Blinking once, twice. Ragatha notices her eyesight worsening. Just a second ago she could see the party below with perfect clarity, now everything seems to be warped and fuzzy. Like trying to see through an empty glass.

Something invisible in between.

“Jax?” She called to the nothing around her. “Did you do something just now?”

Pretty Red Locks got no answer from the empty air around her. She blinked again, the fuzziness went away, and so did the hold around her.

She missed it already.

The familiar humming of a distant tune came back, and while the sound bounced around, Ragatha’s gaze stood firmly ahead. The emptiness in front of her slowly filling up from the bottom up, stripes of purple and dark blue hues swirling, tangling and knotting among themselves. Forming limbs, a torso, a tail, ears and finally.

Two big yellow eyes and a smile.

“Happy regular birthday, Ragatha” The voice of nobody came from the mouth of this funny looking guy, but Ragatha already knew that. She have known this funny looking man for a long time now

“Happy not-birthday, Jax” She returned the gesture, smiling, not as widely but almost so as the man floating over nothing in front of her.

“Oh! You remembered! How thoughtful!” The colourful man squinted his eyes slightly as his smile broadened even more, making most of his face “Anyway, Ready to go back?” He extended an open, gloved palm to the pretty doll with red locks and a smile, he was, admittedly, a bit surprised that she didn’t immediately take it.

“Jax, My aunt will freak out if she sees me ‘Floating’ down back to the party!” “Not let anyone see you, got ya!” Jax reached out and claimed Ragatha by the arm to himself, pulling her with him into the nothing void.

Most people would freak out, scream, cry. To be so carelessly thrown into no ground at all, especially at such a height.

Ragatha just giggled, barely holding on to Jax as they took step after step, moving slowly, closer to the ground.

“Aren’t ya afraid to fall?” Jax held got tighter to her and she let go even more, slightly annoying. She should be holding onto him as if her life depended on it. What, was she mad or something?

“Are you going to let me fall?” Pretty Red Locks and the gall you had, trusting your life to a cheshire.

“Not unless it’s funny”

They eventually made it back to the ground and Jax lost himself in a puff of color. But Ragatha knew him to be close by. Call it a ‘Womanly intuition’. She just had a gift for this sort of thing.

In truth, watching the scenery from up high and float back down with Jax was something she was really used to, she could quite understand what about that was supposed to be her gift.

That feeling she got around her lips though…

She hoped she could ask Jax about it the next time they got to meet for tea.

She enjoyed it very much

If only a feeling such as that one had a name.

#the amazing digital circus #bunnydoll #ragatha x jax #jax x ragatha #wonderland au #Chesire Jax #tadc wonderland #They smooch #But Ragatha doesn't know #Jax is a lil' shit #edit #not me being called out that Ragatha hair isn't red #frick #im not changing it #I say Red way too much #She change her feeling for Jax #She can change her hair #Paint it red

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lair-of-platonic-yanderes · 4 months ago

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hello queen >^< I have a request ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ so you know kirara the best girl she’s a Yokai (?) now how would she react to a mouse yokai reader just imagine what shenanigans they’d get in:DD think Tom and Jerry except one thinks one is about to eat them and one just wants to kidnap the mouse

gn child

thank yluuuu🫡🫡

Hi! I hopped you like that fic 🙂

Little Friend

Platonic! Yandere! Kirara x GN! Child! Reader (plus, a tiny bit of Platonic! Mentor! Yae Miko)

Description: Cat is chasing after the mouse, together they cause shenanigans in the shrine, and fox is thinking about the past.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Platonic Yandere.

Reader based on kodama nezumi

_____

Yae Miko has many duties.

As head of the Grand Narukami Shrine, she must oversee the shrine, and makes sure, that people are getting needed help and not causing troubles.

As owner of the Yae Publishing House, she has to make sure, that writers aren't fooling around, and submit new works in time.

As Eternity's servant and friend, she keeps Ei company, reminding her old friend about the beauty of an ever-changing world.

But, Yae Miko had one more duty.

As an older and wiser youkai, and as youkai, who is to live alongside humanity, she must teach young youkais, how to live near humans.

Today, she has another lesson with one of her current youkai pupils. A child with mouse's ears and tail.

She called them [Y/N], and, right now, they were starting to get late for their lesson.

[Y/N] were a kodama nezumi, a mouse youkai, who could create small firework-like explosions. Their explosions weren't harmful, and were used by kodama nezumis to escape from danger.

Mice youkais were quite rare, even back in the Kitsune Saiguu's days, so, Yae Miko was really surprised, when she found [Y/N] few months ago, when few villagers came to shrine, begging for help. They insisted, that evil spirits start haunting the village, causing loud noises at night. Yae Miko, who had a rare moment of free time, agreed to visit the village. She was sure, that there were no evil spirits, and villagers were simply mistaken some forest animals' noises for ghosts' howling. Yae Miko were waiting for the moment, when she will prove villagers, that they were wrong. Some soft teasing won't hurt them.

However, both sides were wrong.

Kitsune was sure, that kodama nezumis went instinct. And she was quite shocked, when, after she went to investigate, she saw a kid with mouse's ears and tail, who were hiding in a tool shed and were playing with old temari.

After a quick chase (kid were sure, that "foxy wants to eat me", so they tried to escape), Yae Miko managed to convince [Y/N] to trust her. She promised to teach them, how to live with humans.

Ever since then, [Y/N] were visiting Narukami Shrine twice a week.

Yae Miko carefully rubbed her temples. She had an idea, why little mouse youkai were late. And, for the love of Electro Archon, she hopped that she was wrong.

The sounds of people jumping, loud squeaking, happy meowing and shrine maidens' "Lady Yae, they are here again!" crashed kitsune's hope. She made a deep breath and left the shrine building.

She immediatly saw a big, round mouse and a two-tailed cat in a special express delivery running around the Sacred Sakura.

As usual, Kirara and [Y/N] were causing troubles.

Their meeting was an incident. Kirara was delivering a package to Guuji Yae when Yae Miko had a lesson with [Y/N]. Meeting between nekomata and kodama nezumi, between a cat and a mouse, went as good as you can guess.

With a loud "Cat!" squeak, [Y/N] transformed into their mouse form and ran off. In a flash, transformed cat Kirara chased after them. After that, Yae Miko herself hurried after the duo, quickly commanding shrine maidens to catch the cat.

It was quite a chase. [Y/N], despite being young, were smart. They managed to trick Kirara into running on the top of the shrine, got tangled in bushes and ran into Kano Nana. After that, both [Y/N] and Kirara were caught and brought back to Yae Miko. Kitsune scold them for their behavior. She also reassured [Y/N], promising, that Kirara won't eat them, and made Kirara promise not to scare the mouse kid.

Yae Miko wasn't sure, if her talk worked.

Kirara was still chasing after [Y/N] from time to time.

[Y/N] still were jumpy around Kirara.

Their chase became famous through all Inazuma. They became so famous, that one of the new authors from publishing house started to write a series of children books about smart mouse being chased by sly cat.

Meanwhile, [Y/N] and Kirara were running in circles around shrine maidens. Suddenly, mouse [Y/N] climbed on one of the maidens and jumped, landing on Yae Miko's sleeve, while Kirara continue running around the shrine maidens. When nekomata realized, that kodama nezumi were gone, she froze, looking around in shock.

Mouse on Yae's sleeve were squeaking happily, but, after noticing their mentor's gaze, got silent, jumped down and transformed into their human form. Kirara followed their example. The duo looked guilty.

"[Y/N]." softly called Yae Miko. Kid's mouse's ears perked up.

"Yes, Great Guuji Yae?"

Yae smiles slightly and pointed back to the shrine.

"Please, go here. Our lesson will start soon, so, get ready."

Kodama nezumi nodded and skipped towards the shrine. Yae Miko turned her attention to Kirara. Her voice became slightly strict.

"Kirara, how many times I asked you not to chase after [Y/N]? You are scaring them."

Nekomata's tails twitched.

"But, Guuji Yae, I just want to help My little friend! But every time I try to offer my help, they refuse or try to change the topic. But I just want to help!"

Yea Miko raised an eyebrow. Kirara elaborated.

"They are a kid, they won't have any way to take care of themselves! And I can take care of them! They can live with me, I will find a cozy box for them, I will feed them. I will be their big sister!" with every word Kirara's eyes shined with some strange emotion. Yae shook her head.

"Kirara, your heart is in a right place. But, please, take it slowly. Don't harass [Y/N], and, maybe, one day, you two will be close friend, and, maybe, [Y/N] will see you as a big sister. But, please, be patient."

With that words, Yae Miko turned around and returned to the shrine. She has a lesson to teach to [Y/N].

_______

Kirara was on her way to the bottom of Mt. Yougou. She wasn't able to get [Y/N] to her home once again. But, she wasn't sad. As Guuji Yae said, it can be changed in a future.

One day, [Y/N] will live with her. Granny will love them for sure. Kirara will play with [Y/N], will teach them how to read and write. She will buy [Y/N] anything they want! There would be no need for them to go outside.

One day, her little friend will be safe, happy and sound. And right by her side.

#child reader #genshin impact #platonic yandere #Platonic Yae Miko #kirara #kirara x reader #platonic kirara

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whenthebirdsings · 3 months ago

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the stranger in spring [ch. 1 and 2]

| MINORS DNI |

pairing: gojo x reader, gojo x you

tags: dubcon, drug use, stalking, mind control, mindbreak, very kinky and very explicit, dirty talk, degradation, yandere, possessiveness, jealousy, very toxic, god complex. literally, sadomasochism, dom/sub, daddy kink

word count: 12k+ (it won't be this long every chapter, this is just bc i'm combining two in one post.)

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58426777/chapters/148825717

It started, like many things, with a hello.

You’d been on vacation with your friends at the time. Slipping from one bar to another when you caught the blue-eyed stranger sneaking glances at you. His gaze lingering too long on the curve of your hips, hungrily taking in every bit of exposed skin and dipping to places it shouldn’t. A predator eyeing up its prey, waiting to pounce.

It was painfully obvious, but in his defense — you don’t think he was trying to be subtle. The way he’d bat his silver eyelashes at you and flash you a smile from time to time made his intentions more than clear. It didn’t help that he leered at you like he wanted you to make note of him. Brazenly drinking you in up and down, unblinking as his stare never left your lips.

Still, you played it safe. Played it coy. Pretended you didn’t notice him ogling as you engaged in boring conversations with your friends. It was only a month after your break up so admittedly, you were a little lonely — and the man was terribly, terribly attractive — but you didn’t want to make it too easy. Playing a game of push and pull, appraising him when you thought he wouldn’t notice and looking away just at the right time.

But you made sure your eyes stuck to his skin; made sure he felt the heat in them so that he would know. And he did — an eyebrow raised, the curl of his lips amused. The clock ticked close to midnight, and he still hadn’t ordered anything to drink. Seemingly only there to wait it out, to see how long it would take before your friends would depart, one by one.

And then, one by one, they did. Stepping out the door, leaving you to fend for yourself — or, well, maybe that wasn’t fully fair. Considering you were the one who reassured them you’d be fine. They told you to take care and to be careful, but you weren’t really listening. Eyes discerning the stranger’s every movement instead; catching his anticipation, the smile scratching his face when the last of them finally exited the bar.

True enough, he was quick to slip into your booth once he was sure there would be no other interruptions.

“Hi there, stranger,” he said, voice smooth like honey — and you acted like you weren’t expecting him coming as you stared up at him in surprise. “You alone?”

Well, the surprise was half-true.

You knew he was tall, but didn’t notice how tall he was until he was looming over you. Body too big, arms too long. Like this, you felt like a cornered rabbit peering up a hungry wolf. Yet the size difference only made you more excited than put off. A chill down the base of your spine as his gaze brushed past your collarbone.

“You’re not gonna buy me a drink?” you said instead of answering his question. Fingers feathering over your glass — a hint if nothing else. You spared a glance at the clock on the wall, noting the time, the hands landing on twelve. It was midnight, and you had spent the entire night playing cat and mouse that you might as well be direct.

His eyebrows shot up, but it didn’t seem like he was caught off guard. Interested if anything — like he wasn’t already, but now more so. He didn’t say much else, merely called over the bartender with a flick of a wrist. A wave, like he was used to people being at his beck and call.

“So what do you want?” he asked, warm but not overtly friendly. Leaning in but not too close; a distance just right to pull you in but not scare you off. “I recommend their margarita. One of their best, I think.”

“So says the gentleman,” you laughed. You honestly didn’t care much about the choice of drink; you didn’t have any favorites, or anything that tugged at disgust. Alcohol never stood out much to you anyway. But it got you what you wanted, at the right time, the right price. Not that you were usually the one paying. “Margarita it is. On the rocks.”

He nodded — and with another jerk of his wrist, ushered the bartender away.

“Is that just a thing for you?” you quipped, mirth in the crinkle of your eyes as you studied him from behind your glass. “Like, do you just snap your fingers and people bend to your will?”

He didn’t answer at once. There was a roll of his shoulder, a tilt of his head as he looked you over. You felt oddly exposed — walls pried apart and forced down under his gaze as he seemed to look through you instead of at you. Flecks of blue assessing every line of your face; the roundness of your cheeks, the slope of your jaw, your supple lips. Then, back to your eyes. Where he seemed to stare too long, like a hole threatening to swallow you whole.

“That would depend,” he answered, leer lowering to your slender neck now. His fingers twitched, itching to touch, to hold, to choke you out of air. But still, he leaned back. Composed if not smug in the upturn of his chin.

You blinked. “On what?”

“Well.” He paused, let the silence sit seemingly because he liked to keep you waiting — liked you on bated breath, hanging on to his every word. “On whether or not you like men who can snap their fingers and bend people to their will.”

“Very smooth,” you said, dry and sarcastic, though you couldn’t suppress the flush from warming your cheeks.

You didn’t know what it was — if it was the drinks you had prior or the intensity of his stare as he took you in. Like you were precious; gold made to be appreciated, to be beholdened. A toy he could ruin with the tip of his fingers. He reveled in you like he’d known you for eons too long, even when it had only been five minutes.

Either way, red traveled from your face and upwards still to the shell of your ear. Your hand scratching them, nervous and self-conscious as you sounded an exaggerated cough to make yourself seem less fidgety. Not that it helped much, his amusement only intensifying as he broke into a laugh.

“Worth the sarcasm,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes half-heartedly. But then the chuckles died down, leaving in its wake only tense disquietude as the air around you simmered. You squirmed — and pretended not to notice his foot angling close, boot kicking the bone of your ankle. “Seriously though, it’s just because one of my friends owns this bar. So the staff here see me as a familiar face.”

“Ah, so you just have connections,” you sighed, feigned disappointment as a joking lilt lined your voice. Still, there was a tremble — shyness underlying even if you tried to curb it. He seemed to perceive it; lips twitching as though to reign in another laugh. “And here I thought I landed a handsome rich man. Tsk.”

“Well, I am that, too,” he admitted. With his tone, you couldn’t tell if it was arrogance or coy posturing. Or boredom, really, if you listened close enough.

“You’re from this area then, I assume?” you asked, changing the subject as you felt everything around you shift. Awkward, like you’d stepped on a mine you shouldn’t have. “If you are, I’d like a tour. I don’t know the surroundings here very well, and I could use a…” Your eyes raked past his neck to pause at his long fingers. A moment of self-indulgence as you wondered how they would feel on you before you blinked the thought away, “friend. To guide me around.”

Want pooled in your belly, tight and spreading like fire under your skin. He waited for your permission before going for your hand — thumb ghosting over your knuckles, fingers only mildly slipping into empty spaces. It spurred you on; the heat of his palm on your skin. Blood roaring in your ears now as your body shuddered. It’s just the cold, you told yourself. Even though you could feel every fiber of your being teeming with desire from his unwavering stare.

“Not a local,” he replied, a laugh in his tune as he noted the flutter of your eyes. Lashes heavy on flushed cheeks, heady even before your margarita even arrived. “But I do know this place like the back of my hand.” He squeezed yours, as though for emphasis. Nails sending goosebumps up your arms as he grazed them along the length of your fingers. Apperceiving, savouring every callous, every shake — as slight as it were. “So yeah, I guess I could be a friend. To guide you around.”

There was a double meaning in his words, but you didn’t really mind. You knew he caught onto your drift even without a cue. Not that he needed any — you seemed just about ready to climb into his lap even though he hadn’t done much. It was the alcohol. The loneliness you weren’t used to after the break up. You were sure of it.

Or, well, you weren’t, really. Although you had meant to seduce him into bed tonight, you didn’t think you’d be this easy. But he made it easy. Terrifyingly so. A fog in your brain every time his eyes skipped past your face — hungry, hungry and hungry as though you’d been starved and deprived too long.

He snapped his fingers again, and that was when you looked up just in time to see the bartender coming by with your drink.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, thanking the bartender before turning to look at the stranger again. He seemed to watch you with a strange look in his eye; expecting, calculated almost in the way blue glinted in dimmed lighting. But you couldn’t tell because it was brief, gone like it was never there. “So, uh, I guess you’re just visiting your friend. The one who owns this bar?”

“Mm-hmm,” he affirmed. Smile too warm, too friendly. Yet for some reason, it reeled you in instead of pushing you off. “And I guess you’re just visiting too? Or are you here to see a partner or something?”

You almost scoffed at that.

“Me? Partner? Nah,” you said, shrugging him off with a wave. An odd tightness settling in your chest. “I broke up with him, like, a month ago. I’m just here on vacation with friends. They,” you paused, frowning now as confusion snuck into mind. It usually wouldn’t take you this short of a time to warm up to someone, but he made it feel effortless. Comfortable, even though it shouldn’t be, “wanted to help me get over him, I guess. Or whatever, I don’t know. Maybe they just wanted me to have fun instead of sitting around moping in my apartment.”

“Ah,” he sounded, recognition flitting past his features. He was carefully woven by the gods, you remember thinking. Every part of his face perfectly sculpted; lines too immaculate, polished and faultless. Like he was God himself. “Well.” His lips drew into a grin, wolfish and playful. “I guess you wouldn’t be here talking to me if you were already with someone.”

“Exactly,” you snorted. Tense shoulders slouching as he watched you down your glass of margarita in only a few gulps. You didn’t even notice he had ordered another one until he passed you a second glass. Pushing it to your knuckles, smiling as you accepted it. Ever so grateful, ever so obedient. “I mean. I guess open relationships are a thing. Not really my thing though.”

“Understandable.” He nodded, his grin widening behind his hand as he took in the sight of you hurriedly swallowing one glass after another. His eyes flashed, dark and dangerous — but you didn’t notice. Too preoccupied with the brush of his other hand over your wrist. “I don’t like sharing what’s mine either. It’s… annoying. And I’m jealous and possessive.”

“I’m greedy,” you admitted, a little too soon, a little too loud. Your eyes almost slid close as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Very much so.”

“I can tell — hey, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I think it’s attractive that you know how to drink,” he laughed. Throwing his arms up in defense as you pouted at him in return. Disappointment poured over you at the lost of warmth around your fingers when he pulled away— gaps between them empty again, almost unbearably so. But you ignored it. Maintained eye contact instead as he leaned back into his seat. Sinking into cushion.

“My name is Gojo Satoru,” he supplied, head slanted slightly to the side. “You can call me Satoru. Or, well, you can call me a lot of names, really.”

Your lips pulled into a smile, teasing as you batted your eyelashes at him seductively. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“You’re gonna have to stay around and find out,” the man — no, Satoru answered. His attention briefly gone as he tugged at a loose strand around his sleeve. “What about you? What should I call you?”

You pressed your lips together. Tight and unwilling. The taste of the margarita sat heavy on your tongue, too sweet and too sour all at once.

“I’m not sure if I’m comfortable enough to give out my name yet,” you said. Lied through your teeth. It was odd, how reluctant you were to let slip such a thing when you already told him about your break up and the reason for your visit. But a name had a weight to it, a certain sentiment you weren’t sure was okay for you to just hand out to strangers just like that.

You didn’t think you were going to see him after tonight anyway. But he was fun to be around — and he was good-looking. Too good-looking for his own good actually. You highly doubted a guy like him didn’t have a crowd of people wrapped around his finger. He looked like he was used to drowning in attention, like his daily life consisted of people just falling to their feet for him simply because he breathed in their direction. Not that you blamed them. The man was a sight to gaze at; ethereal beauty personified.

But the thought only served to make you more wary — to be only one of many. You didn’t want to be one of the people grasping for an ounce of his affection, for the briefest of a glance. He looked like he’d brush you off anyway; outside of sex, you’d be nothing but dust. Flakes of dried skin lingering too long on his clothes before he’d shake you off sooner or later. And you’ve gone through enough share of disappointment to know better than to expect anything more.

This was safer, you decided. Gave you more peace of mind. You might get too attached if you weren’t careful enough.

“Fair enough.” He nodded. Fortunately, he didn’t push on. Not that you would have stayed if he did. “As long as you know mine, I suppose it doesn’t matter if I don’t know yours.”

So long as you know what to scream, the mischievous grin on his face seemed to whisper. The words are left unsaid, but you could hear them in the way he crooned, sweet and soft. In the way lust flickered in his gaze, a touch of something feral in blue as he spared himself an indulgent glance at your cleavage. Coming from other men, you would have ran out the door in an instant. Coming from him though — oddly enough, your feet rooted you on the spot even though a sliver of fear caused you to shiver. It was like something had compelled you to stay, and so you did.

Maybe he’s that hot, you laughed at yourself as you shrugged off the feeling. The irony was not lost on you — especially when you remember chastising your friend just an hour ago about not letting attractive men off the hook just because they were attractive. Maybe you weren’t so immune to them, after all. At least not with this one.

“But I am curious,” he said, breaking you out of reverie as you blinked to look up at him. He gently shoved a third glass of margarita into your hands — and your fingers clenched around it so quickly it felt like instinct. Muscle memory. “What do you do for a living? If you don’t mind me asking.”

You grew sheepish. “I work a boring corporate job,” you replied, a sigh in your voice. “It’s nothing interesting. At least not interesting enough that I can just snap my fingers and people will bend to my will.”

A laugh rumbled through his chest. Even so, he made no move to give you any details concerning his work life. You didn’t probe; you suppose it was only fair, seeing as he had already given you his name and you denied him yours.

“I figured as much,” he said, smug confidence in the way he threw his head back. “I like playing this guessing game when I see strangers I’m interested in. You know, like, guess where they’re from, what their line of work is, if they’re single — stuff like that,” he explained when your features drew into bewilderment.

“Oh,” you sounded. Brows furrowing into a deep frown. “Oh my god, do I come across that boring?”

Satoru blinked. “What — oh, god, no.” So he said, but his tone lacked the apologetic trace that usually coupled this line of sentence. Instead, amusement underlaid his tenor; the smallest of a laugh like he found you entertaining. Better than boring, you suppose. “I just meant you look… pent up, is all.”

“Oh! Oh,” you sounded, again, with a tint of embarrassment this time as the emphasis in his words settled in too quickly, too heavily. Already, your cheeks burned with shame, your skin prickling as a breath caught in your throat. “Well, I guess you’re not that far off with that one. Between work and the break up and stuff, I’ve been… tense — to put it in simpler terms anyway.”

“I can help with that,” he laughed, a purr in his offer. Tempting, drawing you in like moth to fire as he leaned in a little too close. In this proximity, you could catch a whiff of his cologne; an echo of vanilla, of something sweet you could almost taste on the tip of your tongue. You couldn’t find it in you to tell him off as he grasped your chin, tilting your head up to meet him in the eye. “Oh, yeah. I can definitely help with that. If you need me to.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. Time seemed to still, your world seeming to stop in its spin. He was so close you only had to move in an inch closer to claim his lips, so close you could see the dip in flesh, the flecks of something sharp in blue.

“Maybe. If you’re lucky,” you said. Tried to come off as coy if not more. Only to fail miserably as you almost stuttered mid-way through, your voice hushed into an entranced whisper, into a gasp too loud. But then he pulled away; a sense of loss along your jawline — and you were relieved and disappointed all at once.

“If I’m lucky,” he echoed. Laughed it out like he already knew he was going to be. Yet he didn’t allow you time to unpack that as he ordered another batch of margarita for you. “Here’s another guess: you like watching romcoms, you spend too much time on shopping apps, and you read a lot of smut online.”

“It’s still literary art,” you argued, defensive, too used to your friends making fun of your taste in fiction. But then it dawned on you that he hit everything on the bullseye — very uncannily so. Like he had been watching you even before tonight, lurking in the shadows, in the crack of your room where you didn’t notice. You frowned, dread creeping into your skin this time. “I — wait, what?”

He was unperturbed; not even a move misplaced.

“It’s just an educated guess,” he reassured you, calm. Too calm even. There was a pause as he waited for your doubt to settle. Sighing then laughing when he realized it wouldn’t. “Relax. I only made that guess because I do the same thing. I mean, I think it’s pretty common. Technically.”

You contemplated that for a moment. A question built at the back of your throat — but then he brushed his fingers together; a snap, and your brain muddled. Mind an empty scape again as you forgot what you were even going to ask.

“Oh,” you said instead. You seemed to be saying that a lot tonight. “I guess that makes sense. There’s stuff like fandoms and all that online, after all.” There was a tentative, thoughtful sip as you brought your glass to your lips. Tilting it a little, margarita sliding down your throat. “Do you… perchance… listen to whimper audios too?”

Embarrassment rushed to your face as he snorted out a laugh.

“No, I don’t,” he managed in between breathless wheezing and loud chuckles, “but I’m not surprised you’re into them. Of course you are.”

You didn’t notice the knowing lilt in his voice. More distracted with your own shame as it burned at your sides.

“Stop,” you whined, a hand rubbing at your face. Like that would erase the flush on your cheeks. “Jesus, you sound like my friends.”

“Hey, I’m not judging,” he reassured you. Or tried to anyway, because he couldn’t temper his laughter even if he tried. Some of it escaping him regardless, in between words, between syllables too breathy. You realized it wasn’t the right time — but he sounded pretty like that. All breathy, letters chopped between sharp gasps. “I mean, I get the appeal. It’s just that I personally would rather hearing them live, you know?”

His gaze drifted to your lips. You licked at them, wetting them either out of the urge to garner his attention or to alleviate your nerves. Maybe it was both.

The foot around your ankle trailed upwards, kissing your flushed knee now as leather teased sensitive skin. It was warm — too warm. So hot you felt like you were burning from arousal. Slick gathering between your legs as he stopped in between them. Pausing, lingering just a little too close to the hemline of your skirt. He could shove it closer and you wouldn’t complain if he touched want and wetness, if he stroked you too hard, too fast. Made you come all over his shoe.

Your toes curled at the thought — but you wisely kept it to yourself. Clearing your throat again as you reached for another glass. “Right,” you said, soft.

He passed it to you. Fingers feathering over yours, nails a graze on your knuckles. “Right,” he said back, not as soft.

Despite everything — yourself especially — you found that you got along just fine with Satoru. He made it easy; had a witty remark to everything. It helped that he was snarky too, responding in kind when you acted as such. Fire to fire, bite to bite. Looking back, maybe you clicked a little too well even.

Not that you were aware of the fact at the time. Too busy having fun, too immersed in the small talk, in Satoru as he carried himself almost flawlessly every step of the way. Graceful, enticing. Like a siren calling your name as he beckoned you closer. With each second, you found that he bridged the gap between you. Shoulder to shoulder, fingers on fingers. His lips, a breath too close on the shell of your ear.

It was spring when you met Satoru, when you looked too deep into his eyes and it was too late.

“My hotel is to the right,” Satoru said as the red light turned yellow. In a few seconds, it would be green again and you would have to move. “Or we can go straight to your friend’s place. Whichever you choose. I had a great night either way.”

He pointed at the direction in which you had showed him earlier. You eyed him as green clawed at his complexion, as something foreign sat on his face. Your mind addled with lust and a little bit too much of alcohol as he lowered the handbrake and changed gears again.

You didn’t say anything in response. Simply reached over instead to place your hand on a part of the steering wheel that was left untouched. It was almost on purpose, calculated to a fault — but you paid no heed to that thought as you swerved the car to the right. Too quickly, too eagerly. But it was loud enough— your answer: a yes to everything that would come next.

Satoru only smiled at you. Something flashed in his gaze, but it was too dark for you to pinpoint what. “Okay then.” He nodded, pinky finger looping around yours. “As you wish, milady.”

You couldn’t remember the last time Satoru let you breathe.

He didn’t ease up even when you clawed at his shirt, not even when your legs quivered and threatened to give out. Lips capturing yours and tongue dipping in between even before you managed to inhale, even before you could heave out a protest as he pushed you against the door. Caging you in, pinning you between him and wooden surface as he shoved between your legs. The tent in his pants rubbing against the wet patch on your underwear — grinding, hips rolling back and forth in a way that made your knees buckle and clouded your vision in stars.

“Wait —" you panted as he finally let go to grant you a short reprieve. Lips attacking your neck this time as he peppered the skin there with hot, open-mouthed kisses, as he lapped at a bead of sweat down your pulse. It was loud, your heartbeat — fast against the tip of his tongue as he sucked in once unmarred flesh.

“No more waiting,” he huffed, impatient as his hands caressed every nook and cranny, every curve he wanted to taste, to kiss, to mark as his and only his. There was something there in his voice; something poignant and longing, wistful and pained.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on that because Satoru was already dipping his fingers under your skirt. Looking for skin to taint, slick to touch. Desperate in the way he scratched at your inner thighs before hooking around the waistband of your panties. Pulling them up to give you friction and letting go once you cried out, seemingly satisfied before swallowing your whines. You dripped to your knees, and he laughed at you — breath like wispy feathers on your collarbone as his lips mapped a trail lower.

“How do you feel about,” Satoru husked against you as his tongue swirled around your nipple through fabric, “me talking down to you and calling you names? Just asking to make sure.”

You moaned, throwing your head back and slumping against the door as he flicked left and right, then up and down before taking the sensitive nub into his mouth. Sucking, nipping through your dress as you twitched and tugged at his hair to keep yourself anchored. The air felt like ice on your skin as he wrapped your leg around his waist. His other hand sliding to feel for slippery flesh, for your swollen clit as it throbbed under his fingertips.

“I like it,” you managed a laugh in between low mewls and sharp gasps. Heart stuttering in your chest as he snapped his fingers on sensitive bundle of nerves. Pressing firm before pinching hard — an incessant jerk of his wrist as he traced along your entrance and teased at your clit. “But of course you’re into that. Of course you like degrading.”

“Shut up,” he laughed. But then the sound dropped a notch lower; a whisper, a growl low and dangerous as he sunk two fingers into tight warmth. “Sluts don’t talk without permission. You don’t even get to think. Just go dumb for me and moan like a pretty little whore.”

His words sent a renewed rush of heat in your loins. Your brain short-circuiting, a half-whimper caught in your throat as he buried knuckle-deep. Spreading his fingers apart and stretching your walls before curling just right. Angling to stroke at your g-spot, to slam against it mercilessly even as you collapsed to his chest from the wave of pleasure.

“That’s it. Good girl,” he praised as you scratched at the expanse of his back through his shirt. His hand keeping you up and against the door as he gave you one rough thrust after another and you threatened to sink to your knees. “Not so sarcastic now that I’ve got two fingers inside that tight little cunt, huh? You’re so fucking wet — so fucking wet it looks like you’ve been waiting for this. Am I right? Hm? You’ve been waiting, aching for me to finger fuck you like this the whole night. Right? Tell me I’m right. Tell me you’re a fucking slut.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears; your body startling as everything became too much all too soon. But Satoru was relentless, no mercy spared for your sake as he kept rutting into you even when you gushed around him. Turned on instead of deterred from the feeling of you spurting to his wrist. Your protests falling on deaf ears as your walls greedily clamped down on his fingers and sucked them in.

“I don’t hear an answer,” he said, condescendingly sweet as he quickened his pace and kissed your tears away when they finally streamed free. Everything was too loud — the sound of his palm slapping against your pussy, the squelching noises circling in the room. Your own heartbeat; little pitter-patters too quick in your ears. “What, stupid whore brain can’t think of one? Need me to tell you what to say? Really? You’re that hopeless? That useless of a fucktoy?”

You shuddered, the knot in your belly reaching a fevered pitch as your eyes almost fluttered close. But you kept them on him, on his face as he demanded your attention with a cold glare.

“N-no,” you whimpered, melting as his free hand found your clit. Cruel as it fondled sensitive flesh without even a pause, without even loosening up at least a little. Letting you feel the full weight and pressure of his fingers as he stroked too hard, too fast.

He raised an eyebrow at you, almost disappointed. “No?”

“No — I mean, yes. Yes, you’re right,” you sobbed, sweat matting your hair to your forehead as he slanted his lips over yours, “I’m a slut. I’ve been waiting for this the whole night. Been thinking about it — about you the entire car ride.”

“Bitch in heat,” he growled, and you almost came undone right then and there. A bowstring almost pulling taut before keeping it together at the last minute as you gasped, screamed out a pathetic half-attempt of his name into the air. He looked down then — down at the sight of him disappearing into your cunt, at the sight of you leaking to his arm. He stared; reveling in the way you pried open and took him in. “Such a pretty pussy on the filthiest fucking slut. Look at you taking my fingers so well. Spreading your legs so wide for me to fuck you stupid.”

“Satoru, fuck —” you tried, only to break into a string of moans as he stuttered before doubling down. The wet noises rising in tandem with his speeding rhythm and brute force as he threatened to snap you in half.

You didn’t even have time to take in a breath. You had an inkling that he would be intense, but this? This was something else entirely. Satoru worked you to the fullest; playing you like a craft, one calculated, brutal thrust after another. At the same time, he was like a madman — a predator finally coming upon fresh meat as he added another finger. Acting only on the instinct to break and destroy everything he touched as he fucked his fingers into you so hard you felt the air punched out of your lungs. The stretch was a little painful, but the pleasure came quick. Overriding everything else as his scent encompassed your every sense.

“Do you do this a lot?” he suddenly asked, lips slipping past your chin to kiss along the curve of your neck. “Fucking strangers you just met, I mean.”

For a moment, you wondered why he was so curious. But the thought dwindled, fading into nothingness, into euphoria as Satoru rocked against your g-spot especially harsh. Your back arching as your nails clawed at his neck, at his arms, at anything you could grasp for some semblance of solace.

“No,” you managed, trembling violently. “Not often. Just when I’m — ah, stressed. And needing some relief.”

Jealousy seemed to cross his face for a fleeting second before it dissipated again. Leaving you to ponder if it was even there to begin with as your hips shook before going limp. Body flushing, twitching uncontrollably as he placed kisses along your hairline. The sight was forgotten with every brush of his fingers, every feather of his lips over warm skin. You didn’t even notice the possessiveness in the way he dug his teeth into you as he slapped against flesh even harder now. Breakneck speed that rendered you breathless as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“We better make you feel good then,” he rasped, dipping his tongue into your mouth again. “Better make the most of it if you don’t do this that often.”

You couldn’t force out a reply. Not that you needed to because Satoru was quick to lavish your nipple with attention again; tongue circling around before licking fast. Lips wrapping around it — steady suctions and eager kisses as you strained against fabric. He rolled your clit in circles before tugging hard, groaning as you pushed your breasts into his face, as you shivered before bucking your hips.

Everything felt like it was stuttering on its axis as Satoru kissed his way down, past your supple mounds, your stomach as it flexed under his touch. His teeth catching the hemline of your skirt once he reached where you wanted him to be — breath hot, lips even hotter. He leaned in, and everything inside you collapsed. You made a stranged noise, hand flying to his hair, fingers tangling in white as his mouth met soft flesh, wet on his tongue.

“Satoru,” you keened, dazed smile on your lips as he gave you a tentative lick before sucking you in. One suck needier than the last as he panted, breathing too loud, too fast against your clit.

You weren’t used to being this sensitive, this receptive. Yet Satoru knew just which spots he had to love to pull it out of you, which cracks he had to pry to force it out of you. So you rode his hand and face with reckless abandon, mouth to clit, tips of his fingers to your g-spot. He pulled away only slightly to hover his tongue over your slit — the only form of attention he was willing to grant you coming in the shape of his saliva dripping down from his tongue and to your entrance. Dirty as it slithered in between your vulva lips and to his fingers, warm as it seeped into your walls.

“Atta girl, that’s it. Such a good fucking slut. Pretty little sex toy.” His eyes fluttered, words slurring and muffled into you as he slurped you up like a man starved and possessed. Chasing after you even when you pushed at his head and flinched away. “Make yourself useful and bounce on my fucking face. Use me to get that pussy off. Make that pussy come for me, I know you can make that pussy come for me —"

You exhaled, the sound loud, hips pausing before setting a swifter pace. Frenzied, drunk in the way you clung to his every word, in the way you squeezed around him like a vice. Satoru made a weird sound against your clit — something akin to a growl and a gasp as you wet his cheeks. It was a mistake to peer down at him because the sight that greeted you was too hot for your already crippling sanity. His cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, hair sticking to various parts of his face as you spurted all over him and dribbled down his chin.

The spring in your belly coiled tightly, threatening to release. Satoru seemed to sense it as he noticed your legs twitching around him before pressing firm and locking him in place. Smothering him under the weight of your hips as you sank down fully on his tongue. Your body stiffening before going still.

“Squirt for me,” he cooed, voice that sweet condescension again. “Be a good bitch and squirt into my mouth. Come down my fucking throat.”

That did it for you. There was one last swipe of his tongue on your clit as he shoved his fingers as hard as he could into your core. You barely caught on to the savage curse he let out as you shattered all over him, climax rushing out of you in powerful bursts as he kept fucking his fingers into your abused hole. Dutifully drinking you up and leaving no drop wasted as he helped you ride out your high.

For a moment, everything slowed. Your mind a puddle as you tried to collect any remnant of reason left behind. If there was even any. But then you felt it — constant friction, full pressure that was never gone. Satoru kept going even after you finished, lapping at sensitive skin even as you slumped around his shoulders, digits pistoning in and out of you still even as your vision cut to black.

“Too much,” you cried, choking on a sob as you tried to wrench yourself free. Yet to no avail as Satoru sucked you in, ruthless as he flicked his tongue on you even while you were still lodged in his mouth.

He let go with a wet pop. “I don’t fucking care,” he growled, eyes glaring at you as they peeked from behind your skirt. Fabric curtaining his cheeks, the slick on flushed skin still visible. “You’re gonna come until I’m done. And I’m not fucking done.”

Not by a long shot, it would appear. Because he forced one orgasm after another out of you even when you begged him not to, even when you threatened to pass out from the overstimulation. But he slapped you awake every time, a sting on your cheek with every smack of his palm across your face, delicious pain that you leaned into as you grew wetter with each strike.

Everything blurred. Blending into a mess too tangled to make sense as you lost count on how many times he pushed you over the edge.

I’m sorry, you whispered at some point.

No, at another.

Stop, and another.

Please, you had even pleaded with him. But you never knew if it was for more or less.

You didn’t even know what it said about you that you enjoyed it so much, that you preened under his attention, keened every time he forced you through a wave of torment. You loved it — basked it in even, in this moment in all its glory as he broke you to pieces and put you back together. Rinse and repeat, until you were spent, until you couldn’t say anything more but a cry of his name. A chant, rippling out of you like an endless prayer. And if Satoru liked it too, he let you know with every laugh, every nasty thing he whispered into the apex of your thighs.

“There you go, press your toes into my back,” he groaned, his face too wet at this point. “Pull at my hair, squeeze your thighs around my head. Show me how good I’m making you feel. How good daddy’s making you feel.”

That made your head spin. Your knees buckling before sinking into his shoulders.

“W-what?” was all you could say, eyes wide as electricity jolted through you and a shiver ran down your spine. You liked that.

“Daddy,” you tried, feeling how it rolled off your tongue. It tasted sweet, tasted perfect. Sinful between your lips. And then:

“Daddy,” you mewled again, louder this time as adrenaline filled every cell. Your body on fire despite the fatigue, pussy swollen and aching for more despite the sweat now drying on your skin. Too much and too little all at once. More and less. “Daddy, please — please. You’re so good, so good. So fucking good —”

“Fuck, that’s it. Sloppy fucking slut. Grind that perfect pretty pussy on my tongue. You’re making daddy so proud. Making me so happy,” he grunted, sounding like he was already fucking you as he bucked his hips into the air. Desperate for any friction, anything to wrap around him and milk him dry as he felt you clench around his fingers, felt you push your cunt lower onto his face. Firm — too firm you would have worried you were suffocating him if not for the way he eagerly met you half-way.

All too soon, you felt another fire pooling low in your abdomen. Your screams chopping in half as you lost every bit of yourself in him.

“C’mon, fucking come for me,” he gasped into you. “I know you’re coming. I can feel it. Come. I’ll take care of you, so just come —"

“Daddy, daddy, daddy — Satoru,” you whispered, in reverence, in dazed worship as your eyes glazed over. Then you dissolved into pleasure, into nothing but Satoru as he held your hand throughout it all. Fingers slipping in between, fitting too right as he filled empty spaces.

One thing led to another and you were on the bed now — kissing, tongues stroking and sharing the same air as Satoru was quick to undress you. Tugging down your dress, the feel of fabric sliding to your ankles sending chills down the base of your spine.

“Satoru,” you whimpered as he latched onto one nipple, grazing the edge of his teeth around it before swirling his tongue on sensitive nerve. Flicking, tasting the sweat down your breast before nipping hard.

“Wrong name,” he growled, cock straining against material. Pushing against you as hard lines met want and wetness, rubbing, grinding firm.

“Daddy,” you tried again, eyes fluttering shut as he dipped down to claim your lips again. His fingers caressed your nipples, kneading supple flesh before pinching down. Yours found his belt, urgent as you hurriedly made to unbuckle it.

“So greedy,” he tutted at you, hair soft against your chin as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Sniffing you in, then exhaling a contented sigh. “Have I ever told you that you smell good?” He slapped your hands away, pulling down his zipper and then his pants for you because you were too slow. “For a slut anyway.”

Heart pounding in your ears, your gaze dropped to see what was between his legs before he grasped your chin again. Tilting your head up, forcing you to look at him instead of his cock as you felt it throbbed, felt it push against your knee. Wet at the slit, heavy on your skin.

“Not yet,” he told you, and you wanted to cry.

“You won’t even let me look?”

He sounded a laugh, but didn’t let go of your chin. Keeping you still, keeping you eye-to-eye with him as he pressed your foreheads together. “Not yet,” he repeated, a low pant this time as you hiked your leg around his waist. Let your thigh skim past his length before locking him in place.

“Whore,” he spat at you, and you felt fuzzy. Hot all over as he shot you a glare before kissing his way down from your neck to linger on your cleavage. Tongue raking along before dipping in.

You clenched around nothing, your eyes ablazed and your head blank as you stared down at him. He was beautiful, even more so now that he was wrapping his lips around your breast, sucking your nipple in, circling his tongue around. All the while looking you in the eye, sly smile growing on your skin.

“Please,” you mewled, tired of his torture, of his teasing as he kissed his nails along the smooth expanse of your stomach. Letting his fingers only barely brush over you before retracting his hand. Still, his warmth lingered, a tingle on your flesh, fire in your loins. And he laughed.

“Please what?” he huffed, tongue lapping up a line over your collarbone. “Be a good doll for me and use your words.”

You heaved out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Crying out, choking on a sob when he dug his teeth into your shoulder. The pain was instant, but so was the arousal — a rush of heat down your slit as you gushed, stained the sheets.

“Need you,” you managed, shivering violently as he traced fingers over your inner thighs. Those barely there feathers again, scratching rather than touching you in full. You were still sensitive from before, nerves hyper-alert, but he took his time tormenting you. Reveling in the way you twitched, the way you looked up at him like you were already fucked out. “Need you to use me. Make me your pretty little whore.”

“But you already are,” he laughed, voice crooned, sweet but sarcastic. Your eyes brimmed with tears, vision blurring before you blinked them away. But he understood; catching on to the plea left unsaid, the whisper hushed. “You want more. Even after coming so much? Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

There was slight arrogant posturing there, and normally, you would have scoffed. Rolled your eyes at him even. But right now, you were too dizzy to think, feeling like you were floating, on a constant high as he placed his hand around your neck. Squeezing, applying firm pressure that had you choking, wheezing around his fingers.

“Need your cock,” you shuddered out. Dazed smile playing on your lips as you grew light-headed. Drunk on the lack of air, on Satoru as he took you in with sadistic glee, eyes dark, almost panting a little as he grinned, wide and feral. “Need it in my mouth, in my pussy. In all my holes. Need you to stuff me full. Fill me to the brim with cum.”

“That’s filthy, princess,” he chastised you, mock disappointment as he shook his head. But his fingers dug into your skin, nails pressing down harder — and you knew it was the right answer. “You want that? Want me to be fucking filthy with you?”

“Yes,” you keened, leaning in. Nuzzling your nose against the bone of his wrist as he cupped your cheek in his free hand. Loving, if not for the way he looked down at you like you were nothing but a set of holes — if not for his other one still pushing his palm into your pulse. But you managed, forced out the words if only for that glint of approval in blue gaze, like he was proud, like you were making him proud. “Would that be bad? If I want daddy to be filthy with me?”

“Fucking terrible,” Satoru huffed, but his cock bounced against your stomach. Pre-cum leaking from the tip, hot and sticky as it smeared your skin and dribbled into your navel. “Not that I expected anything less. Ask a bitch slut a question, and of course, she responds like one. Doesn’t matter what you would say. Everything that comes out of that mouth is fucking dirty anyway.”

You whined, growing wetter from his words as your walls pulsed — begging, aching to be stretched out. Your hand reached down to stroke your clit, to feel anything other than the slightest brush of his fingers, the briefest ghost of his lips. But he slapped that away too, clicking his tongue at you as you peered up at him in tears, in impatience as your teeth caught your lower lip in between.

“Please, daddy,” you pleaded again, batting your eyelashes at him this time. He hummed in thought, appraising you, tucking tendrils of your hair behind your ear. Again, loving — if not for the way he laughed at you, cold and cruel.

Even so, he didn’t deny you any longer as he crawled up to your face. Hand letting go of your neck, tracing your lips as you took in greedy inhales of air. His knees sunk into the space around your neck, your moan loud and lewd as he wrapped a hand around his cock. Hovered it over your face. Over your mouth that parted open, your tongue that darted out to taste.

But he pulled away. Laughing as you chased after him only to be deprived again.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, ignoring your whining as he slid his palm up and down his shaft. Pre-cum gathering before glistening on his fingers, your skin prickling as your cheeks caught some of it before he slapped you with his cock. Let it rest like this heavy weight on your lips before wiping slick away. “Yeah, this is what you want, huh. Sloppy little slut,” he husked as your tongue went to lick at his veins. Tears streaming down your face when he drew it back again.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you groaned, accusing as you glared up at him. He lifted an eyebrow at that, smug expression faltering if only for a second as his fingers brushed past his tip. Again and again until he was bucking into his hand, faster and harder until he was breathing too loud into cold air.

“I,” he panted, head thrown back and eyes clamping shut as he rubbed a fist around the head of his cock. Rolling in circles whilst his other hand pumped up and down what was left untouched, “have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

So he claimed, but you knew he knew the effect he had on you as he watched your eyes roll every time he lingered too close. Cock only a hair’s breadth away from your face, tip almost bumping into your nose every time he snapped his hips. Your tongue reached out, but he would always pull it out of touching distance. Out of your grasp — your lips that ached to take him in. You didn’t know how long you could take this before losing your sanity.

“Daddy,” you cried, wanting more but not daring to move as he kept you still with a glare. With a tut every time you even tried. “Pleasepleaseplease let me taste you. Let me suck you off. Let me make you feel good, make you cum in my mouth.” You paused, smiling a little as his eyes glazed over, as his breath hitched in his throat. “Don’t you wanna cum in my mouth? Make me swallow every drop? Fuck my face to completion? Choke me on your cock ‘till I drool all the way down to my chest?”

“Fuck,” Satoru gasped, composure fractured as his pace stuttered before doubling down. “Fucking brat, fucking stupid whore —” The way he quivered was violent then, tension pulling taut in his form before he let go. Dropping his cock on your face again. Once again heavy on your cheeks as he leaned in. Propped himself up by his palms against the headboard.

“Look at you. Look at the fucking spit running down your chin. Look at my cock, resting on your pretty face,” he purred, almost slurring through his words as he slid his tip over the trail of your saliva down the edge of your lips. Ignoring your pleas, your whines for more as the full length of him sat on your nose. Flushing from the way you panted against him, the way you leaned into him like you were intoxicated. “Bet you fucking like this too, huh? Like when I fucking slap my cock on your face? When I stain those cheeks with pre-cum? You like this, don’t you? Don’t you —”

A long, drawn out mewl escaped you. Your mind heady as he pulled away only to drop down on you again. One strike after another hard as you drooled for even the slightest inch of him.

“Please, Satoru, please. Just fuck my mouth. Just —” you sobbed, eyes glossy again as the torment drove your damn near crazy. Pushed so far you almost forgot to address him correctly. An apology at the tip of your tongue when it hit you a moment later.

But it didn’t manage to leave. Muffled into a startled gasp as the only warning Satoru gave you was the briefest brush of his tip between your lips before he shoved himself all the way in. Giving you no time to adjust to the sudden intrusion as he drew almost completely out before rocking forth again. Cock pushing against the back of your throat, forcing you to override your gag reflex. But the surprise lasted only briefly, gone the instant he started to move. Replaced with lust, with your fingers as they drifted lower to massage slippery folds.

Your chest burned, and your mouth felt like it was pried open too big — at least more than you were used to. Still, you accomodated. You sucked him in instead of pushing him off as he used you to get off. His pelvis kissing your nose with each thrust, saliva trickling down your chin as he pushed your head further into the bed.

“That’s it, suck me — suck me off, suck my cock,” he rasped, a wild look flitting past his face as he looked down to see you slobbering all over him, smiling before choking on his length. “This is what you begged for, isn’t it, you dirty little slut? Fucking deepthroat me then. Swallow me so fucking deep. That’s so good, so fucking good.”

Any remnant of self-control frayed into nothing as you hollowed your cheeks, your moans vibrations that sent him spiraling as you pressed your fingers into heat. Hooking for that sensitive spot within, matching his pace as you bucked against your hand. Palm slapping against swollen clit, crying out every time his balls hit your chin. His scent was potent; all-encompassing and sinking down on you like hands on your shoulders as you swallowed around him.

“God, you’re so good with your mouth,” he complimented you, affectionate as he pushed your bangs away. “Yeah, you better be fucking good with your mouth if you’re gonna run it like a little bitch. Like my little bitch.”

Your eyes flit shut. You tried your best to take him — you really did. But still, you struggled, wheezing with every brutal flick of his waist. Gagging as he sat fully on your face; rendering you helpless and at his mercy as he fed you more than you could handle. But it egged you on instead of turning you off. Your fingers burying knuckle-deep each time he knocked the air out of you.

“You’re so dirty,” he laughed at you, at the bubble of spit down your chest. Your tongue swirled around him as he made eye contact, tempo faltering before quickening — spurred on by your reddened lips, by your face as it flushed bright red. Your tears, pretty as they cascaded down your skin.

He wiped them away.

“Look at how fucking sloppy you are,” he cooed, mock pity lilting his voice as he brushed off a lock of hair from your lips. Making sure you weren’t disrupted as he engulfed himself in tight warmth again and again. Fucking into your mouth so hard you could barely even breathe. “Look at how perfect you look swallowing all that dick. Listen to you moan around it, listen to you fucking moan like a whore. You like that, huh? Yeah? Moan for me while you gag on my cock then. Make me feel good, make daddy feel good. Make that cock cum.”

And that was all you needed. All he had to give you before you spilled on your fingers. Before you gave him a few hard suctions, pressure too tight around him — and you felt him go still. His mouth wide open, eyes a haze as he shuddered before ramming his cock against the back of your throat one last time. He released; one spurt of warmth after another filling your mouth.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered, sated and soothing as he felt you struggle to gulp him down. Your hands coming to push at his thighs before he pried them away, nail by nail, finger by finger. “Just take all of it like a good girl. Take my fucking cum. Take it and swallow.”

So you obliged, humming in delight once every drop trailed down your throat. He tasted bittersweet, hot and lingering on your tongue even after he pulled out with a wet pop.

“Let me look,” he said once he managed to collect himself. Looking disheveled but not as disheveled as you as he tugged at your chin for added emphasis. You complied, obedient and dutiful as ever as you opened your mouth so quickly it was instinct.

“Good girl,” Satoru purred as he noted that you had indeed swallowed all of him. Pushing you down again when you tried to prop yourself up. Laughing at you as you looked up at him with that glare again, that hint of a fight in one eye despite the tears.

“If you dare tease me again,” you warned. But the edge dulled, and you didn’t seem all that intimidating. Especially when your legs shook, when your toes curled as his hand crept its way down. Nails raking your flesh, leaving angry red imprints on once unmarked space.

“Patience,” he reprimanded you, the sound soft and casual. But you caught the sadistic lilt, the briefest of a chuckle in the way his eyes flashed at you. He positioned himself between your legs again, cock hovering over you before playing with your clit. Flicking left and right, up and down until he had you whining again. Until the fight in you left, stripped away.

“You want this?” he asked, his voice low and choppy as he traced along your entrance. Groaning as he felt you pulse, felt your walls try to pull him in. “Want me to fuck you? Need daddy to fucking pump you full?”

“Yes,” your whimper broke free in an instant. “I want you. Want you to fuck me. To breed me stupid.”

“Look at you being such a good fucktoy,” Satoru keened before sinking into you. Inch by inch — slowly like he wanted you to feel every bit of him sliding in, like he wanted you to appreciate every second of it. And you did, crying out his name, tugging at your own nipples for him as he stretched you out beyond anyone else ever had. “Yeah, you were made for this, weren’t you? Made to be my cute little cocksleeve, to be my precious good girl. Made to be mine.”

You couldn’t help but shiver. There was something in his voice that sounded oddly ominous, dangerously sinister in the way he drawled out his words. He sounded way too possessive for someone who just met you tonight — but that thought immediately faded as he sheathed into you balls-deep. Pushing as far as he could, pressing down on the shape of him peeking through your stomach as you struggled to breathe. Struggled to even form a coherent sentence.

Then there was a brush of his thumb over your clit — and you forgot what you were even worried about.

“Fuck, yes,” you mewled, legs digging into his hips as you pulled him closer. Your hands clawing at his neck, fingers tangling into white hair as his lips mapped yours in a bruising kiss. “You’re so good. You feel so good inside me.”

Another laugh bubbled out of him, but it circled the room in quivers — breathless as he touched your forehead with his. “You know just what to say. You always do, don’t you?”

You didn’t notice the wistful look scratching at his face. Nor did you notice the way he hooked his arms possessively around your waist as he pressed you flushed against him. His full weight sinking down on you as he pulled out almost completely only to slam back in. Pace slow only for a few moments before he grew impatient, sanity crippling at the feel of your walls tightening around him, your clit throbbing under his fingertips as he stroked it again and again.

“Yeah, you like that, huh,” he husked on your tongue before drawing apart to drink in your reactions. Your eyes rolling back, your face flushed and wet from either spit or tears. You didn’t know what he was looking at — but whatever it was did the trick because he was giving you these deep and hard thrusts that were so relentless you felt like you were breaking in half. “You like how I fuck that pussy? Like how I pound you into the fucking bed?”

But you couldn’t form out words. Your lips wide open to let out a string of broken whimpers instead — sharp gasps and quick pants that left you too loud as his balls slapped against your ass. You couldn’t even think, but Satoru didn’t seem to mind. Relishing instead in the way your eyes turned glassy, in the way you smiled and laughed like you were in a trance.

“You fuck me so well,” you managed, in between squelching noises too obscene, in between the sound of skin smacking hard against skin. He laughed, rolling his eyes at you like he expected nothing less.

“You look so fucking good with your legs spread,” he grunted, free hand reaching for her throat again as he wrapped it around her neck. Pushing down, choking you out of air as your breasts bounced in tandem with the snap of his hips. Reckless abandon, constant friction as he fucked you with a vengeance, like he hated you and he couldn’t have this any other way.

His eyes dipped to where you were joined, and you felt him swell inside you as he groaned at the sight. “Look at that stranger cock going inside you. In and out, just like that. Pounding deep inside that sloppy fucking cunt just the way you like it. Just the way cocksluts like you like it.”

You were teetering on another edge, that spring in your belly coiling tightly before threatening to release. Still, he kept going — pistoned into you like a man possessed even as you gushed, even as you squeezed around him so tight. Your hands grabbing at his arms, clinging to any part of him for solace as you tried not to lose yourself.

“Daddy,” you choked on a sob. “I’m gonna come. I’m so close, so fucking close. I’m gonna —"

Satoru didn’t say much. He didn’t say anything at all — only feathered his lips over your hairline, soft. But that did you in, your body twitching before going stiff. Warmth spreading all over before exploding out you in a drawn out high. Satoru fucked you through it, cock railing into your hole in a building rhythm. He fucked you even after; laughed at you and slapped your hands away when you tried to shake him off.

“Can’t,” you cried, yanking too hard at his hair as he planted kisses along the line of your jaw. Lips catching your pulse, tongue licking before teeth quickly dug in. “Too — sensitive! I can’t, I can’t, I can’t —”

“You can,” was all he said before he folded your legs over your chest. Rocking into you deeper now, the force of his thrusts brutal, fast as he kept assaulting your battered slit. His hand loosened its hold around your neck if only to reach for one nipple, brushing soft before pinching and tugging hard. “You take it so fucking deep for me, don’t you? Take my cock so fucking well. You even sound good — moan like such a good slut. So fucking pretty, so fucking stupid all for me.”

It was torturous but also delightful: that drag of his length along your walls as he pounded you to pieces. Pounded you to tears and a drooling mess as you couldn’t make sense of anything anymore; your ecstatic cries of his name cacophonic, adrenaline in your veins as want pooled despite the overstimulation.

“Right there!” you screamed, fingers clawing at his back as he shifted ever so slightly to angle himself at your g-spot. “Please keep fucking me. Keep fucking me, keep fucking me —”

“There you go,” he laughed as he watched you try to suck him in — felt you dig the back of your knees into his shoulders to force him deeper. “See? I knew you had it in you. A cheap whore like you? Bet you can take hours of thorough fucking just because you’re addicted to cum. To stranger cocks destroying that tight little pussy.”

His fingers latched on to your clit again, flicking in sync with the roll of his hips as he impaled you again and again on his cock. He didn’t let you rest; didn’t ease up even as he felt you clench around him before shattering all over. Wetting the sheets, his stomach as you squirted — spurting every time he pulled out only to shove back in.

“Guys back home fuck you like this?” he asked, knowing full well you couldn’t answer as you muffled broken, half-attempt at words into the crook of his neck. His fingers incessant as they traced circles into your clit. “No, I don’t think so. You gotta be a good filthy fucking slut to get fucked like this. To spread your legs for a stranger for him to fuck you like this.”

Shame burned your cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of your ears as the intensity of it all overwhelmed you and you bit back a moan only to babble something incorrigible. Your body lurching, knees buckling before going limp around his head.

“I can’t think,” you cried out, throwing your arms over your face to hide your expressions before he forcefully pried them away. “Don’t look, I — "

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the sound hushed against your lips as he slanted his over them. Nothing else mattered then as you softened — as you felt Satoru slam into you with renewed urgency. Rhythm lost, fevered heat reaching its peak as his stomach flexed and he drew close. Ignoring your sobs, the way your nails dragged painfully across his chest as he chased after his own high. “Just hold out for me a little longer. Just a bit more. I promise, just a bit more —”

Your head lolled into the mattress. “Daddy,” you moaned, tired but terrifyingly sated. Needy to a fault in the way you pulled at white strands. “Come for me, come in me. Please. Want daddy’s cum. Want you to shoot it all the way to the back of my pussy.”

He broke then; a bowstring snapping in half as he collapsed on top of you. Forehead to forehead, lips to lips as he kissed you like you were the air he needed to even breathe.

“Say my name,” he rasped. Eyes fluttering shut. “Say my name over and over again while I come.”

There was a certain weight in his words. A certain emotion you couldn’t understand. But that, too, faded into nothingness. Into Satoru as everything turned to static.

“Satoru,” so you whispered. “Satoru, Satoru, Satoru.” Again and again like it was a prayer. Like he was God, and you were nothing but his devout follower. His body an altar to be kissed as you pressed your lips all over, catching his sweat, his tongue as he shoved it into your mouth.

Satoru let go at the same time you did — warmth flooding your insides and painting them white as you fell off the edge.

“I paid for the room for two days,” Satoru said as you woke up. Sunrise peeking through the blinds and clawing at your face before you groaned, turning to your other side. “You can order room service too if you want. It’s on me.”

“You didn’t have to,” you mumbled. One fist rubbing over your eye before you blinked a few times and your vision finally cleared. Satoru slipped out of the bathroom fully dressed, dark sunglasses on the bridge of his nose as he looked himself over in the mirror. “Going somewhere?”

Satoru peered at you — or, well, the bite marks around the apex of your thighs first before your face. Features soft before shifting into something unreadable.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, awkward as he scratched the back of his head. “I hate to say it because it makes me sound like an asshole — but, uh, I got stuff to do, so yeah.”

You feigned a gasp, a hand to your chest for added dramatic effect. “So you’re just gonna stick it in then dip? Wow. I really am nothing but a cheap whore for you, huh.”

He squinted at you then. “Aren’t you?” he joked, playing along with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulder — only to break character as you threw a pillow at him in retaliation. He dodged it, one step too skilled and graceful. “I’ll still be around town, but I can’t promise I can hang out often. I’m here for work stuff too, so yeah. But I did have fun.”

“Me too,” you said, a smile drawing on your face as he reached over to pat your head. Ruffling your hair before passing you a bottle of water. “You were, uh, scary good.”

Satoru’s response was quick. Coy, smug confidence in the upturn of his chin. “Oh, yeah? Say more.”

You rolled your eyes at him. Refusing to indulge except for a light punch to his shoulder. “Shush, you. I bet you’re used to compliments anyway. Doubt there’s anything I can say that you haven’t heard.”

“Well…” Satoru started, humming as though in agreement. You lifted another pillow in threat, but he pried it out of your grasp, flinging it away before leaning in to kiss you. “Jokes aside though, you were great too. Fucking amazing, in fact.”

“Stop,” you murmured, blushing now as blood rushed to your face. Warmth under your cheeks that he kissed as he brushed his lips over your skin. “You should go. Like, actually. Before I jump you again.”

“Shaking in my boots as we speak, ma’am,” he laughed. Granting you and himself one last press of his lips against yours before sighing, reluctant as he pulled away. “But yeah. I really do have to bounce. You’re fine on your own, right?”

“I’m a big girl,” you answered, mirth in your eyes as you eyed the worry and guilt etched on his face. “And thanks for paying for the room. You didn’t have to, but I could use a break from my friends for a bit. They’ve been kinda… pushy since the break-up.”

“I can imagine,” Satoru chuckled, but didn’t resist as you went to fix his crooked tie. He peppered a chaste kiss on your knuckles. “Thanks.”

Then he was gone. Out of your space but not without a fight. Seeming like he was forced to tear himself away from you as he made for the door.

“Take care, Y/N,” he said, sparing you one last glance before clicking the door shut behind him. You didn’t notice what he said until you were gulping down greedy intakes of water. Body sore but sated. One hand to your lips, feeling the warmth left behind from where he lingered.

When did you tell him your name?

But then your hand fell limp. A fog in your brain before that thought, too, was forgotten.

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arcadia-of-pluto · 3 months ago

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Future mini-series and one-shot plans ✨️

I've got a few ideas for one-shots and fics to tide yall over until the smut hits in "Twist of Fate". 👀

I've already got a small, spin off mini-series of ToF called "Strings of Fate" (name pending), a whole bunch of hybrid one-shot series, a Fated/Soulmate one-shot series, a Tropes mini-series, a cam girl one-shot series, an android (based on Detroit become human) one-shot series, a fairy tale one-shot series, possibly a professors one-shot series, possibly a super heroes one-shot series, some possible OT2 (threesomes) and OT3 (foursomes) with not a single idea in mind, and some one-shots regarding the boys' myth 5 star cards!

I'll be explaining them below the cut! 🩷

So yall can let me know which you would like to see first, I'll tell you what I've got so far with each of them! Since I'm, also, completely unsure which I want to work on or if I want to change the idea entirely. Maybe yall will have some thoughts on how I can work the ideas a bit better as well!

I can't say much on the spin-off since it's major spoilers for ToF and, so, I'll probably start it after I get up to 25 or 30 chapters in posting ToF.

The hybrid ideas though...I have a lot. I got most of these (if not all of these ideas besides the hybrid ones) from my scrapped BTS fic ideas so if I decide to write BTS ones, you might see some overlapping.

Oh right, let me explain Hybrids for those who might not know. They're basically like nekos, think of those hot cat girls in anime. They're humans with animal parts or characteristics!

But anyway, the first section is "Prey Hybrids". I have Rafayel down as an axolotl, Xavier as a frosty Holland lop rabbit, Sylus as either a sika deer or a tufted deer (both are native to south asia and I have no idea which one to use), and Zayne as a Black Beauty sugar glider.

Next section is "deadly hybrids". I have Rafayel under Great White Shark (they have two penises so I could use this in the story), Xavier as a Grey Wolf (wolves can knot 👀), Sylus as a melanistic tiger, and Zayne is a leopard seal. Now, I'm not sure how I'll make Zayne into a leopard seal hybrid, I was going to use a snow leopard but...I have a "polar hybrid" section coming up soon and also I didn't want two big cats in one part.

Now, we're onto "domesticated hybrids" so think of your cats, dogs, any animal that humans have thought "hey, that'd be a good pet" fits here. Rafayel is a calico koi fish (still undecided here), Xavier is a Corgi (I thought golden retriever but I didn't want to say the obvious), Sylus is a black smoke Maine Coon, and Zayne as an Agouti Husky.

"Uncanny Hybrids" is our next category and for uncanny, I wanted to do hybrids that not a lot of people write for. Like you usually see cats, dogs, octopi, sharks, squid, and stuff like that so I wanted to do the ones that not many people would do and that's difficult. Rafayel would be a chevrotain (which is a mouse deer with little fangs), Xavier would (fittingly) be a sloth, Sylus would be a vampire bat, and Zayne would be a Kangaroo (I might swap Sylus and Zayne but do note that Kangaroo have two penises as well; and I have no idea how to explain to my FBI agent just why my search history is filled with stuff like this but I must do my research for stories 😞).

Two more categories. We have "Polar hybrids" as mentioned earlier and "Mythological Hybrids".

For the polar ones, Rafayel is an arctic fox, Xavier is a penguin, Sylus is a snow owl, and Zayne is a polar bear!

As for the mythological, it's half unfinished. I only have Rafayel as a kitsune and Sylus as a cerberus/hellhound hybrid with Y/n being the daughter of Hades.

The Fated/Soulmate series! I'm unsure what to call this exactly. I might have it under "Fated mini-series" but it's going to be four different one-shots with each of the guys under a different soulmate trope. So you can give me feedback about this as well or even comment something you'd want to see instead or even help add upon the idea itself!

Rafayel's soulmate trope would be the "colourblind until you touch" trope. Where everyone is colourblind until you meet your soulmate but for an added twist, the first touch from your soulmate leaves an imprint wherever they touched. So, for example, Rafayel grabs your arm as you try to leave and it leaves a pretty, water-coloured imprint on your wrist. I think that would be a fitting and cute combination for Rafayel.

Xavier's soulmate trope would either be "dreams of a past life together", so you both dream of your past life and have to find the person in your dreams, or "at a young age, you can make something and send it to your soulmate. This item will be key in finding your soulmate as an adult." So, let's say you send Xavier the star sword tassel and he sends you a crystal (imagine the protocore he tries to give the mc in his anecdotes). Then, as adults, you see Xavier walking to class with the charm on his backpack while your grandma, Josephine, turned the crystal into a necklace. Edit; this has been changed to a "tattoo mark" appearing when making contact with your soulmate annnnd the guideverse (so think espers and guides)

Zayne's is, by far, my favourite idea. It's "once you touch your soulmate, you get opposing evols". So similar to "opposites attract". You're childhood friends with Zayne and for some reason (spoilers), you wear gloves so you can touch anyone. Zayne also wears gloves in solidarity with you but, one day, he forgets his gloves and catches you when you slip. His hands touch your bare elbows and suddenly, he has an ice evol and yours is fire. For some extra angst, fire is traumatic for you and so is the thought of soulmates.

Sylus's is more of a funny idea than anything. A "tangible red string of fate" so similar to the evol linkage in game. He can drag you around with it and everything. It gets more visible and stronger the more you think about the other person, so at first its barely even noticeable and he can't move you with it. But soon, he can literally drag you out with him and you can play a funny game of tug-of-war with it. Edit; I really want to change this one so i might hold a voting for it as well

I also had the fleeting idea of grumpy x sunshine but that's more of a "trope" than a soulmate trope.

I also have another good fate idea for Rafayel, a stand-alone one. This soulmate au would be "your soulmate is from another world and you get dreams of their day-to-day life. You must decide if you'll cross over to their world by your 23rd birthday and, if you choose not to, you'll lose your connection to them." In this au, Rafayel would be the God of the Sea and you would be an average person. Rafayel would be more than willing to leave his life for his soulmate but as the last God of the Sea...You end up making the decision for him.

The Tropes mini-series;

So this one is a four-shot with an accumulation of tropes. So each LADS boy will have a one-shot of a different trope. Like friends to lovers, rivals to lovers, etc.

I could've went the obvious route and chose Zayne or Xavier as childhood friends to lovers but I didn't want the easy way out to be honest.

The trope I chose for Rafayel is "amnesia". You've lost your memory and woke up in the hospital with a man seated next to you. His hand desperately gripping your own as if he were a balloon about to fly away. "Uh...hello?" You ask, your throat feeling dry as if you hadn't spoken in weeks. "Y/n!?" The man jerks awake with wide eyes. Tears flood his waterline and he gently cups your face. You can feel his hands trembling and you tilt your head to the side, confused, "Are you...my boyfriend?" "What-" Rafayel looked confused, but it only takes a few seconds before he nods, "Yes. I'm Rafayel, your boyfriend."

In actuality, you're his bodyguard and you got injured trying to protect him. He lies to you because he doesn't want you to put yourself in danger for him anymore.

Edit; this one has since been changed to "love at first sight" + reincarnation + slight enemies to lovers

Xavier's trope is a complete flip on what you would originally expect. I chose "rivals to lovers" for him, just because I had a small idea where he could be a lightseeker and you would be the other faction. (I forgot the names of the knights on Philo, they're from Xavier's lightseeker myth if you're confused) But you also get annoyed with Xavier because he keeps putting off his princely duties. Annnnd it would be funny to call him "Princess". I have since changed mind and Xavier's "Pragma(tic) Love" is out now!

Zayne's trope is also not "friends to lovers". Instead I thought "forbidden love". This one is a bit of a stretch and I can tweak it if it's unliked but this would be a fantasy au where Zayne is from the Kingdom of Linkon and he's a saint blessed by Astra (the God from his Forseer myth) and you are a princess from the Kingdom of Philo. You were blessed by the Goddess Lux (I made her up and her name means light) and you've come to Linkon's Kingdom to possibly marry their prince, Greyson (I didn't want to use a love interest for this role), and unite the kingdoms. Instead you, a princess from a kingdom who doesn't believe in Astra, and Zayne, a follower of Astra, fall in love. Also, Zayne's powers cannot affect you because of Lux's blessing, which gives you the ability to resonate (make other's powers stronger), heal, and create a ball of light so hot that it feels like fire itself. Edit; this one has been changed to "brother's best friend" <3

Now, Sylus is our friends to lovers! A modern au friends to lovers where your mother is a top operative in Onychinus, a crime syndicate led by Sylus's parents. You meet while young (but not too young) and have a seven year age gap. You've always had a crush on Sylus, since you were little, and Sylus possibly does but he avoids thinking about it because of your age difference. At 30, he feels like he's way too old for you, at 23 in this. Now, to not make it weird, your mother passes away and you're sent to your grandma, Josephine's to live a better life away from all the crime. You grow up there from highschool, all the way until college when disaster strikes. On your way home for springbreak with Caleb, your friend- who your grandmother took in, your home explodes. The blast kills both Caleb and your grandma. This was clearly an attack by a rival gang and Sylus steps in to take you back to Onychinus.

Edit; this one has been changed as well, I'm unsure of what just yet though, but there's a voting for what it could be! (Sept 2, 2024)

I hope you guys aren't tired of this by now! But either way, I'll keep going since I'm not done yet. I just wanna put my ideas out there and figure out which I should be working on as I post my weekly chapters for "Twist of Fate".

The next category is the "camgirl" mini-series. This one was a must-have to add because I've read so many BTS camgirl one-shots and loved them so much. I doubt any of the four guys would ever want their love on camera for everyone to see but they might not mind as much if they're on screen with her...

So for Sylus, I already have a name. I came up with it at work- "Welcome to the Puppet Show".

The idea is as follows, "Sylus strings you up like a puppet with his evol during one of your weekly cam-sessions." That's it. That's all I got.

For the rest, Xavier's would be the usual. He's your childhood friend and he recently gifted you a necklace for your birthday. His friend, Jeremiah, tells him about this camgirl website and jokingly shows him a few videos. After this, Xavier has been watching your lives for a while now until he notices something peculiar in today's session. You're wearing the necklace he gave you. He instantly knows it's you because he got the necklace custom made and he confronts you about it.

Rafayel is a tattoo artist and he recently gave you a tattoo. It was a pretty unique one so he'd never forget what it looked like, especially where you had it done. A cute, little koi fish ying-yang under your breast. He sees the tattoo in one of your cam-sessions and I'm not sure how you would meet up after that, if I'm honest so let's move on to Zayne.

Zayne is your partner during your cam-shows. He's your close friend from school and once he learnt of your cam-shows, he casually offers to be a part of them for when your fans get tired of your solo lives. He's always only lent a hand, never actually fucking you. Neither on camera nor off. But on your final live, you ask him to fuck you. This is your final live because you're planning on confessing your feelings for him afterward.

Now, we're onto the most unsure one of all; the Android mini-series.

The Android mini-series is, once again, solo one-shots compiled into a series. This series was heavily taken from an old bts mini-series I had. Like Rafayel's would've been Taehyung's (his model would've been the Vante KTH7-1230), Xavier's would've been Jimin's (his model would've been PJM7-1013), Zayne's would've been Namjoon's (his model being Holmes 2.0 KNJ7-0912), and Sylus's would've been Yoongi's (his model being OG Holmes MYG7-0309). So, I might change Zayne and Sylus's models because I might want to write this idea for bts in the future, but just let me know if you want to see it and I'll make some changes!

For Rafayel's, you were fully colourblind when you were younger but you were deadset on becoming an artist. Your grandma, Josephine, had always wanted the best for you so she worked many days of overtime at her job until she could finally afford a corrective surgery- but only for one eye. You've gotten the surgery, which was replacing your original eye with an android one so now you have one e/c (eye colour) eye and one magenta eye. Later on in life, you were finally in college for an art degree and your professor gifts you his old android. A Delaux model (the model is named after a famous artist who painted mermaids) with the ID number RF04-0306. The Delaux model of androids are used to help artists with colour correction and matching, give input on what would sell best or look more appealing to buyers, and even give an artist ideas for artworks or create compelling backstories that their artwork could be based upon. All Delaux androids have unnatural coloured hair since it's against their coding to have nature hair because it's normal and therefore boring for such an artsy android model. Rafayel is the only Delaux model with his hair colour.

Next up is Xavier. He's a Lux model android with the ID XV04-1016. Lux model androids are primarily used as an assist for the military and police force as replacements for the K-9 unit, so they're lithe and light on their feet. These models always have blonde or silver hair if they work for the police and black hair if they're affiliated with the military. If they have any different hair colour, then the Lux model is considered defective and is terminated. These models cannot be kept by the public because they're a higher caliber of android, unless they are protecting a rich client. For your story, you find him in an alleyway or maybe a garbage dump and he's half destroyed. You decide to bring him home to your mechanic shop (your home is above the shop) to repair him. Once your power him on, he remembers nothing so you decide to keep him around- almost as if he's a stray dog. Also, in this story, you have an android arm. For this one, I'm 100% sure if I want him to be a military android but it makes sense for him. It was either this or a sex worker android and I feel like that doesn't fit with him..

Zayne is a Holmes 2.0 model android with the ID number ZY04-0905. The one and only Holmes model in existence since the last one was shut down because it was ruled compromised (or deviant) after a various amount of tests. The Holmes model is a less animalistic version of the Lux model; These androids are more intuitive and less likely to instigate conflict. Black hair is their only choice of hair colour, anything else and they will be decommissioned. In this, you are a damn good detective. The best there ever was...until your accident. You miscalculated an explosion radius during your last big mission and it costed you big time. You ended up losing both an arm and a leg. Your boss (the chief of police) compensated you for your injuries. He provided you with an android arm and leg to replace what you had lost and a brand new Holmes 2.0 model android to be your little sidekick for the next few months, until you can get used your new limbs. This would be his first official test run before the EVER corporation created more of his model. But you hated it. You felt useless to your team and you felt less human with your new android add-ons. You pretty much took out your anger on your newly acquired android because they gave you an android to solve a problem that an android caused in the first place! Damn defective android almost killed you, all because it "didn't want to die". I love the premise of this but Holmes doesn't fit with Zayne's aesthetic. I can always swap him to a medical assistance android where Y/n has a heart condition and Zayne is her android that takes care of her but it's up to yall! If I change Zayne, I have to change Sylus's though because their models go hand in hand for the story.

And lastly, we have Sylus. He...can't remember his model name but he knows his ID number, SL04-0418. Though, every time he looks up his ID number, he gets no results. Nothing. It's almost as if his model never existed or...it was decommissioned. That would mean he's defective and he doesn't want to admit that. He doesn't want to be shut down. After searching, he soon learns that he might be the original Holmes model but...it's not like he can just ask anyone, they'd shut him down if he asked..right?

You have worked in the big, shiny and glaringly white EVER corporation building for years at this point, creating and customizing many androids that are constantly in every day use. You painstakingly detailed everything about these androids from their faces to even their personalities and the very first Holmes model was no exception. You grew very close to this android during the years of designing and creating him, you even gave him a name. Sylus. He was one of your favourites, out of all of your creations, and...he was decommissioned. You honestly never thought you'd see him again until you were brought in to shut him down and you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You had loosely based his looks on an old friend whom you had a one-sided crush on. From his hair to his eyebrows, his physique and even the scar on his chest. You were able to take full creative liberties with the very first Holmes model android because, well, it was the first in existence. But now, he's just called a failed prototype. You made him too...human. Too independent and strong willed. This wasn't the designated personality for a Holmes model android and this ultimately led to a cop becoming gravely injured on Sylus's first mission. The negligence caused by your own hand haunts your every day because you could've killed someone. It would've been your fault, after all. But now with that android, your android, standing right in front of you once more...You can't seem to let him go. You can't lose him, not for a second time. You're willing to throw your whole job away to protect him, sick and tired of androids being treated horribly just because they're becoming self aware and more human. So again, let me know if you like this idea and if you do, I hope you won't mind if I end up re-hashing it when I possibly make my bts android mini-series <3 because I genuinely can't think of anything that works with Sylus. Nothing else really makes sense but I'm also unsure of how the story would go with this one 🤔

I think we're at the half-way point! This is where it goes downhill to be honest. The only good one here is the first one, I feel, but if I thought about it more, I'm sure I'd find better ideas for the other guys.

Rafayel's fairy tale story is quite obvious. It's "The Little Mermaid" but flipped. You would be Eric and Rafayel would be Ariel, however Eric would be the one wanting to be part of Ariel's world. You've seen him in the ocean multiple times from your beach house. Honestly, the first time you saw him, you thought he was drowning but then you saw the beautiful purple and blue tail fin that adorned his lower half. He was...a mermaid? Every day for a few weeks, you'd take some time out of your day just to watch him breach the surface and play around with the seagulls. He would sometimes sit atop driftwood and large boulders in the ocean. He was a sight to behold. And then, he began to take notice of you. Eventually, the two of you begin engaging in conversation- but not before he accuses you of wanting to fillet him like a fish. As the two of you grow close and he tells you stories about his home, Lemuria, you decide you want to be a part of his world. You find a traveling witch and she gives you an ultimatum. You can become a mermaid to live with Rafayel but you must give something up equal in return. Now, the tricky part is, I'm not sure what I want for Y/n to lose. I don't want it to be her voice, her eyesight, her emotions, so I'm thinking maybe she gains a heart condition so she can be with him but not for a long time. Though, this heart condition can be cured with an act of passion. An action that would tug on anyone's heart strings would be enough to snap the strings of Y/n's heart back into place. Also some mermaids are depicted with two penises so...Yeah!

Xavier's is yet another obvious one. I decided to go with "Sleeping Beauty" but I can always change it if I can find a better one. On the day the little prince was born, a warlock appeared and let out a cackle, "I shall curse the sole heir to Philo's throne. This kingdom has brought many sufferings to warlocks and witches alike and it shall be brought down by the prince himself!" The warlock, named Luminous (I came up with that on the spot but it's a parallel to Maleficent and Lumiere) also cursed the king and queen with infertility so they couldn't just have another child. And so, on Prince Xavier's 23rd birthday, Luminous reappeared and unsealed the curse upon the prince. Thorns erupted through the banquet hall, wrapping around the entire castle, and whomever was pricked by the thorns fell into a deep slumber. 50 years have passed since the kingdom of Philo fell into a deep slumber and you, a witch who was also childhood friends with the prince, decide to sneak into the castle and plunder it for any treasures it may hold. While searching, you prick your finger on a thorn and panic, thinking you will also succumb to the curse. However, you don't. This could be because you're a witch or because you're just the protagonist. Either way, this leads you to believe that you could wake Xavier up and this option would pave the way for more money in the future so it's your best opportunity for some quick wealth. As you head over to Xavier, pondering on how you could wake him up, you end up tripping over something on the floor and you land on top of him. Your lips crashing into his and you can taste your own blood. Congrats, you've awoken sleeping beauty! :D

Sylus's story...I'm torn between "Rapunzel" and "The Beauty and the Beast". He's got the Flynn Ryder aesthetic but also the Beast's at the same time so once I come up with a storyline, I'll probably make my decision.

Zayne's is also another hard decision. I could go for the obvious "Frozen" or perhaps Mulan. I'll explain my Frozen storyline though since that's all I've got. So Zayne is Elsa and you have the power of fire. (I haven't seen Frozen 2 but I think there's a girl who wields fire in it?) You don't know that you have this power and you were a princess who was just banished from your Kingdom, Philo, due to the false charge of trying to murder your step mother, the queen. You were banished from your warm kingdom to a desolate, snowy forest in the Kingdom of Linkon. And here, you stumble upon Zayne's ice castle that he created with his powers. Now, the story behind your false charges is, your step mother went from a mistress to a queen after your mother passed away and your step mother got rid of you because she wants her son, the king's non-bilogical, to be next in line for the throne instead of you. So, instead of fighting your way to go back home, you convince Zayne to allow you to stay in his castle until the snow storm outside subsides and you can leave. Soon, you learn of your fire powers and Zayne offers to aid you in learning how to use them. Also, Zayne's younger brother Greyson (He is Ana here) and his girlfriend Yvonne (She is Kristoff) are the rulers of Linkon because Zayne locked himself away in the castle in fear that his powers would hurt someone.

Here's where the ideas get less and less detailed. This was another mini-series taken from my old bts ones and honestly, I might not even write these but I thought it would be nice to add them here just in case.

Zayne would be an English professor with you as his teaching assistant. Even though you're an assistant, you also do some classwork to bide your time when you're not busy and even turn it in to Zayne to have him 'grade' it. This week's essay for a romance essay and you decided to write a steamy little romance essay for fun and submit it to Zayne after class. A week passes by and you're worried he either saw it and didn't care or he's going to mention it when you leave expect it- which he does the latter. He's intrigued at how knowledgeable and intimate the scenes are, and questions if you've done something like this before. You respond that you're a virgin and Zayne asks, "Would you like to feel how your essay would play out?"

For Rafayel, I'd do the obvious choice of an Art Professor with you as his teaching assistant (you're always the teaching assistance because Professor x student feels a bit icky to me, just the power dynamic and everything. I'm not too into writing it). Anyway, he needs you to be a model for a painting but never tells you just what kind of model.

Sylus's could be a physical education professor, I'm not sure if that's even a type of professor? (I didn't go to college so I wouldn't know) but I'm on the fence about this one. I could base it loosely off of his boxing 5 star card.

Xavier would be the Theatre/Drama professor and he needs you to be his supporting actress for rehearsals. Maybe you both are participating in a big play with the students and you need to practice your lines?

Because these ones are specifically so short, I'm not going to add a break in-between. It feels unnecessary but the next idea is superheroes. Honestly since I love Spiderman so much, I might make them all spiderman but for now...here's the ideas.

Xavier would be Lumiere (comparable to Spiderman), Rafayel would be spiderman (because I don't want to write aquaman-), Zayne could be winter soldier, and Sylus might fit as Iron Man. So in these stories, you'd be Iron man's secretary (so think Pepper), spiderman's best friend, lumiere's biggest fan and probably a reporter, and I'm drawing a blank on winter soldier.

The superhero one is honestly my weakest link when it comes to these one-shots but I really want to give it a shot.

Then, the actual one-shots that wouldn't be in series's would be all of their 5 star myth cards but reimagined. So I wouldn't write them word for word, just loosely base them on it.

The only example I have is for the Sea God myth.

So in this story, you're still an orphan being raised by the emissaries as a sacrifice for the Sea God but you have grandma Josephine, who was a clergy woman at the church you were confined to. She would tell you all kinds of stories about Lemuria and the people who lived under the deep sea. Then, on your 19th birthday, she passes away and shortly after, you were thrown into the sea as a sacrifice for the Sea God. I set the age at 18/19 just because Rafayel's coming of age ceremony to become the Sea God is within the 5 star myth cards and usually your coming of age ceremony (at least in ro-fan manhwas) is around the age of 16 to 19.

Annnnd that should be it! I really wanted to add my space/alien! Bts au since I really like it and will more than likely write it in the future, but this isn't a bts post so I don't want to write about them too much here but if you want to hear about it then I might make a separate post about it!

With that being said, I hope you enjoyed reading through my ideas for the future and have some that you're looking forward to! Other than that, my next post will be Chapters Six and Seven for "Twist of Fate" on late Friday or sometime Saturday! I don't have an exact time since I'll have to cross-post to both wattpad and AO3 but it'll be one of those two days. I'll possibly even post chapter eight as well, but I'm not too sure yet since I'm writing chapter twenty and I don't want to post too many chapters at once. I'll see y'all once more on friday/saturday! 🩷

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