#it’s just the matter of getting out of bed and outside

[syoddeye]

cut me down, level me | ghoap x reader | 3.2k cw: alcohol, jealous reader, nasty+mean ghost, harassment, nonconsensual touching/manhandling, masturbation a/n: title from i wish i was you by creux lies.

it’s johnny’s birthday.

you grouse the entire time you get ready. mood utterly unsalvageable even with the right playlist. the emergency bottle of prosecco in your refrigerator can’t rescue you either—it’s turned sour and vinegary, probably like the evening ahead.

johnny texts, his message asking for your eta littered with typos. he’s sent it not in your private chat, but the one with his worse half. 

he promised, repeatedly, that simon, the principal pain in your ass that—“he’ll be on his best behavior. hand on heart, i swear.”

you’ve heard that one before.

it doesn’t matter what you do. by the time the rideshare pulls up outside their flat, you half-consider staying in the car and heading straight back home. cozying up in bed with your laptop feels infinitely better than the prospect of enduring lousy company.

because for all johnny’s reassurances, you know simon. he’s the thorn in your side. the wedge between you and your best friend.

you were practically raised together after your family moved in next door. you spent as many holidays at the mactavish house as your own. even after johnny enlisted, nothing changed—you were still the first person he’d call with news, and he was still the one you trusted to share things you wouldn’t tell anyone else. 

and then, two christmases ago, simon arrived. six-foot-something stupid, he muscled his way in, taking up more space than he had any right to, crowding into johnny’s life like he’d always been there. 

“simon? it’s good to finally meet you. johnny talks about you all the time.” you’d said, hand extended, trying to make a good impression. neck craned to the man filling the doorframe. simon smirked, something flat and condescending in his voice as he replied, hand already hinging possessively around johnny’s nape.

“i thought only i could call you ‘johnny’. not ‘ow you make a man feel special, is it.”

you remember how he shouldered around you without another word, greeting the rest of the mactavishes with bourbon and presents like some drab mancunian santa claus.

johnny found you seething later that evening and delivered the first of a thousand apologies. said he was embarrassed by simon’s cold shoulder, and you forgave him—not because you believed him, but because you felt sorry that his boyfriend was a territorial buffoon.

a mistake.

you know couples spend most of their time together. you’re not stupid or naive enough to think they’d be any different, but somehow it’s worse. you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve spent with johnny one-on-one since they got together. simon’s always there, lurking. there’s no sharing with him.

you’ve tried to bring it up with johnny quietly, mostly over text, since phone calls and video chats are never private, but it’s like he can’t see his velcro boyfriend at his side. he doesn’t question it, not really. he’ll admit simon’s a bit rough around the edges, that his jokes cross the line or that his comments make your skin crawl, but he brushes them off. there’s always an excuse, some reason to overlook it. you just hope it’s only a matter of time before johnny sees simon for what he really is and breaks it off.

a no-good interloper, pissing on everything–

when you knock, it’s simon who answers the door. music spills out around him, voices rising and falling in the glow of light behind his broad shoulders. he looks at you, slow and deliberate, his eyes dragging from your shoes to your face, as if you’re a stranger. then he tilts his head in a silent well?

you’ve learned that it is you who must move around him, in all contexts. you are the invader. he doesn’t flinch when you cram under his thick arm braced against the door. he mutters a snide comment about the cut of your shirt—can see straight down that—breath fanning over your head. your face burns instantly, blistering hot. as you pass, the bottle of wine in your hand “accidentally” finds his ribs, and for a second, you feel a flicker of satisfaction.

“oops!” 

you flee beeline for johnny.

he’s already tipsy, the lush, but he’s at least happy to see you. 

“there she is.” his face is flushed from drink, and he pulls you into a bear hug, pressing a few sloppy kisses against your cheek. “i was just tellin’ simon it’s no’ my birthday without ye.”

you lean into him, briefly nuzzling his chest, breathing in his grounding scent. asshole boyfriend or not, how could you consider abandoning your boy?

“shameless flirt.”

“dinnae i ken it.”

he pouts when you peel away and excuse yourself, promising to find him after making the rounds.

you count maybe two dozen people spread through the house, a mix of old classmates, distant acquaintances, and soldiers. more arrive in waves, and you’re glad for the buffer. enough bodies between you and simon to keep him at a comfortable distance.

time moves in fits and starts. you drink enough to feel a buzz and resolve, half-heartedly, to enjoy yourself and mingle. there’s no shortage of good-looking men in johnny’s circle, and you might as well flirt a little. it seems like the kind of thing you should be doing, though your heart isn’t really in it.

you meet another john, polite but pointed about the ring on his finger. then kyle, who seems interested until he asks your name and then suddenly isn’t. after a couple more dead ends, you give up entirely, feeling more lousy than when you arrived. but it’s johnny’s birthday, and it’s bad form to leave before midnight. so, instead, you decide to keep to yourself and wait it out.

problem is, you start bumping into simon.

wherever you go—the den, the kitchen, the front steps for air—simon appears. he doesn’t make a show of following you, but you feel it all the same. his gaze finds you like a searchlight, dissecting you piece by piece. just waiting to say shit. his expression doesn’t shift when you glance his way, no shame in being caught staring. it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking, but whatever it is, it doesn’t feel particularly benign. his presence settles like a weight on your back. 

he doesn’t let you find any refuge with johnny, either. of course not. birthday boy is blissfully unaware, wrapped up in his own celebration, probably thinking simon’s sudden surge of public affection and attention are gifts. from across the room, simon’s gaze is heavy on you, his arm draped possessively around johnny’s waist, hand settling unashamedly on his ass for a grope. you catch his eye once, and without missing a beat, he leans in, planting a kiss behind johnny’s ear, making him squirm mid-conversation. 

it pisses you off. curdles your bad mood into a rotten one.

with an hour left until midnight, you try to avoid simon as much as possible. it probably seems petty to slip away the moment he walks into a room or to retreat into silence when he lingers too close, but you don’t care. he’s stifling and unbearable—like he’s decided to babysit you to make sure you’re on your best behavior. and there’s no telling johnny. you won’t ruin the night for him by stirring up trouble.

at one point, you take too long at the makeshift bar in the kitchen, and he corners you mid-pour.

simon clicks his tongue, shifting his weight just enough to box you in with his chest and shoulders. “what’s that now, your fourth? fifth?” his voice is low, a rough-edged drawl, head dipping and chasing your ear when you try to duck away. “keep this up, sweet’eart, and you’ll be sleepin’ it off between us.” the grin that stretches his mouth feels too sharp, his eyes glinting as he leans in, the heat of him unnervingly close, his bulk a deliberate intrusion into your space.

the image his words conjure arrives unbidden, sending a disorienting jolt down your spine. you see yourself there, curled against johnny’s chest, while another, hulking body melding to your back, presence suffocating and unwanted. the thought lingers for a heartbeat before it vanishes in a rush of disgust, leaving you like a dog with its hackles raised, bristling with the instinct to flee.

you shove past, wine sloshing perilously close to the rim as you go, his rasping chuckle drifting after you.

another hour passes in a blur, but you salute yourself—only a quarter-hour to freedom. problem is, all that wine’s caught up, and the door to the downstairs toilet has been locked for a stretch. you cast a casual glance around, your eyes tracking the shape of your persistent shadow, and find him finally occupied with the other john, his back turned to you for the first time all evening. it’s a quick, maybe ill-advised decision to slip upstairs, but you really have no choice. you have to pee before you leave, and besides, it’s a teensy fuck you to the man who’s followed you all night.

the music from downstairs hums through the floor, covering your movements just enough that you don’t bother to tiptoe.

their bedroom is unfamiliar, but johnny’s presence clings to the space in bits and pieces. a framed photo of johnny in his first uniform, his mother leaning against his arm. an old rugby medal, propped against a stack of books, a few of which you gifted him. on the wall beside the bed, a collage of photos: summers at the mactavish cottage, christmas dinners with both your families, johnny mid-laugh with his arm slung casually around your shoulders in more than one.

you spot an old toy soldier from the same set johnny used to make elaborate battles with when you were kids. it sits next to a half-empty bottle of expensive bourbon you don’t recognize, probably something simon probably picked out. the mixture of old and new, of johnny and simon, is dizzying. jealousy wells up in your chest. you were there for all those moments. you knew him when he played soldier in the garden, when he rolled his eyes through family holidays and snuck you out at dessert. you were the constant, long before simon’s shadow overtook everything.

you slink into the bathroom, eyes stinging and chest tightening. it’s the wine.

washing your hands, your eyes land on a half-empty bottle of cologne you don’t recognize. while the rideshare app spins uselessly, you take a whiff and hum. it’s johnny’s. you rub a fingertip over the atomizer, too paranoid to take even a quarter-spray. the residual will have to do. instead, you press a fingertip to the atomizer, then smear a trace behind your ear just as the app pings. finally.

you pull the door open, eyes trained on the app’s countdown and mind tangling with how to say goodbye to johnny. you don’t notice the figure outside until you step straight into it, a solid wall of muscle. you stagger, caught off guard, but before you can register what’s happening, he presses forward, steering you back inside the bathroom. your phone drops to the counter with a clatter. a hand smelling of smoke and salt clamps over your mouth.

“stop fussin’,” simon mutters, clipped with irritation. his fingers dig into your cheeks, forcing your jaw tight as he leans back just far enough to shut the door. you batter his chest with your fists, which he swiftly captures when he swivels back. “i said stop. need to chat.” 

your phone buzzes against the counter, the soft vibration loud against the marble. simon glances down, his expression darkening as he spots the car on the screen. with a tap of his thumb, he cancels the ride, lips curling into something that isn’t quite a smile. “sneakin’ out already? night’s young.”

your words are lost under his palm, protests garbled into nothing. heat flushes your face, humiliation prickling your skin as you try to twist free. glaring, you tell him how creepy he’s being, how weird he is, voice rising even though it’s barely audible. for a moment, his expression doesn’t shift, then something flickers behind his eyes, like a shark finding chum in the water. he leans in, his hips pinning yours, and his nose drags over where you’d rubbed the scent.

“you little thief,” he murmurs, voice thick with disdain. his hand eases just enough to let you speak.

“i thought it was johnny’s.” you finally say, throat tight, pulse fluttering at its base.

“it’s ours,” he sneers. “we share. everything.”

you scoff, the sound bitter in the small space between you. “you? don’t make me laugh.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

for a second, you stare in disbelief, chest heaving in shallow breaths. he still has you held against the counter, and you realize you smell it on him, too. 

you can’t have just this one thing.

word vomit comes out in a rush, spliced with the fury and frustration that’s been building all night, no, for months, mixed with the tang of cheap pinot. “you fucking stole johnny from me. he was my best friend, my johnny, before you. i’ve called him that my whole life. and then you—you show up, sap up all of his attention, and now he never has time for me. it’s never just me and him, you’re always fucking there.” the confession hangs in the air. it is more honest than you meant, but there is no going back.

simon tilts his head, looking down at you like he’s trying to figure something out, his hand firm under your jaw. his fingers press in, not quite hard, just enough to keep you there, and then he leans in close, his forehead nearly touching yours. you try to look away, eyes darting to the side, but he won’t let you.

“’s that what you need? johnny’s attention?” his thumb drags over the curve of your cheek, pressing until it hooks inside your mouth. “my attention?”

“no-awh! no’ yoursth!” 

your tongue brushes the pad of his thumb, a shudder rolling through you before you remember your teeth. he remembers too, yanking his thumb away just as your bite snaps shut, catching your tongue instead. you yelp, the sting immediate and hot.

he coos, low and mocking, his hand sealing over your mouth again. his weight presses you against the counter, pinning you effortlessly in place. your hands, useless against the unyielding plane of his chest, clutch at his forearm instead, desperate to free your face. then his knee jabs forward, knocking a muffled cry from your throat. the impact drives you onto your toes, the cupboard beneath you taking the blow and holding his knee steady, leaving you no choice but to remain perched, precarious and trembling, to avoid putting your weight on him.

“this ‘as been my problem with you since day one. you’re a dishonest and jealous woman. can’t be ‘appy for johnny. can’t be polite to me–”

you hiss and spit at that, outrage starting and stalling. he’s done nothing—as if he’s—unbelievable—but you’re wasting your breath, not merely because his stupid, meaty paw’s lodged over your mouth, but because it’s simon. two years in, and you know better. arguing with him is like shouting into the void. useless, exhausting. your calves burn from holding yourself up, thighs trembling under the strain, but he doesn’t let up, doesn’t ease an inch.

“always whining, always makin’ our boy feel like shit with your desperate, depressing texts–” his knee slides and nudges between your legs, finding the seam of your jeans. “–always runnin’ away from us, not letting it happen, be easy...”

your face finally turns, but he only leans in further, his forehead skimming yours, settling heavily against your temple. chapped lips graze your cheek, words spilling straight into your skin, warm air puffing through his nostrils like a beast. “trying to sneak out, makin’ me keep an eye on you all night…” you squeeze your eyes shut, heat crawling up your neck and over your scalp. this is bad. very bad. it’s johnny’s birthday, and his boyfriend has you cornered in the bathroom. your thoughts snarl in panic and guilt. you hardly register simon’s voice anymore, his lecture breaking into shards your brain can’t piece together.

until he says something that pierces the fog. growls it into your ear, close enough his tongue needlessly flicks the shell.

“i’m not ‘aving it anymore. you understand? you ain’t leavin’ tonight.”

simon unhurriedly tilts your head back, then presses you down onto his knee. you swallow hard, a noise catching somewhere deep and undignified. if he notices, he doesn’t let on.

“i’m gonna let go, and you’re gonna keep quiet. you’re gonna be a good girl, come back downstairs, and not go makin’ a scene. or do i need to spell out what ‘appens if ya don’t, or are ya as sharp as ‘e’s always makin’ out?”

you don’t need him to say it. the threat is there, in between your legs, and if you looked down, you’d see it between his, too. it doesn’t matter what you want. 

it doesn’t matter what simon wants, either, you think. if it did, you’d probably still be in the bathroom with him. 

he’s been abundantly clear. the only thing that matters is what johnny wants.

from where he sat you on the end of the bed, hands fidgeting in your lap, you glimpse movement through the cracked door. grunting. he told you to spit in his palm before he sent you out, and now you know why. his hand sounds slick and furious over his length. your stomach clenches, eyes watering from staring unblinkingly at the rug beneath your feet. you wonder if it’s not punishment but a prelude. or worse, his idea of a favor. a demonstration. as long as you’re good and quiet. as long as you stay.

when he comes, he’s nearly silent. a word or two gnashed between teeth in a whisper. a couple more pumps. then, the flush of the toilet and his zipper.

he doesn’t wash his hands. the animal.

simon lifts an eyebrow, and you scurry toward the door, though the snap of his tongue slows you. he stays a breath behind you as the warmth and noise of the party swallow you both whole, no one any wiser. instinctively, you angle left, toward the door, but his finger hooks through the back loop of your jeans, steering you elsewhere.

johnny’s in a merry state, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed, caught somewhere between shock and delight at seeing both of you settle beside him. you’re wedged in the middle on the couch, their solid thighs pressing yours. across the coffee table, the men you met earlier nod in your direction, and you return a stiff smile, pretending nothing’s amiss. johnny’s hand lands on your knee with a familiar squeeze, his grin boyish and lopsided. behind you, a heavier arm stretches across the back of the couch, simon’s fingers brushing your shoulder lightly. the scent of the cologne mingles with simon’s musk, wrinkling your nose.

johnny leans in, his voice an exaggerated whisper slurred at the edges. his eyes, wide and glassy, flit between the two of you with an almost childlike excitement.

“nice to see ye gettin’ along. just for me?”

simon chuckles. “told ya i’d be good, didn’t i?” his fingers curl beneath your collar, resting there. an ultimatum. “it’s a joint gift. ain’t that right?”

your eyebrows lift in a wider, strained smile.

“yep. happy birthday, johnny.”

[neostellarjpg]

inner mono-dialogue

the more time i spend being davepeta with you the more i realize almost every single problem in my life was caused by my obsession with being this unfeeling cool dude

but youre cool already

like in the way that actually matters

youre chill and friendly and just nice and thats all there is to it

youre shamelessly yourself even if everybody around you is a jackass and gives you shit for it

youre similar to jade and john in that way

i really envied that about them

but its different actually being at the control panel and feeling where that earnesty comes from

it makes me wanna match your energy and keep that pawsitivity ball rolling even if it ends up being weird or cringe or whatever

fuck man do you know how exhausting it is building yourself social hoops to leap through all the time and when you trip up even once its suddenly the end of the world

what kinda dumbass does that its like dealing with life in hard mode for no reward

fuck that noise

i like your way better

Nepeta's heart burns and shines inside you.

:33 < thank you :))

:33 < but you know

:33 < i dont think doing things your way is unrewarding

:33 < its like

:33 < a shield!

Dave scrunches up with discomfort.

X33 < i dont mean that in an insulting way!

:33 < the fact is that shields are just purractical sometimes

:33 < it doesnt make you cowardly to hide behind one

:33 < in the same way that it isnt cowardly for a predator to hide in the bushes when stalking prey

:33 < its just a way to make sure you dont get hurt!

:33 < purrsonally i found shields too cumbersome

X33 < im a hunter after all!

:33 < and i guess maybe the same goes for my personality

:33 < its not really that im purrticularly brave for being myself

:33 < i just didnt have a say in the matter in the furst place!

:33 < honestly if i had a choice i would have loved to be more like you dave

:33 < you can befriend people almost effortlessly

:33 < and its beclaws youre also just a nice person

Dave recoils in surprise, but Nepeta passionately pushes forward.

:33 < fur real! i f33l it inside you! theres a really strong sense of empathy there

:33 < its just like mine! just smarter, and a bit more analytical

:33 < whenever we encounter someone mew, its like i f33l you lock onto them, and you gather so many insights into their purrsonality without even trying

:33 < and you can use that to bond with others without giving every part of you away

:33 < which unfortunately

:(( < i never really knew how to do

Nepeta sours with unpleasant feelings. Your brows scrunch together with both pain and sympathy.

Nepeta has a big and complex heart. She tried her best to keep it from spilling over, but it always did in the end. And it was embarrassing. It was embarrassing when your friends dismissed your hobbies or focused in on your strange quirks. It was embarrassing when they revealed they knew about your crush on Karkat that you'd worked so hard to hide. And it hurt whenever he would say mean things about you. He and anyone else.

But you always puffed out your chest and sucked it up. You stuck to your guns no matter what. Because it was fun! The things you liked, the people you liked, were fun, and they made you feel good. Why couldn't anyone else see that? And why did it seem like they never gave a single thought to who you were?

You curl in on yourself. Your chest hurts. You suddenly really miss Equius.

And you miss Rose. You miss Jade. You miss John and Karkat and Aradia and Tavros and Terezi and all the others. You miss all the people you can go outside and see whenever you wish, and you miss all the people that you have no hope of ever seeing again. You feel the choral echo of all the times you've ever felt this need for comfort, this thrumming pain searing hot inside you, like hunger wracking your stomach.

You clench your teeth. You remember being on your bed, curled in blankets, not having eaten a proper meal in days. You remember holding your stomach and sneaking to the kitchen, turning your shoulder at every step to look fearfully behind you, only for your fingers to falter hopelessly on the handle of the refrigerator, knowing there was nothing for you inside.

You shake with anger. You know that feeling. The feeling of being chased by something much bigger than you, a hulking silhouette of menacing strength following your scent through the thicket. You'd clutched a beast carcass to your chest, barely breathing as you stalked clumsily through the trees, performance wavering from exhaustion and hunger.

You'd almost died. You'd almost died often. And then after escaping death so many times, it one day claimed you. Casually. Unflinchingly. And the world beat on without you, leaving you stunned by your own insignificance. You'd looked out onto every preceding moment of your life, wondering if there was anything to truly be proud of in the face of your friends accomplishing all these fantastical things. You'd felt lonely before, but after that, you were truly walled off from every single person you knew.

And now, despite everything, you're alive again. Twofold, together with someone.

A warmth coats the ache inside your body. The two parts of you swirl together, feeling and tasting each other, trying to understand themselves.

It feels like a hug.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

Metanoia ;

Aemond targaryen x Transmigrated!Strong!Reader

>> Chapter V : The Epiphany.

Summary: Aemond's been taking care of you since you fainted, at last you finally wake up.

WARNINGS: mdni, smut, unprotected p in v sex, canon typical incest, nothing too crazy, mentions of purity culture and customs, hymen breaking (reader's transmigrated body, this isn't specified for the body outside of the world), blood mentions, Aemond becomes a softie ig (cherish him y'all), + not proofread, please let me know if I forget anything else!

A/N: it's back!!! divider credits @cafekitsune

<- prev // masterlist // next ->

You blink open your eyes staring at the openview outside of the window, the sky beginning to darken.

It seems you've passed out once again. It's probably been a few hours. This body is extremely weak, you needed to do something about it.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't hear the door open so you jump slightly when it slammed shut. Looking up, you see Aemond whose eye widened as he rushed over to you, dropping a rag of cloth and the bucket in his hand, causing the water in it to pour out. “How are you feeling?” He questions, grabbing your hand, checking your temperature and pulse.

“I am alright, how long have I been asleep?” You ask him.

“A week.”

That reply made your heart stop.

A week?

That long?

“Are you serious?” You ask and he nods, “Yes, we were all concerned and I thought—” He cups your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I thought you went into a long slumber again, but I thank the heavens you did not.”

Perhaps the last encounter with Aemond really pushed the limits.

“Did.. anything happen while I was asleep?” You ask once again, wanting to know what happened during your absence of consciousness. Aemond sighs. “Your mother and siblings have all returned to Dragonstone as there was an urgent matter at hand, they were unable to take you with them.”

“I see.” You furrow your brows, wondering why Viserys hasn't died yet. It has been a week, was his death gonna occur at any moment now? There was a deep feeling in your gut that something would happen soon.

Aemond sits on the bed, before pulling you into his embrace. “I apologise.” He mutters into your ear. “What for?” You ask confused, hugging him back. “It was because of me that you had fainted.” You could feel his breath hitting against the back of your neck as he spoke.

You pull away from the embrace, giving him a smile. “I am just weak.” You reply, in an attempt to tell him that it was not his fault. He smiles at you. Your eyes fall to the bucket on the ground before you look at him. “Have you been taking care of me?” You question and he nods, which makes you feel embarrassed.

“Why bother? The maids could've done it.” You shrug but he shakes his head. “I do not want anyone I do not trust near you when you are vulnerable.” He replies.

You just simply nod at his reply, feeling the silence fall between you two. The air turns cold causing shivers to travel up your spine. Aemond continues to stare at you, taking in your features.

Since your apology, it seems the environment and the atmosphere around you and Aemond has changed, you could feel it. The way his face blanketed on a worried expression, the longing in his eyes, you could see it. Something has definitely changed in him. And you did not know if it was for the better or worse.

He leans closer and you look into his eye, your heart accelerating as you anticipate him to lean. He does exactly that, he leans in, capturing your lips with his moving them in a slow manner, contrary to the first time you both shared a kiss.

Aemond seemed to have significantly warmed up to you now, it was one thing that you had fixed after coming into this world.

His hand travels to the back of your head as he pushes you further into the kiss, wanting to get closer to you; to seek your warmth. You couldn't help but melt into his hold, reciprocating the kiss as your hand reaches up to rest on the bend of his elbow.

He pulls away, panting heavily as he takes you in, the sight of his saliva glistening on your lips, the light of the candles around you bouncing off of the shine. He couldn't help but crave you more.

But he knew, he had to stop himself before he lost control, he shouldn't be taking your maidenhead without getting married, cause it is a part of your dignity. He respected you enough to consider this fact.

Yet, you were so irresistible, he felt like a feral animal, trying to lock his own desires in a cage. You do not know the effect you have on him. You couldn't help but notice that the environment had indeed turned a little tense and you knew exactly what he was thinking, his eye failing to hide his desire and craving for you.

And so, you took the initiative, not liking the way he was restraining himself from you. Had this been the Aemond from a week ago, he would've taken your maidenhood without mercy as a way to teach you a lesson, because he was a cruel man. But now that man is no more, replaced or rather, reformed into his younger self who loved you a lot.

You pushed him onto the bed, straddling him. His hair was sprawled out behind him like a halo, making him look like an angel that has descended from the heavens above.

He was taken aback by your bold move. His hands grabbed onto your hips for leverage as he felt you straddle him, your thighs on both sides of his legs as you sat on top of his crotch.

He felt embarrassed, feeling you shift on top of his crotch, his breeches meekly trying to conceal his hardening shaft like a lone leaf holding onto its branch against the strong wind.

It was futile, because you feel the outline of his cock quite clearly.

Your hands moved on their own accord, your body taking the lead like it always did. Perhaps the owner of this body is still inside somewhere, yet you could feel no one else's consciousness in your brain except yours. Maybe you are the—

The sound of clothes ripping cut you off from your thoughts and you realised that Aemond has ripped your nightgown by pulling it off your shoulder before he grabbed it with both his hands and tore it down the middle, exposing your breasts.

He grabbed onto them, his movements becoming bolder each second, as if he's slowly releasing the beast yet still trying to keep it tamed. His thumbs caressed your nipples, pressing against the hard nubs before he sat up, taking one of your breasts into his mouth.

He breathed out in satisfaction, suckling onto your areolas, his tongue swirling around the nub and flicking against it continuously before he'd suck on it, repeating this in a loop.

You felt yourself getting wet down there, so you rub yourself against him, trying to ease the ache in between your legs, but he holds you down, grunting before he lets go of your breasts with a pop.

He shakes his head lightly, “Are you sure about this?” He asks, and you nod desperately, your mind filled with the thoughts of just wanting his cock inside you, pushing out any rationality left in you.

“Please— Aemond.. I want you..” Those words leave your mouth voluntarily as you grab his shoulders tightly, indicating that you really mean it. You cup his cheek before catching his lips in a searing hot kiss.

Those words that left your mouth set the forest inside his heart ablaze, the fire of desire engulfing him in its warmth. The feral beast broke free and took control immediately.

He flipped you over, pushing you onto the bed, getting on top of you. He begins kissing your neck, sucking your sweet spot, leaving his marks, his teeth biting on your flesh as a way to claim you as his own.

He pulls away, panting heavily, immediately scrambling to undo his breeches, freeing his cock from the confines of the material. He pulled off his leather suit as well, the tunic following along with his tunic, hating the way the sweat was sticking to him.

You wouldn't help but admire the view in front of you. You spread your legs before he could say anything, hiking up your nightgown to reveal your cunt. Aemond's eye widened in surprise at your bold move, driving him crazy even more.

Aemond grabbed you by your thighs, pulling you forward as he lined himself against your entrance as he slowly pushed in. You winced when you felt a sudden heat of pain down there. His length penetrates you slowly.

He wanted to pull out the minute he saw blood, yet the darker side of him only felt motivated, knowing that he's taking your maidenhead. It drove him further off the edge.

You on the other hand only felt slight discomfort but your eyes widened when you saw blood.

Ah right, the hymen of women in this era is still intact as they're not that active for it to break off due to physical movement. So even the slightest penetration would lead you to bleed.

Basic biology, you shrugged it off, if only they knew. You felt annoyed, not agreeing with the custom this era practices.

Aemond settled fully inside you, his cock throbbing inside, the way your walls felt warm around him. Without a warning he began moving, which cut you off your thoughts when you felt yourself being jolted up and down, his thrusts starting off rough from the beginning.

‘That's right, focus on him for now.’ You tell yourself internally, gripping onto his shoulders, staring into his eye. Your hand reached upwards towards his eyepatch and he flinched away a little before he realised what you were doing.

You took the eyepatch off, revealing the sapphire that rested in his eye. You sat on your elbows, cupping his cheek as he leans in. You kiss him on the eye before kissing his cheek and finally kissing him on the lips.

He pushes you back onto the bed, not breaking the kiss and neither stopping his thrusts as he supports himself on his elbows kissing you with thirst desperately wanting to be quenched while simultaneously ramming into you.

You gasped when you felt him hit your sweet spot, making way for his tongue to slip past your lips, his tongue challenging yours in a battle of dominance.

You were losing it, of course, because his tip kept ramming and grazing against your gspot, pushing you to the edge. You gripped his back in desperation, your fingers leaving bites on his flesh.

And then, you felt it, the sudden shot of immense pleasure up your spine to the point it made you push your head back into the mattress as you gasped loudly into the kiss, whining directly into it. The pleasure blinded you temporarily as you convulsed around him.

He felt you clench and grip him tightly, which pushed him off the edge as well, he grunted, finishing inside you with a soft call of your name, it felt erotic, it felt comforting all at once.

Aemond wouldn't stop with just this one time, after all, he finally got the taste of what he craved the most. He continued all night, taking you all positions known to mankind, leaving you a moaning mess beneath him.

The night was wonderful, it was only when the sky began to turn into a lighter shade than darkness that he'd stop, collapsing next you and allowing you to rest in his arms.

You fell asleep soundly in his embrace. It was peaceful.

But, the peace wouldn't last for long.

The knocks on your chamber door were hurried and loud. Aemond grunted in his sleep, annoyed at the disturbance before waking up, you had woken up as well. He wrapped a cloth around his lower body before he went and opened the door, to find a panicked Alicent.

“Y/N— Aemond?” She's surprised to see Aemond, so many questions arise in her mind as she's processing the sight before her. She wanted to reprimand, but she could not because a lot was on her mind already.

“What is it, mother?” Aemond asks cooly, not bothered by her reaction. You hold the blanket to your chest, leaning sideways to try and catch a glimpse of Alicent, yet you only catch a sight of her dress and her dishevelled hair.

“Aemond your father— is dead.”

The words that left her mouth made your blood run cold. Aemond seemed just as shocked, remaining silent as he processed the information before he blinked. “And Aegon, he's gone.” She finishes.

Aemond immediately returns back into the room, putting on his breeches with haste before throwing on the tunic and rushing out of the room. Leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Viserys is dead.

Aegon is gone.

Fuck.

TAGLIST !!

@gabriella-aesthetic @delaynew @idonotknowenglish @dixie-elocin @intheheartoftheking @dracaryxzs @ladyoffandoms @zoleea-exultant @saturnssrings @uniquecutie-puffs @aleemendoza2425-blog @marvelita85 @feelingfaye @sylvievil @cypherpt5fttaehyung @ttysmfwna @void21 @technicallystrangereview @feyresqueen @evergreen9083 @mirandasidefics @org12 @blorbo-brainrot @thisishwrworld @shadowqueen09 @watermel0nsugarhigh @cottoncandyclouds-stuff @madislayyy @the-hufflebird-girl @hiatuswhore

[postm0rt3m]

writing this so fast because if i dont ILL FORGET IT PLEASE

(insp by that super SEXY IMAGE posted by @simonz-angel !!)

bzzt.

your eyes jolt open at the sudden feeling of your phone buzzing, the vibration under your pillow prompting a soft, groggy groan from your lips.

you’re not sure what time it is, but when you open your eyes, it’s still dark outside. riley, your retired bomb-sniffing german shepherd, is still fast asleep at the foot of the bed. and your two little kitties are seemingly no where to be found.

you finally roll over, the time on your little bed stand alarm clock reading 2:28 AM. ‘who the hell is texting at 2 in the damn morning??’ you wonder with another groan, this time an annoyed one. although one person pops in your mind. specifically, a big beefy man, who is currently out on deployment. your annoyance washes away instantly.

you can’t help the giddy smile that spreads across your face just at the thought of him. simon riley. your big beefy man.

he’s been gone for a little under a week now, although its felt like years. the same as it always does. you miss your warm, brick wall of a man! you’re currently bundled under three different blankets, and its still not the same! you miss his big, plush pecks and biceps that feel like pillows under your head, the rough skin of the burn scar across the entire right half of his torso that you could just run your tongue over for the rest of your life, and just don’t get me started on that tattoo sleeve.

of course.. you also just miss him. the way he yells at riley then immediately feeds him a treat because he feels bad, the way he looks at you when he finally does arrive back from his harrowing work, the way he whispers sweet nothings into your ear when he thinks you’ve drifted off.

simply put, you miss your simon.

you’re brought out of your thoughts when riley stirs at the end of the bed, a soft giggle escaping your lips as the dog lies on his back with his tongue flopped out and each of his limbs in the air, like a possum playing dead.

you decide to finally open the message, although that small pit of worry is in your stomach, as it always is when you receive a message from him.

is he hurt?

did something happen?

please be okay.

the same thoughts always run through your mind when you get these random texts, but as soon as you open the chat, your mind instantly freezes. well.. maybe blanks is a better word.

there’s no caption, no words. just a single image attached. and holy shit, is it better than anything you could’ve asked for.

he looks to be lying in his bed, the familiar military-approved white sheets tucked in neatly behind him. the camera is angled high above himself, and it looks as if he still has his gloves on. you can also see the waistline of his pants, and of course that sexy mask (you could bust just from thinking about it), and the dogtags you were just wearing when you bounced up and down on his cock, but.. thats it. he’s completely shirtless.

his muscular, toned abs and pecks are fully on display. for you. only for you. his beefy biceps are on either side of the frame, and that tattoo sleeve you remember tasting just a week ago is sitting deliciously in view. the way his shoulders barely fit in frame, the way the muscle connecting his shoulders up to his neck sits so perfectly high, the way his collarbones. THE WAY HIS V-LINE.

god.. and his scars? you can remember leaving a rather large hickey over that old bullet hole. giggling over the stab wound stretching over his ribcage. licking a stripe all the way from his v-line to his shoulder over the jagged skin of his burn scar. although there is a new one, one you can only presume he got in the last week. no matter, it will be tasted as soon as he gets home.

you end up staring at the picture for a good ten minutes (12, but who’s counting?) before you actually respond. you.. really aren’t sure what to say. it’s not uncommon for him to send images while hes out on deployment, but at 2:30? on a random tuesday? he must be horned up.

but you can’t just leave your man hanging! so.. you decide with a simple text.

> oh

you can already imagine the deep chuckle as he reads the message, the way he’d palm over his painfully tight bulge just thinking about you before unbuttoning his pants, his hard and leaking cock springing up against his lower abdomen and his big, veiny hand wrapping around it-

obviously, you’re feeling the same as he is, considering just how quickly you rush riley out of the room (don’t worry, he’ll get a treat later to make up for it) and plop back down in bed, your phone in one hand as the other lazily circles over your clit.

like i said, you miss your simon.

and you’ll definitely be getting him back for that little tease.

tumblr STOP DELETING PARAGRAPSH WHEN I TRY TO SPSCE THEM. hi i wrote this within like thirty minutes at 3 in the morning and its not proofread so.. enjoy!

ft a lil msg 😜 (BCZ WTF WOULD YOU RESPOND TO THAT my hand would be PREOCCUPIED)

[antizenin]

𑁤 NO GOOD NIGHT'S REST ⋮ NANAMI KENTO

nanami can't have a good night's rest with a wife like you. you say it's for him, to take care of him & his needs, but he knows his wife so well and how much you love him sleeping nearly nude.

( fic demographics. ) jujutsu kaisen, nanami kento, sexually mature | minors, ageless and blank blogs: do not interact & 4.7k words !

➛ salaryman!nanami kento & housewife!reader (she/her), consensual somnophilia, rimjob, dry humping, premature cumming, handjob, blowjob, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, not proofread.

The moment that Nanami takes a step into the house, the khaki trench coat that was draped around his hand is thrown towards the coat rack on the left corner absentmindedly hanging up his keys in the process. The dark brown briefcase is dropped next to the door for you to move somewhere else. He kicks off his dark brown leather shoes, shoving them off into their allotted corner where you’ve begged him plenty of times to do before. Now, he listens, your voice playing in the back of his exhausted mind. 

He can smell the aroma of whatever dish you’ve made tonight still lingers despite the clock trickling closer to half past twelve. You’re not in his sights like you usually are— always waiting up for him in the wee hours of morning no matter what— as he’s making a beeline towards the wooden staircase and trudging up the steps. 

“Honey, where are you?” he calls out. His voice isn’t loud, but you surprisingly hear it all the way up there as you speak from outside your crafting room. You had finished all the household duties, managing to finish dinner just in time to allow yourself a period of leisure. This was the one place you allowed yourself to make a mess and care about it some other time. 

“I’m in here!” you call out, seeing his figure getting closer as he rises from up the stairs. You can see it evident in him. Work has surely drained him tonight, especially at a time like this. You’ve had yourself so transfixed on this crochet project that you didn’t even realize the time yourself, it only hitting you the moment you let out a loud yawn. Despite his own exhaustion, Nanami can’t help but be amused at you. How you’re always so adamant on waiting for him even with his protests not to. You still have whatever craft you have in hand, seeming to be making a sweater that’s surely taking up your time.

“Look at you,” he grabs your wrist, pulling you into his arms. “You’re tired.”

“Says you,” you poke into his chest, giggling softly before another yawn escapes you. “You’re the man working hard at work twenty-four-seven, leaving your dear wife alone all the time. You’re exhausted, baby.”

You come to cup his face, eyes widening as you pull off his green-tinted spectacles. You can see the purple eye bags underneath as you pout, your thumb running down his cheek as you frown. “Let me go run you a bath.”

“No,” he stops you from leaving, grabbing back at your wrist to pull you close into his chest again. “I’m gonna shower. Don’t want to fall asleep in the tub.”

His hands dip to fall on the small of your back before traversing to your ass, grabbing a handful of it as he smirks. “How about you—” he speaks low, his lips meeting that one spot on your neck, his blonde hair touching your skin. “—get yourself changed into that nightgown I like and I meet you in bed, hm?”

You giggle, nodding your head. You finally leave his hold, but not before planting a chaste kiss on his lips as he lets you lead the way to your shared bedroom. When you open the door, he lets out a deep sigh as he saunters into the bathroom, flickering on the bathroom lights as you do in the bedroom. The deep grumble of your drawers sound as you pull out a short nightgown, a skimpy little laced dress that does nothing to hide your body from your husband. You pull off your t-shirt, an old band tee that you got back in high school. It amazes you how you still manage to fit in at the age of thirty. You’ve gained a healthy amount of weight, where you’d think you would have to get rid of it by now. But then again, it was a baggy on you at seventeen, where it now hugs you. 

You kick off your shorts as well, feeling the breeze of the air conditioner hit your bare skin as you stand in near nude, your panties being the only thing to cover you. Pulling on the nightgown, the spaghetti straps have a habit of slipping off of you and revealing your cleavage. It stops down just below your ass, giving Nanami the perfect view of it whenever you move. It’s his favorite color on you, a sage green that always has his breath hitching and thinking how he’s such a lucky man to have you.

You remember why you always wait for Nanami with something in your hand to occupy you, because the moment you hit the bed, your exhaustion betrays you and you always manage to fall asleep before he can join you. This has happened plenty for you to learn your lesson, but you think this has always been his plan because the moment he comes out of the shower to see your slumbering body, he chuckles to himself. The sheets are barely covering your upper body, giving him the perfect view of your breasts and how they’re close to spilling out. 

His chest glistens as he steps out the bathroom, the steam escaping as it’s fogged up the mirrors inside. He continues drying off the excess water that he’s missed, taking careful steps as he shudders at the presence of the cold air. He reaches for the underwear drawer, opening it gently so it doesn’t disturb your sleep. He pulls out a pair of boxer briefs before disregarding his towel to be thrown down the back of a chair. Stepping inside of it, he goes to shut off the lights and crawl inside the bed next to you. 

He’s careful when pulling your sleeping body close to him, arms wrapping around your figure and holding you snug against his bare chest. Silently his hands wander, feeling the soft fats of your chest as they momentarily ghost around your nipple, the next hand wandering deep under your sexual sleepwear. He goes to cup your covered mound, something that he’s grown a habit of, the feeling of your heat providing a sense of comfort as you shuffle in his embrace. “Kento?”

“Shhh, my darling,” he hushes you and finally closes his eyes. “Go back to sleep.”

And you don’t argue with him, his words sending you right back into that place of darkness. Though, it feels more light now that you’re in his arms. You hum, “M’kay…”

—

You wake up in the next hour and a half, groggy but no longer in the warmth of Nanami’s arms. You think that maybe he left you, also waking up to whatever force that drove you out of your slumber, but when you push yourself up on the bed, he’s lying flat on his stomach, his face away from you. The covers aren’t around him, forced to take in the absolute freezing temperatures while you’ve hogged the sheets all to yourself. The moon from outside your window shines onto him, the expanse of his back glistening in its light. How his back muscles flex as his chest rises and falls, ever so slightly jumping from time to time due to whatever he’s dreaming about. 

His boxer briefs hug at his ass perfectly, his legs thrown across the bed so haphazardly, one bent upwards as the next is close to teetering off the edge. It gives you the perfect view of his covered bulge pressing into the dark sheets that cover the mattress, the navy blue crinkled under both of your weight. His hair dances messily under the air while yours is covered underneath your bonnet, his soft snores silently echoing inside the room. A heat escapes you, a pool of arousal that sticks to your panties as you push yourself up even more to sit straight. Absent-mindedly, your hand travels down his back, gently so as to not wake him up before they land on the hem of his underwear. Your next hand goes to cup your cunt, pressing your fingers into the heat as you clench around nothing, feeling the dampness that’s there and to come. But it’s just that, simply cupping yourself to move your hands to Nanami’s bulge, pressing your fingers down against his balls and feeling how he immediately reacts to you. An intake of a breath before he’s back to his regular slumber. You run your hands down the expanse of behind to his ankles and it’s as if though his body has grown accustomed to you, his body still laying down pliant on the bed fast asleep. Only when your hands are back against his balls does he respond.

He’s always been a heavy sleeper, sleeping through the midst of construction outside your bedroom window and the heavy, thundering rain. It makes it all so much fun to test the waters, to see when his body will respond and send a signal to his brain to wake up. To tell him, your wife is touching you again. 

You mess with the band of his underwear, something you’ve always struggled with. You tuck your index and middle finger underneath the band, tugging it down on your left side to reveal an inch more of skin. You do the same with the right before you feel Nanami move and shift. You pause as you watch him shuffle with pure adoration and love. You coo when he returns back to sleeping soundly and steadily, but because of his shifting, you’re right back at square one. And you find yourself cursing at the very man you were just cooing at. 

You hold a tight grip on the bands once more before doing your habitual shimmy of his underwear, this time around proving to be easier than the rest, it feels. You manage to get it down from the hardest part, where Nanami usually wakes when he feels the fabric of his underwear sliding down over his cock and being startled awake. How he’d chuckle softly before turning around to pull you on top of him and announce how you’re such a sneaky and devious little wife before helping you out and removing it all on his own. 

You feel triumphant finally, feeling his still body in his sleeping state as you drag down the boxer briefs to pool at his feet before disregarding it somewhere on the ground. Now in complete nude, his balls hang heavy as his cock springers underneath. A tinted shaft with a pink tip that’s slightly hard under your ministrations. 

You rut your hips down on the bed at how the tip of his cock glistens in the moonlight, a soft moan leaving you before you’re fixing yourself in between Nanami’s legs. You’re gentle when you push them open further before feeling the hard skin of his ass, giving them a nice massage before you’re spreading them apart. His asshole is all puckered and dry, ready for the taking when you bend to let your saliva pool inside your mouth and let it dribble down your tongue into the crevice of his ass. 

The string of spit landing with precision as a pebble still sticks to you unwavering. You lick the bottom of your lip, it flashing away as you play in your mess, two fingers that go to rub at his tight hole. A ceremonious moan leaving your lips as you hum in delight. And he feels it all within his sleep, it registering as a wet dream to him, what you’re doing to him. On this very same bed with you towering over him while he’s on his stomach, though he’s awake in it. It feels so real, the way your hand travels down his back and taking your sweet and precious time as you tell him just how much you love him and how you devote your very existence to him. How you coo how blessed you are to have such a husband like him that takes care of you and how you need to give back to him in the best way you can. Not with the cooking and cleaning, not with the gifts you make him on his birthday and holidays or just because. No, with having him underneath you and for the taking, focusing on solely his pleasure and his desires. 

Every action mimics the real world and his mind is telling him to wake up the closer your lips approach his puckered asshole, telling him that this is real. That it’s all real. But he wants to delve in his dreams a little longer just in case it’s not. His hips rutting into the bed just as he does in real life. He’s groaning out your name in his sleep as his cock hardens even more when your breasts press against them during your actions. They stimulate even further, feeling the skin to skin contact as your tongue makes his asshole shine. Long stripes that get swept away by the cold air only to be placed again once more. 

In his dreams, you’re wearing a long dress that closely mirrors your nightgown. The same sage green color that he absolutely adores on you. And somehow, it makes it all the hotter, making a mental note to himself to buy you one that closely replicates it once he wakes in the morning— if he doesn’t wake up sooner. Your hair is long, braids that drop to your waist and push out of your face as you devour him. Your eyes are glossy and bright, reflecting the love that they’re filled with. The bed lies in the middle of an uncharted beach, providing you privacy despite being outside in the open. The sun shines bright down on his back, beating it with its heat that would surely burn him if this was real.

Palm trees and clear sands while the waters are blue and vibrant in the color. He moans in his dream world as well as the real, letting you know that you’re accomplishing your goals. The more you salivate, the sloppier it gets, your tongue diving deep into his ass as it soon creates a wet sound. He rubs his cock into the sheets of the bed, soon feeling it twitch. Nanami croaks out a groan as he feels his cock about to empty itself into the sheets. However, you’re uncaring as your eyes are open and watching him from above and seeing how his face turns to the side twists and contorts. He shudders, a switch finally flickering inside and beckoning his eyes to open.

When they flutter open, he can feel it. Your fingers on his legs, nails digging into his flesh gently as your tongue is all lulled out. Even in his groggy state he can just envision you, laying down on your tummy as your hips roll into the bed, your pussy leaking your juices as you find pleasure in granting him his. However, it’s dark out and when he peeks out the window, the moon is full and bright against their window. His moan is deeper than it was before, louder as his groggy state soon dissipates at the pleasure that coincides. He feels a wet patch beneath him and atop, letting him know that this was all very real. 

You register that your husband’s awake when you feel movement of his leg, making you pull away as you watch him shuffle to his back. Eyes that are still heavy and evident with exhaustion, but riddled with lust. His cock comes to lean against his abdomen, his blonde happy trail providing a cushion as the excess of his cum dribbles down his shaft and inside his pubes. He’s impressed. To have made him cum without waking him up? It’s the best you’ve ever done, and quickly makes him envision the future. 

“You’ve gotten my underwear off,” his voice getting deeper than it usually is. “I must’ve been extremely tired.”

He motions you up, to come closer to his lips and you obey, smiling triumphantly as you crawl and hover over his body. You plant your hips down for your covered pussy to sit on his cock, hearing a guttural groan leave him before his lips are on yours. You kiss him, grinding your hips down on his open erection and mewl into his mouth. “Or, I must be getting better.”

Nanami smirks. “We’ll see next time.”

You’re about to travel back down to his length when Nanami’s hands find your hips, keeping you in place. His eyes hold a question, one that’s asking you for another kiss. And you’re so giving, so willing to give him what he wants, your soft and supple lips on your husband’s. He moans into it, loving the taste of him on you. His chest vibrates as he grounds you against his length and you know where this leads, playing this game too many times before. You push against his chest, whining out, “no.”

“Why not?” he frowns, eyebrows furrowing. “I want to be inside you.”

“And you get to be inside me,” you smile, your nose scrunching up cutely as you know what he means. He gives you a deadpanned look, fingering digging into your flesh to pull you flush against him. “You know what I want.”

“And you know what I want,” you whisper back, staring into his brown eyes as the two of you have a silent battle. Typically, you’re the one who relents, letting Nanami have his way with your body and battering away with your pussy. However, not tonight, your eyes plead with him unrelenting as you bat your eyelashes and adjust the bonnet on your head. Your eyes threaten to prickle with tears as you ground your hips further, a tremor in your voice as you feel a deep need inside of you. “Kento,” you breathe. “Pl–please…”

He breaks eye contact, letting go of you as you cheer at your victory. Nanami grunts as he watches you travel back in between his legs. “Don’t take it too far. You’ll get a slack jaw.”

“I know when enough’s enough,” you shoot him a glare. However, Nanami chortles, “Sure you do, love.”

You don’t bother arguing with him on that. You could threaten to leave him with blue balls, but that’ll leave you with a disadvantage as well as your pussy aches. Reaching for his cock, you grab it at the base, feeling how it’s hardened again all for you. You find yourself appeased that your husband finds his solace all in you, how you can still make him feel good despite the years that have gone by. That when he’s late at work, it’s exactly as he says. The two of you know friends that have succumbed to infidelity, not being able to handle the hours outside of each other and giving into the temptation and lust for someone else.

People have wished it upon the two of you before, saying that at some point Nanami doesn’t want to wait until he clocks out and will find a fine dime at a bar, and that you’ll get tired of waiting for him. And you don’t know if it’s the spite the two of you share when people dared to utter those words or if it's your combined love, but something remains stubborn within you two to make sure that doesn’t happen. 

Feeling your grip around his length tightening has his body tensing up as it fills with anticipation. You rub a consoling hand into his inner thighs so that you don’t have to utter a single word. Beautiful eyes that look up to him, silently asking if he's okay. With a simple nod, he watches as you continue. Nanami’s been your everything, your first love, your first kiss, the first man you’ve slept with and explored sex with. He’s your everything. 

You remember the moment of first feeling his cock in your hand, how it twitched and moved and how you squealed in pure amazement that he could move it. Your innocence was a beauty to behold in the palm of his hands. And while you weren’t his first, you made it feel like he was starting all over him. Like he had been baptized and born a new man within your presence. 

A string of saliva drips from your tongue once more to smear around his tip pebbling down as your hand moves up to lubricate his length further. The excess drops of cum get gathered in the fist you’ve made around him, your thumb pressing into his tip as you draw circles into it. Tantalizingly slow, you tease the man who watches you. You’re on your knees, ass in the air as your dress falls over to reveal your mound and the wet patch in your panties. You’re only getting wetter as your mouth waters. 

His cock always excites you, no matter where it’ll be. However, you always love to have him inside your mouth, feeling how you can fit all of him inside you and how it twitches when he gets close. And when he cums, the quick spurts that land in the back of your throat. How you used to gag and garble, but have come to swallow with ease as one stray tear leaves your right eye. Your hand moves languidly around his length. Up and down, up and down at a moderate pace as you’ve always taken your time. 

Your next hand would always find its way to his balls, cupping them and fondling them as though they were stress balls asking to be played with. Nanami’s forced himself to get it together whenever you find yourself in between his legs like this, always tensing up his body and throwing his head back at the vixen you’ve made yourself to be. You love to see his undoing, always saying to see how it’s a sight to behold and the gods would love to have his moment of bliss captured on a canvas. Your eyes would twinkle as it does now, watching how his how dick would get wet with precum and how the sounds would echo in the room.

He curses under his breath, calling out your name and nothing more. He never begs, but you know the utterance of your name is just enough to ask you. He does so now with you jerking him off. 

“(Y/N)...” Before a wanton moan falls from his lips. His eyes are shut as he feels his legs tense, head falling back into the pillows, his hands reach for your wrist, pulling you closer. His cock twitches in your hand, white spurts shooting out from his tip, landing to his chest and pooling between your thumb and index finger. A dragged out moan falls from him as he wants nothing more than to pull you right next to him. To spoon you as he fucks you from behind, but he knows you’ll have none of that.

He feels the heat of your body against his lower body as he catches his breath, eyes opening back up to see your tongue ready to clean him. Fuck, he curses as your tongue touches his belly, swiping up his seed with one lick. Your eyes flushed with lust as you looked back at him and shimmy down further. His cock still in your hand, and still messy with his release. But you’ve always been great at cleaning, licking at your hand, too, before planting a chaste kiss on his head. Your pink muscle swirling around the tiny slit, overstimulating your husband as it’s bound to grow sensitive. However, he’s still hard in your hand, wanting more.

You moan out, hand returning back to the base of his cock as you lick up a stripe. Sucking his balls into his mouth before letting them go with a pop. It’s enough to have him cream himself for the third time tonight. Your lips pucker up, wrapping around the base as your head’s turned to the side. Your hums send a vibration throughout his body and his legs tense and dare to kick out at you. His face heats up as he’s held his breath unconsciously for quite some time. Exhaling heavily, he exclaims, “My god, (Y/N)!”

You continue at that one spot before you’re right back around his tip, suck incessantly at it in a desperate need for him. Your mouth puckers into an ‘O’ as you watch your husband’s face twist and contort at your actions, hips bucking up into your face as his tip enters your mouth, needing to feel him entirely inside of it. Your hands rest on his thighs, running your hands up and down it as you bob your head shallowly around it. Cheeks hollowing out as you still for a moment, basking of the feeling of his tip pressed on the roof of your mouth. To think you were once an experienced girl that was once apprehensive about his size. It’s become a distant and vague memory in the back of Nanami’s mind, only brought up in these moments. 

How you salivate around his cock, growing extremely wet around him as if he were in your pussy. How your hips jut out in a visceral need for him, but your mouth refuses to leave his length. How you slurp and suck around his girth as he tries to hold himself together because you’re a fiend around him. How you have him so weak in the knees that he can only just take it, take what you give him. How your head bobs up and down his length so beautifully like a pro— like you’ve done this for years.

From that time period of growth, seeing how you’ve become so comfortable in your sexuality, unashamed to say just how good you make your man— your husband feel— Nanami never would’ve guessed that you were that same girl all those years ago. You always have his vision blurred when his orgasm hits him again, just like now. His legs weaken as he feels cock jolt inside of your mouth. Your heart rate picks up in delight as you bring yourself to suck just around the tip, cheeks hollowing even more just like a vacuum and pushing him over the edge. You’d press against his balls, a finishing move of yours that has him seeing white as he’d cum one last time for the night. 

He’d shoot out on your tongue, his release more translucent and less thick as you’d like, but that’s your fault for making him so spent. It takes Nanami some time to return to reality, to register your hands that’s landed in his hand and asking him if he’s alright. You’ve got him under a dizzy spell, his brown eyes searching for yours and for a moment you’re frightened. 

“Oh no,” you gasp. “Did I work you too much, Kento?”

He shakes his head, eyes shutting as a smile reaches the corner of his lips. “No, love. You never do.”

“Good,” you sigh, crawling under the sheets and draping them over Nanami’s naked figure. He chuckles, catching your attention as you snuggle into his chest. You quirk an eyebrow up in curiosity. “What?”

“Didn’t expect you to end it so soon,” he admits. “Thought I’d have to pry you off of me.”

“Not when you gave me quite the scare,” you push at his chest before your eyes light up, hands reaching to cup his softening length in hopes to make it hard again. “But, are you saying that you want to keep going?”

Nanami chuckles, reaching to kiss your temple. “What am I going to do with you— a wife who won’t let me get any good night’s rest?”

“But don’t they say—” you knit your eyebrows together in faux pondering before meeting your husband’s eyes “—good pussy puts a man to sleep?”

Before you know it, Nanami’s reaching for your waist and forcing you on your back. You squeal at the sudden change of position, giggling into his chest and rubbing the expanse of it. He hums in the crook of your neck, laughing at your question. “Not when he’s had none.”

[tracklessreason]

Hi. It's me again.

WHERE THE FRICK IS BUMBLEBEE?! Sorry, let me calm down and retry.

Thank you for answering my last ask, I can't help but notice how no one knows where Bee's ghost is. And Megatron is the one looking into the Matrix... Is he haunting Megatron? Trying to stop him from doing it? Helping him?

Is Optimus's ghost following Ratchet around like a sad puppy?

Also just the pairings- Jazz with Megatronus? THat sounds... like fun.

Do the primes miss the other Primes and ask their host if they can check on the other bots that got shrapeneled? Maybe one of them asks if they can find a way to talk with the others... or maybe they can talk trough the hosts... maybe... (ah ah possessed arc)

(PS I really vibe with Hive's whole deal, he is very cool :D and I'm devastated that I'm the one that discovered how he explodes)

Hug hug!

Hi again!!! Don't worry, Bee is still here!

His spirit is just...struggling. He's weak at first, flickering like a dying light bulb. He hasn't left the fractured core of the Matrix still in his corpse, but his soul signature is so weak no one can find him. He's just sort of trapped there for a while, in the burnt out room he died in. Until Megatron of course.

Megatron breaks into the autobot base, walks past every sleeping mech he could easily have snuffed, and steals the Matrix core, and by unintentional extension, steals Bumblebee. Now at first, Bee is rightfully upset. He hates being at the gloomy decepticon base, he hates Megatron for taking his voice, he's just mad. Time passes as Megatron tinkers with the core, and Bee regains strength enough to....throw things???

It shouldn't be possible. Somehow this unstable remnant of the Matrix doesn't contain him, but merely houses him, and as he grows stronger, he can appear as an apparition to Megatron. He uses it almost solely to hinder him. With no voice (even ghost Bee gets no respite) all he can really do is mess up Megatron's workspace and insult him through pantomime. Really he doesn't understand why Megatron puts up with it, but aside from the occasional fit of rage at his antics, the decepticon leader ignores him as much as possible and puts his all into trying to restore the Matrix.

Before long he starts having one sided conversations with Bumblebee. Its mostly complaints at first, and insults towards him and the autobots and whatever else goes wrong in his life outside of this little workshop Bee cant leave. It soon gives way to more private matters; intentionally or not, Megatron is revealing his very convoluted, very mixed feelings about Optimus Prime.

The war has gone on too long, why couldn't that idiot just see things from his perspective, he deserved to die, he will be brought back, how could his oldest friend just leave him like this...

To Bee it sounds...exactly like how Optimus felt about Megatron, just drowned in molten anger issues. Against his self preservation instinct, Bee decides to work towards putting this whole mess to bed. Nothing better to do.

With what limited knowledge and communication he has, he does his best to try and help Megatron fix the Matrix. They have spats still, and plenty of set backs, but things smooth over when Megatron (begrudgingly) admits to feelings of regret over taking Bee's voice. As an olive branch, Bee explains something to Megatron that he's been dying to know: how Optimus died.

Things sour fast. Megatron is determined to murder Starscream, Bee is frustratedly trying to explain that if he does so, this little partnership of convenience is over, and he will ensure that the Matrix is never restored. The end of the war relies almost solely on Megatron reeling in his damn anger, and Bee doesnt intend to allow any slip ups. He has no idea how this will end when Megatron leaves the workshop that night.

On the other side of things, the Primes are having a real...weird time?? The ones without hosts can communicate with each other, but the other four are basically cut off from all but their hosts. They don't have the ability to take control anymore, and even if they did, their hosts are nowhere near as easy to possess, nor as willing, as Hive Prime was. Ratchet especially has threatened to tear the Matrix metal from his frame and grind it to dust if Prima so much as thinks about trying it. The other three hosts are similarly put off.

Once again the Primes are relegated to giving advice, but it's not advice anyone seems to want, and yeah, it's mostly because of the wild pairings. Megatronus is constantly clutching his pearls over Jazz's laid-back attitude and deliberate ignorance of his wishes. Prima's calm rationality does little to temper Ratchet's snappy demeanor and only really gets on his nerves (how can you be so calm after what you all did?). Ironhide straight up refuses to acknowledge Quintus. Drift is probably the only one feeling alright with all this. Alpha Trion is generally reasonable, and isn't interested in having control over Drift's form, nor was he interested in it with Hive, so they just vibe like college roommates.

It's uncomfortable, but the Primes are used to sharing space. The worst part is actually sharing it with fewer mechs than usual. The Primes all miss each other to varying degrees, but for the most part are either too egotistical to admit it, or think it improper to mention.

Of course, grand prize for worst ghost time currently goes to Optimus. Dying, watching Bee suffer, feeling his friend's life force extinguish...

He might as well be a husk right now, full on silent treatment is all he's capable of at the moment. The other Primes know better than to try and speak with him. This is their doing to begin with, the channeling of their energy that strained Bee so heavily. Optimus follows the elected council around during the days, but at night he sits outside the room where Hive's body rests. He was there the night that Megatron broke in.

It takes immense effort to travel far enough out from the base to go see Megatron, and he needs several cycles to recover after every attempt, but he keeps doing it, knowing he could fade away permanently. When he gets there, he's too weak for Bee or Megatron to detect him. But he can hear their talks. He misses them both more than words can say.

(Sorry the response is so long, lol. This ask really got the gears turning in my head. I hope at least that makes up for being the one to find out that Ending 3 Hive dies bloody. I'm really flattered to hear you like him! For me that's quite high praise coming from you. Hug hug!)

[littlelamy]

Rafe taking care of Reader who goes through a depressive episode. She’s feeling like she is a burden and feels like everyone would be happier with her gone. Maybe things are pretty new between them, only gone on a few dates so she obviously (like most) isn’t going to tell him anything and doesn’t think she matters to a guy she has gone on a few dates with anyway, so she just stops responding to his texts

a/n: thank you for requesting!⭐️ i hope i wrote it appropriately to what you requested 🙂💗

the first time rafe noticed something was off, it was subtle—just a missed text here and there. maybe a delayed reply. nothing unusual at first. he probably told himself you were busy. everyone has those days where life gets hectic.

but when hours stretched into days and your replies went from short to nonexistent, he started to feel that quiet pull of worry.

“hey, you okay?” he texted the day before, after his third unanswered message.

you saw it pop up on your screen. his name glowed against the darkness of your room, and for a moment, your heart ached with the idea of answering. but then the thought crept in.

he’s just being polite. he barely knows you. he’s probably relieved you stopped answering anyway.

so you let the screen go dark.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. it wasn’t like you two were serious. you’d only gone on a handful of dates, and even though every moment with rafe had been sweet and effortless, there was no way someone like him could actually care.

you’d been wrong about people before.

the weight in your chest had only grown heavier over the past few weeks. even getting out of bed felt impossible some days, let alone pretending to be okay for someone like rafe cameron. so, you didn’t bother. you shut your phone off, buried it under a pillow, and let the world fade into static.

the knock at your door startled you.

at first, you thought it might’ve been a neighbor or a delivery driver, someone just passing through. but then it came again, louder this time, more deliberate.

“y/n?”

you froze, your breath catching as his voice carried through the door.

“it’s rafe.”

you stared at the door like it might open on its own. the last thing you wanted was to face him, especially like this. but hearing his voice made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

“i, uh…” he hesitated, the sound of him shifting his weight audible through the thin walls. “i just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

you stayed silent, hoping he’d take the hint and leave. but deep down, you knew rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to just walk away.

“you don’t have to let me in,” he added, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “just… let me know you’re alright.”

you clenched your fists, trying to will the lump in your throat away. how were you supposed to explain that you weren’t alright? that you hadn’t been alright in weeks?

the knock came again, gentler this time.

“i’m not leaving until i know you’re okay,” he said firmly, though there was no anger in his voice. only concern.

you sat frozen for what felt like forever, listening to the silence on the other side of the door. maybe he’d given up. maybe he was walking away right now, realizing this wasn’t worth his time.

but then your phone buzzed from where it lay buried under the pillow.

you hesitated before reaching for it, your hands trembling as you unlocked the screen.

rafe <3: hey, i’m outside your place. not trying to bother you, i just wanted to check in. if you need space, i get it. just let me know you’re alright, okay?

your chest ached as you read the words. there was nothing demanding about them, nothing that made you feel guilty or trapped. he wasn’t asking for anything except to know you were safe.

and that made it worse somehow.

because you weren’t.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog

[monsterliker]

PLEASE could you write how centaurs, orcs, and mermen are cuddling??

Different cuddle styles of different monsters. Part 3

Centaur x reader, Orc x reader, Mermaid/Merman x reader

Centaur:

Due to how large a centaur can be, your centaur lover isn’t the most comfortable in a human bed. They’re much prefer sleeping outside in the grass, under the stars. 

Their lower half is stretched out, taking up as much space as possible. Meanwhile their top, and more human half, cradles you while you sleep. You usually rest with your head on their chest while they hold you close at the waist and shoulders.

You both would have sweet nights looking for different constellations, listening to the nocturnal life. Occasionally you’d hear an unusual sound and cling to them tightly for safety. And they would comfort you, reminding you that they wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you.

During the summer it’s warm enough outside for it to be bearable for you. You may just need a blanket and cuddles to get through the night.

But when it starts to get colder, you plead with them to give sleeping inside a try. They deny your request at first. But they feel bad after you shiver no matter how bundled up you are in warm clothing, blankets, and their body heat.

When they finally give in, you clear out a room. You cover the floor with blankets pillows to try to mimic the ground outside. Then you’ll make sure to have all the windows open so you both could still hear and see the night life.

Orc:

Your orc lover never got the hang of proper bedding. They said the blanket wrapping around them made them like something was trying to envelop them into a deathly squeeze.

They were being dramatic, but you took the hint.

You had to decide between sleeping on the floor, or getting a harder mattress. Your human body needed something soft to comfortably sleep on, so neither would work for you.

Eventually the solution a found, your Orc would sleep on the floor while you laid on top of them. Their body was surprisingly comfortable. They would hold you gently, while also keeping you in place.

Having you so close to them felt like a dream. They always loved breathing in the scent of your hair as you nuzzled your face into their neck. Their steady heartbeat and breathing coaxing you into a restful sleep.

And when they woke up, which was always before you, they’d pick you up and lay you on your bed. They never got over their hatred for blankets though. So instead of tucking you in, they would cover you with their fur lined coat. And every morning when you woke up you would wear it until you had to change into your actual clothes and get ready for the day.

Mermaid/Merman:

Your lover is a mermaid/merman. Of course you two are going to sleep in the water where they reside.

When you first got together you would sleep one shore and them in the water next to you. But this wouldn’t be the most comfortable for the two of you. Due to the tide, sometimes you’d be woken up by a splash of unwelcomed cold water. And other times you two would wake up separated.

As soon as you were comfortable with it, you started to try sleeping in the water. It scared you at first, but your lover assured you that you would be alright.

Before you could protest they pressed your lips against theirs. They were fully in control. A little rough even, but it felt heavenly. As you relaxed into the kiss and closed your eyes, they pulled you deep into the water.

Obviously terrified, you pull away and try to swim up. But they keep their grip on you, giggling. You gasp at how cruel they are being. But then you realize your lungs aren’t burning with the need of oxygen.

Their kiss let you breathe underwater with them. You don’t know how that works, but it does.

When your lover calms down from their laughing fit, they apologize. Saying they won’t do it again. You’re still a little mad at them, but at least you now know they aren’t trying to kill you.

Your new found ability allows you to sleep underwater with them. It’s weird to get use to at first. It’s an odd feeling of floating but not. But your partner holding you close to them brings you some much needed stability.

[shywithapurpose]

Nanami X Reader

Context: Nanami comes home drunk after an office party.

"Darling," your husband murmured, blinking slowly up at you. You smiled down at him, your fingers instinctively brushing through his soft blonde hair. "What are you doing down there, Kento?" Nanami, his arms still wrapped around your waist, tugged you closer and nuzzled his face against your stomach, the weight of his head warm against your skin. You sighed softly, shaking your head. "Are you drunk?" He lifted the hem of your shirt, placing a teasing kiss against your abdomen, then glanced up at you with a smile. "No," he said, his words slurring just a little. His lips danced across your lower abdomen, light and gentle, before moving upwards, kissing your ribs as he slowly rose to his feet. He brushed a kiss against your cheek, his lips curving into a soft, almost dreamy smile. You chuckled and placed a gentle hand against his chest, giving him a little push to create some space between the two of you. "Kento, I think you're a little more than tipsy."

His gaze, hazy and glassy, met yours with a mix of amusement and something deeper—something tender, maybe even a little vulnerable. "Not drunk, just... happy," he murmured, his voice thick with warmth. You ran your fingers through his hair again, the sensation comforting and familiar. "You’re always happy when you’re tipsy," you teased, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. His scent—whiskey, the faint trace of his cologne, and his usual warmth—washed over you, soothing despite his slightly unsteady state. Kento let out a soft laugh, swaying ever so slightly as he clung to you. "You make me happy, sweetheart," he whispered, his voice soft and sincere. The words made your heart flutter, a warmth spreading through you. You smiled, your hand finding his to steady him as he leaned into you. "I can tell," you said, your voice tender. "But you need to lie down now. Let’s get you into bed, alright?" He kissed your cheek, a fleeting, feather-light touch, before he nodded lazily. His eyes still sparkled with that playful, contented glint. "I can walk," he muttered, though his legs wobbled as if betraying him. You laughed softly, guiding him toward the bedroom with one hand steadying his back. "Of course you can," you said, voice teasing. "But let's make it easier on you."

With your support, Kento shuffled toward the bed, leaning on you more than usual. You helped him sit, and he gazed up at you with a look that was almost childlike, his features soft and trusting. As you knelt down to remove his shoes, your heart swelled with affection. The simple act of caring for him felt intimate, grounding. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing your cheek. "Don't go," he whispered, his voice quieter now. You paused, your fingers lingering over the button of his shirt. "I’m not going anywhere, Kento. I just need to get you settled, okay?" He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he leaned back, a soft sigh escaping his lips. There was a quiet serenity to him now, as if the world outside didn’t matter—only you, only this moment.

You helped him out of his shirt, taking your time, ensuring he was comfortable as you tucked him under the covers. When you finally sat beside him, your fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, he let out a contented sigh, his body finally relaxing into the warmth of the bed. "You’re too good to me," he murmured, his words still a little slurred, but the affection in his voice was unmistakable. His gaze softened as he looked up at you, the weight of his drowsiness settling in. You smiled, tucking the blanket around him, your hand resting gently on his chest. "You deserve it," you whispered, your gaze lingering on him as his features softened, the lines of tension disappearing from his face. His smile was faint but warm, eyes heavy with the pull of sleep. "Thank you, darling. I love you."

For a few moments, you just watched him—this side of him that not many saw. The strong, composed man you knew now looked peaceful, vulnerable, and entirely human. It was a side of him that made you love him even more deeply, the quiet, tender moments when he let you care for him in return. As Kento drifted into a peaceful sleep, you stayed by his side, content in the silence of the night. Your heart felt full as you listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the calm that filled the room wrapping you both in a sense of quiet belonging.

Sorry if the paragraphs look weird! I did this on my iPad, and it didn’t really work that well.

[samsalami66]

Hiii Ssammyy! @embroiderling here!

I've just seen you posted that long list of prompts. Can I ask for a fake marriage/relationship dreamling, with the prompt "kiss me while everyone's looking."?

🫶

Hey there @embroiderling! Have this little fic I definitely didn't write just after I got that prompt... <33

Read here or on ao3!

Dream wasn’t entirely sure what led him to the situation he was currently in; running down the streets of Los Angeles like he was chased by the devil. Perhaps it had all started when he met Hob Gadling on the set of his latest show, witty and charismatic and throwing him smiles that would light up the entire room. Or it had been when Dream found himself smiling back, accepting the easy friendship Hob proposed for them and meeting him outside of filming for drinks and movie night and sleepovers at his home spent trading stories and a glass of wine.

But actually, it had probably been the moment Dream agreed to Hob’s insane plan of marrying him. 

Yeah, they probably skipped a few rather important steps right there, between friendship and marriage, but that was not really the problem they were facing. No, the fact that they were two of the most well-known actors in the industry that married for something as crude as a green card was not really the problem. The fact that they had both been married before, that Hob was a widower and Dream divorced, was also not it. 

The problem was that being married to Hob was easy. Too easy. Marriage with Calliope had been… harder. They had both been characters, stubborn and intense and with a temper to match. For Dream, marriage had always been about damage control, about preventing some inevitable argument or other. But eventually they would always end up yelling or crying or hurting each other, before doing it all over again the next day. 

Marriage with someone Dream had never intended to marry, had not even found himself interested in at first, should have been worse. 

Instead, marriage with Hob Gadling was heavenly. They lived together. Shared a bed. Hob did not mind Dream cuddling up to him to steal some of his body heat. They would read together on the couch, then talk about their current books while they made dinner. When Dream complained about the laundry needing to get done, Hob would do it and not allow him to help. He would come back with a pot of tea and the offer of a massage should Dream’s feet or back or neck hurt from acting all day. 

Dream found himself searching Hob’s touch whenever he could and never being denied. When out on his own he would see something and bring it back home for Hob and receive the world’s biggest smile in return. So he did it again. And again. Their living room was overloaded with antiquities and books and little trinkets, all lovingly displayed. 

And they never fought. Over a year of living together, of sharing a house, a room, a bed, a life, and they did not fight once. How could life with Hob be so good, when Dream’s entire life before hadn’t been? 

Well, the answer should have been clear. But for some reason, Dream hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed, and now Hob was gone. Not gone gone, just. Gone. His friend, his husband, was gone from their home and Dream did not know where he had disappeared to after their… disagreement. It hadn't been a fight. Because in a fight, both parties got angry. In a fight, partners tried to hurt each other after they had been hurt first. But Dream hadn’t been hurt by Hob. Hob would never hurt him, not in a million lifetimes. Instead, he hurt his friend for no reason but his own stupidity and insecurity. 

And now… now he was running. Not away. He was running towards Hob. Or at least he hoped so. Finding his husband was a much harder matter than Dream had hoped for when he started running. But he was getting closer, he was sure of it. Their bench. That would be where Hob was. Sitting on the right side, peas in hand, feeding the pigeons. It had been one of Dream’s favourite rituals. Whenever a role got to him too much, twisted his stomach into knots and left his heart aching, he would sit on that bench and feed the pigeons. 

And now, as Dream turned the corner, he saw his husband sitting in the spot he had claimed when he had first joined Dream in this little ritual of his. Those beautiful brown eyes were staring off into the middle distance, while one of his hands threw peas to a flock of birds and the other turned his wedding ring around between his fingers. 

The sight made Dream’s heart ache, his best friend reduced to nothing but numbness. He had done that, and he would make it right again. 

“Hob,” he called once he was close enough to be heard, and his husband’s eyes immediately snapped towards him. There was surprise there, possibly at the sheen of sweat that plastered Dream’s hair to his face, proof that he ran all the way here. Not that he stopped just because he found Hob. No, he ran straight into his husband’s arms, which wrapped around him all too willingly. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong, love? Are you alright?” The words ached, because Dream was not worth this level of care after how he had hurt Hob. But now that he wasn’t running anymore he couldn’t breathe, and so he allowed his husband to hold him for a moment, just until he could form an actual response. 

“I am sorry, Hob. For what I said.” There was no answer and Dream supposed that none could be given anyway, and so he continued. “I had not realised how… deep your affections for me were. I. I expected some catch, for I had not known marriage could be so wonderful.” 

There was pain in Hob’s eyes and Dream suspected it was not because of him, but rather for him. 

“And here I was, thinking I’ve been rather bloody obvious.” 

Dream huffed a laugh and took Hob’s hand in his, so that their wedding bands were resting against each other. “Looking back, I wonder how you ever became an actor.” That, at least, got him a grin. “I do not want to leave you. Not when the five years are over, not ever. You’re it, Hob.” Silence, stunned, but there was also a bud of hope that was threatening to spill into a smile so bright it would break Dream clean in two. 

“So kiss me now, husband mine, while everyone in this blasted park is looking.” 

[fear-is-truth]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘 . . . hc .ᐟ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑

tags — fem!reader﹒sfw + nsfw﹒headcanons﹒frat boy! kyle spencer﹒smut﹒

boyfriend!kyle who has a thing for soft, quick nose kisses. he’ll lean in and nuzzle his nose against yours when you’re talking, grinning every time you scrunch up your face in response. then kiss the tip of your nose.

boyfriend!kyle who always rests his head in your lap when he’s tired, completely melting when you stroke his blonde curls.

boyfriend!kyle who shoves your hands into his coat pockets when it’s freezing outside, mumbling, “just keep them there, okay?”

boyfriend!kyle who helps you bake christmas cookies. he’ll sneak a spoonful of frosting, smear some on your cheek, and kiss it off you.

boyfriend!kyle who has been quietly saving up for something he knows you’d love—a vintage record player, a necklace you pointed out once, or concert tickets to your favourite artist.

boyfriend!kyle who loves lazy weekend mornings where you’re both too comfy to get out of bed. he’ll pull you closer, nuzzling into your neck and mumbling, “five more minutes babyyy,” even though it’s already been an hour.

boyfriend!kyle who doesn’t even question it when you start stealing his varsity jacket. he loves seeing you wear it, especially when it’s way too big on you.

boyfriend!kyle who loves sitting with you by the window during storms, wrapping a blanket around the both of you as the rain pours. he’ll trace random patterns on your hand while you pick raindrops on the glass and race them.

boyfriend!kyle who’s the guy who stays sober enough to keep an eye on you and your drink.

boyfriend!kyle who insists on walking you back to your dorm or driving you home after a late night out, no matter how tired he is. “text me when you’re safe” isn’t enough for him—he wants to be the one ensuring it.

boyfriend!kyle who always notices when you’re upset, even if you don’t say anything. he’ll quietly sit with you, hold your hand or rub circles on your back until you’re ready to talk.

boyfriend!kyle who always makes time to help you with random things like carrying groceries, fixing your bike, or figuring out your printer.

boyfriend!kyle who makes you playlists of songs that remind him of you (definitely includes toto)

boyfriend!kyle who takes his studies seriously. he’d spread out his notes and flashcards to help you prep for exams, coming up with goofy mnemonics to make things easier.

boyfriend!kyle who lets you sit on his lap while he plays video games.

boyfriend!kyle who gives the best hugs, warm and firm, like he’s trying to absorb all your stress. he’ll rest his chin on your shoulder and mumble “i love you”.

boyfriend!kyle who takes you to the mall on random weekends just so you can pet the puppies in the pet store. he watches you with the softest smile while a little golden retriever climbs into your lap.

boyfriend!kyle who tries to learn your favorite songs on the guitar just to surprise you.

boyfriend!kyle who holds your face in both hands when he kisses you, lips always lingering and reluctant to part from yours. because you’re the most precious thing in his world.

boyfriend!kyle who adores your little quirks and habit’s, like the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love or the way you always tuck your hair behind your ear when you’re focused.

boyfriend!kyle who insists on holding your shopping bags, even if it’s just one tiny bag.

boyfriend!kyle who sneaks kisses on your temple during movie nights, and holds your hand under the blanket.

boyfriend!kyle who is extra careful about your comfort and boundaries. if you ever seem unsure or uncomfortable, he’ll stop everything immediately. (consent king)

boyfriend!kyle who likes eye contact and lacing your fingers together during soft sex.

boyfriend!kyle who loves it when you tug on his hair during sex, the moans that escape him give him away every time.

boyfriend!kyle who fucks you into the mattress during rough sex.

boyfriend!kyle who loves going down on you.

boyfriend!kyle who is so mindful of your well-being, constantly asking if you feel okay physically, mentally and emotionally.

boyfriend!kyle who always has heartfelt praises for you afterward to make sure you know how much he appreciates you.

boyfriend!kyle who massages your shoulders or back if you’re sore, knowing exactly how to relieve the tension.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[the-universal-sun]

i had the idea that stan had been regressing even before being kicked out to cope with fillbrick - could you write a fic expanding on it? (im dyslexic my ass CANNOT do it myself 😭) like teenage stan regressing and ford taking care of him ykwim

Ooo I’ve never thought about a teen stan regressing. Thank you for the ask! Please let me know if it lives up to your expectations! TW for implied child abuse

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stan sniffled, pulling his blanket tighter around his head. His head started started feeling fuzzy again after another fight with Filbrick. He thinks there’s something wrong with him, maybe all the fights he’s gotten into has messed up his head or something. When he gets all fuzzy headed like this, he finds it really hard to talk, and he’s not interested in any of that teenage stuff. He just wants to hold on to this cheap stuffed monkey he won from the fair a few years ago. Sometimes he has the urge to make sand castles, but he can’t bear the thought of someone seeing him like that outside of his room; his sanctuary where no body comes in. Nobody but Ford, that is. Ford’s the only one who knows about this thing that happens to Stan sometimes. He found his clutching his monkey and sobbing one day, and while Stan couldn’t explain what happened until after he stopped feeling fuzzy, Ford just sat with him until he felt better. He’s such a good brother. But Ford doesn’t know what this is either, why Stan goes fuzzy headed sometimes. Maybe he’s just a stupid freak-

“Stanley?” He flinches as he hears Ford’s voice, he didn’t hear the door open. He must be really out of it. Stan doesn’t come out from under his blanket, curling up tighter when he hears Ford walk over to his bunk.

“Stanley, are you alright? I heard you had another fight with dad. What happened this time-“ He doesn’t fight it as Ford pulls the blanket off his head, but he hides his face in the sheets when Ford stops mid-sentence. He’s going to be mad, isn’t he. Mad at Stan for being stupid and crying over nothing. He pulls away when his brother goes to touch his face, it hurts and he doesn’t want anybody touching it.

“Wh-what? Did dad…? Stanley, I-“ If Stan wasn’t feeling so bad, he might’ve giggled. He’s never heard his brother, who knows like a billion words, to be so speechless. But he doesn’t feel like laughing, his mouth is quivering because he’s trying to hold back his tears. He’s a man, not a big baby, and men don’t cry. No matter if he is feeling like a big baby sometimes, like right now. Stan clenches his eyes shut as Ford gets up from his bed with a sigh. He knew it. Ford’s mad at him, too. Mad at Stan for being a big baby who couldn’t dodge a simple right hook.

Ford comes back though, he comes back holding the cheap purple monkey Stan had named “Mookie”, a stupid name but he couldn’t think of anything else. He reaches out, needing to hold on to his Monkey toy and get comfort from it. “Here you go, Stanley, here’s your Mookie,” Stan still blushes whenever Ford speaks to him in that soft voice and uses his toys name, “scoot over. I’m getting in your bed with you. I need some Stanley time.” His brother explains when Stan looks at his, wondering why he didn’t want to go to his own bed with his own stiff sheets. Stan’s not going to argue against cuddling with Ford, that’s his favorite thing to do.

Stan sighs against Ford, snuggling his face into his chest and resisting the urge to chew on his shirt; he didn’t think Ford would appreciate that. He does wipe his remaining tears off on it, though. He feels Ford’s answering sigh ruffle his hair, his arms wrapping tight around Stan. He likes the pressure and warmth of Ford’s arms, he gets cold easily. Ford kisses his head before he starts talking. Stan doesn’t know what he’s talking about, probably wouldn’t even if he were right in the head, he thinks it’s about some research into a math problem. He doesn’t know, he just likes listening to Ford talk, it soothes him.

He still finches when Ford brushes his hand against his cheek, but he’s not as scared of Ford’s reaction anymore, it was silly of him to think Ford would be mad about this, not when he’s always had Stan’s back! He’s the best big brother Stan could ever ask for. He’ll tell Ford that when he’s feeling better. He just content to lay here with his and listen to his voice. He hopes he’ll always have Ford there with him.

[86espresso]

dancing is a dangerous game ⋆.˚ ★—ONE

(au masterlist)

SUM ; he did not 🙅‍♀️ wrap it before he tapped it

WARNINGS ; finding out that you’re pregnant, whole lot of awkward talking bc that’s what I’m best at 👍, mostly humor, zegras is jobless, fluff, oc character (readers bsf), kissing? allusions to sex, drinking, anxiety

NOTES ; first fic we ball 🙂‍↕️

WC ; 2.3k

“Your place, or mine?”

Your place or mine?

Your place or mine.

Jack Hughes wishes he was cool enough to say it the way his older brother did, but unfortunately, he was not that gifted. Matter of Quinn being more articulate and approachable.

The only times Jack actually got some was when a girl approached him, or when they were done with the whole third date thing.

Tonight, he decided he would telepathically flirt with you by staring across the room. To him, this is the most effective form of flirting. You’d have to catch his eyes eventually.

Your hair was wild, eyeliner smudged and lipstick blotted, the thrill and the alcohol had you dancing and singing and acting lively, he immediately needed to know you better.

Judging by your energy and the way you sang along to every single song made him believe you might be a fun person to hang out with outside of having you in his bed.

God, he’s already formed a false version of you in his head.

Jack winced, feeling Trevor’s razor of an elbow poking at his rib.

“Literally just talk to her, bro.”

Jack stood there blinking and watched as Trevor switched out their drinks, giving him the stronger one out of the two. He covered his rib before Trevor could bruise it again.

“Christ, don’t do that. I can’t just go up to her and talk. Look at her.”

Trevor looked. He didn’t really see much besides a pretty girl getting shitfaced. He just shrugged and made Jack chug the strong drink, ordering two more for him to push him further.

The rest of was bits and pieces in Jack’s memory. He did, indeed, get as shitfaced as you. He remembers you coming over after noticing his gaze, resting your head on his shoulder (he nearly shat his pants), taking a sip out of his shot glass boldly and telling him that you liked it. That may have been a life altering experience for him; he thanked whichever god he pleased enough to deserve this.

The alcohol messed up his memory a bit; but he remembers your lips on his neck in the cab, his lips on your hipbones, and the warmth of your body close to his right before he drifted to sleep.

And now, it’s morning. He’s cold, alone, heavily disoriented, and doesn’t know his own name.

He realized he doesn’t know your name either, and came to the disappointing realization that you hadn’t even left a note with your number before making your departure. With a frown, he realized he would probably never see you again.

[•••]

“There again? I thought you’d give up by now, buddy.”

Jack knew that Trevor knew that he was borderline desperate to meet you again, but it still made him indignant; he did not need to call him out.

“I just think it’s a fun place, Z. Doesn’t mean I’m going there for someone specifically.” He busied himself with the chips aisle, looking for the one weird flavor he’d been wanting. He could feel Trevor’s eye roll at the back of his head.

Yes, it’s been two goddamn months since that night.

Yes, he’s been suspiciously frequenting the bar since then.

No, there is no correlation between those events and you.

Trevor opened his mouth again, but that’s when they heard two voices arguing in the aisle next to him. Jack turned around and raised a brow at Trevor, a silent invitation to eavesdrop. He, of course, took the bait.

Now, when Trevor and Jack say they hate drama, they mean they hate being involved in it. Other people’s drama, however? They’re watching like hawks.

“Winnie, I don’t want to hear about it anymore.” Female. Familiar.

“But it’s only fair.” Female. Unfamiliar. “It’s that man’s fault his condom was too big either way! Plus, if he’s the fath—”

“The condom was too small of anything—”

At that moment, Jack moved a little too close to the rack of salsa dip, and rattled it hard, loudly enough for the ladies to pause their conversation. He cussed under his breath, hoping they would assume he just got there. He tried to ignore Trevor’s attempt at stifling his laugh.

“Excuse me? Are you alright?” You turn around the corner, and of course: It’s you, and Jack is elated.

He looks genuinely happy. You look like you just watched someone get skinned alive.

You immediately turn around, trying (and failing) to pretend like you didn’t see him. “Oh my god—Winnie, this is the guy. Save me.” You whisper desperately, watching Jack quickly fix the salsa dips in the corner of your eye before he turns to you fully.

“You—uh.” The words just won’t come out.

Trevor tried to save him. “Hi, im Trevor.” He sticks out his hand which you take. “You must be my one night stand-in law.” He grins.

Your eyes shift between him and Jack. “You’ve slept with him too?”

His hand goes limp in yours as Winnie graciously snorts with laughter. Luckily, that catches Trevor’s attention and he moves to greet her.

Jack decided, in that moment, that he just short circuited seeing you in sweatpants and a hood covering your head with strands of hair peeking out to frame your bare face. A contrast to when he first saw.

“Well, h-how have you been?” You ask awkwardly, wishing you could drop dead right about now.

“Pretty good. Yourself?” He leans gently against the shelf and crosses his arms, looking down at you with a small smile.

“Oh, I’ve been alright.” You laugh weekly and bring your hand up to rub your tired eyes; sleep was a privilege nowadays. You were about to indicate that you had to leave before stopping short at Winnie glaring holes in the side your face, knowing that your chances of escaping were gone and she wouldn’t let down until you told him. Winnie smiled warmly and turned to Jack, sticking her hand out.

“You must be Drew.”

“Jack.” He furrowed his eyebrows, shaking her hand. “That actually sounds nothing like Drew—”

“Oh, fuck, don’t worry about it, it was just a random name we ran with.” You laugh again, fiddling with the boxes in your hands.

Jack desperately wanted to say something like ‘you’ve talked about me?’ but it was clear that you were trying to avoid him like the plague, so he refrained from ruining his chances to talk to you any further.

Winnie whispered something to Trevor which made his eyes comically widen, then they pretended to busy themselves with the shelves of chocolates.

“You look nice.” Jack smiled, you really did look pretty. Tired, probably a little sick, but pretty. “Like, glowing-”

“Jesus, please, not a glow.” You groan, putting your face in your hands. Jack’s gaze drops to the boxes you were holding.

“What are those?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Him noticing was the final nail to the coffin. It made your situation real-er than ever.

With a supportive glance from Winnie, and a deep inhale, you look at Jack again. Into those pretty, azure eyes that drew you to him in the first place.

“Pregnancy tests?” You say meekly, though it sounded more like you were asking. You hated how weak it sounded. “Look I don’t even know if I even am pregnant—”

The salsa dip rack shook again as Jack held on to it. “Oh—”

“Listen, look,” you move closer to him, “you can literally never see me or the kid, if it exists, ever again. I’m financially stable and I have lots of friends here that support me, so—”

“Wait, you’re sure it’s mine?” His voice felt like an echo to himself.

“Uh—yeah. That’s part of the reason I left, I’ve never exactly done one-time things. And I only knew you for that one night, so I kind of panicked. Being with a stranger.” You fumble with the boxes again, your anxiety peeking because even though you shouldn’t care, his lack of response was stressful.

He seemed to notice that, because next thing he was putting both of his hands on your shoulders. It was weird but made you feel a little calmer.

“Hey—it’s not like I’m upset with you or anything, okay? I—uh, think you—we should first make sure you are pregnant.” He loosens his hold a bit and steps closer. “And if you plan on keeping it, I want to be there. For you and the kid, I mean. Stick around, y’know? I can’t imagine life without my dad.”

His sentiment made you heavily emotional; this was kind of intimate for people who barely knew each other, but intimacy is how you ended up here anyway.

You sniffle, nodding. You weren’t exactly sick, but you weren’t feeling your best.

Jack felt his heart go soft and he hugged you, enveloping you in much needed warmth. When you wrapped your arms around him, you caught Winnie’s eye over his shoulder and were sure of a few things;

One, If you were having a baby, you’re keeping it. You’re still young, but you’ve always wanted to be a young mother, even if it was with a father you knew better. Your support system was very fortunately intact, even without Jack.

And two, you were sure that Jack would keep his promise of ‘sticking around’.

[•••]

“So, like, what do you do?” Jack’s head snapped up to meet Winnie’s sharp gaze.

The four of them had just walked into your apartment and you locked yourself in the bathroom with the tests. Winnie and Trevor hit it off immediately but she was still skeptic of Jack.

“Hm?”

“Your job? Wait, don’t tell me you don’t—”

“I have a job.” Jack rolled his eyes “I play.” He replied shortly, his head still spinning.

“Play? Fuck does that mean? Like poker, the guitar, or what?” Winnie squinted her eyes. “If I catch anything weird about you, you’re out.” Jack didn’t miss the way Trevor grinned stupidly at her.

“I play hockey. Professionally. Just 20 minutes away, in Jersey.” Jack huffed, he didn’t like the added stress of appealing to your best friend.

“Hm. Interesting, can’t say I’ve ever heard of you, Drew—”

“Jack—”

“Hold on.” She typed something on her phone and turned it to him. “Is this you?” It is Jack’s instagram profile, so he nods. She scrolls through his following and quirks a brow, “your following looks like you just graduated from a private, all-girls high school.”

Jack doesn’t even know what to say to that, much less what it means, so he just stays quiet before the bathroom door unlocks.

“Winnie, 3 minute timer, please,” you say, drying your hands on a towel, eyeing the five tests lined up on the counter face down. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the anxiety crawl back up your spine.

You let yourself relax at Jack’s soothing back rubs, and observe quietly for a moment while he scowled at whatever Winnie and Trevor were making fun of him for. His jawline is just barely peppered with stubble and he smells really nice. You can see why he was the choice that night.

Jack is quick to look back at you, having to tilt his head slightly downwards as he catches the expression on your face.

“It’s going to okay,” he mouths.

And when you flipped over every test to see that you had a real life shit-machine growing inside of you, you believed him.

[•••]

Jack got off the phone with his mother with a small breath of relief. The hundreds of insecurities that initially made their way through his head were overshadowed by a feeling of happiness; his mother was quick to assure him that it won’t be that difficult to figure it out.

Winnie was kneeling in front of you on the couch, trying to be comforting. Or something like that.

“Kill that thing.”

“Winnie, what the hell?”

“Babe, you have work! You have other things to do! And—” she lowered her voice, “—Drew might not be around that much to help.” She straightened again. “If you really want to keep it then it’s up to you, though.” She added softly.

You appreciated Winnie’s outlook on your situation, but that wasn’t what you needed because you were really, genuinely, sure you were keeping the kid.

“For the third time, it’s Jack. Why—?”

“I’m sorry, she’s just like that.” You speak up, finding the small frown on Jack’s face rather endearing. “What—uh, what did your mom say?”

“She wants to meet you. She’s happy.”

“That’s really sweet.” You say with a yawn, exhausted from the days events. Jack’s mother seems nice, but you were too tired to feel scared of her at the moment.

Jack notices that you were tired and nudged Trevor so they leave, but not before everyone exchanged numbers.

[•••]

The next available weekend Jack’s mom could come over was in two weeks. Which meant he had to keep the little secret from everyone around him. Well, except Trevor.

Jack could feel himself already growing protective of his..son? daughter? Still, it was just insane to him that he was going to have a child. His own child.

He can handle the scrutiny, but he was afraid for you and how you would have to deal with all of the outside pressure.

He shrugged off the thoughts, chugged the rest of his beer, and decided to just sleep on it.

Waking up after a good rest, Jack realized he was more excited than anything. Who cares what people say? He’s always wanted kids and off the top of his head, he doesn’t know anyone better than you that he would have them with.

He’ll just have to be really impressive and devoted to gain your trust.

And that’s what he was going to do.

[weeping-statue]

Hi, can I get a scenario with yandere Chrollo and kidnapped afab reader where Chrollo overheard reader’s secret 18+ thoughts about him

Ofc<3 I hope you enjoy! Request are open!

“I wasn’t supposed to hear that, but I think deep down you wanted me too.”

-Nsfw- minors dni

———————————————————————

Chrollo was a.. simple man.

As long as you were behaving and kind, you could have your bit of freedom.

Meaning, walking around without supervision, sleeping next to him, feeding yourself, and maybe visits to the outdoor garden that he installed just for you.

But when you had your outbursts, he couldn’t just be lenient. No, cause then you’d get more ballsy, there might even be belief you could walk all over him. And as much as he loved you, he couldn’t have that.

There were places and roles you had to abide by. But you’d learn it one way or another, either by trial and error, or by brute force.

He had been denying you the outdoors, his time, and touch, for too long, which ended up making you stir crazy. Of course you knew your captor was an incredibly evil man, that had a lot of things to do. But if he was going to hide you away from the world until you both took your last breath, at least make it enjoyable.

You lay in your shared bed, hand softly rubbing circles on your clit as you thought of him. Oh how you missed him. The times he used to rub your thighs, softly trailing up to the place you desperately needed him.

A part of you started to worry he didn’t want you anymore, that maybe he found a new woman to focus his attention on and this was his subtle way of telling you it’s over.

But the sparks of pleasure from where you were touching began to overwhelm your worry with a new feeling. Gentle whimpers grew louder, the more wet you became. Moaning out his name as a finger plunged into your tight hole. “Chrollo- I need you so badly, please just fuck me, I promise I’ll be good-”

Eyes screwed shut, feeling the pleasure build. You didn’t even notice Chrollo silently listening in through the crack of your door. A hand slowly reaching his pants to palm his growing erection with a hint of shame.

How disgusting does he have to be to do this outside where any of his members could see. Such an act, is an extremely private matter, that nobody should even know about.

But he can’t help it, not when you’re moaning out for him. It just stirs up something inside of Chrollo that makes his brain go numb.

Fingers find their way to his belt, slowly relieving himself of the tight confines of his pants. The dull ache of his drooling member suddenly becomes too much, and his hand gathers up the precum, using it as lube.

His free hand wraps around his mouth in case anything slips from them. Ears focused on your sweet voice to spur him on, as a growing Shlick sound echos from the hallway.

The tip has become a pretty pink, as his palm speeds up. The friction only causing him to make the smallest sounds. It wasn’t enough, he needed you too. Only carefully and haphazardly pulling up his underwear along with his pants did he barge into the room, panting.

“Sorry, for startling you. But- Mhm, I can’t help myself anymore.” He spoke quickly. Walking up to the bed you were lying in, and pulling his shirt off. Not truly caring.

Your heart was beating quickly, mainly cause he scared the fuck out of you, but also because you were getting what you so desperately wanted.

His thighs were in between yours as the slightly wet hands glide up to your knees, leaving gentle kisses to your collarbone.

Mumbling,

“I wasn’t supposed to hear that, but I think deep down you wanted me too. Now let me make it up to you for eavesdropping, my dear.”

———————————————————————

I suck at writing smut or anything 18+

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 9: Sacrificial Lamb

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 9: Sacrificial Lamb

Wordcount: 5,3k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for full series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Panic attack, hallucinated body horror

Description: You visit the local church.

A/N: I still have not recovered from Arcane...that show will forever reside in my soul

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

It's an odd morning, and while the odd has become your normal, this isn't within what you typically expect. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror is completely in view. No pesky shadows of your mind blocking your vision from yourself.

It's hard to tell if it's due to the pounding headache and the nausea in your stomach, or a different underlying factor. Just like It's hard to tell how much you drank last night, though you have a better idea on that thing than the other. It doesn't really matter much to you in the end, you clearly ended up thoroughly wasted.

Your hand reaches up to touch against your cheek, you lean in, inspecting your own skin for bumps and scrapes. You half expect some sort of illusion to start distorting your vision, but that doesn't happen. You're just there. It's just you.

You let your hand fall down, reaching instead for the chain around your neck and the connected cross. Your hand encircles it, holds it in a fist till it hurts. You tug a little, with no real force behind it, before you let it fall back against your chest with heavy weight.

You splash cold water in your face, breathe out and stabilize yourself against the sink. You'd woken up alone, in the wrong bed. There are still vague memories of the countless ways you must've embarrassed yourself last night. In one of the possibilities, you'd fallen asleep next to someone.

An unlikely reality staring at you in the face. Why had you done that? Why had you allowed it?

You should never have touched that alcohol, should never even have considered it. Now you had to do your own damage control. You had to make sure this didn't come with unwanted complications later on.

You reach for the towel and dry off your face. Your hands clutch tightly and the cloth, and you scrub hard until your skin feels raw and aches. A single glance back into the bedroom reveals the wide landscape outside of the windows. The constantly falling snow, letting snowflakes plaster to the windows themselves. It's getting colder out.

"Good morning sleepyhead," Soap is too chipper. Way too awake for the early hour. The sun hasn't even graced the world with its face just yet. Soaps personality this morning might as well be a replacement for the sun, however. An action taken in the name of fun and bordering obnoxious for your tired head.

You make a tired sound as you force your body across the kitchen, taking a seat opposite of Simon, who silently reads a local newspaper. A now cold, abandoned tea rests next to it as he seems completely engrossed in whatever is printed in today's issue.

"Not a morning person then, ah take it?" Soap abandons the pan to sizzle and stands in front of the table.

You shrug, you've hardly been able to tell with yourself. Your sleep is as irregular as the voices in your own head. "Didn't sleep too well I guess," you lean back in the chair, taking a glance at the stove behind him.

"Thought I'd make ye some breakfast, hope ye don't mind," he gestures behind him with a quick motion of his hands. Your eyes, however, are fixated on his smile, how it widens across his cheeks, and gets his eyes to crinkle just a little bit in the corners.

"No...no it's...it's nice."

He hums approvingly, adding a nod to send the feeling home. Soap turns back to the cooking meal, a new pep in his step at your approval. Are they not going to acknowledge it at all. What had happened last night? Or what hadn't happened.

Your brain isn't being clear to you about your memories, but that unfortunately isn't something that's new.

"Uh...did we...sleep in the same bed last night?" Your question hangs heavy in the air.

"Ye got quite knackered, fell right into bed ye didn't seem to care which one it was" Soap chuckles and shakes his head in a playful manner, "Yer not hungover? No headache or nothing?"

"Massive one yeah."

He gives you a sympathetic smile, "ah think we got some painkillers in one of these cabinets." He turns around, about to go through probably every single one of them, if you had deciphered his type well enough by now.

"Oh no that's okay, thank you Soap" you smile awkwardly, your hands waving in a dismissive gesture to not trouble himself. "I'll live," you add in hopes he'd stop his search. He doesn't, instead tutting and crouching down to reach into a cabinet that stored light medicine.

"Ye talk in yer sleep, ye know?" you can hear the grin in his voice.

Shit.

What did you say? Since when do you talk in your sleep anyway, it's nothing you've noticed before. Did you have a dream? Did you say something you shouldn't have? Did you reveal anything, did you unconsciously dig your own grave?

He stands back up, coming over to the table and putting down the little box of pills in front of you. A precaution.

"Who's Emma?"

Oh.

You bite down on your lip, and hide your hands beneath the table. "Just someone I met at bootcamp..." you say dismissively, looking anywhere but at Soap, who's walks back to the kitchen counter.

You don't miss the way Simon's eyes flicker to you briefly, before returning to the newspaper. "We sort of became friends but...I lost track of her over time," you shrug, doing your best to sound as uninterested as possible.

"Tends to happen...ah met a few fine lads back then too, don’t know whether they ever continued the struggle," he chuckles quietly to himself, earning him a huff from Simon.

You look back and forth between them and find your curiosity itching on your tongue. "How did you two meet?" you bite down hard on your tongue as soon as the words leave your lips.

There's silence for a moment, the only sound reaching your ears being that of Soaps messing around with kitchen utensils. He looks back, just about to answer, when Simon looks straight at you.

"We got assigned to the same mission, years back now...got put on the same task force and things grew from there."

You swallow and nod.

Your attention is split in three when you notice Price coming up to the opening in the kitchen wall. "Oh good, you're all here" he sighs exhausted. Catching the particular attention of both Simon and Soap.

"What's wrong cap?" Soap places one hand on his hip as he turns off the heat on the stove.

"Gaz is sick," Price shakes his head "lad won't be coming with you today, MacTavish, take Spider instead, they know their way around that sort of stuff."

"What?"

Soap nods quietly, taking a seat beside you when Price moves into the kitchen and starts rummaging around. He takes a glass from the cabinets above the counter and fills it up with cold water, afterwards looking into the same cabinet that Soap had just been in to retrieve medicine.

"Woah, woah, take me where?" your brows furrow, every fibre in your body ready to stand in protest.

"Mctavish and you will be heading to the local church today, you'll be attending as regular people looking for a new community to become a part of," Price lays down your cover despite your frown and clear distaste. He stands back up, grimacing at the popping in his knees.

"But I haven't-"

"That's an order, Spider" Price says with little budge, "we need two of you for the safety, and you'll fit the skills needed."

You remain quiet, foolishly trying to convey your meaning through a look alone.

"Am I understood, Spider?"

You sigh, and fold your grimace. Soap comes over to put the plate of breakfast in front of you. There's little choice, in fact there's no choice. You were here to help, after all, there has to be some meaning to it all.

"Yes sir."

Soap tries to spark a conversation with you the entire way there. The part of you that's not busy sulking over the decision made for you, applauds him for his relentless effort.

Where he gets his steadfast energy, you aren't sure of. It feels like a bottomless pit he can continuously reach into and get something new. You envy him. It's not often you've met people like him, and the few you have always got their light quenched before they could truly look around.

It's refreshing in a way you can't take.

His constant chatter becomes a soothing background noise. Somewhere along the way he stops expecting answers, taking notice of the way, you lean against the window of the car, silently listening to his ramblings. He continues, whether you really register his voice or not.

But as the car comes to a stop in the parking lot, the metal box fills with silence louder than his chatter. You pick your head off the window, orient yourself on your location and become fixated on the raised walls of white in the church.

It's not the grandest thing you've seen. Rather modest really. It didn't need to be big and flashy, it instilled dread in you either way.

Soap lets out a deep sigh, loud enough for you to give him a questioning glance. He isn't looking at you, instead up at the bell tower being rung. "Didn't think ah would be back at church this soon..." he looks almost reminiscent at the church itself.

The chances he's been here before seems too low, but not impossible.

"You're religious?"

He doesn't answer immediately, rather takes a surprisingly thoughtful moment to think about it. He turns his head to look you in the eye. You quickly grow squirmy, avoiding the eye contact he's asking for. "Ah....sort of was raised religious yes...don't know if ye can say ah am any more though, don't know if ah even could be if ah wanted to."

You could understand that. If you dug deep enough within yourself you could probably even relate to it. At least on a certain level. The conflict to follow one's family, and to choose your own path forward could be a hard thing.

You thought you chose a different path. When in reality you should've stayed behind.

"I...think I understand," you mumble. "You know how they keep saying that no matter what, you can always ask for forgiveness and have it granted?" He nods. "I keep thinking there has to be a line...how many times can you sin before it's done and gone. Is it really unconditional love or is there secret conditions behind the veil."

You take the chance to look at him, and the shocked expression on his face makes your stomach drop. Great, you've made yourself out to be a freak, and it hasn't even been that long. Why can't you just keep your mouth shut.

Soap lets out an exasperated huff, a small grin on his face as he looks away from you. His hand comes over to smooth over his short mohawk. "Ah wouldn't know...but ah think in the end it doesn't matter that much...as long as ye have faith, right?"

You shrug, feeling even more awkward by the minute.

"Hm, ah think they're opening the doors...should we find us a seat?" he plasters on a cheeky grin, and pats your arm.

"Yeah...let's head into the den of wolves," you huff, taking off your seatbelt and opening up the car door.

The inside of the church isn't much to look at either. You simply refuse to. Leaving your eyes glued to the ground and using the heels of Soap's boots for guidance. He speaks to somebody in front, but their voices are garbled nonsense in your ears.

Soap turns to you and says something just as unintelligible. Your eyes snap up.

"What?"

"Ye want to take your jacket off?" he asks in a confused tone, already in the process of shredding his own coat to put it on the rack on the wall. There's a quiet little echo in the room, reverberating the many sounds that fill, bouncing off the walls in symmetry and into your own skull.

You allow yourself to breathe long enough to shrug off your own jacket. Soap reaches out, taking the thing out of your hands, his skin brushing against yours enough for you to retract both your hands too quick. He almost drops it, but he doesn't get mad. He catches it in time with a soft chuckle and hangs it up with the rest.

"Ye a'right? Seem a bit jumpy," he takes a step closer to you to lower his voice.

"Yeah," you say too quick almost cracking your own voice, "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

He gives you a look, that makes you squirm away, going for the doors to the inner part of the church instead of risking more of a conversation with him. "It's starting soon," you say dismissively as you put a hand on the doorhandle.

You open it but come to a complete stop as your eyes meet the altar at the end of the room.

When he had first told you there was a special surprise for the congregation, you weren't sure what to expect. The first thing your mind went to was a special announcement about expanding the territory. The next thing would've been a renovation of one of the places of worship. Some update about the caves, or some other activity you never got to do as a community often.

Whatever it was you could have imagined, it wouldn't have been this.

It feels like regular mass, for people you've never met and never seen. Outlining the walls of the church, stands people you do know, other members of the collective bearing the mark that The Father has set for you all.

Most paint it on themselves in various places of their body, sew it into clothes or make patches. Anything they can do to show their pride.

You haven't done it yourself; it feels too outspoken, but if that's what The Father would wish of you, you'd have little choice in the matter any more. He seems pleased with them, with every single one of the children here.

You don't doubt that if he could, he'd go on about how important unity is for him. You're spared the lesson from the priests speaking over the crowd, into the room. His voice holds power, binds the minds of each and every one under one single faith.

Despite the surplus of people, this seems like a normal occasion. There's no outrageous surprise, nothing new or exciting. Not that it needed to be, but it only serves to feed into your confusion on what he had meant.

"Patience, angel" he whispers to you as if reading your thoughts as clear as the emotions on your face.

You feel The Father's presence at your back, his hand keeping a strong hold on your shoulder. You're stunned as soon as the doors to the church opens. In comes a young girl. She can't be much younger than you. Clad in white, her skin practically glowing, the softest of smiles on her lips with a white bouquet of lilies in her hands.

She looks like a religious symbol, an icon of faith. She was the type of girl you'd sacrifice yourself for.

It made you wonder if she had been put through the same things you had. If she could be as lethal a weapon as they were making you. It was doubtful, her smooth skin lacked the marks that littered yours.

She was untouchable, a glowing light with the kindest of smiles. She could lead a revolution, probably.

"What is she-"

"Quiet Angel, just watch and you'll understand."

Each step she takes makes your throat feel wound up tighter. All eyes are on her. Both familiar and unfamiliar. The attention is hers, as above as below, and she carries it with grace and humility.

There's a pit that opens in your stomach, ready to swallow you whole. It grows bigger, deeper, as she closes in on the altar itself. There's quiet chanting all around, hymns of hope and wonder. The promise of salvation, the promise of the new Eden, the promise of God.

She lays down on the altar and the priest who had started calm and collected shouts the words of prayer to the congregation. They rise and your brows furrow. You see the glint of the blade, and you go to take a step forward.

A hand around your mouth muffles all sound you try to make.

And the blade collides with her chest in a bloody sacrifice.

You're pulled back by him, colliding with his chest as you weakly struggle against his hold. Your eyes refuse to believe what you're seeing. It has to be fake, right? It has to be a nightmare, an illusion, it has to.

You look wildly around at the others, and your eyes land on a form that's familiar. You hadn't spoken to Emma in a while but seeing her here, so vivid and falling to her knees in worship and prayer over this, it made you want to throw up. This had to be wrong, right?

"Breathe, my angel," he whispers reassuringly in your ear. "This is what we have to do, this is good, this is what is demanded of us, and very soon you'll understand exactly how you will serve."

His proud words do nothing to quench your fear.

"It's all part of god's plan...and one day, it'll be you up there."

Your throat closes up. There's not enough air in the room for you, and you know that you have to get out. You should've never gotten this close. You should've fought harder against it, and fled before Soap could've led you to the seats and locked you in place.

Soap's attention is ripped away from the priest. He glances at you from the corner of his vision, his brow furrowed in both confusion and a tinge of concern. There's no real explanation you can give him for your turmoil, as if he'd ever believe you either way.

Your breath wavers, hitching as your eyes meet with the altar. It's covered in liquid red, thick and pungent. A copper taste in your mouth, a rotten smell in your nostrils. It bleeds into the floorboards, down the tile and stone and seeps into the cracks to create the ritualistic patterns.

And there she sits atop of it all.

Her empty stare keeps yours locked. Her eyes gouged out leaving empty sockets of pulsating flesh, because where she's going, she doesn't need eyes. She doesn't need a tongue; she doesn't even need her senses.

Her cheeks are stained by golden tears, and the light surrounding her head forms like a halo. She's reached the true angelic state you never could. Forever bound to the darkness, you could only dream of the glory she got. The recognition, the hope, the faith, instead of the fear and disgust your role elicited.

She's been the lamb a lot longer than you have. The only true difference is you got out, or so you've convinced yourself to believe.

"Nervous Spider?" Soap's joking tone is a lot quieter than it should be. Your blood runs hot and cold, an antsy feeling settling in your muscles, compelling you to move and fast. "It shouldn't be that long right...how much time do they use on these again...an hour or two-"

Abruptly, you rise from your seat, shocking not only him but the few people around you as well.

"Spider?"

The girl's hollow sockets follow you; her lips move in a whisper only you can hear.

Welcome home

Without a word of warning, you move out of the row, hurried steps towards the back of the church, through the backdoor you know leads deeper. You can hear Soap's shout behind you, the shushes of people telling him to be quiet, but by the lack of rushing footsteps he doesn't seem to immediately follow.

Can you feel it?

They only get louder when the heavy wooden door closes behind you. Quiet whispers of her, of him, of them all. Layered a thousand times, echoes the songs and whispers of prophetic angels.

Can you feel him?

They make it so painfully obvious that you'll never find a place to be truly alone. It doesn't matter how much you beg or plead, it won't go away, it never will. They'll continue to fester in your mind, triggered by the most miniscule thing, until you lose your own mind.

You're already losing it.

He's calling you.

You lean up against the wall. It's curved near the ceiling, making the room feel even smaller than it already is. Everything feels all too familiar. The room itself is stocked with boxes, white sheets over furniture, and enough dust to make you cough. Whatever this room is supposed to be, it hasn't been used in ages.

But you hardly have time to reflect on the reasoning, neither on the chair placed in the middle of the room, nor on the blood stain near the window.

Can you feel how close you are to home?

And that's the thing that gets you because you do.

This place is one of pure truth, one of holy worship and connection. Its raw vitality is what keeps it upstanding, it's got a breath of its own constantly blown to a bigger flame. You'll never be closer to Him than here. You'll never be closer to your salvation than right here.

Come back to me

And it terrifies you.

It would so easy to find your path back to him. It's laid out for you, as if a beacon in the distance showing you the way home. You know exactly where to go, who to ask, who to beg. You know exactly what it would entail and how you'd be taken right back home.

It would be so easy.

You push off the wall, grab your own throat tightly to steal away your own air. It's getting increasingly harder to control yourself, and you realize maybe a few minutes too late that there's nothing to do but ride the wave of panic out.

Your body moves of its own volition, forcing your legs to take steps towards the back exit that still remains in clear view. It can't be done here, if anybody finds you here alone, vulnerable, not even you yourself have any big ideas of what you would do to them.

Sometimes you wonder whether a breath of cold air is just what you need to vein off the symptoms. It doesn't matter how many times you try it; you never receive the result you want, other than a deeper-rooted panic and the discomfort of the freezing temperatures, without a jacket.

You stumble down a step, almost drop to your knees before catching yourself against the tiles of the building leaning up against the church. You do not know where your legs are carrying you, away from there is all you can surmise, and still you let it.

All the buildings look the same to you, all a mash of dull colours and housing each of their own sinners. You know how to cull them, but you know even better that you can't. You almost get consumed by the idea before you trip over your own feet.

You let out a pitiful yelp as you come to a stop at the corner. Your hand grips the tile of the building as your eyes lock on the group further down. A few teenagers, one adult. An adult you'd rather die than meet up with again.

The shepherd to herd the flock, a trainer, a dim light to follow, a tormentor.

Follow the leader, become a leader. You're better than this. You're worse than this.

You meet his pupils at the moment he goes to turn, and you want you weep your final thoughts, but before any recognition can befall his eyes and blow your cover, you're pulled backwards by a set of much stronger arms.

Your mind whirls, grasping at straws to make sense of your vision. To call upon what little control you still have to figure out what remains truthful and what's a cruel joke on you. You want to cry out, but his hand closes on your mouth and reassuring words are whispered in your ear.

You're pulled further away, your legs barely working with him. You don't go quietly as much as he wishes you would. You claw, scratch and bite, fight within an inch of your life, but none of it holds weight in your state.

Only when the only noticeable noise is the buzzing in your ears, and the gentle music from within the church fades, are you let go from the embrace. You slump against the wall, your body tense and lax in a taxing combination.

Your eyes find his, looking into them like they could be an anchor behind the skull print. "Easy," he says but you might as well have gone deaf. You try to use his voice to guide you through the fog, like he used to do when you were kids and the impending pain was looming over your head. Only now that memory only adds to the agony, the knowledge that it is no longer like that, and it will never be like that again.

"Spider, I need you to breathe...come on, love...just follow me."

He's gentle. Too gentle with someone like you. Gentle movements are not for you, that sort of comfort does not belong to you. It never has, and he could try all he wanted, but those touches would forever be foreign on your skin. It's how you want it to be.

You're guided down. Unwelcome hands on your shoulders and arms to force you into a crouch, and then a seat on a box. His shrouded figure crouches in front of you, tries to coax you with more honeyed lies.

"C'mon...breathe with me, in...and out."

You try to follow along. To do one thing right today would be an achievement enough on its own, but it seems you can't even do that. It starts to make you frustrated, which does nothing good for your pounding heart.

"Hey, hey, it's okay...try again."

He's so insistent. So sure, you can do it. You can't even begin to imagine what he must think of you now. In a back alley looking like an unqualified lunatic in the midst of a breakdown during important parts of a mission you should have been able to do.

Neither can you even begin to imagine what sort of punishment that could bring.

You can feel it creeping stronger in the back of your mind, in the corners of your vision. The hot and cold sweat wreaking havoc on your senses. Shadows creep closer, taking shape as vile little creatures using their claws to break the earth.

Your eyes follow them and their every move. You watch them crawl closer, wide-eyed stares, leaking mouths and jagged teeth. Targets your hands itch for, and you silently thank yourself that you're not technically armed.

Then your attention is ripped away from it. You start to feel a steady thump beneath the palm of your hand, along with a steady warmth against your chest. You look down to see his ungloved hand resting above your own heart, he's taken your hand, moving it to his own chest, to his own beating heart.

"Nothing is going to hurt you..." his voice is quiet, but it reaches your ears, and for a moment you freeze completely to listen to it, "I've got you...promised, didn't I?"

You let out a shaky breath, heaving in for another one. The wind swishes in your ears, the whispers try to gouge your attention back to the dark state, but no matter how much you want to look away, your eyes are glued to him, to his hand, to your own hand to his chest.

"What are you-"

You bite down on your lip, cutting yourself off from finishing that sentence in such a shaky voice. You'd surprised even yourself with it, it wasn't often you heard your own voice in your own head so clearly, so unclouded and burdened by emotion.

"There you are," the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly. His hand remains in place, coaxing you through it with a display of dramatic breaths. You hate how well it works. How it makes you calm within minutes, how it takes your mind out of the moment and into a cloud of nostalgia you'd rather disperse.

"Come back to me, Spider," he lets out a quiet little huff. Your breaths start to even out and turn back to the normal pace.

"I'm sorry," you sound breathless, your response still quick and short to conserve energy. His eyes flicker with a different look of concern, before he shakes his head no.

"What happened in there?"

For a moment in time, you actually consider telling him everything. Right from the beginning when he left to how you ended up here. It would probably take a day and a half to go through it all, not even to mention the unbelievable things you'd have to say.

And still, for a moment you want to. You want him to know, you want him to understand.

You want his help.

You foolishly open your mouth, years of fear and terror ready to spill out.

"Agh there ye are! Ye can't just run off like that. Ah had no idea what went wrong, are ye alright? What, Simon, ye're supposed-"

Simon hushes Soap as he comes closer with his frantic questions.

"Quiet down, we're fine, Johnny."

There it is again.

Johnny. Johnny. Johnny.

He would make a pretty offering.

You shake your head to get rid of the thoughts, because what the hell was that. You almost succeed in it as well until he starts to take steps towards you again. Each one making the inner whispers into talk, into yells.

And then, he places a jacket over your shoulders and it stops.

It almost gives you more whiplash than when Simon had placed his hand upon your heart. "Yer going to catch a cold like tha'" Soap. Johnny. John. Speaks.

He looks down at you with concern that mimic Simon's, a quiet care that might have started to grow through Simon's relation towards you. One you can almost familiarize yourself with, one you could almost allow yourself to want, to crave.

It's foreign for you to feel like that. How your walls against him are being climbed that easily. Maybe you're just losing your edge, or maybe the tough exterior you've tried to craft was never as solid as you thought it was.

You want his care, his concern, his attention.

You know exactly how to get it, how to coax it out of him. You were taught very well, but still, you don't want to do that again. No part of you wants it to be like that again, and would you even know how to do it differently?

"Come, we should get you home before anyone of us causes more of a stir than we already have." Simon stands, extending his hand for you to take.

You're treading dangerous territory, and you can feel it in the way your stomach flips uncomfortably.

It's a type of territory that will get you killed sooner rather than later.

And wasn't that your entire goal? Survival?

Maybe it's changed.

Perhaps, it could be something else.

Your eyes meet his, and you take his hand.

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[bridgyrose]

Weiss found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror as her heart pounded in her chest. She was supposed to be getting ready for her first day of class, something she had done plenty of times before while living in Atlas. So why was she so nervous today? Was it the fact that she was finally wearing a skirt? Maybe it was that the longer she stared at her reflection the easier it was to find imperfections in her looks like the little facial hair that was missed when shaving or how her makeup didnt look as even in the light. 

Her eyes moved from her face to her chest as she tried to adjust the bra she wore under her shirt. This was the first time she’d worn something more than just a sports bra under her clothes and she couldnt seem to get it to sit right. Maybe her chest and shoulders were just slightly too wide for the size she picked or maybe the type of bra she had wasnt quite right. Either way, it made it difficult to focus on being prepared for classes. 

Still, it wasnt like there was much she could do about it now. She was already dressed, classes were going to start right after breakfast, and she still had to worry about her skirt. Her hand ran down to make sure she didnt have any unsightly bulges, only for her to stop as she saw the bathroom door swing open with Ruby standing just outside with a syringe, decanter, her clothes, and a towel wrapped around her to be ready for a shower. 

Ruby quickly closed the door. “I-I didnt know you were in there!” 

“And I had thought I locked it,” Weiss answered back as she cleared her throat. She took a moment to compose herself as a blush started to cross her cheeks. If she was going to be living with three other girls while at Beacon, she was going to have to find a way to keep her own secret from coming out to them. The last thing she wanted was for them to think they were living with a boy. First, she’d have to make sure the door locks to keep anyone from walking in on her. A bathroom schedule could work, though there was no telling how long it’d take Yang and Blake to shower or brush their hair with how long they kept it. Not that she could complain, she had always kept hers long too and she knew it took her nearly an hour for all the upkeep on it-

“Do you know how much longer you’ll be in there?” Ruby asked. “I do still need to shower.” 

Weiss quickly brushed her hair to pull back into a ponytail. “I-I just need a few more minutes!” 

“Alright,” Ruby answered back. 

Weiss took a deep breath and ran her hands down her clothes once more to make sure everything sat right and to give her one last attempt at adjusting her bra before heading to class. Once she was sure everything was in order, she opened the door with a smile. “All yours.” 

“Great!” 

Weiss huffed a bit with how quickly Ruby seemed to shove her aside to get into the bathroom, and then flinched when she heard the door slam right behind her, hair almost getting caught with it. She walked over to her bed and sat down to make sure she still had her book bag packed for classes, a habit she had formed ever since she realized she wasnt much of a morning person. 

“Are we getting breakfast as a team, or just heading down while Ruby finishes getting ready?” Blake asked. 

“She wont take too long,” Yang answered. “She’s usually pretty quick, so it wont be too much longer of a wait to head down together.” 

“If you’re sure.” 

Weiss quietly watched Blake and Yang to try to figure them out more. Yang seemed to be the easiest of the two to understand. Ruby’s sister, protective of those she cared about, and she almost seemed to have an endless supply of energy to her. She was the first to rise along with Ruby to train, didnt  seem to tire out no matter what she did, and she only seemed to like to be around gatherings if she was around anyone she knew. 

And Blake almost seemed like a mystery to her. The bow she wore never seemed to come off, even while she was sleeping, which as far as Weiss was concerned, had to mean she was hiding something. Though, there wasnt any proof that she was and Blake always stayed up late into the night reading, so it was possible that she took it off right before bed. Beyond that, she seemed to get along with Ruby well since the two had been talking ever since the party after initiation. 

Then there was Ruby. For being the youngest of the team, she seemed to know her way with her weapon. Which was better than most from what she saw in the highlight reel during the party. Most of the other students looked as if they had never faced a grimm before. But beyond that, Ruby at least seemed like someone she could get along with even if she was the one who was supposed to lead their team. 

However, none of that really eased Weiss’s mind. The thought of them finding out she was trans was still a terrifying one. If her family was any indication on how most people would take it, then she’d rather keep it a secret for as long as she could. 

Weiss finally stood up and stretched. “I’m going to make my way to the cafeteria and save a table for the rest of you.” 

Yang shook her head. “We really should wait for Ruby. She wont be much longer.” 

“It’ll be fine,” Weiss said as she finished putting on a pair of heels and hoisted her book bag over her shoulder. “I wont eat until you’re all down there, all I want to do is make sure we have a table we can sit at. There’ll be nothing worse than trying to find a table when there isnt one.” 

“Alright, we’ll be down there shortly.” 

Weiss nodded and started to slowly walk through the halls as she tried to keep her balance. It may not have been her greatest idea to wear thinner heels than what she’d practiced with, but it was a bit too late now. She was still waiting for Klein to send the rest of the clothes she’d asked for including the wedges she preferred to walk in. Until then, she had to work with what she had and the shoes she normally wore for her combat gear were certainly not suited for classes. 

Once she caught her stride, she started to walk a bit quicker to the cafeteria in hopes to snag a table for the rest of her team. Her speed started to pick up with each step as she used a few glyphs to keep her balance. 

And yet, it wasnt enough to keep her from missing a step down the stairs. 

Weiss’s heart raced as she felt herself start to fall, losing concentration with her glyphs. Her eyes started to glow on instinct as she put a hand in front of her to create a wall in front of her to catch her fall. At least until she felt someone grab hold of the back of her collar. 

“Are you okay?” a girl’s voice asked from behind Weiss. 

“Y-yeah, I’m fine,” Weiss answered as she calmed herself enough to let the fire in her eyes die. She used a glyph to help herself get her balance again before turning around to see another student behind her, amber eyes and black hair. “Thank you.” 

The girl almost seemed to look Weiss over before nodding and walking down the stairs. “You shouldnt run in heels like that.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you… uh…” Weiss paused. “What’s your name?” 

“Cinder,” Cinder answered. “And something tells me that we’ll be seeing more of each other.” 

“What makes you say that?” Weiss asked, though her question fell on deaf ears as Cinder continued without answering. She tried to follow her out, only to lose track of her in a crowd of students. She paused at a window when she saw a blush on her cheeks, almost tracing it with her fingers. She needed to find her again.