#my glorified secretary

[h0rnsbydraws]

I have a new hyperfixation his name is Ianto Jones

[sp0o0kylights]

hi! came here from ao3, then saw your pinned

i hope everything is okay! (well, as okay as it can be when trees broke your house i guess). hope your family/loved ones are okay and that you have a stable place to live (or get one soon)!

just wanted to say that i really love your fics! this isn't a pressure to update or anything, i just really like your writing style and binged all of your stranger things fics in a day lol.

hope you're doing well!

Thank you!

It's an ongoing project lol. But we're getting there.

I'm slowly getting back into the swing of fics--Small Town Rumors/Beat to Shit Steve Harrington's fourth part just updated and the most amazing @chalkysgarbagefire has been helping me edit Adopt a Jock's 9th chapter because the girls are fiiiighting but in a way thats not working for what I want them to do lol and the goal is to get it out this week.

I appreciate all the kind words!! <3

[misogynist-lesbian]

You... you spelled 'scrum' wrong...

[akkivee]

this is going to be my hypmic self insert profile LMAO

[stealthetrees]

I backed my self into a corner. I was trying to get away from “Corries do tons of paperwork and hate it” and ended up with “Fox loves making spreadsheets about his enemys and steals their paperwork”. I’ve come full circle.

I can’t even be mad about it cause it works so well. It’s the same dynamic as popular fandom where the GAR assume he’s a glorified secretary cause Rex saw him at the bank making a withdrawal for 20,000 credits cash for a senator and Fox can’t deny it cause the only other alternative is that he’s stealing. And he is stealing, he’s planning to hire an assassin so he has an excuse to do a deep search of Palpatines office and find evidence of corruption.

[0bticeo]

welcome to the show!

summary: vox sends you as a spy to the hazbin hotel. alastor decides to give him a show.

tw: voyeurism, biting, blood play, fingering, valentino mentioned. english isn't my mother tongue.

you're thrown in hell - quite literally. the fall from purgatory and its beasts was long, arduous, and painful.

you've led an ordinary life. woken up. worked. slept. repeatead. same old decaying matter as everything else. you didn't think too much of it, of course not. you were twenty something and rising slowly, steadily in your company as an esteemed lawyer. memento mori didn't ring a bell. maybe it should've.

now you're in hell, and you're burning with sheer, unbridled rage, because how dare they throw you in there? (you're all in hell for a reason. all of you, fangs and bad intentions bare to the world.)

you take up your old job at vox tech. lawyer for a corrupt company. old habits die harder than you do. there, there's the thrill of probing the opposing companies and sinking your fangs into them, corrupt little fox with a too wide smile on your face.

what you gather is this: velvette's sense of fashion involves too much purple, valentino is the embodiment of everything you hate and vox... vox is obsessed with the radio demon. he's disappeared not too long after being asked to join the vees. you'd know, you're the one who wrote the contract he refused to sign. bastard.

could've been fine, really. but they work you to the bone and treat you as little less than a glorified secretary. when valentino throws the cup of coffee you brought him to a board meeting with the other executives of the company, you slam the door on your way out and don't look back.

it goes like this: you've been in hell for a while, and you're done playing the part of the sinner. so you tell charlie morningstar when she greets you at the hazbin hotel.

she accepts you, welcomes you with, out of all things, a song. too much trouble for dear old you.

"nonsense! everyone deserves to be given their rightful importance!"

that one hit close home.

you don't have the time to thank her before she's introducing you to the staff and the rest of the hotel.

vaggie, staring you down with a suspicious eye, fingers itching to reach for her spear. ah. an angel. fascinating.

angel dust. you have to thank him for being here. after you murder him for calling you an enticing little vixen and winking at you.

husker. former overlord. sold his soul to the radio demon in a bad game of poker.

your hair stand at the back of your neck. static crackles in the air. your ear twitches. alastor's entered the game.

"alastor, it's a pleasure to meet you, quite the pleasure my dear!"

he brings your gloved hand to his lips. even through the thin leather, you can feel the warmth of his breath, the press of his teeth like a warning.

his grin deepens when you introduce yourself in turn. a glimmer of recognition flashes in his eye.

shit.

**

you've always liked to cook. there's something about the glimmering edge of a knife cutting thin slices of meat that appeases you. tonight, you crave some rabbit.

somewhere in the kitchen, the clock ticks the minutes away, time bleeding out. doesn't matter when you have eternity to atone for your sins. 

the watch at your wrist flashes. 2:37. of course, insomnia had to follow you down to hell. it served you at voxtech, back when you were pouring over contracts and meaningless paperwork.

you make your way towards the fridge, hoping to god you'll find something to satiate your appetite.

"ah, feeling peckish my dear?"

you startle.

alastor.

you turn, back facing the counter, resisting the urge to bare your fangs. there he is, slithering out of darkness, a spectre in red. you wonder if it's a reminder of the blood he's shed.

"what do you want?" you snarl.

he laughs, static buzzing in your ears. you blink. when your eyes open, he's inches away from your face, craning your neck towards him - he's tall, that fucker.

"why so aggressive, little vixen?"

his fingers dip down your shoulder, down your arm, until they close on your wrist. his teeth press against the bracelet of your watch, scraping the skin beneath, drawing a drop of blood. the screen glows, a faint blue light in the penumbra of the kitchen.

your breath catches in your throat. he's gorgeous, blue light draped over his hair like threads of moonlight.

he hums, the vibration settling low in your gut.

"i just want a little taste..."

you shiver at that. at the way he looks at you like he wants to devour you, consume you whole. at the way his tongue presses on the cut, lapping at the blood. you tense, biting back a soft, needy little sound.

his leg pushes your thighs apart. you don't realise you've been humping against the warmth of him until his hand settles on your hip, claws digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood.

"behave, little spy."

you laugh at that, baring your throat.

"was it really that obvious?"

he hums, clawed finger trailing down the column of your flesh, pressing against the jugular. he can feel your pulse, staccato little thing beating wildly as you look up at him, lips parted with want.

his smile stretches, impossibly wide.

"vox wouldn't have let his precious little lawyer go." his claws tap against your watch. "and i'd be a fool not to get a taste."

he kisses you. he kisses you, teeth nipping at your mouth until you can feel static against your tongue, until you arch your back against him. you whine, claws digging in his shirt, eager for more. of course, he pulls away. bastard.

"patience, my dear. all good things come to those who wait."

you scoff.

"because seven years and s'more weren't enough?"

a pause. his lips trail down your throat.

"i suppose that's fair."

he bites you, teeth sinking at the junction of your throat and shoulder. you keen, a breathless moan of his name as you feel him grind against you. you shouldn't let this happen. shouldn't revel in the warmth of him, body going limp in his grasp. shouldn't drag his hand towards your aching core, let him press his fingers against your slit and chuckle at how wet you are. you can't let him finger you on the kitchen's counter, can't mewl like a wanton whore.

you do.

you do, his name like a prayer on your lips, hips stuttering, desperate for release. you feel him against you, lapping at your flesh like a starved hound. when he lets you go, there's a spider-web thin string of blood connecting him to your shoulder.

the sight of him takes your breath away.

there he is, eyes half lidded, looking at you. there he is, blood, your blood, dripping down his lips, his chin.

he leans closer, watching you, the way your shiver at his every touch, as his free hand digs in the tender skin of your breast and sinks into the flesh.

oh.

something snaps in you - you're on fire, head thrown back in a silent cry of his name.

on your wrist, the watch flashes blue. alastor grasps your wrist in his hand, bringing it up. it's easy for vox to see you. you, disheveled, red fur a mess of sweat and blood, panting, cheek pressed against alastor's chest. you, nightgown hiked up to your hips. you, legs wrapped around alastor's waist, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder to muffle your moans as he drills his cock into you.

vox groans at the sight, pants growing too tight.

the radio demon smiles.

"hope you enjoyed the show, old pal!"

[honeykaes]

burn in my memories

ayato x retainer! reader II 2.8k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no pronouns, angst, cheating, power imbalance (servant/master), cunnilingus, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, hot spring sex, marking, masturbation, body worship right person wrong time trope, alcohol mention, unedited

synopsis: as ayato prepares to get married, he decides to go on vacation with you, his trusted retainer, to enjoy his last bit of freedom.

The ripples of the water flashing around, filled the space under the moonlight night. Cicadas chirped around as some moths hovered near the doors of the inn, where the light was pouring through.

Warm steam rose to the heavens, leaving your skin dewy while your clothes clung onto your form. You gazed directly at the towering bamboo wall, covering the spring from any wandering eyes hoping to give your lord some modesty.

Your back was turned, hand securely placed at your katana, ensuring any suspects foolish enough to attack your lord in his most vulnerable time would quickly be stricken down.

Your lord, Kamisato Ayato, was someone you had been with for a long time. You washed up on the shores of Inazuma, hacking up seawater and barely conscious, after a storm led to the downfall of the ship you were on. The only thing in your hand was the grains of wet sand clinging to you and the hydro vision tightly gripped. Apparently, the Gods had wanted you to live; gifting you salvation, in the form of a vision for your survival.

After assisting in your recovery, you decided to work as at the Kamisato estate. You worked your way to become a respected retainer. It was surprising when you first found out you weren’t the only foreigner the Kamisatos had taken into this position as you met the blonde, half-Mondstadtan, Thoma. 

Whispers and chatter among the common people echoed through the small island that the Kamisato had a thing for foreigners but Ayato and Ayaka insisted you and Thoma ignore it.

As Thoma focused more on household chores and “darker” tasks, to clean up after the Yashiro Commission,  you primarily worked as a glorified secretary. You assist both siblings with cultural projects and paperwork. 

Still, Ayato made sure you picked up the katana, learning the ways of his sword style, to protect the Kamisatos and the commission

 “I can see you tensing from over here. You need to relax. I know it sounds rather… hypocritical from me, but it’s the truth,” you heard your lord hum across the hot spring. 

You sighed, realizing how rigid your shoulders were, soon relaxing them as you breathed out.

”I still need to be on guard. I’m sure people are aware that the head of the Yashiro Commission took a leave of absence and is traveling for a bit. The hot spring is one of the most vulnerable positions to be in,” you replied.

You heard a heavy sigh part from Ayato’s lips.

”You know, I can take care of myself. Besides, the Shuumatsuban are patrolling in the shadows around the spring and inn as we speak,” he murmured. You could hear water lifting up ripping as he let out another sigh.

”When I taught you the katana, it was to protect yourself and my sister, not me…” His voice trailed off, as his mind was beginning to shift elsewhere. 

This was the first time he had been apart from his sister. As much as his cool exterior claimed he was three steps ahead of everyone else, you knew deep down he was nervous leaving her alone at the estate.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” you insisted. “Plus, your most loyal dog is there protecting her. I have no doubt Thoma would lay down his life to see she is protected.”

Your lighthearted response was met with a grunt from Ayato.

“I’d prefer that wouldn’t happen either, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless,” he muttered.

His thorns were peeking through. If his trailing off wasn’t about his sister, was it…

”Is this because of your upcoming wedding?”

Ayato fell silent. You could feel the heavy gaze of his eyes staring at your back as you fought the urge to shiver. 

“...Do you know why I took this leave, hm?” Ayato murmured. You could feel his falsely saccharine smile on his lips as he asked you this question.

”No. You’ve never taken a vacation before,” you responded. Ayato let out a half-hearted chuckle, as more splashing echoed out.

”This is probably the last bit of freedom I will enjoy; if you can even call it that. After we return, it’s planning the wedding, the ceremony…making an heir—-continuing the legacy of the Kamisatos, a duty my parents bestowed on me,” he murmured. 

”...It was either go through with this marriage or let my sister fall into that fate. A loveless marriage. I couldn’t bear to see her burdened by that,” he admitted. Before you were stranded in Inazuma 10 years ago, you don’t recall your former nation being this rigid with marriages and politics, but perhaps you were far too removed to realize.

“So you burdened yourself…? Forgive me if this is out of turn but maybe it’s time to move past those rigid rules. You’re the head of the Yashiro commissions, one of the most powerful men in Inazuma, why can’t you just do what you want?—” you asked. 

Your question was interrupted, feeling large wet arms wrap around your waist. Ayatos’s head leaned between your shoulder blades.

”W-What?! My lord!? What are you doing…?!” you stammered out. You would feel the wetness of his hands beginning to dampen and soak through your attire.

“Although Inazuma is becoming more lenient, some things will not change. Although I cannot have the love I desire, at least Ayaka will…” he whispered. His voice was so soft, and vulnerable. Gone was the outward presence of a man who seemed ten steps ahead of everyone else. Gone was the man with a smile no one could decipher.

Left in your wake was a man, grieving his freedom for responsibility.

 Your eyes softened.

”...Ayato…” you muttered, feeling his nails dig deeper as he clung tighter. You dragged your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling softly on it. You weren’t sure what you could say or do to motivate him. 

”This is overstepping, I know, but…for one night, I ask, to be with the person I love, to relish my last bit of freedom with them, to have that memory burned in my mind to keep me going until the day I die….” he called out.

Your lips parted, hearing his voice soon weakened to that of barely a whisper.

” I beg you…please.”

His grip loosened as you remained silent, and finally turned around to face him. A shadow covered his eyes, pale skin dewy from the steam and moisture from the spring. Your hand pillowed against his cheek as he finally looked up. His eyes were somber, as your gaze softened.

”...Then, let this memory stay with us the rest of our lives.”

Water splashes loudly as Ayato stands straight to his full height towering behind you. He leaned in, pressing his lips across your neck as goosebumps rushed down your skin. His hand slowly begins to untie bits of your armor as they crash loudly on the stone ground.

Soon your hakama pools on the floor, immediately dampening from the water sloshed around. You feel his touch begin to focus on disrobing your shitagi. You shivered feeling his large palm trace up the spine of your back as he leaned into your ear.

“Have you always been this sensitive?” he cooed, breath heavy and hot at the nape of your neck. You clicked your tongue in embarrassment before he turned you around— touching your bare hips and pinching the skin. You fought the urge to look past his v-line, trying to keep his mischievous lilac-hued gaze.

“I see you got your confidence back,” you pouted. Ayato's usually cunning smile finally made another appearance before he grabbed your chin, slightly lifting it up.

“I don’t want to wallow in my sorrows when I can focus on making the best of this situation,” he replied. He pressed a chaste kiss on your lips. They were soft as they molded onto your own. His teeth dragged on your bottom lip, nibbling the sensitive muscle. 

He soon leaned back, watching as you shared a new pair of glossy lips once connected with a translucent string of saliva. Ayato leaned back down in the water, on his knees as his hands squeezed against your thighs.

“Sit down for me, will you? I want to enjoy my meal,” he murmured. You quirked your eyebrow in confusion but obeyed. You slowly sank and sat on the wet stone a level above the hot spring, letting part of your legs drape over and dive beneath the water. 

“What do you mean?” you asked. He lets himself between your legs, letting his palms graze up and down the appendage. He soon sank deeper within the pool, getting closer to your core as his nails buried themselves in the flesh of your thighs.

His breath fogged up as he placed a gentle kiss on your clit, as your body shot up from the sudden pleasure. He prodded his tongue out of his mouth, flattening it as he pressed a long stripe against the bundle of nerves. Your fist balled up while crescent moons dug into your palms. His tongue swiped up and a moan reverberated from your lips. 

You quickly cover your mouth to muffle the noises leaking out as Ayato continues his ministrations against your clit. His tongue slowly circled along the nub before letting his lips completely cover it, sucking sharply as your eyes shut tightly. 

The pink muscle soon found itself swiping side-to-slide, rapidly flicking against your clit. Your legs, threatening to close onto his face, were soon captured by Ayato’s hands. He gradually guided them up onto his broad shoulders—allowing him to spread you out wider. 

His mouth quickly made its way to your inner thigh, nibbling and sucking the plush skin, and admired the spot as it changed its hue.  You grabbed onto the edge of the stone to steady yourself, cunt beginning to flutter from the pleasure.  

The vibrations of Ayato’s amused chuckle added to his meticulous ministrations, letting his tongue savor the sweetness of your arousal.  Your folds glistened in a mixture of his saliva and slick as loud slurping noises joined the symphony of cicadas. 

You pressed your thumb against your tongue in a futile attempt to stop your whimpers and cries, hips helplessly grinding against his face. 

“Aya..A—” you stammered out. Your back arch, toes curling towards the heavens and your body quivering in pleasure—signaling your high. Ayato left your throbbing clit with one last kiss before leaning away, letting your tired, sweaty, and damp legs hang back into the warm water of the hot spring.

Your tired eyes looked up as your chest heaved, seeing his flushed expression and mouth smeared with your arousal. His tongue flickered out, lapping up any remaining slick on the corners of his mouth and wiping the rest of it off.

“Ah, ah, ah. You’re tired already?” he hummed. “I thought you said: ‘Let this memory stay with us the rest of our lives’. This doesn’t seem very memorable, hm?” 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes as you lifted your upper form up and let yourself sink into the warm water. Your legs felt shaky, but thankfully the pool was too small for you to struggle with your footing.

“Ayato, I don’t think anyone has eaten me out like that in my entire life,” you sighed, body melting from the warm water. Ayato clicked his tongue.

“Talking about other lovers right now? How cruel you are to me,” he sarcastically replied. He soon turned you around, pinning you to the side of the pool. You could feel his erect cock pressing against the globe on your ass, twitching as it slid between your folds and thighs. 

“...I want this to matter to you as it does to me,” he muttered in your ear, tone deeper and more serious than it was prior. “I want to leave evidence on you that I existed, even if it fades. I will know and cherish these memories.”

His cock lazily thrust, as your lips trembled from his tip gliding across your overstimulated clit. You gyrated your hips against the veins of his cock, hearing his breath hitch. He lifted his hand up, squeezing them against the mounds on your breast. You let a moan out before he stopped thrusting, tapping his cock against the bumble of nerves once more. He leaned in, capturing your earlobe before nibbling on it.

“...It matters to me too. You don’t think I will also be hurt serving a woman married to the man I love? Do what you must. Burn it into my skin and thoughts,” you whispered. “Let my body, mind, and soul know the only person Ayato Kamisato loved was me.”

With a grunt, Ayato sank his cock inside of you. His cock dragged itself against your walls, plunging himself deeper. The waters rippled to his pace across the pool, as the sound of slapping skin was hidden against the sloshing of waves.

He fought the urge to bury his teeth in your neck, feeling your velvety walls massaging this cock—lulling him to plunge as far as he could inside of you. His upper half pressed tightly against your back, leaning your torso down and pinned against the edge of the pool.  

Feeling as though he could go deeper inside of you with this new position, his pace increased as your body swayed helplessly to the rhyme. Ayato’s lips pressed against your neck, trailing quick and soft kisses. His hands wandered throughout your body too, moving up to admire your legs, squeezing against the globe of your ass and sliding across the curves of your side.

It was like his soft touch was trying to memorize any bit of your body he could. A mole or freckle on your back? His tongue lapped at it. A birthmark or discoloration? He peppered kisses across it. A hickey he made? He’d be sure to slightly pinch at the bruised sensitive skin. 

“You don’t know how much I wanted to do that…” he groaned. His hands soon make their way up, hovering above your own slayed out on the side of the pool, weaving his fingers against yours as he pressed against you tighter. His cock drilled itself inside of you, hips bucking widely as his rhythm began to falter. 

He sucked a sharp breath, feeling your walls clamp down urging him to continue rutting inside of you until he spilled every last drop. Your own fingers soon found themselves, rubbing tight circles against your clit, walls fluttering more as you began to ascend. As your voice rose in octave—reaching your second high of the night— Ayato’s face tensed up as you grew tighter and tighter. 

“Fuck…” he grunted, in frustration. He quickly slid out, cock twitching in desperation. He turned you around, pulling you to a passionate and needy kiss. You could still taste the bitter sake on his tongue from dinner. His cock pressed against your tongue, heavy and throbbing and in need of release.

“I wish I could spill myself inside of you, but I can’t risk it no matter how desperate I am to,” he grunted as your lips parted and the two of you caught your breath. Ayato stood up again and your gaze finally looked past his V-line. A small pale blue happy trail greeted you, along with his cock. The member twitched as if it had a mind of its own, flushed in a slight pink hue from the heat and your earlier activities. 

It was longer but thinner than you expected—a hidden mole decorating it. You recalled the one along with his upper thigh, one on his face, and one on his back. You never would’ve guessed he had one there too. 

Noting your gaze, Ayato grabbed onto his cock, pressing his thumb against the tip showing precum beginning to bud and dribble out. His tight grip slid against his length, hips buckling as he began to moan once more.

“Open your mouth,” he breathlessly asked. You swam closer to him, opening your mouth while he pressed his tip against your tongue. You could taste the saltiness, watching his cock twitch as he jerked his cock faster. With a loud moan of your name, Ayato’s half-lidded eyes admired as ropes of his thick cum began to pool on your tongue as you struggled to gather all the spurted out.

He bit the inside of his cheek before combing his hand through his wet hair, clinging to his forehead, and taking deep breaths.

“Now…swallow for me…” he groaned. You saw the smirk creep on his face as he watched your throat bobbed, savoring every drop he gave you. With a relieving sigh, Ayato’s face quickly softened, leaning down and capturing your lips once more. He rested his body against the side of the pool as you leaned against his chest.

His arms wrapped around your form, looking down at you briefly before gazing at the moonlit sky.

“Let’s hope the Gods grant us a never-ending night before we have to wake up and pretend to forget this.”

[humanpurposes]

De Facto

She can't afford to fantasize over Aemond Targaryen, he's her boss and the Prime Minister... but stopping is easier said than done- this fic now has a part two :)

Main Masterlist

PM!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of SA, questionable power dynamics, politics (putting my degree to good use), unnecessary world building

Words: 7700

A/n: Thanks for the inspo @ewanmitchellcrumbs, sorry it's not Dishy Rishi tho :(

Throughout the whole train journey into Central King’s Landing, she’s sure she’s dreaming. Her body feels strangely light, her hands are restless and her heart is beating steadily in her chest. 

She flows effortlessly with the stream of commuters, along the platform, through the station’s glass atrium, then left towards Conquest Street. She knows her way around this part of the city already, and though she’s never been inside, she’s walked past Hightower House countless times.

This time is different. Now she walks up to the iron gates, pressing her thumbnail into her index finger, because the armed guards are making her nervous. 

She tells them her name and one of them mutters into a radio.

Her eyes run along the gold crest that marks the gate, a shield divided into seven, a sun for Dorne, a rose for The Reach, a stag for The Stormlands, a Trout for The Riverlands, a Falcon for The Vale, a Kraken for The Iron Islands, a wolf for The North, and at its heart is the symbol that unites them, the three headed dragon (although strictly speaking, Westeros abolished its monarchy centuries ago).

Suddenly one of the guards catches her attention. He opens the gate for her, and says she’ll be given a security pass and instructions to use the staff entrance following her official induction.

Hightower House stands proudly before her, an ornate facade of balustrades and columns, order and symmetry, an obvious juxtaposition of the medieval majesty of the Red Keep, just down the road.

It all feels very daunting, but the last five years have led her to this moment, the entirety of her adult life. She keeps telling herself that she deserves to be here, after all, she was the one who made it through the first round of applications, who made it to the shortlist and the final interviews, and she was the only one of hundreds of applicants who received the phone call, offering her a position as a personal advisor to the Prime Minister.

The contract only lasts two years, but it is the most effective stepping stone into a career in politics that she could ever ask for.

The entire morning is spent working out formalities. First she meets the deputy chief of staff, a handsome man named Criston Cole, who she’ll directly report to. He shows her through mountains of paperwork and gives her a brief overview of her role. Essentially, she is to assist the Prime Minister on whatever he deems necessary, policy aims, speeches, media coverage, political rhetoric, public image. 

“You’re a glorified assistant,” Cole says as she reads and signs page after page of her employment contract, “but with a salary to reflect it, so don’t feel discouraged. There will be some admin work which can get tedious, but you’ve been selected for your expertise and your passion for the party.”

That’s the crucial part of the job. Everything she does will be to benefit Mr Targayren as head of the Green Party, still running off the high of their victory at the last general election, just under a year ago. 

She signs her last signature triumphantly, despite the ache in her wrist, and hands the pen back to Cole with a smile. “All done?” she asks hopefully.

Cole grimaces sympathetically. “Not quite.”

There are four people to meet before she’s officially in. She takes a deep breath to soothe herself. It’s all just more formalities, which she can understand, given the weight of this job.

The first is the Prime Minister's private secretary, a glamorous woman with black hair and piercing green eyes, named Alys Rivers. She greets her warmly, having already spoken over the phone with her several times. She also knows her CV off by heart. It’s a little strange having someone know almost everything about her education and employment history when her face is unfamiliar.

The next is a young woman named Maris, the other of Mr Targaryen’s personal advisors. She has dark hair and a look of determination in her grey eyes. She explains that there are always two personal advisors, but hired on alternating years. She was hired at the start of Mr Targaryen’s premiership, and has a year left of her contract.

There are a thousand questions she wants to ask Maris, but before she can even scratch the surface, Cole’s checking his watch and dragging her off to another office.

Otto Hightower is the chief of staff. He’s thin and wiry, but incredibly intimidating. He has tired, sunken eyes that seem to glare right through her, and a passive but severe expression on his face, as though he’s scrutinising, having already decided she’s a waste of his time.

It’s not a great feeling, being looked at like that by a man she’s idolised for years. She knows his career timeline by heart. He earned his bachelors in Politics and Economics from Oldtown, before doing a masters in International Relations at King’s Landing, where he met and befriended Viserys Targaryen. He worked his way to becoming an MP and soon into Viserys’ cabinet when be became Prime Minister.

But things changed when Otto’s daughter married Viserys. No one really knows the whole truth, but Otto resigned from the Black Party, and took over from his own brother as leader of the opposition.

Now he works in the background, the mastermind behind his grandson’s remarkable successes.

Cole explains that Mr Hightower had the final say in the shortlist and determining which applicant would be given the final job offer.

“You had an impressive application,” he says, briefly looking up from a document. “I’m sure you’ll do well with us.”

“Thank you, Mr Hightower,” she says through the slight tremble in her jaw.

Other than that, the interaction is brief, and soon Cole is ushering her out of the room, back to Alys’ office, as richly decorated as the rest of the building. Maris is sitting at another desk, typing away furiously on a laptop.

“Tea? Coffee? Water?” Cole offers her, gesturing for her to take a seat on a green leather sofa.

“Water would be lovely,” she says.

“Maris,” he calls.

She glares up from her laptop. “That’s not my job.”

“No, but it’s courtesy,” he says.

Alys’ slight smirk doesn’t escape her attention.

Maris purses her lips, but she closes her laptop, pointedly slams her hands against the arms of her chair, and marches out of the room, her shiny black heels clicking against the dark wood floor.

“She’s nice really,” Cole says, “just a bit… direct at times.”

“Direct,” Alys groans to herself. 

She feels her brow flicker into a frown but stops herself.

“She’s good at her job,” Criston says like he might say something else, but he doesn’t.

When Maris returns, she seems a little less on edge.

She takes the glass of water with a cautious hand, Maris’ eyes lingering on her maroon painted nails. 

“I like your top,” Maris says.

She glances down. It’s nothing special, black and long-sleeved, to go with her long blue and green patterned skirt.

“Thank you,” she says.

Maris hums to herself before she goes back to her desk.

“Do you often work in here?” she asks.

Maris shrugs. “It depends.” She doesn’t care to explain further.

Alys is smirking again.

“Mr Targaryen was in a meeting with the cabinet this morning,” Cole says, then checks his watch. “He has a few phone calls to make, but he should be ready to see you at about 4pm. Maris?”

“Yes?” 

“Will you show her in around then?”

“Yeah,” she says, flatly, “of course.”

Cole shakes her hand before he leaves. “Alys will show you out when you leave. I’ll see you on Monday morning.”

She continues to wait on the sofa, restless in the silence that follows once the door has shut. Alys and Maris are both typing, their nails clicking against their keyboards. She starts to bounce her leg and stops herself.

Her mind is racing. The day seems to have gone well so far, but what if she meets Mr Targaryen and it all falls apart? What if he decides he doesn’t like her and sends her packing? 

She’s too lost in her own head to notice the flash of Alys’ emerald green dress as she stands in front of her. That is, until she’s leaning down and waving a bar of chocolate in front of her. “Get a bit of sugar in you,” she says, “and breathe slowly.”

She smiles as she takes the bar and places a single cube on her tongue. She lets it melt, savouring the sweetness and the slight bitterness of its taste.

You can do this, she thinks to herself with every inhale. And then she exhales. You are here for a reason.

The phone on Alys’ desk rings. She checks her own phone. It’s exactly 3:59.

“Yes, sir, Maris will show her in now.”

Aemond Targaryen is on the other end of the line. Her heart drops at the thought.

As the second son of Viserys, it seems like he was always destined for the family business. He differs from his father and grandfather in that he did Politics and Philosophy at Sunspear, before going on to do his masters in History at Oldtown, and then another masters in International Relations at King’s Landing. By all accounts, he is fiercely intelligent, mature beyond his years, with the right balance of intimidating and charismatic to command the support he needed to get in as MP for Rosby, then as party leader.

In fact, it had been his first campaign that inspired her to apply for a degree in politics in the first place. She loved how he spoke, how he managed to strike a balance between grace and passion, and how deeply he cared for his policies. He was poised and perfect, but driven by a genuine want for improvement.

He perfected his craft within a matter of years. With the mess Rhaenyra Targaryen had made of the country, it was all too easy for him to win a majority with a few winning speeches, a hand running through his silver hair, that lazy half-smirk and the intense look in his eyes that just made you want to fall at his feet. And people do. The press adore him, his party worships him, foreign dignitaries often remark on his charm but also his capabilities as a negotiator and a leader.

Maris leads her out of the office, along a quiet corridor. She stops outside a door with gold lettering: Office of A. Targaryen, Prime Minister

Seeing it in front of her, strangely, seems to subdue her nerves. Her chest flutters, but the anxiety is more manageable than before.

Maris taps her knuckles against the door three times.

From the other side of the door she hears a gentle but chilling voice. “Enter.”

She follows Maris inside.

He’s perched against his desk, his long, silver hair falling around his shoulders as he looks over a few pieces of paper. He wears a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, black slacks and brown leather shoes.

He looks up slowly, the light of the early Autumn evening beaming through the windows, over the sharp features of his face, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his neck.

His eyes find hers, unashamed and curious.

Suddenly she can feel her heart in her throat.

Maris introduces her. “I’m sure Alys already debriefed you, but she’s here for her induction. Cole said you wanted to meet her as a formality and–”

It feels awfully like she’s talking for the sake of it.

“That will be all, Maris,” Mr Targaryen says softly. She can’t help but watch the way his lips move when he speaks.

“Oh, are you sure, sir?” she asks. Her face is twisted into a slight frown but her eyes are wide. “I just thought, for her sake, it might be useful if I’m here to explain everything.”

“I’m sure, thank you.”

She stands with her hands clasped in front of her skirt as she listens to Maris’ footsteps move towards the door. It opens and closes, and now all she can hear are her own breaths, gently flowing through her nose.

She doesn’t know where to look. At the patterned carpet on the floor? No, it would be rude of her to hang her head. At the portraits that line the wall? At the bookshelves? At the desk? No, that all seems too intrusive. Out the window? No, that might seem like she’s not paying attention.

So her eyes settle on him.

He hasn’t moved from his position, but he’s placed the paper on the desk behind him, leaning with his palms at the edge. His eyes glance over her once, up and down.

Fuck, he’s so much better looking in person.

Then he stands to his full height, and picks up a clipboard from the desk. He flicks through a few of the pages and hums softly to himself.

“You had an impressive application,” he says.

She swallows through the slightly dry feeling in her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

“And an excellently written cover letter.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You did your masters in Comparative Politics at Sunspear. Oberyen Martell is still head of faculty there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. He taught one of my modules, Security Studies.”

“He’s an interesting character,” he muses, smiling to himself. “He was my supervisor for my undergrad dissertation.”

She already knew that. Dr Martell loved to go on about his star student. She would too if she taught the future Prime Minister.

He flicks to another page. She watches as his eyes skim over the words in front of him. “And you came with glowing reviews from Tyland Lannister.”

She’s not sure how she’s supposed to respond to that– it makes her sound more like a product than a person– so she just smiles, as delicately as she can, making sure not to squint her eyes too much. 

She had spent the last year as Mr Lannister’s Parliamentary Assistant, at his office in the Red Keep, starting just as he had been appointed as Foreign Secretary. 

“How was he as a boss?” Mr Targayren asks.

Straightforward, she thinks. He took his job seriously and was decidedly not a fan of smalltalk. His office often worked in silence, and even when he was stressed he was efficient.

“No complaints,” she says.

“I’m sure you were all kept busy, cleaning up Corlys Velaryon’s mess after the Stepstones.”

A minor military excursion to defend a few key trading routes, or at least that’s how it had started. Within a matter of months the Stepstones had spiralled beyond control, costing Corlys Velaryon his seat and the Blacks their majority in Parliament.

“If I remember right, it was Daemon Targaryen pushing that particular policy,” she says.

The corner of his mouth curls upward. It could be a smile but she’s not entirely sure. 

“Sir,” she adds, hoping to soften the blow of her unintentional insult; what idiot tries to correct the Prime Minister on their first day on the job? She does, clearly.

He doesn’t seem irritated or angry, more amused. A cryptic “hmm” sounds in his throat as he flicks back to the first document. “And before that you were a campaign manager for the party, yes?”

“Yes,” she says brightly, grateful for the change of subject. “I was working in the Stormlands in the lead up to the general election.” The region was formerly a Black stronghold, but turned Green thanks in part to her efforts.

“Excellent work,” he says.

The smooth, seductive tone of his voice seems to come so naturally to him. She bites her tongue at the image it prompts in her head, of his lips brushing over her ear, his hands resting on her waist, she can almost feel it–

No. That’s wrong. So wrong.

Fantasising about the Prime Minister of Westeros is not a habit she can afford to keep up, not when she’s supposed to be working with him in such close proximity.

But that’s easier said than done.

Cole enters his office, bright and early on Monday morning, before the rest of Hightower House is awake.

Aemond’s routine is the same every day. Up at 5am, run a few laps of the expansive gardens or spend an hour going through his meticulously planned gym routine. He showers, shaves, applies his skincare and haircare products, dabs some perfume on his wrists, dresses, and takes breakfast and a black coffee in his office. By 7:30am he’s ready to work.

He needs the routines and the outlets. They help keep him sane.

He’d seen how this position twisted his father into a tired, irritable and irrational man, how it got to Rhaenyra’s head until she became a liability to herself. He won’t be like them. He has a reputation to uphold, a legacy to claim.

Cole places a folder on his desk. “The background check you ordered, sir.”

He thanks him, quietly and sincerely, and waits until he’s left the room to open the folder.

His new personal advisor intrigues him. He’d made the request for the background check as soon as their meeting had ended on Friday. 

She has no criminal record, which is unsurprising, that definitely would have come up sooner if she had one.

He browses through her education history, a star student at Storm’s End Grammar School, a bachelor’s in history from Rainwood, a masters from Suspear, where she was head of Debate Soc and Amnesty International, while working various internships and retail jobs in between.

The next page is full of articles from student publications, The Importance of Integrity in Politics for the Rainwood Student Journal, Sovereignty in the Stepstones for Red Sun Rising. He reads through them both. Her writing is immaculate, concise and convincing.

The final page is more personal, social media profiles. It’s nothing scandalous, but she clearly has a certain image she wants to project. Her Instagram is full of art and history museums, coffee shops and preppy outfits. She has a few pictures on her LinkedIn of her at the Green Party conference last year, pictured with a group of girls her age and a caption that talks about the importance of representation in politics, with links to various charities and initiatives. In the photo she’s wearing a white silk shirt, open just enough to show off a dainty gold necklace and a hint of the swell of her chest.

She seems perfect. Too perfect for his own good.

The first months go smoothly enough. 

Maris is a practical person. She’s good with numbers, good for bouncing off ideas for economic policies and analysing data for him, even if she is a little overbearing at times.

But she fills the gaps perfectly. He secretly looks forward to their meetings and debriefings, when he asks her to write or edit speeches for him, or run through questions with him before a press conference. Politics is never easy, but she has a remarkable talent for keeping a level head. He likes that she’s always calm and composed. He likes her soft, reassuring smiles and the sharp look in her eyes. 

They just click. She’s always switched on, always knows the right things to say and do, always knows what he needs.

Every moment they are alone feels monumental; the settled quiet of his office when she first walks in and takes a seat on the other side of his desk; when they make an exchange, debriefing papers for an empty coffee cup, and their fingers will brush over each other; when he stands over her shoulder to read the document she’s working on, close enough to smell her perfume and feel a heat simmering under his skin. It’s starting to become unbearable, and yet he craves that feeling.

And then, one morning, he gets a phone call from the Crownlands Messenger. They’re about to publish a story. His brother has been accused of inappropriate conduct by no less than three women.

Fucking Aegon.

The entire country is in an uproar. How can anyone trust their Parliamentary representatives when they do shit like this? Is Aegon an outlier or is this just scratching the surface? What will his punishment be? What else are the Greens hiding? 

There are hundreds of emergency meetings with his grandfather, tense phone calls, bearating headlines, and onslaughts of outrage online. There’s no question about it, Aegon has to resign as an MP, but the damage is done. The polls are turning Black instead of Green. People don’t trust the ruling party, or its leader.

It’s late. Aemond paces his office while a headache pulses in his head. He’s long ditched the coffee for whisky, swirling it about in his glass. He sent Maris home hours ago. He doesn’t have the patience for anyone at the moment. Except for the woman leaning against his desk, flicking through news articles and the pages of notes she’s prepared for him.

Tomorrow is PMQs. No doubt there’s only one topic the Blacks will be asking about. He can already see Rhaenyra and Daemon’s smug faces, the delight they’ll take in watching him fall apart. There’s just no way he’s getting out of this easily.

He feels so restless. His hands are trembling and his lips won’t seem to stop moving, so he places himself against the wall, mindlessly tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes another generous sip.

From the desk he hears a heavy sigh that hums slightly in her throat. “Is there anything else you want to go over, sir?” she asks.

“No, I think we’ve exhausted the hypotheticals,” he says, running his free hand through his hair. He resists the urge to pull at the roots, to take his frustration out on something. “It’s just– fuck’s sake, I’ve been saying Aegon’s a liability for years. But no, Otto always wanted to keep pushing for him. Said it was good for the family’s image.”

She places her phone and the document behind her, and takes a few steps towards him.

He glances down at her, at the way the low light of the lamps and the fireplace glows against her skin, the contented sort of look in her eyes. 

Her eyes flicker down at his now empty glass. “Refill, sir?” Her lips stay slightly parted once she stops speaking.

Then he realises he’s staring.

“No, thank you,” he mutters, tapping his finger against the glass. “I should probably stop now.”

She takes the glass from him with her middle finger and thumb, avoiding touching his hand before she takes it away. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting to his head but his heart sinks at the lack of contact.

What is he doing? It must be after 9pm now and he’s still keeping her here without a real reason. 

She’s standing by the drinks cabinet, carefully placing the crystal bottle of whisky away and setting the empty glass out for housekeeping to clean up in the morning.

Instead of thinking about her, the way her hair looks, the way her skirt hugs her waist and the curve of her backside and thighs, he tries to think about how much he hates Aegon. This only makes him more agitated.

He closes his eyes and throws his head against the wall. His heart is racing and there’s a hollow feeling in his chest. He’s craving something, not another drink, not a smoke (he quit once he was first elected as an MP). He wants something else, something dangerous and damning. 

The heels of her shoes tap softly against the floor, until she’s standing in front of him.

He opens his eyes.

She frowns slightly before lifting her hand and delicately placing it on his shoulder. “You need to relax, sir,” she says.

He lets out a low “hmm,” as he weighs out his options. This seems like a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

“That’s not going to happen with you here,” he says.

Her calm, somewhat smug expression falls. She looks so innocent now, so sweet. “What does that mean?” she says.

He leans in closer to her, until the tip of his nose barely brushes against hers. “I think you know what it means, darling.”

She hesitates, before her mouth spreads into an eager smile that shows off her teeth.

Her hands find his, ensnaring him under a soft but commanding grip. She leads him away from the wall, to the sofa by the fireplace. 

He settles on it, leaning against the arm as she comes to her knees before him, spreading his legs apart to make room for herself.

She palms her hand over the hardness that’s been straining painfully against his trousers for hours now. She feels along his clothed cock, pressing her cheek against it and gazing up at him with a look of teasing innocence.

Aemond knows he is done for, jaw slack, chest rising and falling as he breathes. He would have never presumed he would find himself in this kind of position, not after all the work’s he’s had to do cleaning up the mess of Aegon’s fuck ups, not after working this hard to get where he is, and least of all because he believes himself to be a decent man. 

But he doesn’t stop her as her fingers undo the button and the zip on his trousers, and he doesn’t make any kind of protest as she takes his freed cock in her hand and teasingly strokes along it. 

He keeps his hands firmly on the sofa, digging his fingertips and his nails into the leather, as if he hasn’t been dreaming of having her like this for weeks, as if he hasn’t fucked his own hand countless times pretending it was her.

He doesn’t have to pretend anymore. He looks down, his jaw slack, barely containing his strained breaths, and there she is, doe-eyed and eager as she places a delicate kiss to his flushed tip. Her lips barely brush against him before she pulls away, keeping a hold at the base.

His arousal stains her mouth and she fucking grins.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, sir,” she says, sweetly, earnestly.

He runs his hand against her hair, gently, as if trying to soothe her. It seems to take her by surprise which only serves to excite him further.

She leans into his touch, lips parting, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy.

Until he grips his fist and pulls. He tilts her head up. It shouldn’t hurt, but it’s enough to bring her attention back to him.

He decides he won’t tell her what to do, not directly, but she’s a smart girl, she knows what he wants. 

With her eyes wide again, she opens her mouth and inches his cock past her lips. The tightness in his gut starts to burn as she works up and down his length, slowly– excruciatingly slowly. It’s not in anyway relaxing, he thinks, but it’s a nice kind of torture.

He loses himself to the warmth and the wetness of her mouth, her tongue running over the underside of his cock, her lips teasing over the tip before she moves back down, using her hands where her mouth can’t reach.

He chokes out a throaty “fuck,” knowing there’s a security guard outside the door, and probably a few of the staff still lingering about. 

But she looks so beautiful like this, her brow furrowed in determination as she tries to take him deeper and deeper, desperate to please him, happy to make him suffer for it. And the little noises she makes, the gags and the moans. He imagines that she likes this, that she’s been wanting this for as long as he has, and if he pulled her onto his lap and slid his fingers under her skirt, he’d find her drenched.

She starts to up the pace until he brings his hand to the side of her face again, his hand large enough that he can rest his palm against her cheek and tease his fingers through her hair. Her eyes dart up to his, wide and teary. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, “nice and slow, just like that.”

She whimpers around him, breathing desperately through her nose.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he coos, “you started this, didn’t you? Wanted to taste me? Wanted to feel my cock in your mouth?”

She hums in agreement.

“Just fucking take it then,” he says with a clenched jaw, gripping her hair to bob her head up and down, keeping that torturous pace.

The pleasure builds slowly, running hotly through his body, but he fights the urge to clamp both hands around her head and buck his hips up to fuck her throat.

He comes harder than he thinks he ever has before, keeping himself sheathed within her as he paints the inside of her mouth, and pulls her head away to see the last few drops spill against her lips.

She gazes up at him with dazed and glassy eyes. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath. Her forehead glistens with sweat, mascara runs down her face and his spend drips over her chin.

He wipes some of the mess away with his thumbs, cradling her face in his hands. “Swallow,” he orders.

Her mouth closes and her throat bobs. He can already feel the tension in his gut tightening again.

If only he could keep her like this forever.

She makes it to Hightower House at the usual time of 8am, despite leaving work so late last night. Despite the hours she spent consumed by thoughts of Aemond Targaryen as she rode the train and dragged herself into her bed. Despite the aching arousal that went unfulfilled. Despite the marks on her knees and the stiffness in her jaw.

When she walks into Alys’ office to sign in, she’s already there, perfectly poised and typing away on her laptop. 

“Morning,” she says brightly.

Alys looks up from the screen. The white light shining from below makes her face look a little eerie. “Morning,” she says with a smug look on her face.

She ignores it, scrawling down the time and her signature beside her name.

“You were working rather late last night,” Alys says.

“Yeah, I was,” she mutters, placing the pen down and straightening her spine.

Alys is staring at her. Her eyes are unnervingly bright. “He never asks Maris to work late.”

Her heart drops.

It’s like she can feel the weight of him in her mouth, the taste of him on her tongue.

“I bet he’s just realised I’m more of a people pleaser,” she says.

Alys hums and smiles. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t have time for this. She hangs up her coat and her bag, and picks up two black coffees from the coffee machine in the kitchenette down the hall.

Aemond is in his office, leaning back in his chair with his mobile pressed to his ear. He doesn’t react much when he sees her, he just watches her as she sets one of the cups in front of him. He raises his eyebrows in thanks and brings it to his lips.

She imagines the person on the other end of the call is starting to bore him.

“Yeah… yeah… I know… well there’s not much to be done now but get it over with.”

She takes a few sips from her own cup, wiping the corners of her mouth. Aemond follows her fingers as she does.

“I’ll speak to you after. Yes, thank you, grandfather.” He hangs up the phone and tosses it onto a stack of papers on the desk. “Seven fucking Hells.”

“How did that go?” she asks.

Aemond rolls his eyes and huffs a tired laugh. “He wants to talk through candidates for the by-election in Duskendale. I said I’ll think about it if I survive PMQs.”

She sets her coffee cup down. “What are you most worried about? You’ve prepared for this. What’s worrying you?”

Aemond taps his fingers against the desk. She tries not to ignore the thrill it sends through her belly.

“I’ve never had to deal with something like this. I’ve never been this worried about the party’s image, but that’s usually because I do everything right.”

The whole Aegon situation is beyond his control, and yet he’ll be getting the scrutiny for it.

“People need to be able to trust you,” she says.

Aemond looks up at her expectantly.

“Is Aegon still a party member?” she asks.

Aemond’s expression darkens. “That was discussed. Otto wants him to remain an official member.”

“You’re the Prime Minister. Put your foot down.”

“I can’t,” he says, standing and fixing the rolled up sleeves and undone buttons on his shirt before he reaches for his tie.

“You can’t afford not to. If you go easy on Aegon, Rhaenyra’s going to play to some kind of ‘the Greens are anti woman card.’ Your voters need to know you’re taking this seriously.”

“And throw my own brother under the bus?” he says, sternly.

But she can tell he’s still nervous. His hands are shaking as he ties the tie around his neck.

She pauses, wondering where the line is here. Aegon Targaryen will be fine. He’ll be put under investigation and keep getting bad press for a while, but he can live off daddy’s money in the meantime, and in a few years the whole scandal will be forgotten.

She takes a few steps towards him and comes close enough to smell the dark, boozy smell of his perfume, and shoos his hands away.

“What would be better for the country,” she asks, tilting her head and keeping her eyes focused as she fastens his tie, “presenting yourself as a leader who is committed to integrity and respect, or leaving yourself open to further criticism?”

She pushes the knot up tightly against his collar for emphasis.

Aemond just smirks. “You’re very persuasive,” he says.

“That’s my job, sir.”

She gasps as his hand grabs her hip and pulls her against him. His breath runs hotly over her face as he tilts her chin up to look at him. His throat hums as he breathes.

She could fall apart then and there.

Until a knock on the door has her practically shoving him away.

Aemond chuckles and shrugs on his suit jacket. “Enter,” he calls.

She turns her back to the door to hide the flustered look on her face, pretending to look through a bookshelf that she’s never really looked at properly before.

“Car for you, sir,” Alys says from the doorway.

Aemond calls for her by her surname. Fuck– she was supposed to pack his briefcase before he left. She takes a breath and goes about collecting all the pages of notes and briefings he’ll need. 

She brings it to him, and notices Maris standing in the hallway behind Alys. Maris usually goes with him to the Red Keep for PMQs, but today he requests that she accompany him. She supposes it makes sense, she’s been the one helping him prepare after all.

Maris’ face is a storm. Alys looks down at her feet and tries to stifle a giggle.

The next few hours are a blur. She trails after Aemond through the ornate corridors, keeping her eyes on his silver hair, flowing down the back of his black suit jacket. Somewhere along the way, Cole and the head of security, a man Aemond greets as “Mr Westerling”, joins them.

They leave through the front entrance, into the sharp September air and into a black car. The hum of the engine and the smell of leather makes her nauseous, but they’re only in the car for a matter of minutes before the door swings open and she’s been ushered towards the Red Keep.

Once a seat of Kings, now the red stone castle seems a little out of place with the rest of the city. This is where Parliament gathers.

As they walk through its halls, Aemond tells her to throw a few questions at him. She has them all memorised in her head, able to recite a few without really thinking about it. Aemond mutters the answers they’ve rehearsed under his breath, smiling politely and waving as they pass by civil servants, MPs, Green and Black party members alike. They even pass Cregan Stark, leader of the Northern Independence party. He whispers all of their names in her ear.

There’s a small room where Aemond waits in before he enters the Great Hall. She can hear the noise and the chatter on the other side of the double doors, engraved with the same crest that marks the gates to Hightower House.

He won’t stop moving, adjusting his tie and his cuffs, tutting and pursing his lips.

She makes sure Cole and Westerling are muttering to each other before she leans into Aemond, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” she whispers, “don’t see it as a chance for them to criticise you, see it as an opportunity for you to reassure everyone else of how brilliant you are.”

Aemond turns his head towards her. He’s not touching her but she feels the proximity.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” he says.

She smiles. “It’s all perspective.”

Before Aemond is called into the hall, Cole directs her to the gallery, above the benches where the MPs sit.

She and Aemond meet eyes before she leaves. She stops herself from reaching for him, not wanting to leave his side.

“Good luck,” she says.

As if he needs it. She watches everything unfold from the gallery, the MPs sat below her like she’s watching a play in a theatre.

Aemond starts off with an amazing opening speech which, at her recommendation, doesn’t shy away from the issue of the whole Aegon scandal. He affirms his commitment to ensuring that central government is a safe and inclusive working environment, which is when he announces Aegon’s resignation as an MP, as well as his removal from the Green Party.

The chamber in an uproar. A few members of the Green Party make a bit of a fuss, but mostly Aemond’s announcement is applauded, even by a good number of Black Party members.

Rhaenyra, Aemond’s sister and predecessor, is at a loss for words, as is her deputy, Daemon.

Aemond seems to get a boost of confidence from this and takes every question in his stride, using elements from the answers she had rehearsed with him and even throwing in a few one liners which has half the room cheering him.

And he’s fucking hot when he’s cocky.

While he speaks all she can think of is how he sounded while she was between his legs. “Good girl… just fucking take it…” she has to clench her fists and her jaw at the wave of arousal that rises within her.

Afterwards she walks with him to the car. A whole host of Green Party members crowd him as they walk through the hallways, praising him, commending him. He smiles graciously, looking over his shoulder every so often to look at her, to make sure she’s not fallen behind.

The silence of the car is unbearable with Cole and Westerling in the front, and Aemond beside her, drumming his fingers against his thigh and running his other hand through his hair.

She presses her thighs at the obvious arousal pooling at her centre.

Seven hells, she’s acting like she’s in heat.

She follows Aemond back through Hightower House, past Alys’ office, to his own office. When he closes the door behind them, he locks it.

She leans against the desk, keeping her hands on the wood behind her.

Aemond turns back to her with a ravenous look in his pale blue eyes. He reaches into his pocket, effortlessly pulling his hair into a low bun, as he usually does in informal company.

She can’t take her eye off him as he tosses his jacket over the sofa, and begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Then he stalks towards her, his chin tilted down and his lips in a tight line, until he’s close enough to paw at her waist. 

“I suppose I should thank you for your help,” he says, eyes fixed on his hands as they tease over the fabric of the red mini skirt she had picked out this morning, the way she squirms underneath him.

“Oh,” she breathes. One of his hands trails up, untucking her blouse from her skirt and brushing his fingertips against the bare skin underneath. “Just… doing my job, sir.”

He hums to himself as his hand works its way round to her backside, squeezing gently. “Do you like calling me ‘sir’?”

She can’t help but nod, dazed at the feeling of his hands tracing the shape of her body.

“Yeah, I think you do,” he says, leaning in to press a slow, firm kiss to her neck.

Her resolve is shattered. She throws her hands around his neck, pulling herself into him, desperate to feel him against her, to stay close to him.

She almost whines when he moves away, much to his amusement, feeling her mouth fall into a pout.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got a brat,” he says, taking her chin in his hand. “Are you going to be good for me, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” she utters.

“See? You don’t even need to be told,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to turn around and lean over the desk.”

She follows his instructions without missing a beat, bracing herself on her forearms, against the surface. She feels her skirt being pushed up over her hips, her tights and panties pulled down in one go, fingertips trailing over her thighs. Then she feels his breath against the wetness of her bare pussy. 

She can’t help but let out a quiet moan, pressing her nails into the wood in anticipation.

“Haven’t even fucking touched you yet, are you that desperate for me?”

“Yes, sir,” she whimpers, trying to look over her shoulder.

Aemond’s hand finds its way against her head, pressing her down. And he doesn’t let go.

His fingers drag through her folds, teasing her entrance and her clit before he slides in a single digit. It feels so different from her own, longer and thicker, pressing into her at an unfamiliar angle. She feels utterly weightless, the obscene sound of him moving in and out of her only adding to her arousal.

Aemond’s voice is dark and husky, as it was last night. “Good girl,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?”

When she doesn’t reply, he withdraws and lands a stinging slap against her cheek, before he pushes into her again. “Answer me,” he says, clearly and firmly.

“Yes, sir,” she says, frantically trying to nod against his hold of her head. “Feels so fucking good.”

He increases his speed, pumping in and out of her until her climax washes over her. It happens gradually, building and building before a pleasant numbness washes through her, to every corner of her body. 

While she comes down from her high, her attention is caught by the sound of a belt buckle and rustling fabric.

The tip of his cock presses into her without warning. He inches further and further in until he bottoms out, the material of his trousers pressing against her skin– the cunt hasn’t even bothered to take off his clothes.

He finally relents his hold of her head, grabbing at her waist as he ruts into her. It’s fast and primal, adrenaline pumping through her blood, Aemond’s fingers digging into her flesh, her breath coming out in moans, his belt buckle hitting the desk with every harsh thrust.

“Knew you were a little slut,” he grits out, grabbing at her cheeks and spreading them out to watch his cock moving in and out of her. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

She covers her mouth with her hand to hold back the wanton noises threatening to slip past her lips. 

Suddenly a hand comes to her shoulder, pulling her up against his chest. One hand kneads at her breasts through her blouse and her bra, while the other slips between her legs, tracing quick circles over her clit.

“I wanna feel you come,” he rasps into her ear, “wanna feel my good girl clench around my cock.”

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She clings to his arms and digs her teeth into her bottom lip. She can feel herself hurtling towards her climax, if only he would move his fingers a little faster.

“Please,” she whispers.

“What was that, pet?” Aemond asks, brushing his lips over her cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come!” she whines. “Fuck– please… please, I just want to come, sir.”

She feels him smiling against her as his fingers rub faster over her clit. She can feel how deep he is inside her, how his cock bullies against that sensitive spot, over and over again, until her orgasm tears through her.

She tries to keep her mouth shut but she can’t help the pleading groan that hums in her throat. Aemond holds her as she falls apart, fucking her thoroughly through it all.

Until finally, he reaches his end, hissing through his teeth and pulling out to spill himself onto her pussy. She feels the warmth, how it drips through her folds, for now uncaring of the mess they’ve surely made.

Aemond keeps holding her against his chest. His forehead falls against the back of her head and his hot breath echoes over her neck. “I really appreciate the work you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly. “I think you and I make quite a pair, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” she mewls, letting her head fall against his arm.

Aemond hums a laugh to himself, it rumbles in his chest and against her back. “So pretty and polite,” he coos, “how did I ever manage without you until now, pet?”

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling

A/n: I might do a part 2 to this so let me know if you would liked to be tagged :)

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Platonic Yandere live action Garp who has a soft spot for a pregnant marine reader (I can imagine him telling reader , the baby will be a strong marine) XD 

please ; also what are your thoughts on live action Garp ?

My thoughts on live action Garp are similar to my thoughts towards most of the live action depictions. He's good, but I prefer anime/manga Garp. I think he needs that little bit of silliness to maintain likability lol

It's Better This Way

Platonic Monkey D. Garp x Reader

1.9k words

warnings: pregnancy related things, vomiting, yandere themes, misogyny

Going from being a marine captain to managing paperwork for a vice admiral was not what you ever wanted to happen in your career. You felt like a glorified secretary. Even if it is supposed to only be a temporary position, it still felt demeaning. It’s not like there was anything you could do about it, though. Even you could admit that you were in no state to be fighting.

Not when you were as pregnant as you were. If you tried to so much as jog right now, you would throw up and piss yourself. Possibly at the same time.

Your due date was yesterday, but the baby was a no show. Clearly, they have not inherited your punctuality, much to your dismay. Pregnancy was not the beautiful process it had been made out to be. It was exhausting, painful, and downright gross at points. You were more than eager for the whole thing to be over, and you were about to roll up an eviction notice and shove it up where the sun don’t shine to help the baby get the hint.

As if the baby could read your mind, and didn’t care for what it read, you felt your overdue bundle of joy nail your diaphragm with a kick that new recruits would find enviable. You gasped and lurched forward as the air was knocked from your lungs and coughed a few times.

Papers were dropped onto the desk nearby and a chair squeaked as the man in it sat up straight. “Are you okay over there?”

You coughed a few more times before you could breathe properly again, “I’m okay… the baby just kicked me again.” At least they didn’t kick your bladder again. You would throw yourself overboard if you pissed yourself in front of someone again.

Garp sighed and stood from his seat before slowly approaching you. His hand settled on the back of your chair as he looked down at you, “Just go on leave already.”

“No… I can’t just sit around at some random marine base until I give birth. I’ll be bored out of my mind.” Not to mention you don’t want to deal with everyone there judging you for being a single mother. You get enough of that as is on the rare occasion you’re in the company of anyone other than Garp and his crew.

“You can barely walk anymore, just let yourself rest. You don’t even need to go to a base, you can stay on the ship. I could even make arrangements to let you stay at a village on land if that’s what you would prefer.” Garp wasn’t one to back down easily, and that included when bickering with you.

In all honesty, staying on Garp’s ship sounded ideal, but you would hate to be more of a burden to him after being demoted to light duty work on his ship. You were grateful that he agreed to take you in, especially since you were doing a job that you’re 99% sure Bogard was already doing before you got here. Because of that, you wanted to get out of his hair as soon as the baby was born.

“That’s very kind of you, sir, but I couldn’t ask that of you.”

“Sir? You were calling me Garp even back when I was training you, drop the unnecessary formalities.” Garp sighed and rested his hand on your shoulder, “Stop being so damn stubborn and accept my help. It isn’t going to help you or your kid to be like this.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I want to do this for myself.” Your hands rest on your overly swollen abdomen and rub circles on it. You’ve gotten so huge that you’ve been wearing Garps’s shirts for months now. That, and you’ve forgone buttoning your pants, but the shirt helps to cover that fact. It looked like you had twins in there, but the doctors insisted that they only ever heard one heartbeat. 

There’s a question that has been on your mind for a while now, and this seemed like as good a chance as any to ask it. You inhale to steel your nerves, then begin, “Can I ask you something, Garp? I want you to be brutally honest with me.” Garp didn’t answer you verbally, but his nod was enough for you to continue, “Do you think they’re actually going to let me return to my position after I’ve had a chance to recover?”

“No.”

Not even a second had passed between the question and the answer. You had asked for honesty, but the immediate, blunt answer still shocked you. “You can’t be serious.”

“You wanted honesty, and I’m giving it to you. It’s a raw deal for you, but every time I’ve seen this happen, the women never return. It’s deemed too much of a liability. The people in charge don’t believe that you’re going to be as physically capable after the birth.” Garp’s gruff tone softened ever-so-slightly, and it sounded like he did genuinely feel bad for your situation.

Your emotions were running wild. You felt betrayed and beyond frustrated at your circumstances. “But I’ve worked so hard! I was a captain! They can’t just throw me to the wolves like this!”

If your outburst affected Garp at all, he didn’t let it show. He heaved a sigh and the hand on your shoulder tightened. “They can, and they already have. You were terminated the same day you came to my ship.”

“What?!” If you were in better shape, you would have sprung out of the chair from shock.

“I arranged to have you stay here for the time being because you were once my student, and I wanted to ease you into this. I had hoped to wait until after the birth to spring this on you, but here we are.”

All you could do was gape at him as he casually informed you of what your status actually was. It felt like a rug had been pulled out from under you in the cruelest way possible. Before you could even register what was happening, hot tears started pouring down your face. Great, just what you needed. Now you’re humiliated on top of everything else. You turn away from Garp to try and obscure his view, but there was only so much good that could do for you. Getting up out of the chair you were in required help from at least one other person and you were definitely too embarrassed to ask that of Garp right now.

His hand dropped from your shoulder to your back and patted it. “I know that this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but it’s not all bad. I know that the father is deceased, but I’ll do everything in my power to help make up for his absence.”

Your blood ran cold and your tears ran dry. Slowly, you pull your hands away from your face and look at him over your shoulder. You never told a soul about who the father was. Your voice shook as you spoke, “How do you know that?”

Garp rolled his eyes, “I may have been born in the dark, but it certainly wasn’t last night. I saw the way you acted around that pirate and how you were after his execution. You even made the mistake of mentioning growing up on the same island as him. You’re lucky that no one else has figured this out.”

Words were lodged in your throat, right along your heart that had leapt up there. This can’t be happening. You thought you were careful!

“I haven’t told anyone, and I don’t plan to. I don’t want that kid’s blood on my hands if someone finds out who the father really is, and I’m sure you don’t want that either.”

“It’s just a baby! They haven’t done anything wrong! The marines have no reason to hurt them!” You were yelling now, something that you knew was unwise, but you couldn’t help it. Not with how frayed your mental state was by this reveal.

“They’re the child of a pirate, and one that had a high bounty at that. That’s all the reason they need to get rid of them. You would be lucky to even get a chance to hear them cry before they’re disposed of.” Those words sent a chill down your spine. You knew that there were dangers associated with having the child of a pirate, but hearing someone spell it out was gut churning.

As if predicting your next move, Garp grabs the bucket next to your chair and holds it up just in time for you to lose your lunch into it. You cough and gag while Garp holds you steady, completely unphased by the sight and stench. He sets the bucket away from you and hands you a handkerchief to wipe your mouth with.

Speaking in a low tone, he starts talking again, “But that isn’t going to happen. What’s going to happen is I’m going to take you to an island in the East Blue after the kid is born. You’re going to stay in a place called Windmill Village and raise the kid there. I’ll come visit whenever I can to help you.”

You’re still too stunned to speak, and Garp takes that as a sign to continue, “My other grandchildren live around there. It’ll be a nice home for you and the little one. It’ll be a much more quiet life than what you’re used to, but I think you’ll adjust in time.”

It’s like he already has every tiny detail ironed out in his head, almost as if he’s done this before. You look up at him, equal parts distressed and bewildered, “How long have you been planning this?”

“Since I got word of your pregnancy.”

“What am I even supposed to do there? I’ve been in the marines almost all of my life, I can’t just start living as a civilian.” This was the least of your problems, frankly, but you didn’t want to confront the bigger ones right now.

“I would be more than happy to cover your living expenses myself, but I know you would never accept that. There’s a tavern in the town that an acquaintance of mine runs. She’s already agreed to let you work there once you’ve recovered.” Garp’s eye’s drifted down to your belly, “I know it’s a major change, but it’ll become easier when the kid gets older. You can relive your days as a marine by training them to be an even stronger one. I’ll help train them, too, of course. They’ll be one hell of a marine, I can already feel it. Out of all my grandchildren, I think this one will be the most likely to actually become one.”

Garp grabs your shoulders and helps you get onto your feet, a task he accomplishes with ease thanks to his inhuman strength. He guides you out of the room and down the corridor to your own, “Now go get some rest, I know this was all a lot to take in.” His tone left absolutely no room for argument.

You just nodded weakly. Your mind was all over the place trying to make sense of what was happening. Sleep would probably be really good for you right about now. You had no idea how you were going to adjust to the sudden change in your life, but after how Garp just spoke of it… You’re not sure that you even have a say in the matter. 

Especially not if he’s already seeing your baby as one of his grandchildren.

[nztsume]

• waiting for the big twenty-five •

homelander x you

{“Only one more year till the big 25. Aren’t you excited?”

This piqued at his curiosity. “What’s the big 25?”

“It’s when your brain finishes developing.”, you replied, remembering the information from back in the day, when you were still trying to get your Psychology’s degree. “Your frontal cortex- the one in charge of your personality and all- it stops growing at around 25 years old.}

Even if you’re just kind of a glorified baby-sitter, you just want to see him happy - instead, you accidentally make him worse.

read on ao3

------

Hi yall!!! The voices won and I finally ended up starting to write the young homelander fic of my dreams where we find out how he ended up being the deranged insecure insane man we know and love!!

In this one, you're Madelyn Stilwell's niece who works at Vought- and have striken an unexpected soft spot for the company’s latest investment- this insecure, shy but sweet young hero called Homelander.

Enjoy!

• 1 •

July, 2005

Every single day, at exactly 5.30 a.m., Homelander was to be awoken by the smell of coffee on his kitchen table. The coffee had to be fresh, beans grinded that same morning, no sugar, no milk, no exceptions. To accompany it, he was to have his pills: two of creatin– for muscle growth, three of protein- to feed them, a weight gainer– so he would stop being so lanky, and an extra dose of vitamin D, to fight those pesky pimples guys his age still got sometimes. All of them should be in a small container, so he could swallow them at once with his first gulp.

Next to his coffee and his pills, he was to have a folder with any relevant document for the day- interviewer’s questions and the answers he was to give, profiles of important people he would meet, scripts for any ad he was to film. All of that, including his schedule for the day- except that was to be read to him by you. This is how Maddie had told you it had to be done, and how you’d done it since day one.

You looked at your wrist watch, holding his coffee on your hand- piping hot, just how you knew he liked it-  and you yawned, watching the thinnest clock hand go round it, as the last minute before you could walk into his apartment went by. 

Finally, it was 5.25, and you could already walk in- so you did. 

You weren’t exactly his maid- he had several of those, but none of them were to do anything to his apartment whenever he was around. He wasn’t to have much contact with the normal civilians, the normies- as Maddie called them. You preferred to reserve your opinions at that- your aunt had changed a lot since she had started working here. 

What you were was Maddie’s secretary- and Maddie was Mr. Edgar’s secretary- or something. There was a fancier title for that, but you couldn’t recall it. All you knew was that she was aiming for vice-CEO or something, as it was the only thing she talked about whenever she dragged you to a bar after office hours, and insisted on drinking glass after glass of whisky.

As you finished setting things up, you appreciated the result- his cup of coffee, his pills, his documents and ah, a special surprise. One big, obscene chocolate cupcake, the kind where the chocolate topping is so rich that it spills and drips all over, with one beautiful strawberry on top, and next to it, one single candle. You weren’t sure if chocolate was his favorite, but you knew he had a bit of a sweet tooth- so he’d appreciate it, at least some. 

Finally, you took out your red lighter and lit the candle- and less than twenty seconds later, you looked up- and there he was. 

"Good morning, John.”, you put the lighter back on your blazer’s pocket, smiling at him. 

He blinked- eyes still not fully alert, as he scratched them. They were boring holes into the chocolate cupcake, and you couldn’t help to smirk a little- you knew he’d be interested in it. 

“Is that for me?”, he asked, surprised, almost like a child- and you laughed. Ever since you’d met him, about five or six months ago now, you’d felt like he was younger than his actual age- there was something about the way he stood in the middle of his own massive penthouse, like a kid lost in a big, elegant furniture showroom. Alone, quiet and shy, even when wearing his own super suit. It didn’t help that it was actually way too big for one person, with its tall, tall roofs, marble everything and sleek furniture- much less for an overworked twenty-something with no time for a social life.  

“Of course.”, you assured him. “It’s your birthday after all, right? Happy 24th!”

He pressed his lips awkwardly, trying to contain a smile- but that didn’t work, as he let out a laugh, and finally came to the kitchen island, almost a skip on his step. You couldn’t help to be glad- finally this kid was getting some happiness in him.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re welcome.”, you said, sarcastically, as he went to town on the cupcake, taking big bites out of it. He stopped for a second mid-bite, mouth full of chocolate, to look at you with a smile- and there was a gleeful glint in his eyes. Actually, that was enough of a thank for you. Anything that made that perpetual sadness that he always seemed to hold go away, even for just a few minutes, was worth it. You laughed at him. “Okay- just go for it. But don’t forget your pills!” 

“I can’t believe it- this tastes so good!”, he finally said, after taking another bite- in less than thirty seconds he had eaten half of it. Unbelievable! “Best birthday gift ever!”

“Oh- shush.”, you crossed your arms, leaning back against the counter, watching him take a big gulp of coffee. “Just wait until you see what Maddie has gotten you- it’ll blow your mind.”

“I don’t think it’ll be better than having chocolate as breakfast.”- he set the last bite of the cupcake aside, finally taking the pill container, and eyeing them with disgust. You sighed- perhaps if they let the kid eat his breakfast he wouldn’t need those nasty pills- it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to burn it off in the training center literally thirty minutes later. You didn’t know much about supe genetics, but they couldn’t be too different from normal people’s, right?

You yawned again, this time covering your mouth to the side, as you let him have the rest of the cupcake and his coffee. You liked to give him some minutes of silence so he could enjoy it properly- you knew that that’s how you liked it when you had yours.

This morning in particular, you just wished you had gotten to drink your coffee alone- but your fiance was just arriving from a shift at the E.R., and you had to deal with his graphic description of a dick that had been cut in half by a broken wine glass. You were still trying to forget about it. At least you lived close enough to Vought- just a ten minute subway trip away - so you didn’t have to wake up much earlier than that. It was just lucky you knew how to do your make-up on the move, another time-saving skill you’d learnt in your college years. 

You heard him drinking the last of his coffee- doing that big slurp noise he always did, and you finally decided to take the document with his schedule- ready to tell him about his day. 

He was tired -he always was, but today he seemed particularly so, even behind the hint of a smile the cupcake had left him with. You could tell by his posture under those cheesy button up burgundy silk pajamas, shoulders too slumped, hips rested against the counter. You weren’t surprised- according to Maddie, ever since they’d debuted him close to two years ago to the public, he’d been worked non-stop. It was only time until he broke, you thought- but you could never say it to her. Your aunt had always been too good at pushing people further than they could reach, and too good at seeing only ahead of her; John was just another one of her subjects. 

“Alright”, you finally said, seeing the subtle move of his shoulders straightening at your voice, “Ready to hear about your day, birthday boy?”

He groaned in response, the hint of his smile completely being wiped away, “I guess…”

You pressed a smile for him, but mentally frowned reading over his schedule- he was packed, of course. “What’s that? Not excited about being 24?”, they’d even put an interview right after his birthday celebration- his 1 hour long birthday celebration. They as in Maddie and Mr. Edgar. “Only one more year till the big 25. Aren’t you excited?”

This piqued at his curiosity. “What’s the big 25?”

“It’s when your brain finishes developing.”, you replied, remembering the information from back in the day, when you were still trying to get your Psychology’s degree. “Your frontal cortex- the one in charge of your personality and all- it stops growing at around 25 years old. So you get only one more year of acting like a dumbass without people holding it against you.”, you added that last one joke to make him laugh- it worked. He wasn’t used to people throwing curse words around him. “Congrats!” 

“Just one more year, huh?”, he said, more seriously than you expected. “That’s kind of sad.”

“No way- it’s great.” you shook your head, “After 25… it’s like your brain rewires. You’re not embarrassed anymore, you get some self-esteem back from when you were a kid.”, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, remembering how stupidly shy you were back when you were his age. It wasn’t that long ago, really, just four years- but it felt like another lifetime, somehow. “10 out of 10, if you ask me. Anyway–”, you gave one more sigh, before turning your attention back to him, “Let me tell you about your day. So- it officially starts at 9.10 where you- oh. I didn’t know this. You’re getting a new suit!”

His eyebrows rose, “I thought that wasn’t until September.” 

“Hmm, maybe they wanted to launch it at today’s park inauguration for your birthday- which is at around 11.30, by the way. So you get your suit fitted and all, then it’s an one hour drive, and then the inauguration. After that, lunch, and after…”, she frowned. “You have to have tea with- with Margaret Pataki and her friends ...?” , no way they were making the kid spend his birthday with a bunch of rich old ladies that wanted to get in his pants. You couldn’t believe Maddie. What in the world could have they offered your aunt to get the privilege of The Homelander’ s time on his birthday? Unbelievable.  You huffed. “Well… too bad you have your weekly marketing meeting. You’ll have to miss it.”

“I thought that wasn’t until Thursday.”, he frowned, but there was a hint of relief behind his confusion. 

“It’s not-”, you shot a look at him, “But you should get to rest for a couple hours on your birthday, don’t ya?”, you winked at him- and then moved on, before he could protest any further. Better not to think about it too much, or you’d get extremely mad at your aunt. “And then… your birthday celebration!”

“You’re coming, right?”

You looked up from the paper, surprised at his sudden intensity as he cut you off. You found those crystal blue eyes boring at you- like you were another cupcake, expectating of your reply.

“ ‘Course.”, you simply smiled- surprisingly secretly pleased. You liked him- he was a nice guy, behind all the pizzazz that Vought put him through in front of the cameras. Perhaps too nice, in your opinion- there was some trauma somewhere in there, you could tell. But you didn’t weren’t close enough to him to recommend therapy or something, although you had suggested it to Maddie… who obviously shrieked at the thought of their golden child going to the shrink. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Johnny.” 

“Thank god-”, he sighed, rolling his eyes in sass, “If I have to deal with Stan or Madelyn or any of the other old farts there by myself, I’ll laser my own foot.” 

This made you laugh. It always surprised you whenever he showed a bit of bite, as it seemed like whenever he was with Maddie or Edgar, he seemed like the best behaved pupil in the boarding school- and whenever he was in front of the public, he was an absolute boy-scout. “Oh- come on. I’m sure Noir’s gonna be there too. I’m not your only friend here, you know?” She hoped so, at least. John seemed to like Black Noir, although his presence in the Vought building was far and apart, since they hadn’t officially re-debuted him under the company’s name yet.

He shot you one last skeptical look before taking the folder with the rest of the documents- this was your dismissal, and you took it. It was ten to six, and he had to be in the training center soon. 

“Anyway- I’ll take my leave. Maddie’s probably sent me my tasks for the day already.”, you heard a low distracted hum coming from him, already walking to the door. Before you left, you peeked at him one last time, before saying: “Happy birthday.”

He looked up just as you waved, and there was a hint of a smile in his face- good. You smiled back, and finally, slammed the door closed.

 

-

 

When you worked at Vought- more specifically, in their superhero division, every single day felt like standing in the middle of the sea during a storm- wave after wave of issues and tasks coming at you, suffocating you at times. Truth be told, you weren’t supposed to be working there- you were far too unqualified, both emotionally and academically. 

When your aunt Maddie had found out about your mother’s disease, she, of course, had refused to help her. She had always been resentful at how resentful your mom had been of her, at how she had chosen a professional life path while your mom chose to have you at just seventeen, dropping out of school to form a family. Just your average sisters’ feud, splashed with just a bit of new wave feminism and abandonment issues. However, knowing you had dropped out of college, Maddie was kind enough to offer you a job in her workplace- none other than Vought Enterprises. Big shot shit. 

She had told you that she wouldn’t make any promises, she wouldn’t work with you, and she wouldn’t slide you in with the big supes, where she worked. She had hustled her ass off to be where she was- she wouldn’t let your wormy little self run on the path she had so laboriously paved. You were okay with that- any corporation job would pay more than what you were doing in the dingy bar downtown where you’d been working since you dropped off college. Besides, you knew your aunt had never been all there- the love-hate she always showed you wasn’t personal, it was just a thing she did.

It didn’t help that you weren’t even more than seven years younger than her, so a lot of your childhood memories involved playing with her teen self. She was more a cousin than an aunt, to be fair. So there were a lot of things you could easily let slide- her insane mood swings was one of them. You knew she meant well- behind all of her power plays and degradation.

Either way, that didn’t end up happening- you working for a less important division, like pharmacy. As soon as she suggested Mr. Edgar to give you a job he was into the idea- he liked to keep things between family. And in hindsight, it was understandable. The things that happened behind the scenes for supes weren’t half as glamorous or exciting as they seemed to be on camera.

This morning had been particularly busy, the waves of work slowly turning into a tsunami, as Homelander’s birthday was a top priority for the entire department. He was the star, after all- had been for almost three years now. He was Vought’s face and voice, their personality. The bright eyed, all-american, charming, strongest to ever exist superhero. America turned into the shape of a man. Everything they’d ever dreamed, they were training into this twenty-something-year-old. Any excuse to celebrate him was good enough for them- because it was as if they were celebrating Vought itself.

That’s why you’d been running all over New York the entire morning. The tailor had managed to mismeasure John’s shoulders, somehow, and they needed two more of the handmade eagle feather golden shapes that went… well, you didn’t know where they went. You had only gotten the gist of it, along with a brown envelope to take to the goldsmith- any goldsmith that would get them done before 11.30 a.m., when Homelander was supposed to debut his new suit to the world, to mark a new era or something.

Luckily, it was 11 sharp as you ran through Vought’s main hall’s doors, and 11.04 as you knocked the costume division’s door on the 45th floor. You were breathless, knowing that he had to be on the other side of the city, to Fort Lee in less than half an hour- although seeing how tight they were, he was probably going to fly to the inauguration. The city council had granted him his very own children’s park after he’d saved a school bus from sinking into the Hudson a month ago, and they had chosen to inaugurate it the very day of his birthday. As if he had nothing else to do on that day.

Maddie opened the door, blonde waves all over the place, breath ragged. You knew the signs, she had been yelling at someone- and you were lucky it wasn’t you. You saw a flash of dark blue somewhere in the background and you knew it was John- and your curiosity was piqued. Would the new suit be too different? At least it seemed they’d keep his colors. 

“Where are they?”, your aunt demanded.

Wordlessly, you took out a fancy necklace case out of the bag you were holding, “I had to find a different place- our goldsmith was taking too long to decide whether he could do them or in time or not.”, you explained, as she snatched it off your hands and opened to inspect them. While she did that, you subtly went on your tippy-toes, trying to catch the new suit without her knowing. “I think they look just like the mold-so…” 

“Perfect.”, she concluded, slamming it closed, and she took one look at you, with those severe eyes of hers. “Go to the 72th. They need help with the party.” 

After that, she slammed the door on your face. Oh well- you’d see it later, hopefully. 

 

—

 

The 72th was a mess- as it always was, since it was the floor where most Vought only parties were held, the ones no outsiders should know about. Before, you would have thought that that meant something sexual- perhaps some sort of massive over the top superhero and congressmen orgy, the kind conspiracy theorists would talk about- but soon you found out it was not the case. Rather- it was the kind of party where millionaires would get drunk and discuss whether bombing another South Asian country would make them profits or not. You didn’t know which of the two types of parties were worse.

This time, though, at least the purpose of the preparations was much more innocent- just a small party for every person in Homelander’s life to celebrate him and his birthday. It was kind of impressive so many people showed up, in your opinion. It was the 4th of July, after all- most everyone would choose to celebrate it with their families at the park- or even just watch the fireworks from their TV at home. Instead, about twenty or more people were there, running around with you- decorating, inflating balloons, making every cookie in the dish look beautiful and photogenic. All for him- everyone wanted him to be pleased. You were sure that as long as he was allowed to eat enough of them, he’d be just as happy. 

One thing you ended up noticing about the attendees was the variety, or more like, the lack of thereof. Most people there were some of Vought’s scientists, the ones you only knew of by their pictures on the Vought’s Best wall. You wondered what they had to do with Homelander, or if they were there just for protocol. Maybe these were the kind of people Edgar wanted him to surround himself with. Important people- people who did good for humanity. 

And no, no Black Noir to be found.

Interestingly enough, even they were helping with the organization. Perhaps they were close, you wouldn’t know. You didn’t know much about John’s past aside from what you’d figured out by yourself- and what the public knew. 

Either way, he was about to arrive, and you were to get Maddie’s gift ready for him. The box was a bit too big for it- but it needed the space, you guessed. You just wondered if the box was necessary at all. 

Somebody heard the elevator sound starting to ding up- and began shushing everyone, as they started crowding around the room, hiding the big table with the cake and different foods that they had set up in the middle of the room behind them. You, of course, didn’t want to steal any spotlight from someone who could actually be important to him, so you placed yourself to the side, excited for him to arrive. You knew he was going to love this; he loved attention- even affection, as much as he tried to hide it.

The elevator finally dinged on their floor, and the doors opened, and-...

“Happy birthday!”, everyone shouted- only for Maddie to come out, her heels clicking as she saw on her that particular face she made when she scolded someone- her words drowned by their scream. Everyone made a confused noise- wasn’t it supposed to be…?

Then- a massive spot of blue walked in- a young man with wide shoulders, an unhesitant stroll and perfectly coiffed blonde hair- clad in an imposing red and blue suit. Homelander.

You began singing Happy Birthday- loudly, completely drowning everyone’s confusion and whatever Maddie was nagging the young supe about- and everyone was super quick to join. And you had the pleasure to see John’s face go from a slight frown to a bright expression- as everyone sang for him- claps and even stomps to go with it. 

But… there was something off in his smile as he started recognizing the faces around him. You saw his eyes go through every person in the room with a strange restraint- like he was holding back something. Then- they fell on you, and they stayed there, somehow, it seemed that it made that off feeling fade off. You clapped and sang more excitedly.

“Happy birthday, dear… John-Homelan-Johnny !”, everyone laughed, as nobody quite knew how to address him, “Happy birthday to you!” 

You saw him laugh- eyes looking around in surprise at the decorations. Everything was red, white and blue- with lots of golden details, that had been your touch. They were the expensive kind, but anyone could tell they weren’t set by professionals. You thought it added a homey touch that he’d enjoy- and he did, as he quite didn’t know what to do with himself, with his hands, as everyone clapped and whistled for him. 

“Oh-!”, he finally said, “Thank you- thank you, guys!”, he was trying to play it cool, calming them awkwardly. 

After that, the short event officially started. The attendees started mingling amongst each other, coming up in groups at times to talk to John, who seemed more interested on whatever was going on on the food table. You had caught him eyeing it from time to time whenever he was left alone for a second or two, as if he was deciding whether he could have a treat or not .

Meanwhile, you were busy guarding Maddie’s gift- which was secretly the only reason you were here at all. Not by your own volition, of course- you’d obviously come to John’s party if it was up to you. But… somehow, you felt that without your aunt’s express invitation it would have created problems for you. Sometimes it felt like Maddie got insanely possessive of the kid- as if anyone could come and snatch him away from under her management and steal her progress doing that. You didn’t quite know- all you really knew is that whenever you made a small observation, offered a small detail you’d noticed about him, she responded incredibly bad.

It wasn’t too bad, though. At least you were saving yourself from awkward conversations with strangers- plus, sometimes John caught your eyes and smiled at you. He had even tried to make his way to you a couple times, always interrupted by a new group of people who called for his attention.

He looked good in his new suit, you had to admit. A far cry from the leotardish one-piece he had before- that only worked to accentuate his still teensy physique, still too skinny and lanky for what he was supposed to be Edgar’s final vision of him- this new suit was magnificent. It looked like it was a two piece, for once- which he was probably thankful for- held by a strong golden (gold?) belt, and a high collar, covering just enough of his neck to draw attention to the slight v line it formed. He had some padding, she knew that- but it was just enough, not to transform his actual size, but to accentuate it. He looked more mature, more secure in his skin, and it showed - even if just a little bit.

Either way, you could hear her gift getting more and more agitated by the minute- so it was a relief when you heard her voice loud, commanding everyone’s attention.

“Let’s open your gifts, John.” Maddie said, coming up from behind and slapping a hand on his shoulder, making him jump a little. 

The party moved to the gifts table, where a small pile laid. You dutifully took the box you’d been guarding on the corner of the room and started walking it by it with a bit of difficulty, mostly because it kept moving all over the surface- but also because it was making your nose itch.

By the time you had gotten there, John had already started opening some of his gifts. Someone got him an insanely expensive wine you knew he wasn’t even going to try, and someone else a piece of pottery. It was hard to make someone like him a gift- what could you even get someone who could have anything? Not that John ever asked for anything, though. But he could- and everyone was aware of that. Vought made sure they were.

As soon as Maddie saw you with the box, she took it from your hands and walked up to him- and the second he turned to it, his face illuminated. 

“A dog?!”, he took it from her almost immediately, sitting on the floor with it on his lap- hands fighting to open the wrapping as soon as he was settled. 

“Oh John!”, Maddie scoffed, annoyed, “You spoiled it for everyone else!”

He didn’t seem to hear her though- entranced on the unwrapping, and you couldn’t help to hold your hands together on your chest, excited with anticipation. You were sure he was going to love it.

And as soon as the little guy jumped from inside the box- you know he did.

“Oh, lord!”, he exclaimed, as the small dog started barking and twisting in his grasp- as excited to see him as he was, its tiny tail wagging so hard it was moving its entire little body with it. “Oh, my god!”

The dog, a small Jack Russel with a big, brown spot over one of his eyes, barked excitedly, and you were sure you could see John’s eyes shining with tears, sat on the floor while everyone else aww’d at them. You could tell that- for once- he had forgotten about the people around him, as he let the puppy jump on his legs, on his chest, licking his face, sat back on his hands, as if he was stopping himself from squeezing the little thing. He was happy, so happy , and the dog was too.

“I can’t believe it!”, he gasped, again, as he finally decided he needed to pet it, getting rid of the thick gloves that his new suit had, grabbing it with both hands. The puppy barked at him, tongue out, and a laugh escaped from his mouth. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve seen in my life !”

The puppy wriggled its way out of his grasp, and jumped at his face again, licking him- and everyone aww’d once again and clapped. You finally unglued your eyes from the adorable scene to your aunt- and she looked incredibly pleased with herself. You would be too, this was probably the first time you’ve seen him actively elated.

Suddenly, she was startled by something- and you saw her hand going to her blazer’s pocket, picking her cellphone in a second. As she walked away with it, you took a step closer to him- and he turned to you.

“Did you know about this!?”, he asked, incredulous, fighting against the dog’s excited licks, “I can’t believe it!”

You couldn’t help the smile on your lips as you saw him. “Obviously. I went to pick him with her!” you crossed your arms over your chest- still remembering the horrors of the testing lab you’d gone get the poor dog from. It had been a month ago, and the dog had stayed with Maddie until now, “He was not the youngest puppy in the uh- adoption center but…”

“Shush, he’s perfect.”, he interrupted you, holding it to his chest, and turning to you, “What’s his name?”

“I’m not sure actually-”, you turned towards where your aunt had left- and you saw her smiling into the phone, a small skip on her step- and you knew that body language. She was sucking up to someone on the other end of the line. “We could ask Maddie if she named him when she comes back.”

But as you said that, Maddie actually came back- almost running in the short steps her heels allowed.

“Let's get this over with”, she whispered to you, as she walked by you taking over the center of the small round that Had formed around him, “Hey, everyone! Let's cut the cake!”

Everyone agreed happily- but you frowned, running to follow her as she went to the food table, already starting to make space for it. You knew that this was supposed to come at the end of the party, but not even half an hour had gone by yet- what was she doing?

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John's eyes shoot from you to her to Edgar, as he as well tried to figure out what was going on.

“Maddie-”

“Seems like his birthday interview got delayed a couple hours”, she whispered to you excitedly, almost like a secret, “Guess who'll get to make up for his fatal mistake of not seeing Mrs. Pataki and her friends!”

A sense of disgust immediately took over your stomach, as you realized why she was so happy. She was making John spend time with those women after all- she was going to get him to butter them up for Vought On his own fucking birthday. 

“Go help with the cake.”

You felt sick.

Behind you, you heard John approach and Madelyn’s arm immediately shoot to get a hold of his forearm and guide him to the center of the table, the dog still in his arms.

Suddenly, a lot of things started happening simultaneously. Edgar was on the scene now, - a cameraman that you’d seen wandering about the event next to him - finally caring about this party at all, as he seemed to be giving him directions about how to encapsulate the happy event. 

Maddie, on the other hand, stood next to Homelander- whose eyes seemed far, as he heard whatever she was telling him, his lips pressing in some sort of emotion you didn’t have time to figure out, eyes looking far away from the scene unfolding. You got closer, as you started fixing the cake decorations, and got to hear some of it.

“And you'll show off your fucking new suit and tell her ‘ You like it, Margie?’ like she's the woman of your dreams, okay? She needs to go home and tell Pataki that Vought's doing great things while she considers divorcing his ass. You need to make up for the time you made her lose, John.” she was instructing right next to his ear, and he seemed more out of it by the second, “You'll be so fucking sorry to her she won't doubt for a second that you made a honest mistake with your schedule.” 

People started gathering as well- their loud chatter surrounding them like a massive beehive, buzzing so close to the table it was even starting to make you dizzy and desperate, as you fought to make one of the star decorations stay up. One of the scientists came up to you with a lighter, offering to turn the single candle on and you nodded, mindlessly as your focus kept shifting to him, and the way his gaze dissociated more and more- and you were actually worried now. You’d never seen him like this, not this badly. 

“Homelander!”, Edgar called, his serious nasal voice adding a new layer to the buzz, just like the scientist's lighter he couldn't get lit on. “Move one step to the left and turn a little, the lighting's bad there!”

“Seriously - apologize like a fucking dog, you hear?”

“Fuck”, you cursed under your breath- snatching the lighter yourself and trying- getting to turn on.

The camera started snapping- and it added another layer. A group laughed loudly in the background. Edgar kept giving needless instruction. The dog started wriggling, running out of his grasp. Madelyn kept barking into his ear.

“You'll lick her feet- and…”

And you could almost hear it before it happened. 

“Madelyn, I fucking GET it !”

The loud high sound- the sound his lasers made.

The crowd gasped, shocked- but more importantly, the dog started fucking screaming in pain.

“Oh- no!”

Someone screamed- and all hell broke loose. John ran from the table to the side- where his laser had left a dark, charred line that ended with… with the poor puppy laying on the floor, bleeding and crying. You ran after him.

“Oh no- no, no, no, no…”, he was on his knees, and you fell next to him as he whispered the words to himself, holding the poor thing as it wriggled, its loud shrieks vibrating in your ears. His hands were starting to get covered in blood, and its fur was so bloody- flesh so mangled you couldn't make sense of any of it. “No- please !”

You were speechless, shocked, and the blood was draining from your face by the second. “It was an accident!”, you were immediate to comfort him, but his eyes were glued to the animal- unable to think, to do anything, “It was an accident, John, and-and…”

You looked around- but nobody thought like you- nobody else was stepping up to comfort him. Instead, everyone stared in… fright , taking fearful steps away from the scene like he was a monster- and that made you so insanely mad.

“I-I killed him!”, he exclaimed in horror. “Oh, God, I fucking killed him!”

“ No, you didn't! ”, your hands went to his shoulders, shaking him a little as his eyes filled up with tears- and your heart was going a mile a minute, “He's crying ! He's still alive!”

“N-no, no, I-”

“John!”, Maddie’s voice shouted- and you looked up to see her walking to you, angry, as she got out of her shock, “What the hell was that?! Are you insane?! Are you retarded ?!”

He turned slightly to her, eyes full of tears and remorse and pain- and you couldn't take it anymore.

You stood up like a spring and took a step between them.

“Madelyn!”, you looked at her in the eyes, heart still drumming, “ Are you fucking serious?!”

You saw her eyes widen and her mouth fall open.

She started sputtering your name, visibly shaken. You'd never ever had spoken like this to her. She was always the one that was right, the one whose decisions just weren't questioned.

“Y-you stay out of this!”, she finally managed, and tried to push you to the side- but you slapped her hand away.

“No, I won't! Not this fucking time, Aunt Maddie.” you stood your ground, stomping a foot.

There was a rage in you burning- and you instantly realized this wasn't just about this, right now. This was a rage that had been slowly burning- building up these last six months as you'd witnessed how they treated this kid, how they exploited every single second of his time. How tight his leash was. How simply sad and alone he looked all the time.

It had been burning since your mother had been diagnosed with that heart condition- and how ironically heartless her sister had been to her. How she'd offered you the job the same way someone offers leftovers to a starving stray dog, and how you had to swallow your dignity and take them.

It had been burning, you'd even say, after the first day Maddie had started this fucking job, and how she blew you off when you went to her apartment with a cake you'd made her to celebrate it- saying she had coworkers over and she couldn't deal with a child like you here, too, as if they were too important for you to even see them.

She growled your name one last time, “You're about to lose your job.”

“Then fucking do it, Maddie.”, you hissed back, feeling venom in your voice, “Fire me. Fire me! Who wants to work in a company that depends on how much they can exploit some twenty-year-old, anyway? Oh, but the second he makes one mistake you all look at him like he's a monster, right?!”

You couldn't help to turn around, including everyone in your rant now- every single person that was important in John’s life, who was looking at him like he was going to laser them next. Him, who was still holding onto the crying puppy, hands drenched in his blood.

“Don't look at him like that! God- look at him ! He didn't do it on purpose! You all pushed him to do it!”

You felt frustration building in you- as your eyes started to burn as well, angry. No, you couldn't let yourself cry, you needed to speak up!

You saw Maddie about to say something else when someone took a step forward- Mr. Edgar.

“Okay, okay everyone…” he had his hands raised up, voice infuriatingly calming and imposing. “Let’s calm down. You-”, he pointed at a random woman, who jumped at his calling, “Take the dog to the fifteenth, there must be a vet somewhere there.”

The woman quickly stepped forward- a middle aged with a messy bun hanging off of her head- arms in front of her, ready to take the still wailing dog from John while putting the most distance from him she could. Your eyes followed the movement as he extended the creature to her- his hands still shaking. For some reason, as this happened, you felt absolutely insane- like you were some schizoid character In a movie, and everyone else was just watching your crazy rants unfold. 

“And you- miss… Stilwell?”, he continued, turning to you- and as you shook your head (you didn't share your aunt’s last name, thank you ), he held a hand up, like he didn't actually care about that, “Why don't you take Homelander here home? He's still a bit shaken.”

And you're the only one here not afraid of his lasers, seemed to be the tacit rest of his request. 

At that, you stood straighter, facing him as a bitter bile pooled in your throat - desperate to keep jawing off about all you've been keeping, seeing these last months, about every single thing that they'd knowingly been doing to him- but you held back for him. Edgar was right, he needed to get away from this,  he needed some peace- and perhaps not to have to spend his birthday with some old lady who would be pawing at him all night. 

You swallowed it and nodded at him, chest still out and shoulders squared, like you were a shield and shot one last look at Maddie.

She was boring holes into you- mouth in a thin line, dark blue eyes unblinking in anger, hands fisted to her sides. You knew that look, your mother had been the end of it one too many times. But unlike her, you did not relent- and Maddie should better get used to it.

Then, you simply turned, falling to a kneel once again, as you grabbed his shoulder. His eyes were on you as well, those clear blue eyes, still watery, still shaking. His hands were drenched in blood, as was the rest of his new suit- he looked so small in that moment, so scared.

“John?”, you let your voice fall into a soft tone. At your call, his eyes tuned into an emotion you couldn't quite decipher- aside from intense gratefulness, “Let’s go home.”

[iovetecchou]

My Heart ⧸ Bram Stoker

༞ Contains...! a pinch of fluff, angst and smut (holy shit), unintentionally plot-heavy, strangers to friends to lovers, realization of feelings, being in denial of said feelings (from bram), confessions, self-loathing (from bram), reader offering bram the love he deserves! consent, kissing, making out, nipple play, soft touches, praise, needy!reader, oral (receiving... obviously, considering that- nvm) face sitting...

Bram uses "mo chroí" as a term of endearment for the reader, which essentially translates to "my heart" the title of this fic- woah, shocker!

༞ AFAB Reader.

༞ 5,873 words.

"Y/N, get my boots!"

"Y/N, where is my lunch?"

"Y/N! I don't have all day, you know."

This charade was getting old.

You were at Fukuchi's beck and call. His little servant and it made you sick. You didn't choose this life for yourself— no, you never would have done this to yourself.

You were a Hunting Dog at one point, but it felt so long since your glory days. The moment you witnessed what Fukuchi did to your former colleague— Tachihara, your fate was sealed.

You had two options: join the Decay of Angels or die, like all the sorry souls before you— and all the ones to come.

Well, you chose the former. But being a part of the Decay of Angels is not what you pictured. You were a glorified secretary to Fukuchi. You had to tuck your tail between your legs day in and day out.

Swallow your pride and follow orders.

You loathed it with every fiber of your being. However, you would be lying if you said nothing good came out of this arrangement.

There was Bram, your last-ditch effort for hope.

You hadn't thought much of the strange coffin Fukuchi hauled around. The same casket that inevitably caused chaos. You knew it couldn't be the coffin but rather— what was inside the tattered wooden box that caused disarray.

One day, curiosity got the better of you. Fukuchi was in his living quarters, presumably resting as you finished your tedious paperwork for the day. It was already past midnight by the time you finished up.

You stood up from your desk, stretching your limbs before trekking toward Fukuchi's office. Usually, you would place the paperwork atop his desk and then go on your merry way. That is what Fukuchi permitted you to do, at least. But tonight was… different.

That unruly coffin propped up against the furthest wall in the darkest corner of his office caught your eye. Most people who worked under Fukuchi's thumb would not have given it a second glance.

But you? You could not take your eyes off it.

The gold cross plating that decorated the outside of the coffin caught the light the second you creaked the office door open. The glimmering plating caught your eye. Beckoning you to come closer- drawing you in.

Before your brain could catch up, your feet carried forward, inching closer toward that dimly lit corner. All you could think of was, what could be inside that tattered box? That same question flickered in your mind for weeks, and you were finally about to get your answer.

Your trembling fingertips grazed over the smooth finish on the casket. They danced over the golden cross before trailing lower. Your persparated palms felt each flank of the coffin before you found the groove you were skimming for.

You took a sharp intake of breath. Fukuchi would kill you if he saw you right now. You thought, before diminishing that idea from your mind. Face it, he was going to kill you eventually. So you might as well continue with your plan. You got this far. There was no turning back.

It took all your might to drag the weighty wooden door of the coffin open. But once you did, your breath hitched.

It was… a man? A pretty one at that. This strange man was most definitely sleeping. He had prominent veins running along his lashline, you noted. His hair was pure white, long, and all out of place, nearly covering half of his visage. He also had two identical scars adorning his pallid cheeks.

He was mesmerizing, statuesque.

Maybe this man was artificial? He was as still as could be, and you found it tricky to disclose if he was breathing. There was no rise and fall of his chest, no warmth radiating from his frame. You could not control the way your fingers rose to his form. Ghosting over his face, only a few centimeters away from grazing his cheek.

"Who are you?"

A gruff voice pulled you out of your trance. You stumbled back, watching in disbelief as the mysterious man before you opened his lids, revealing the most bewitching crimson eyes. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth as you struggled to find the words to respond to him.

"Hey… I asked you a question."

The alluring man before you sounded more annoyed this time. His eyes never once left yours. It intimidated you more than you would have liked to admit.

"I'm nobody, really! I'm sorry for disturbing you—I'll be going now."

You babbled, smoothing your shirt down nervously before turning on your heel. You wanted nothing more than to leave this office and forget this night ever happened.

"Stop."

His compelling voice ceased you in your tracks. You should have just left, but you didn't. Instead, you obeyed his demand.

"How long has it been since my last awakening?"

You quickly turned to face the stranger in the corner of your boss's office.

"Huh? Last awakening…? I'm not sure I understand what you are talking about. I'm sorry."

He gave you a pointed look. Finally, he let his eyes wander over your frame before ultimately letting out a deep sigh.

"Tell me, do you possess a legendary treasure? It Contains musicians in a box, the size no bigger than a fist, a wireless radio."

Your eyes widened. This man considered a wireless radio to be a legendary treasure…? Just who was this guy?

"Um… I don't own one of those. I do, however, have my phone to listen to music. If… that's what you are interested in?"

Before he could question the foreign words you just uttered to him, he watched as you pulled a peculiar device from your pocket. You unraveled your earbuds, trekking dangerously close to this strange man.

Slowly, you position the earbuds in each of his ears. Making sure they were in place, all the while crimson eyes followed your every movement. Before he could ask you the meaning of this—music surged through the strange gadget, flooding his senses with pleasant beats.

You watched as his demeanor softened upon hearing your playlist. He closed his eyes in contentment, letting the melody overcome him. You were confused, to say the least. Not only was this man trapped in a coffin, but his only wish was to listen to music?

"Are you… a goddess?"

You couldn't help but giggle at his terminology. Your laughter pulled his lids open once more.

"Far from it… I'm Y/N, and you are?"

"So 'nobody' does have a name after all. I'm the King of the Dead, Bram Stoker."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, as you slightly tilted your head in confusion at his fascinating introduction, politely putting your hand out to shake his own.

"We cannot do that. I assumed you were aware of my… circumstance?"

Your grin wavered, more bewildered than ever at his words. Bram let out a drawn-out sigh at your expression. The realization of your cluelessness ultimately dawned on him.

"Pull this sheet from off me."

Bram sounded peeved as he gestured down toward his chest with his gaze alone. Hesitantly, you did so.

Your hands trembled, nails digging into the tattered raven cloth that concealed Bram moments ago. You could not accept what you were witnessing.

Bram was missing over half of his body- most of his frame was replaced by a large sword. It plunged through his whole being. All that remained intact was the upper half of his torso and head.

"Horrid, right? This is what my old enemy, Fukuchi, did to me."

Before you could control it, tears spilled past your lash line. Staining your burning cheeks. Bram looked taken aback as you wept for him. His mouth slumped open as he quizzically observed you.

"How awful… I'm so sorry. I hate Fukuchi so much. Of course, he would do something like this…"

Your tears flowed as you covered Bram up with that worn-out black sheet. Your hands came up to cup his cheeks, caressing the paired scars that decorated them.

Your touch pulled a gasp from both your lips.

Your breath hitched the second you came in contact with the frigid porcelain skin of his cheeks.

And Bram felt dizzy upon feeling the warmth radiating from your palms.

He could not remember the last time he felt such a gentle touch. His mind staggered at the contact.

"Would you… Perhaps mind if we conversed for a while? It seems you and I both have a lot of catching up to do."

That first encounter between Bram and yourself was ages ago. But an unforgettable one at that. You two stayed up all night, filling one another in on everything.

Bram informed you all about his ability and Fukuchi's use of him. You told Bram all about how you ended up here and what went wrong.

That night felt like a dream, something you only could have made up in your subconscious. Each night, you stayed at work later and later. You waited for everyone around you to dissipate so you could see Bram again. Talk to him for hours, learn more about his life, memorize him.

Your secret meet-ups went on for months. You could care less about getting killed by Fukuchi if you ever got caught. All you cared about was Bram. He was your only fragment of hope in your sad excuse of a life. The closer you became, the more your feelings developed for him.

On the surface, Bram came off as aloof; bored, and uninterested in anything. But that could not be further from the truth. Everything Bram loved, from his human life, was stolen from him. The idea of ever feeling warmth or love again was drained from his mind. That was until you appeared.

After five months of sneaking around and spending your nightfalls listening to music with one another, sharing stories, and growing close, you ultimately acknowledged your feelings for him.

"Bram, I… I need to tell you something."

You nervously fumbled with the buttons on your shirt, not daring to meet Bram's enchanting gaze. You sat atop Fukuchi's desk as Bram quizzically stared down at you from where he was propped up inside his coffin, against the back wall; as usual.

"Hm? What seems to be the matter, Y/N?"

His tone was delicate, solely for you. Quickly, you shot up from the desk. If speaking was too challenging, then… You had no choice but to show him.

Bram observed as you hastily approached him. Your hands darted up to his cheeks, holding him delicately like that first night you met. But before Bram could ask you- once more, what was wrong, you kissed him. Bram gasped against your lips, crimson orbs blown wide as he peered down at you. He watched you intently as your lips molded to his.

He could not accept what was occurring. Again, that head-dizzying feeling washed over him as you pulled away from his lips. You hurridly relaxed your head atop his shoulder, leaving a small kiss on the side of his neck before whispering,

"I love you, Bram."

His mind slowly digested the pure and earnest words you uttered against his neck. Bram finally had something— or rather, someone grant him motivation, hope for his less-than-ideal living circumstances— and life itself.

Bram felt unloveable. How could he not? He was quite literally half the man he used to be. But, you… loved him?

Your face felt hot as the seconds ticked on by. You nestled your face further into the juncture of his throat and shoulder. Placing delicate kisses on his frigid neck. Your hand continued to soothe over one of his cheeks as your other hand came up to card through his slate locks.

“I… do not think someone as magnificent as you should love a terror like me. You… will be met with misfortunes if you involve yourself with the likes of me. It would be soundest if you forgot about me altogether. Turn back now, before it's too late.”

His tone was low, barely inaudible if not for the proximity. You removed your head from his shoulder, meeting his ruby gaze for the first time since your confession.

“You said that is what you think… but- is that what you want?”

Bram let out a sigh, lids fluttering shut for a moment. He swore that if he looked at you for any longer, he would succumb to you. Your devoted countenance was too much to endure for Bram.

“…No.”

You brought your other hand back up to his fair visage, soothing over the identical scars residing on his freezing cheeks.

“Then tell me, Bram… what do you want? I know this whole situation- with Fukuchi, was against your will. I know you do not care to hurt others or cause destruction. You are not a monster. You never could be in my eyes. I love you for who you are in here,”

You gently tap his forehead to emphasize your point. His eyelids fluttered back open at your hasty display.

Bram knew this was wrong. He should not feel so attached- so compelled to you. But, you overtook his mind; you were his solace.

Your voice was the most desirable melody. Bram wished he could record your tellings and listen to you speak, over and over until it branded his brain.

He undoubtedly loved you for as long as he could remember. You were the first to show him compassion, hear him, and care about him in god knows how long. Bram did not even think he was capable of loving again. But you were quite the anomaly. You crept into his soul, taking over his every thought before he could intercept.

Bram watched as your eyebrows rose in concern. His silence was making your heart pound rapidly against your sternum. The fear of being rejected by him bubbled up in your abdomen, making you feel queasy.

He let out one of his signature sighs before his strong voice sliced through your doubts.

"What I desire… is for you to kiss me, once more."

Without any hesitation, you gave Bram what he wanted.

You pushed your lips against his with more confidence this time. Your mind surged with delight at the pleasant sighs Bram let out in between kisses. Your heart was thumping out of your chest, and Bram could hear it. Loud and clear.

His hearing was heightened, after all. Any physical reaction or sound you let out, he caught.

You were completely lost in the moment. The only thing tugging you out of your trance was the feeling of your lungs burning for air. As you pulled away to catch your breath, your forehead rested atop Bram's. Your warm breath tickled his wet ruddy lips.

There was that head-dizzying feeling again.

Bram's eyes flickered over your melodic expression. He wanted nothing more than to keep you happy like this for as long as he could. He knew your time together was limited, but he did not have the heart to break it to you. (Quite literally-)

When Fukuchi had no more use for Bram, he would annihilate him.

It was inevitable.

Bram hated feeling so helpless. He had not bothered to put up a fight all those times his old enemy threatened to end his life if he did not comply.

But now, Bram had someone to fight for.

He wanted nothing more than to shield you from harm. Take you away from this wretched place and live a comfortable life with you.

That was nothing but a fairytale. A nice thought, but unattainable.

If only he could remove this sword, regenerate his body, and get you out of this mournful circumstance. Be the man he yearned to be for you.

Not a day went by when he did not fantasize about wrapping you in his arms, hugging you tightly to himself. Bram often dreamt about holding your hand in his, wondering what it would feel like to interlock fingers. The warmth from your palm would compliment his icy grip, he reckoned.

The feeling of your nose bumping against his own pulled him from his thoughts. You beamed brightly at him, caressing his cheeks in that gentle way he loved so much.

And in that moment… he lost all composure, succumbing to you entirely.

"I… love you, Y/N. More than you could ever fathom."

You grew bolder as more months flickered by. You began sneaking Bram out of Fukuchi's unsettling office in the dead of night, taking him back to your living quarters.

You did not have much to work with. Your room consisted of a bed and a desk. Thankfully, with your very own private bathroom connected. You tried to liven the place up as much as you could, but Fukuchi did not permit you to leave the premises very often. He only authorized your leave if he needed you to run tedious errands for him.

You'll never forget how Bram's face beamed brightly the moment he saw your safe space. A change of scenery was pleasant for him. He felt select, bearing witness to such an intimate detail of your life. The handmade stars and planets that decorated your ceiling caught Bram's eye almost instantly.

You explained to him that they were your only treasure remaining from your life when you were free. The first time you laid Bram to rest atop your bed, turning off the lights before making yourself comfortable beside him, was remarkable.

Your gaze was glued to his face, not wanting to miss his reaction when your little galaxy began to illuminate. Bram gasped softly as the stars and planets twinkled in the dusk. You could have sworn his eyes were sparkling as he gaped at the ceiling.

Since then, it was custom for Bram and yourself to rest atop your duvet, gazing up at your artificial stars as you talked endlessly. Sometimes, you would doze off, but Bram would wake you with a stifled cough and a call of your name before dawn.

He desperately longed to lull himself to sleep beside you, considering how much he valued his slumber, but Bram knew that was a dangerous game to play. If Fukuchi discovered what you both were up to, well, game over.

You cherished those precious seconds when you awoke to your lover's voice. Before reality sunk in... and you had to scramble up to sneak Bram back to his coffin. A twinge of guilt always twisted in your gut as you placed your lover back in his confinement.

But each time he gave you a gentle smile, reassuring you with the whisper of his voice,

"We will be together again once the sun lowers. Chin up, mo chroí."

Bram's crimson orbs lingered on your lips before trailing up, capturing your mesmerizing gaze. A habit your lover picked up on to signal that he yearned for a kiss.

Your hands came up to his visage, fingertips dancing along his earlobes as you inched closer toward his lips. Bram's eyes grew tenfold as you now caressed the tips of his ears, pulling a strangled groan from his throat.

The noise slipping from your lover's mouth caused heat to swirl in your core, heartbeat accelerating as you closed the gap. Your lips captured his with more intensity than ever before.

Bram would be lying if he said he could not feel your desire for more through the embrace. His mind went numb, ruby eyes fluttering shut and allowing himself to succumb to you.

You quickly pulled back, offering him a muted smile and a wave before closing the casket. Enveloping Bram in that lonesome void he despised so greatly.

That evening; as you lay in bed beside your lover, your mind was elsewhere— Bram noted.

"Something is bothering you, yes?"

He whispered, snapping you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to meet his gaze. Your faces barely centimeters apart.

"Bram, do certain touches make you feel… good?"

His eyebrows rose, lips curling into a pout; giving your question much thought.

"Good? Good, how?"

Ah, you should have known he would ask you to elaborate further. But what you were trying to ask was crass. Maybe it would be best if you—

"Would it be okay if I show you what I mean by… good?"

Bram noticed you were being bashful, piquing his curiosity even further.

"If that is what you desire… then yes, mo chroí."

Slowly, you sat up, positioning yourself in front of your lover. Bram's watchful gaze followed your every movement. His eyes trailed lower as your shaky hands came to fiddle with the two buttons of his tattered white shirt.

"Is this still okay?"

Breathlessly, Bram answered with a quiet,

"…Yes."

His mind raced as you undid the few remaining buttons on his shirt, followed by his torn overcoat. You pushed back the flimsy fabrics past what remained of his torso. Your eyes curiously observed his newly exposed flesh.

His neck was malleable, adams apple bobbing in his throat ever so often. His pale collarbones were prominent, complimenting his broad shoulders. You were surprised to see his lithe chest was still intact. His complexion was so fair; the only pigment that blotted his form were his rose-colored nipples. Right below his chest was where the sword resided, shrouded by a vacant void.

"Beautiful…"

You whispered, driving yourself closer toward Bram. One of your hands came up to caress his cheek, tipping his head to the side. Your breath tickled his neck as you placed chaste kisses on his throat. Your lover choked on a whine as your hands trailed higher.

Gently, you took one of his pointed ears in your grasp, rubbing the cool flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

"Does this feel good?"

You questioned. Your breath tickled Bram's throat, causing the hairs on his nape to stand. He could feel his composure slipping from your gentle touches.

"Considerably, yes."

Bram answered matter-of-factly, trying his hardest to keep his tone level. But you made it nearly impossible with how your teeth grazed his feeble throat. Experimentally, your lips closed around his neck, right underneath the spot where the skin of his earlobe meets his throat.

"Hah…"

Bram groaned, scoring his bottom lip with his teeth to keep any more obscene sounds from stumbling out. His reaction only encouraged you further. You moved slightly higher, kissing up toward his ear opposite from the one you caressed.

You nibbled on his lobe gently. Your warm tongue darted out, trailing up his sensitive flesh and pulling a whine from your lover's lips.

"Christ…"

His mind went fuzzy from the pleasure you granted him. Bram's eyes rolled back into his skull as you continued your assault on his erogenous zones. He secretly condemned himself for healing at an inhumane rate, wanting nothing more than for your marks to last. But alas, that was not feasible.

His crimson orbs fired open as he felt your thumb swipe over his nipple. His head slanted downward, attempting to get a better view. You handled Bram with much consideration, taking your time exploring every part of his form that made him tick.

You sneered against the tip of his ear as his rosy nipple hardened beneath your thumb. Your forefinger was quick to follow alongside your thumb. Pulling the pebbled bud with the pads of your fingers, twisting the sensitive flesh ever so slightly.

You left one last nip to his ear before sitting upright, desperately yearning to see his blissed-out expression. And you were not disappointed in the slightest.

His slate locks stuck to his cheeks and forehead from the perspiration. Bram's cheeks were flush as his mouth hung agape, drool seeping past his lips. Your lover unabashedly mewled for you as you continued your assault on his nipple.

You gazed at him intently, absolutely hypnotized by him. Seeing Bram in this state of euphoria was better than you pictured. And you imagined what it would be like to have him under you more times than you would like to admit.

Your fingers flowed over toward his other peck. You gently caressed his frigid flesh before tweaking his other nipple between your digits. Bram cried out this time at your ministrations. His head lulled back in pleasure as you crept your face closer toward his.

“Please, look at me.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. Bram's ragged breath tickled your lips from how hard he was panting. But only a moment passed before his lids were peeling open once more.

You beamed brightly at him before capturing his lips with yours. Bram’s eyes stayed open; watching as you boldly swiped your wet tongue along his bottom lip. He happily complied, allowing you to explore his mouth further.

Bram’s mind was racing. You both had never taken things this far before. But it was exhilarating. He could not shake this tingly sensation that overlaid his form. Your touch sent shockwaves of electricity through him.

Only when you let a moan of your own out against his lips did he trail his gaze downward. Bram’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief as he watched your hips glide against the bed. You were rocking yourself into the mattress, almost on instinct; as you deepened the kiss further.

Your tongue traced over his fangs, treading with caution as the point of his teeth felt razor sharp with just the slightest bit of pressure from your appendage. You could feel your lungs burning, begging you to pull away and catch your breath.

“Mo chroí.…”

His voice was faint. Bram was still trying to regain his composure from that heated make-out session. Warmth crept up on you as you gazed into his ruby eyes.

You huffed, catching your breath as your hips faintly humped against the duvet.

“Would you allow me to return the blessing, Mo chroí?"

Your face heated up at his insinuation, not expecting such bold words from Bram.

"Y-Yes… but, forgive me for asking, how?"

Bram let out a deep sigh, muttering something under his breath. He averted his gaze from your own, seemingly struggling to find the words.

"Remove your garments and… sit on me. If you are pleased with doing so, mo chroí."

"Sit on you—?"

The tables had turned, and now you were the one feeling clueless. His eyes locked onto your gaze once more before he said matter-of-factly,

"Sit atop my face… let me taste you. It would bring me immense joy to bring you pleasure."

Heat surged in your core from his request. Your mind went blank; all you could do was nod in agreement. Not trusting your voice right now.

Your shaky hands came to your shirt, pulling it over your head slowly. Your eyes never once left his. You unclasped your bra next, feeling tempted to cover yourself- but you refrained. Your cheeks felt hot as you watched his crimson orbs hungrily consume the sight of you stripping before him.

He was quiet as your fingers came down to your waist. You leaned back atop the bed, lifting your hips and slipping off your pants and panties in one swift motion. You felt sheepish being bare before your lover for the first time.

Bram's alluring gaze continued to rake over your body. You were enchanting. Perfect, in every way, and all his for the taking.

"You are exquisite, mo chroí."

His soft words pulled you out of your head. Your worries and doubts slipped away as he stared at you lovingly, a heartwarming smile adorning his visage.

"Come here."

He whispered, giving you his grace to inch closer. You slowly positioned yourself on your hands and knees, crawling your way up his frame. You pushed yourself off your hands, spine straightening as your thighs trembled on each side of his face.

Bram could smell your essence from the proximity. He could not help the way his eyes fixated on your slick trickling down the inside of your thigh.

"Sit."

"But… are you sure? What if I hurt you—"

"Please, sit."

His plea for you only turned you on further. You scored your bottom lip with your teeth, letting your lids flutter shut before relaxing your lower half. Your hands twisted beneath your duvet the second your pussy made contact with Bram's lips.

Your lover wasted no time darting his tongue out, experimentally prodding at your entrance. You whined from the cool wet sensation, knuckles turning white from how fiercely your hand twisted into the duvet.

Bram's tongue greedily lapped up your essence, groaning against your pussy from your taste. His head went fuzzy; being enveloped by you in this way was exhilarating. He was not well versed in such lewd acts, but he gave it his all to please you.

His lengthy tongue gradually began thrusting in and out of your dripping hole. Your hips bucked forward on instinct as he explored the deepest parts of you, picking up his pace over time. You could not control your hips as they continued to rut against his mouth.

It felt good— too good. You were unsure how long you would last with how faultlessly Bram pleasured you. You would be lying if you said you had not thought about being intimate with your lover in this way. But he surpassed your expectations; you were on cloud nine.

"Bram—!"

You cried out, only dragging your eyelids open when his tongue pulled out of your entrance, slotting to prod at your clit instead. You were shocked to find Bram gazing up at you. His ruby orbs were half-lidded, and his eyebrows were knitted in concentration as he flattened his tongue against your clit.

"F-Fuck… don't stop— please!"

You babbled, grounding your hips into his mouth as his lips circled around your puffy bud, pulling a gasp from your ruddy lips. He took that as a sign to explore further; gently, he suckled on your clit. Bram started slow, gauging your every reaction to make sure you were still feeling good. Hence, the reason his eyes trained on your face since the start.

Watching you reach nirvana because of his actions doused him with pride. Bram wanted to have you like this for the rest of his days. He hoped that in the future, he would be free of this sword-shaped nuisance.

He longed for his body, especially in moments like now. What he would give to grasp your waist, pull your cunt impossibly closer to his mouth. Letting you suffocate him as much as you wanted. His pointed nails would leave marks on your hips, no doubt. If Bram had his full body, he would be able to please you the way he knew he could. Bram yearned to have you under him one of these days, make love to you countlessly, and plug you full with his seed.

He let his fantasies play out in his mind as he sucked on your clit, with more force. Bram swirled his tongue around your nub between particularly fierce sucks, gradually finding a rhythm.

“Bram— it’s too much… feels so good, I think I’m gonna— ah!”

You hardly finished your train of thought before your orgasm crashed over you. Your body shuddered, hips stilling against Bram’s mouth as he worked you through your high. Your thighs twitched rapidly, locking around his face the moment you came.

You felt Bram moan against your messy pussy, provoking you to shake further from the onslaught of pleasure. As a few moments ticked by, Bram slowed his ministrations against your sticky clit. Gradually, drawing his lips off your puffy bud.

You took in a shaky breath as you began to regain composure. Slowly, you crept your body down the length of the bed until your head was level with Bram’s. You collapsed beside him, bringing a shaky hand up to wipe over his slick-covered lips.

“I’m sorry… I got you all messy…”

You squeaked out, embarrassment shooting up your spine as the reality of the situation crept up on you.

“Don’t apologize, I… enjoyed every moment of that. You taste so—“

“Ah! Don’t finish that sentence… I’ll simply die of embarrassment!”

You shouted, bringing your free hand up to cover your face from Bram’s devoted gaze. A deep chuckle emitting from beside you pulled you out of your shameful tizzy.

Bram was… laughing?

The sound of his laughter filling your room made your heart pound against your sternum. It was so foreign to hear him be carefree, but you fell in love with it. The perfect melody, you reasoned.

“I don’t ever desire you to die on my watch, mo chroí. So, I suppose I will keep my lips sealed— for now.”

You could not help the laugh that slipped past your lips from his playful tone. Seeing all the different sides of Bram felt forbidden. You could not even begin to describe how lucky you felt; to be the one who got to explore the deepest parts of him.

“For now, huh? What do you say we rest for a little while— I’ll be sure to set multiple alarms so we’ll be awake before dawn. I promise! I just want to rest with you for a bit…”

You let out between yawns, abruptly feeling very sleepy from that intense orgasm your lover granted you only moments ago. Bram offered you a small smile before ultimately caving in to you like he always did.

“As you wish. But please be sure to pull the covers up, mo chroí. Besides you dying, the last thing I desire is for you to catch a cold.”

You slowly sat up from the bed, slipping on your panties and an oversized sweater. You set a few alarms on your phone; as promised, before switching the light off. As you crawled back into bed beside Bram, your hands came up to peel the duvet back far enough so you could slot yourself underneath. Making sure to cover Bram with the plush blanket as well.

“Goodnight, Bram… I love you…”

You whispered against his neck, placing a small kiss there before your droopy eyelids sealed shut. You dozed off in a matter of seconds. Bram sighed in contentment as he felt your warm breath tickle the side of his throat.

He let his eyes wander along the glowing galaxy that stretched along your ceiling. Bram could not help but think back; to the first moment he saw the artificial stars and planets. Never would he have imagined you two would be here together in such an intimate and loving way based on your first encounter.

You were the first person to show him kindness in a very long time, and you continued to be that guiding light in his life from that day forward. In this makeshift galaxy, Bram believed you were the star that burned the brightest. His favorite one.

He turned his head toward you, placing a lingering kiss atop your head. Bram finally allowed himself to succumb to slumber, eyes closing shut. Dozing off without a second thought just before whispering out,

“I love you more, mo réalta.”

mo réalta = my star

[reaper-chan666]

Since the poll said longer posts with multiple types of Hybrid! Readers interacting with Taskforce 141, I'll start slow, and gain speed as I go. I'll start with Lioness! Reader, Bat! Reader, and go from there! I'm sorry if it seems short still!

Lioness Hybrid! Reader who doesn't like it when people assume they're weak, since they're smaller than the male Lion Hybrids, is automatically weaker. But they've never been allowed to go into the field to prove otherwise. Instead, they get placed on desk at every base, essentially becoming a glorified secretary, and it pisses them off. Over time they become irritable, then they start becoming increasingly agitated, until it gets to the point, that they're just flat out aggressive, and get traded around to different squads since people get tired of dealing with them.

Until John Price of Taskforce 141 sees their file, and decides to transfer them over to base. Immediately, all the personnel on base is put on edge. They've heard the stories of this hybrid, and they don't want to deal with that. Within a week of Lioness! Reader transferring, Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap notice that the hybrid seems agitated when they aren't put on missions or on regular training, so they have a small meeting, and decide to test out the abilities of Lioness! Reader. After Lioness! Reader is tested by doing the training regimen that Ghost follows, it's clear to the four men, that while the hybrid is smaller, they're faster and stronger than they seem, so Ghost makes it a point to read up on Lioness Hybrids, and comes up with a training regimen that will allow reader to train to their fullest potential. And it works, the hybrid quickly loses the aggressive behaviors once they start training with the four men, and soon they go on missions with the boys, getting results with brutal efficiency.

-------------------------------------------------------

Bat Hybrid! Reader, who is forced into military sleep schedules, and gets sick easily because of the stress it puts on their bodies. Gaz is visiting the base that the hybrid is at, and immediately notices how bad it is, so he calls Price and explains what's going on, Price then calls Laswell, and there is an emergency transfer for the poor hybrid.

Bat! Reader is allowed to set their sleep schedule to follow their bodies needs, and it starts a discussion about meeting Hybrids needs in the military, and not always forcing them to conform to things, especially not things that will cause their bodies harm, like sleep, diet, and training.

Bat! Reader, who shows their strengths once they're recovered, being able to find things in absolute darkness, flying up to around 60 miles per hour on a regular mission, to 100 miles per hour in an emergency. Bat! Reader has an amazing sense of smell, and uses echolocation to help track targets and squad members alike, and being able to accurately differentiate who's who. But that sense of smell comes at a cost. Bat! Reader has issues with strong odors, causing the guys to get better ventilation installed in the barracks.

Bat! Reader, who likes to sleep upside down at times, so Price installs a pull up bar in their room, with a soft cushion on the ground underneath it, just in case they were to fall. They tend to get anxious alone when they're trying to fall asleep alone, so typically the guys will sit in there with them until they fall asleep, unintentionally starting a bunch of break times that forces the guys to slow down and breathe.

I ran out of ideas, it's almost 6 am and I have a migraine, I'll post more when my brain doesn't feel like mush.

Give me more Hybrid suggestions, or tell me if you want to see more Snake! Lioness! Or Bat! Readers again.

Bye!

[crumbledcastle28]

Javier Pena: Blowing Off Steam

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Summary: During one of the most important meetings of his career, Javier is relentlessly distracted by the drive over.

Excerpt: "That's the spot, isn't it hermosa?" he said into your ear. The smell of your sweat mixed with your perfume as well as the small groans you were releasing only spurred him on more. "Think you're in control, thought you had me."

Your eyes fluttered closed and your jaw began to tremble, digging your nails into his bulging biceps seemed to be the only thing giving you any sort of relief.

Neither of you heard the partition clicking shut.

He smiled at your state, kissing the crown of your head. "You do have me, cielo. But tonight I have you."

Warnings: making out, heavy touching, smutty smut smut, dirty talk, my attempt at Spanish, unestablished relationship, swearing, italicized=flashback/past, I am positive this doesn't actually work with canon, Javier is a simp.

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: I don't really know what to say besides I missed this with every part of me. Please enjoy this brain rot that has gotten me through the last three months.

If you would like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

General Masterlist

(gif from pinterest you cannot convince me that isn't a hickey on his neck bfibrifbiri)

Javier's taste buds were coated with a delightfully devilish mix of Cheval Blanc and red lipstick as he sucked in your heated breaths.

Your thighs fit so fucking perfectly in his hands as he gave them a squeeze. Your bare, sweaty skin squeaked against the leathered seats in response.

"Javi," you whined, and he shushed you gently. The streetlights passing by illuminated your smooth skin like music, and he was tempted to pull away only to stare at you.

Another whimper from your swollen mouth persuaded him against it.

He moved his teeth down your throat, pulling you impossibly closer to him. He could feel the heat of your core against him as you began to grind into him slightly, god did it make his lower stomach pulse.

He switched to the left side of your neck, pushing you against the car door ever so slightly as he cut his vision to the driver. The man's bald head had remained facing forward, his skin a deep tan. He figured limo drivers had to deal with this sort of bullshit all the time. A part of him enjoyed the fact that another man was learning just how liquid you were for him.

A bigger part of him fucking hated it.

It was this millisecond of inner turmoil that gave you the upper hand - pulling his mouth from your throat and bringing it to your own, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth, sliding your hand down his pants, tracing his happy trail as your fingers cupped him so fucking flawlessly -

"Agent?"

Javier sucked in a breath. His palms had practically soaked through the menu in his hands.

"Ye-yes?" he said, clearing his throat.

The Colonel scoffed. "Your head is not where your heart is, Peña."

"Fuck off," he whispered back, and stuck his nose back into the menu.

Carillo had called a meeting about a possible promotion for Javi, suggesting he was "too acquainted" with the night life of Colombia to be sitting at a desk all day. He felt Javi was needed on the ground, working within the system than around it. A true DEA agent, rather than a glorified secretary.

Hence whatever the fuck this dinner was.

Javi was surrounded by his superiors, men and women he had never seen nor met before, as well as what had to be hundreds of dollars in booze. The menu before him had words he had never even heard of before, as well as prices that seemed to stretch off the page if he unfocused his eyes.

He was the furthest out of his comfort zone that he could have ever imagined, while consecutively borderline emotional at the favor Carillo was doing for him. He was dealing with more emotions than he had allowed himself to in years.

You had looked too pretty that night not to blow off some steam.

-he could have come right then and there. He felt your smile against his lips as he jumped at the feeling, before practically melting into your hands. He could barely kiss you through his panting.

"Sensitive," you whispered as you dragged your teeth down his jawline, paying particular attention to the crease between his bone and his neck. The two of you had done this enough for you to know all his weak spots.

He gripped the fabric of your dress as you did before sliding his hands underneath it, resting his hands on your ribcage. You sighed at the feeling.

"I'm sensitive?" he whispered, moving his hands all the way up to cup your breasts. You tucked your face more into his neck as he did, but continued to trace his head and dick. This flipped the switch on him once again, chills etching themselves down his spine, and a renewed heat boiling his organs -

Javier came back to a woman whose name he had long forgotten asking him a question he absolutely did not hear.

But, he flashed his charming smile anyway.

"Yes ma'am," he said, and despite the woman's efforts, a faint blush crawled up her neck.

"And what makes you say that?" she said in reply.

He could feel Carillo's smile.

"Just a gut feeling," Javier said, and to his surprise, she smiled.

-that finally caused something in him to ignite. He felt out of body, watching himself as if from he was a fly on the ceiling remove his dominant hand from your breast and bring it between your legs. He only took a few seconds to enjoy the wetness that had culminated there before he teased your opening.

Your jaw fell open, giving him ample opportunity to stick his tongue down your throat as he finally fingered you up to the knuckle.

Your body convulsed against him, any and all air escaping your lungs the very second he began to pump in and out of you. It was messy, it was desperate, but god was it everything -

"And how exactly was that handled, Agent...." the man paused, before snapping his fingers in recognition. "Peña. Agent Peña."

Javier swallowed. "Well, we could never have pulled it off without the Colonel, as well as our other agents."

Javier had never spoken so out of his ass in his life.

"I was just a puzzle piece," he said before taking another sip of his bourbon.

The man appeared partially pleased, but unconvinced.

"And how exactly do you plan on being less of a puzzle piece going forward, Mr. Peña?" The man said this as he leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands onto the table.

Every eye at this goddamn table was on him, and for some reason, it made him think of you once again. The way you would whisper in his ear. Your unwillingness to appear afraid. You had told him once you couldn't afford to look afraid in a city like Bogotà.

"It's better to look stupid than afraid. It would eat me fucking alive," you had said.

He decided to take a page out of your book for once.

"I plan on being the person placing the pieces, sir," Javier said. "I can only do that by being more active in the streets. Fieldwork, groundwork, whatever you want to call it."

Javier leaned forward, mimicking the man's position almost exactly.

"How else can I see the full picture?" he asked.

The man's skin was as red as his wine, while his colleagues were as shined as gold.

-and more, prompting Javier to do what he seemed incapable to avoid doing whenever he was with you: lose complete control of his mouth.

"That's the spot, isn't it hermosa?" he said into your ear. The smell of your sweat mixed with your perfume as well as the small groans you were releasing only spurred him on more. "Think you're in control, thought you had me."

Your eyes fluttered closed and your jaw began to tremble, digging your nails into his bulging biceps seemed to be the only thing giving you any sort of relief.

Neither of you heard the partition clicking shut.

He smiled at your state, kissing the crown of your head. "You do have me, cielo. But tonight I have you."

You rocked up and down onto his fingers, whining into his ear as he used his middle finger to pump, and his thumb to caress your clit. He took the one he had around your neck down to your thigh, tracing the muscles, invigorating what you were already feeling between your thighs. It rose up and up to your breasts, forcing you to cup and play with them.

He smiled again, removing the hand from your thigh to bring it up to one of your breasts. He fondled one, while you fondled the other.

"Didn't know you could get this bothered from just my ha-"

"Shut the fuck up," you said and kissed him so hard your teeth clashed -

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Agent Peña," said the blushing woman from before. "I look forward to working with you in the future."

Javier was no dummy. He could very easily read between the lines of what she was implying. However, due to how much he could not get his mind off of you - despite the fact that he finally got the job he had been dreaming about since he was a little kid - he had a feeling that he would only disappoint.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, and shook her hand firmly.

He said his goodbyes to his superiors before following Carillo outside the restaurant. The two men sat there, waiting for their individual limos to arrive.

Where the DEA got the money for shit like this, Javier had no idea.

Carillo patted Javier on the back in congratulations, which was more affection that Javier had ever seen the man give to his own wife, and Javier gave him a nod in return.

It was then that Carillo began to chuckle.

"Cual es tu problema?" Javier asked, slightly aggitated.

Carillo shook his head. "You could have at least attempted to hide your way of blowing off steam, Pena," he said, gesturing to his own neck.

Javier must have reddened, because Carillo only laughed harder.

-so hard he was shocked one didn't chip. The two of you stayed that way for some - grinding and kissing and pulling at each other - before the limo finally pulled up to his destination.

You pulled away from him as you felt the limo lurch into park. You looked behind him, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the restaurant Javier would be dining at. You then smiled at him, wiping at his face and his hair, as well as straightening out his lapel.

"You should have warned me," you said to him, "I would have gone easier."

He smiled. "No, you wouldn't."

You smiled back, giving him one last kiss. It was deep, but deep in a way that meant more than goodbye. He couldn't afford to look more into it than that.

"Good luck," you whispered, and he nodded before exiting the vehicle. He saw you wipe at your own face through the window, as well as give the driver your address.

He watched you drive away, his heart shifting from a delightful flutter to an anxious one.

He watched his limo pull up behind Carillo's, sucking in the last of the chilled night air.

"Good luck, Peña," Carillo said as he walked to his car, a slight slur in his voice from all the bourbon. "Go and fucking celebrate."

Javier grinned as he opened his limo's door, exhaling in relief at his prayers of having a different driver being answered. The driver didn't even turn around as he said in a thick Colombian accent, "Where to?"

Javier knew exactly where he was headed.

He was going to fucking celebrate.

Tag list: (if you would like to be added please let me know :)

@lovesbiggerthanpride @paintlavillered @xocalliexo @c4psicle @joelsflannel @thesmutslut @untitledarea @daphne-turner @queerponcho @leahkenobi

[writingsbymo-mo]

How you found out Takeomi is Sanzu's brother...as his secretary in Bonten

🎟 Also...you may use your tickets now 🎟

One minute, you're Sanzu's secretary, and the next, you're his glorified therapist. It all started when he came back from a mission drenched in the blood of traitors he personally put to rest. He wasn’t quite himself, even being under the influence of drugs. This was very unusual.

Sanzu threw off his bloodied waistcoat and tie, throwing them across the room. He fumbled in his steps to the couch in his office, collapsing onto it with a heavy sigh squeezing the bridge of his nose. "I'm an only child." He kept repeating over and over.

You dropped what you were doing, setting the stack of papers onto your desk and stepped over to him, sitting in the chair across from him. "Do you want ot talk about it, Sanzu?"

Sanzu repeated his sigh and shook his head. "Just let me rest a bit."

You nodded, patiently waiting for his next move. Sanzu mumbled under his breath, clearly annoyed by something. "Fucking Takeomi....you're not my brother anymore....don't need to tell me how to do my shit...."

"Wait...Takeomi is your brother?"

Sanzu froze. His eyes widened as he realized what he said out loud. He quickly grabbed your hand, bringing you closer to him and placed his hand over your mouth, staring at you, warning you not to say another word...yet. His shoulders slumped, moving his hand away when you nodded and dropped a heavy sigh. "Yes....that asshole is my brother..." His eyes darted to your chair, giving you the cue he was ready. "Where do I begin with this...."

Sanzu started with the times Takeomi punished him for the things Senju did then proceeded to blame him for not taking care of his sister because of it. Over and over again. He hated it. It wasn't his fault at all and yet, he'd be punished whether Takeomi knew or not. He wanted to say something, anything to keep it from happening but he could never stand up to his brother. At one point, he couldn't take it anymore and left. He wasn't Haruchiyo Akashi anymore, he's now Haruchiyo Sanzu.

"Hold on, Takeomi is your brother...and he did all that to you even though it wasn't? The fuck?!! You bolted from your chair in disbelief and fury. "Who the fuck does that?!"

Sanzu stared wide eyed at you from the couch. You didn't raise your voice often but how could you not after hearing everything?

"Sanzu, one slap. Just one slap across that bastard's face is all I ask."

Sanzu couldn't help but smile at the thought. What he would do to witness such a sight. He sat up, directly facing you now. "So, you want to slap my bastard of a brother?"

"Yes, please Sanzu! He deserves it!"

"Alright, let me call him in here." He stood up to get his phone from the table.

You gasp in shock, "Wait, right now? Really?!"

Sanzu picks his phone up, eyeing you with a smirk. "But of course. And I'll make sure he doesn't say anything."

-----------------------

"What the hell did you call me for at this hour, Ha-Sanzu?!"

Sanzu let him in with a straight face. "My secretary found something interesting that requires your attention."

Takeomi sighs, taking a puff of his cigarette, "alright, what is it?" He peers over to you with tired eyes.

You let out a breath you had been holding since he stepped in, making your way over to them. "Can you lean forward for me a bit?" Takeomi does what you ask unknowingly what's to come.

Slap

Takeomi was now looking at a laughing Sanzu in disbelief. "The fuck—"

"The fuck is wrong with you is more like it. That's what you get for punishing him for things he never did!"

And just as Sanzu promised, Takeomi never said a word. He never told you what was said but you had an idea.

[zepskies]

Never Say Goodbye - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: Language, fluff.

Part 3: Contact

As it turned out, your life started to get better after you missed that shift at the coffee shop.

Oh, you still got fired. But the experience of nearly getting splattered on the pavement by an oncoming truck gave you some unexpected clarity about your life.

Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career. And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.

Maybe one day, you could dare to hope, but from now on, you wouldn’t let it rule your thoughts. You wouldn’t hope too hard either.

It could save you from the disappointment of never hearing anyone’s thoughts but your own.

So you decided to check the University of South Dakota’s career board for jobs, and you discovered an opening in the history department! A research assistant for one of your favorite professors, who was writing their dissertation on the strange, superstitious, and sometimes down-right disgusting social practices of the Ancient Greeks (including bottling up the sweat of their best athletes, because they thought their musky body oils contained magical properties).

Since you were already majoring in history, you were a shoe-in for the job. And working directly with your professor gave you a great resource for future classes.

Four years later, you had earned your bachelor’s degree in History. You even decided to further your education when you were able to get a scholarship for graduate school.

Now you were just one semester away from finishing your master’s. You still worked in the history department, but you had been able to upgrade—to Executive Secretary to the Dean of Ancient Studies.

It sounded fancy, but really, you were a glorified slave. Or at least, your boss seemed to think so.

“I need you to cancel my meeting at two,” said Dr. Birch. She breezed into your tiny office without knocking, startling you from where you were hunched over your laptop.

“Good morning!” came your reflexive greeting, though it was a bit too loud and sharp. You internally winced at yourself and relaxed your posture, like a bird unruffling its feathers. “Cancel your meeting with Dr. Wells?”

Dr. Wells was a nice man, and an important one. He was the Head Dean of the entire History department. Technically, he was above Dr. Birch. It wasn’t a good look to blow him off, but you weren’t about to say so.

“Yes, I have an important lunch, and I already know it’s going to go overtime. Gary will understand,” she replied. She was looking at her phone rather than at you. For all she cared, you were just a calendar with hands.

Dr. Helen Birch was a brilliant woman. She’d published no less than five books, had won awards for her peer-reviewed articles, and she had been your academic advisor all through graduate school.

She could also rival Meryl Streep for “bitchy-ass boss” in The Devil Wears Prada.

“I also need you to grade the final exams for one of my classes,” she said. “Greek Studies this time.”

You held back a sigh. Again? I’ll never finish my own finals at this rate.

But what you said was, “Sure, I can do that. And I’ll email Dr. Wells to reschedule.”

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.”

“That’s fun,” you chatted while you revised Dr. Birch’s calendar on your computer (and sent an apology email to Dr. Wells). “Where to?”

“Oh, I have this tedious conference in Chicago. But then my boyfriend is taking me skiing in Breckenridge.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t wait. This semester has been a drain on my psyche, and just terrible for my migraines.”

With the email sent, you took a little breath and gathered some courage as you got up from your desk and gathered a handful of papers you had stapled together. It was a rough draft of your thesis, which was only a bit worse for wear (including a suspect coffee stain that you didn’t remember accidentally putting there).

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you got my email about my thesis. I just wanted to go over some of the feedback you gave me on the draft,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Dr. Birch raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Well.” You showed her the front page, which was covered in red ink. “Mainly the part where you crossed out the first three pages and commented, ‘Missing the point.’”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I have nothing to add about that.”

Well, that didn’t exactly help you. The first three pages was your entire introduction to your thesis, “TV & Film: The Modern-Day Mythology of the Masses.”

You must’ve had a pitiful, lost look on your face, because Dr. Birch finally took pity on you. She sighed.

“You are a creative girl. I’ll give you that, but your degree is not in cinematography. You are a historian,” she said. “And while the ‘Well of Souls’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark may be based on a real historical place in Jerusalem, that does not mean Indiana Jones can, or should be described as a ‘religious experience.’”

My ten-year-old self would bed to differ, you wanted to retort, but you kept your mouth shut and lowered your eyes. Dr. Birch nodded to herself and was about to leave your office, until she stopped short and gave you her Amex card.

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?”      

The moment your day ended and you were able to get into your car, you let out a long sigh of relief. While you waited for your car to warm up, you massaged your hand, aching from grading papers for Dr. Birch’s class.

You rubbed your hands together, this time to warm them as the frigid air draining from the car still bit into your skin. A shudder tingled through your body, and not in a pleasant way. Honest to God, I hate the winter.

On reflex, you toyed with the silver ring on your right hand—your mom’s ring. It usually comforted you, but today, remembering her made your heart heavy. Because today was the anniversary. 

You still remembered that snowy day when you were fourteen, could picture it so clearly, like a scene painted on glass.

With one last sigh, you fished out your phone to call your dad. It rang for a few seconds (it always took him an eternity to answer his phone, and it drove you crazy).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad,” you said.

“Hey. Just got off work?”

“Yeah, I’m headed back to Sioux Falls. Want to meet at home and go together, or do you just want to meet me at the cemetery?”

The other line was silent for a moment. Longer than you would’ve liked.

“You’re coming, right?” you pressed.

“Look, I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” Jack said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?”

“I told you I’m working a case.” He sounded annoyed. You didn’t care.

You were pissed.

“Whatever,” you dismissed. But then, you realized you weren’t willing to let it go just yet. “You know, I just find it interesting. On her birthday, Christmas, today, somehow you just can’t be bothered to visit your wife.”

“Hey, drop it, all right?” your dad snapped back.

“Sure. It’s none of my business, I guess.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm either.”

You silently fumed, but you weren’t willing to hang up the phone first. You didn’t want to look petty, and apparently, neither did he. You both could be stubborn like that, sitting in a tense stretch of silence instead of just…

Instead of just, I don’t know what, you could admit, if only to yourself. Eventually, his voice reached your ears.

“I’ll go when I can,” he said.

“Fine.”

And you really did hang up this time.

What should’ve been an hour drive back into your hometown took almost two with the traffic.

Oh yeah, you still lived at home with your dad. It wasn’t ideal, especially with a long-ass commute every day. But unfortunately, being a full-time student with a part-time job didn’t give you the budget to have your own life.   

At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday. You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands. You did see Bobby around town sometimes, and occasionally shared a beer with him when your demanding schedule allowed.

Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.

That seemed to work out better for both of you.

In fact…

You reached for your phone again and found your uncle’s number.

“Stop badgering me, Rufus. I’m busy.”

Your lips curved into a grin. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh. Hi, darlin’. Sorry, thought you were some riff raff that keeps spammin’ me.”

“What did Rufus do now?” you asked.

“He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.

“What’re you doing later? Up for a beer?”

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.”

You scoffed. “You have people? What people?”

“You’re not the only number in my cell, you know,” he said dryly.

“What, you mean Rufus?” you teased.

“All right, now you’re just runnin’ up my minutes,” he said. “If you really want that beer, you’re welcome to swing by, if you want. I’ve got a stocked fridge full of cold ones.”

You laughed, then you considered his offer. Did you really want to go home and deal with your dad (whenever he bothered to come home)?

“Well, I’m going to the cemetery first, but I could maybe swing by after,” you replied.

“Right, that’s today, ain’t it?” Bobby said. “Give your mom my respects.”

A more genuine smile grew on your lips. “Thanks. Will do.”

You hung up with him just as you got to the cemetery. It was hard not to feel melancholy here, especially in the winter. All the graves were lightly dusted with snow, and it felt like the world came to a quiet stillness here.

You bundled up with your scarf and gloves as you braced yourself for the cold, stepping out of the car. On your way in, you heard the rumble of a car going by. It was loud enough to make you turn your head and see a flash of black speeding away.

You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.

You were about to continue on your way towards your mom’s grave, when you finally heard it.

Say goodbyeee…never say goodbye-y-aaayy. Holdin’ on we gotta try, holdin’ on to never sayyy goodbyeee.~

Someone was warbling a Bon Jovi song in your mind, and it certainly wasn’t you.

But you did come to a dead stop in your path. Your eyes widened as shock claimed your heart and your brain. Soon enough though, your heart warmed as you became aware of something new. It was like a low hum at first, reverberating inside your chest.

You and me and my old friends, hopin’ it would neeever end. Say goodbye—

The singing continued, but all you could focus on was the thrumming in your skull, the thread of connection you could sense and feel inexplicably. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt warmth trickling down your cold cheeks. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the back of your hand and smiled tremulously.

You were finally feeling your soulmate.

Which meant, he was close by…and with that realization came an important question:

What the hell do I do now?

They were in South Dakota again.

Dean knew coming back here was…potentially dangerous. He hadn’t heard his soulmate’s thoughts in four years, since the last time he was in this state.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here. After the last hunt though, he could use some R&R at Bobby’s for a couple of days.

This time Dean had his brother with him, albeit the circumstances weren’t…great. Their dad was missing, and Sam had lost his girlfriend in the process of trying to find him.

Sometimes, Dean really regretted going to find his brother at Stanford. Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.

A more selfish part of him (one he wouldn’t name) was glad to have Sam with him. Dean was actually having fun hunting with him. And maybe, Dean was having to get to know him again too.

“You think Bobby will have any intel on Dad?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They were about five minutes away from Singer Salvage, the old man’s tow business (and his house).

“Doubt it,” Dean replied, changing the radio station once Bon Jovi turned to REO Speedwagon. He could get down with some pop rock from Jovi, but REO was pushing it.

“Then why are we here?” Sam turned to him with a frown. “We just ganked a poltergeist in our old house and…we saw Mom. You think we should be wasting time right now?”

Dean’s lips pursed. Leaving their old house behind in Lawrence, Kansas was exactly why he needed a minute before jumping into the next case. As much as he wanted to find John, Dean just…he needed a minute to breathe.

Revisiting those old (painful) memories wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t sure that Sam completely got that.

“Bobby’s got a stack of lore books to Kingdom Come. Who knows, he might have a way to help us find Dad,” he said.

Sam shot him an unimpressed look. “And if he doesn’t?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got why Sam was so fired up. Really. The fact that the kid was having weird…premonition dreams about the near future was concerning. And he wanted to find the thing that killed Jess, that killed their mom, but this was clearly going to be a marathon. Not a sprint.

“In the meantime, we crack open a couple beers,” Dean said, “get one or two of free nights on actual beds, and then we’re on our way to the next gig. How’s that sound?”

Sam let out a sigh through his nose and faced the road ahead. They both knew he wasn’t happy. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him.

When they finally got to Bobby’s, the old man greeted them with a casual wave, beckoning them inside. He offered them the contents of his fridge—a few beers and a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge. Dean scoped it out while Sam dropped off his bag in the upstairs guest room.

“That for us?” Dean pointed to the lasagna with a grin. “Didn’t know we merited the red-carpet treatment.”

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.”

Dean raised his brows in curiosity. “Didn’t know you had a niece.”

Or any family, for that matter. He knew the old man had a wife, once upon a time, but he assumed she’d passed away. No kids. Bobby had never talked about having an extended family. He didn’t have pictures on the walls, and the shelves only had books and locked boxes.

Bobby took a long sip of his beer after opening a bottle each for himself and Dean. He had one ready on the counter for Sam, who came into the kitchen looking tired. The kid hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks, to say the least. Dean handed him the beer.

“I don’t see her much,” Bobby conceded.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the other man to answer. Eventually, he was honest. “Well, she's grown. Going to school, got a job. But you could say I had a fallin’ out with her dad, a while back.”

“You have a brother?” Sam said.

“Brother-in-law,” Bobby corrected. He didn’t say anything more about it though. Sam and Dean shared a look that said they agreed: There’s something off there, but I’m not gonna pry.

“You still see her though?” Dean asked.

“Every now and then,” Bobby said, sipping at his beer again. “It’s a small town.”

That kind of pissed Dean off. Bobby was a good guy. He’d watched Sam and Dean a lot when they were kids, their dad on a hunt. He’d made sure they had decent food to eat, good movies to watch, and even played catch with Dean a time or two.

So what kind of assholes did Bobby have for family, that they couldn’t be bothered to check in on the old man every now and then? They must’ve been off living their lives, in their own little world. Must be nice.

Dean brought the bottle of Heineken to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Couldn’t have that, could we?

He went to the fridge and opened the cap, only to jump as the beer fizzed and leaked over his hands.

Damn it!

Bobby sighed. “And I just mopped the damn floor.”

“All right, Martha Stewart. Keep your slippers on,” Dean teased. “Sam, get me a paper towel.”

Bobby tried to get by him to get the mop, but beer was still dripping down Dean’s arm.

“Would you move to the sink, already?”

Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”

Damn it.

You heard him again. And this time, you could hear his voice, so you knew the thought belonged to a him. The voice was pleasantly deep, and annoyed. You actually felt his irritation and were able to recognize that the emotion didn’t belong to you.

Excitement bubbled in your throat, almost making it hard to breathe as you drove your car down the road. You had been too worked up to go see your mom, and technically you were supposed to head to your Uncle Bobby’s house, but this was too important.

You needed to figure out how to talk to him—your soulmate.

So you pulled over on the side of the road, and even turned the radio off. Okay, now what?

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. They taught about this subject in school, sure, but that had been years ago! You’d spent the past six years filling your head with college and work and learning how to be an adult.

Okay, just breathe. You calmed down a bit with some deep breaths, and you closed your eyes. When you first heard your soulmate’s singing in your head, you remembered feeling warmth spread through your body, emanating from your chest. Then in your mind, you’d noticed a…a thread, of what could only be described as energy.

You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.

You thought of what you wanted to say, and you tried it—sending your thoughts and your will through the connection.

Having a rough day?

Dean was still wiping beer off the floor in Bobby’s kitchen when he heard your voice ring through his mind.

Having a rough day?

His entire body tensed, and he paused with a ball of wet paper towel in his hand. Sam had taken the mop from Bobby and was about to finish off the floor, until he noticed Dean blanking.

“Dean?” he asked.

It shook Dean out of his shock, enough for him to look up at his brother. “Hmm?”

“What’s up? You were staring off into space.”

Dean feigned innocence. “Nothing.”

Sam’s brow rose, but he didn’t press the issue and went back to mopping. Dean took the opportunity to toss the wet paper towel in the garbage.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he said, and made his swift exit to the bathroom upstairs, so quickly that he didn’t see Bobby watching Dean curiously from the living room.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Sam called after him.

Once again, Dean found himself locking the bathroom door and staring at himself in the mirror. His green eyes were conflicted as he tried to calm down. Maybe his heart was starting to beat a tick faster. Maybe a trickle of nervous sweat was making its way down his spine. Maybe he didn’t know what the hell to do.

His dad’s warning was still clear as a bell in his mind.

“Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean knew why John had said it, and even agreed with him…at least, logically he did. His life was complicated, and insane, and bloody. How could he put someone else through what he went through? What he still went through every day? It wasn’t right.

But his chest was aching. He rubbed at it absently.

He could feel your worry again, he realized. You were anxious, probably waiting for him to respond. Dean could feel you. Having a rough day? you’d asked him.

So as usual, he made an impulsive choice.

You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.

Your relief hit him in a slow, but powerful wave. It almost made him feel guilty for taking so long to answer.

Well, it’s not every day you hear someone else in your head. Maybe you’re going crazy.

She was teasing him. You were teasing him.

It brought an incredulous smile to Dean’s face. You’re one to talk. Maybe you’re just talkin’ to yourself right now.

Hmm. I don’t usually warble to Bon Jovi, but maybe you’re right.  

A beat of surprise, another to remember what he and Sam had been listening to in the car earlier, and then embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck.

You heard that, huh? he asked wryly.

Maybe, you giggled. It was a cute sound, and it cut through some of his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being put back a step by women. He was good at reading people’s body language, and usually it didn’t take him more than one look to figure out what a woman thought about him, and what they wanted to do with him.

So the fact that he couldn’t see you was a challenge. With that realization, a slow smile spread across his face. He was game for a challenge.

Well, I’m likin’ your voice so far, he said. Think I could get you to sing for me?

He felt you pause, a flutter of warmth through a tendril of shyness. I’ll leave the performing to you, Romeo.   

Come on, it’s only fair.

Who said life is fair?

Dean sobered a bit at that. Ain’t that the truth.

Hmm, so you were having a rough day.

Make it a week, he said.

Yeah, I know the feeling…I wasn’t having a good day today either.

Dean sensed your melancholy and didn’t like the feeling. Well, now you’re talkin’ to me. So it should be smooth sailin’ from now on.

He could feel you brighten at that. It made warmth bloom once again inside his chest, especially because he sensed you were smiling—a bit shy, but genuine.  

…What’s your name? he asked.

It took you a beat, but eventually you gave him your name. It wasn’t what he expected, but he liked it. Your name rolled through his thoughts, and he tested on his tongue.

What’s yours? you asked predictably. Somehow, Dean didn’t anticipate the follow-up.

Suddenly he realized exactly what he was doing: he was talking to you. (Something he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do.) Not to mention, he’d been locked in the bathroom for about ten minutes and hadn’t even showered yet. Pretty soon either Sam or Bobby was going to come knocking to see what the hell he was doing, so he might as well shower for real.

He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.

Dean felt your shock, so he let you think as he stepped into the shower. Eventually you came back, annoyance coloring your emotions and your voice.

That’s stupid.

Dean smiled. Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.

For you!

Don’t you know, sometimes the best things in life come after some delayed gratification.

You paused for a moment, in which Dean didn’t know if you were in shock again, or just pissed. Maybe a combination of both.

Great, I got a comedian, you deadpanned. …You’re not a comedian, are you?

Sweetheart, I’m hilarious, Dean replied. But no. Good guess, though.

He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes.

Just then, Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you better not use up all the hot water!”

“Twenty minutes of peace, Sammy. That’s all I ask,” Dean shot back. Sam made a sound of annoyance, but he went away, leaving Dean almost alone with his thoughts.

Look, I gotta go, he said regretfully. But I expect you to have some guesses cooked up by the time I get back from work.

You were still annoyed, but you begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

Fine. Just…don’t wander too far off. I can’t win the game if I can’t hear you.

Dean sensed your underlying worry, and your fear. You were afraid he was going to leave.

His heart softened. As a result, he ended up promising things he didn’t know if he meant.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town until you win, he said.

He felt your warm smile, along with your excitement.

Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.

Okay…goodnight.

He hung onto the feeling of your presence for a few seconds longer, before he let go of the connection. For now.

Dean caught himself smiling, but it quickly turned to a frown.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody.”

When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone. He leaned against the cool bathroom wall and pressed his forehead against the tile, while lukewarm water beat the side of his face and body.

Shit.

AN: Oh, Dean. What're we gonna do with you? lol

I hope you enjoyed Part 3! I promise they'll finally meet soon lol. What did you think of their first conversation?

To keep reading: Part 4

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Dean Winchester Masterlist

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[bullet-prooflove]

Hello,could I ask for Carlton Lassiter 36. “He broke into my home”

Tagging: @kmc1989 @gaydragonwitch @walkinthefairygarden @shadyhologrambanana @lostinwonderland314

Companion piece to:

No Right - Carlton gets himself busted back down to patrol for defending you.

Wait It Out - Carlton think he may be more invested than you are.

Carlton has a problem with your ex Joe. He always has.

He doesn’t understand the type of man that tells his wife he doesn’t love her while she’s buck naked, fresh from the shower. He doesn’t understand the type of man that fucks her beforehand.

One last roll in the hay, Joe told you as he broke your heart into a million pieces, taking his golf bag and the pre-packed rolling suitcase with him.

It’s the deliberateness of it that riles Carlton, the cruelty of it.

You’d left L.A after that, chasing lighthouses you’d called it and run right into him. You’ve been together for a while now and until this afternoon he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you in his life.

The worst part is that he got busted back down to patrol for you, for sticking up for you. Trout’s been treating you like a glorified secretary because your ex is his golfing buddy and you’re expected to sit there and take it.

It frustrates him because you’re a good detective, one of the best he’s worked with and you’re talents are being wasted.

And that’s what led to the fight…

He’d offered to talk to your ex and you’d told him the other man had no idea that Carlton even existed. It had been a blow, a harsh one because to him that means your ex is back on the scene, that the two of you have a dialogue and Carlton, he just didn’t see that coming. He thought he was an important part of your life up until this point but now, now he sees the truth.

He was just a distraction.

He’s getting out of the shower when his phone rings. He sees your name on the screen and despite the fact he’s heartbroken he still picks up the phone. When it comes to you he always will.

“Bunny.” He says softly and that’s when he hears it, the shouting in the background, the sound of things smashing.

“Joe’s here.” You say, there’s a tremor in your voice that he’s never heard before and Carlton, he’s already pulling his clothes on. “He was in my house when I got home, helping himself to my expensive coffee. I told him about us and he’s not taking it well.”

“Are you somewhere safe?” Carlton asks as he slips into his holster, the guns tucking neatly against him like an old friend.

“I’m outside waiting for the PD to turn up.” You tell him and he pictures you standing there under the street lamp outside your house, unprotected, still in the hot zone of that man’s anger. “I thought it was best if I stay out of his way while he’s losing his shit.”

“Bunny.” Carlton says calmingly as he snatches up his keys from the coffee table. “Go to the neighbours and lock the door. I’m on my way.”

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