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moody-alcoholic · 16 hours ago

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This Is Going To Hurt

Part 2 - There's Pleasure In Pain

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, mentions of torture, suicidal thoughts, childbirth, blood, medical stuff, medical inaccuracies.

AN: Yes I know about the show 'this is going to hurt' I haven't seen it but from what I do know it's good so check it out. Also as an aspiring midwife this was so fun to write.

Part 1

Enjoy <3

You don't know how long it’s been.

Hours? A day?

More people have questioned you, with new questions.

‘Where was the convoy heading?’

‘Who give you the intel.’

‘What are the Americans up to?’

Some of the questions you don’t even know the answers to. Makes it all the more easier to ignore them. It feels relentless, like it’s never going to stop. Death would be easier.

You remember one of the first things you were told in training, a dead medic is no use to anyone. You remember once during a training exercise you ignored Price’s order to fall back, instead you ran into the field to pull someone out.

It was the angriest you’d seen Price get. He screamed at you in front of everyone, chewed you out with the entire platoon watching. That was the night he told you he loved you, they all did. You’d never seen them get so emotional before, especially over a training exercise.

‘You’re not allowed to put yourself in danger like we do. You need to keep us alive, and we’ll keep you alive.’ You remember John saying that, the way he apologised for screaming at you even though he was in the right. The sex that night was amazing.

It makes you smile thinking about them. You’ve been thinking about them alot when you’re not being tortured. You have to assume they’re not coming for you, that's what you were taught. If you’re ever captured; don’t talk, don’t trade, don’t let them break you. Not that you have a choice over the last part, it’s all a test of willpower.

You wonder how long it will be before they break you. You can handle the waterboarding to some extent, these people are evil though, terrorists, the worst of the worst. They don’t care about human rights, they’re not answering to any UN or even their own countries' laws. These people could do whatever they wanted to you and there is nothing you can do.

You secretly hope they’re coming for you, you’d like to imagine Simon and John tearing up buildings to find you, breaking the rules and hunting down every last person who laid a finger on you. They’re soldiers though, they have orders to follow, other people’s lives are at stake not just yours.

You’re a liability now. They have no way of knowing what’s happening to you, if you’ve talked or where you are. You hope they know deep down you’ll keep your mouth shut. You’ll keep them safe, even if it is from a distance.

The door to your room opens and you stand. A man walks in and grips your arm tight. You’ve stopped struggling, there’s no point. He walks you past the room you’re usually taken to, it makes your stomach drop. Somethings wrong, something’s changed. Maybe this is it and they’re going to kill you.

You hear a woman scream, you dig your heels into the ground. The man says something in Arabic then continues to drag you along. This is bad, there is no way this ends well. You can still hear the woman screaming. Maybe they have someone else they’re torturing. He stops you outside a door and knocks.

A few seconds later it opens. A man is standing there, he looks young, even with the beard, he’s the only person you’ve seen without his face covered. You hear a woman groan, he moves to the side and you see a woman bent over a table with another woman rubbing her back.

You’re still taking in the scene when the man in front of you says something then pulls you into the room. The door is closed behind you, you look at him confused.

“Do you know how to deliver a baby?” He asks, you recognise the accent. He’s the person who patched up your arm.

“Do I look like I know how to deliver a baby?”

“No, but you’re a woman and a medic.” He says “She’s Khaled's wife. If this baby dies he’ll kill me.”

“Great, he's not going to like it if I kill her.” You scoff. This can’t be happening.

“You’re dead anyway.” He says, it’s like a knife to the heart. Now you want to help even less. The other woman rubbing her back asks something in Arabic.

“She’s been in labor for 13 hours, I think something is wrong, she’s not progressing.” The man asks.

“Then take her to a hospital. I don’t know how to do this, I don’t even know where to start.” You say holding your hands up. The woman screams again and it makes your head ring. You look round the room, there’s a bed and some basic supplies but not much.

The man goes over to a book he has laid out on the bed and brings it over. To your surprise it’s in english.

“This is all I have, I’ve done everything so far.” You scan over the book and turn the page, you see diagrams of anatomy and pictures of a vaginal birth. You try to think of anything you know that could help. You’ve seen documentaries, you’ve learnt some things, you close your eyes for a second pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Okay. Get her on the bed.” You say looking over at her. The man orders the women around, as she moves you see supplies on the table. You go over looking for gloves.

“Do you have anything sterile?” You ask, turning to look at him. He shakes his head.

“My bag, you must have taken it when you kidnapped me. It has sterile supplies in it.”

“We’ve used it already.” He says.

“All of it?” You ask shocked. There were enough supplies in there to last at least a week.

“We needed the supplies.” He says. You sigh pulling on some gloves. What you have will just need to do. You go over to the bed and he follows, the woman's laid back hair is stuck to her face as her friend grips her hand and whispers at her in arabic.

You let the adrenaline calm you, you ground yourself before you sit on the end of the bad. She looks down at you and grits her teeth through the contraction. Shit, you should be counting them right the time between them. You don’t have a watch you start counting in your head.

“Do you know how far apart the contractions are?” You ask. He asks the woman who replies.

“2 minutes sometimes 5 minutes.” He says. That’s good right? Means she might be ready to push soon.

“Has she had a baby before?” You ask.

“This is her 6th.”

“6th?” You turn back to look at him. You’re not sure what to do with that info though, Does that make her more or less of a high risk. At least she probably knows what to do by now, she probably knows more than you.

“Can you ask her to pull her legs up. I need to check internally.” He talks and she nods, her friend helping her get comfortable - well as comfortable as she can be. You’re not sure you’ll be able to tell how dilated she is, it’s more to check if everything feels right. Although, you’re not sure what the vagina of a woman in labor is supposed to feel like.

You smile at her, you have to be confident, she needs to have faith in you. You’re trying to be as gentle as you can, you doubt she’s had any pain relief. You don’t envy her right now, going through labor for 13 hours like this, in this heat, you do feel sorry for her.

“I can feel the head.” You say, it gives you a boost of confidence. “Can you ask her if she’s had any urges to push?”

You look over at her as she nods. You pull your hand out, you look down at blood on your fingers, your stomach sinks.

“Is that bad?” The man asks looking over.

“I don’t think it’s fresh. It could be normal, she is pushing a baby out.” You say taking the gloves off. You walk over to the table to grab a towel and he joins you.

“What should we be worried about?” He asks in a low voice even though you don’t think the women can speak English. We, there's no we, it makes a lump form in your throat.

“Hemorrhage. I’m assuming you don’t have blood.” You say, he shakes his head. So that's a death sentence.

“The cord could wrap around the baby's neck.” He says. That could be happening right now and you have no way of knowing. You turn back to look at her. There’s no way to monitor the baby right now, you have no idea if it’s in distress and that could be why the labor is taking so long.

“If she’s having urges to push, maybe she could try?” You say.

“What if that makes things worse?”

“I don’t know you’re not exactly set up for a cesarean.” You say. He sighs, you can tell he’s nervous. You should be nervous but you think the surge of adrenaline is keeping you going. Besides, what's the worst that could happen to you? They kill you? They’re probably planning on that anyway.

There’s a knock at the door and the man goes over to answer it. You watch him out of the corner of your eye hearing him talk. You look back down at the tools. You pick up another pair of gloves and a towel and go back over to the bed.

You lay the towel out and pull the gloves on as the door closes and he comes back over to you.

“Have you ever done CPR on a baby before?” You ask him. Prepare for the worst, hope for the best.

“Only in practice.” You turn looking up at him confused. “I’m a doctor, well I was training to be one.”

“You should be doing this, not me.” You scoff shaking your head

“I wanted to be a neurologist.” He says, you sigh, you don’t care, you’re mad he didn’t tell you.

“Do you have something to clamp the cord with?” You ask looking over at him, he goes over to the table and comes back with an actual clamp. You take it from him and place it on the bed. The woman groans again and you look over at her.

“Tell her we’re going to try pushing, after the next contraction.” You say getting yourself comfortable and moving her legs so they’re apart. You feel awkward all of a sudden, this is definitely not something you thought you would ever be doing, especially not here of all places, as a fucking hostage.

You look down-holyfuckingshit. There’s the head.

“Push, push, tell her to push.” You call as you move your body to get your hands into position. You’re not really sure what you're going to do. Support the head right? Don’t let it fall out of your hands. You’re shaking as she pushes and the head comes out. You see eyes, a nose and mouth.

The lips are slightly blue, it makes you hold your breath.

“Tell her keep going, she’s doing great.” You say. You need her to keep going, you need to get this baby out. As soon as the shoulders are through the rest is easy, it just flops out. You look up at her and smile as you reach over for the clamp.

“I need another clamp.” You say, you place the baby on a towel.

Why is it not crying? It should be crying.

You wipe its face, nose and eyes. Cry dammit, you’ve never wanted to hear a baby cry more than anything.

“Here.” He says handing you another clamp. You turn the baby on its side and start rubbing his back. You’ve seen people do this on TV before.

“Come on, come on baby.” You mumble. When it cries you almost start too. You roll it on its back as its crying rings in your ears. You take the clamp out his hand. He has the scissors too, you nod at him.

The woman is shuffling on the bed, she’s asking something. “She wants to know the sex.” the man asks.

“B-boy. It’s a boy.” The words catch in your throat the adrenaline is wearing off now, you swallow hard you need to keep it together. Your hands shake as you cut the cord. The other woman has moved over to you holding her hands out. You nod, wrapping the baby and handing it to her.

You hear a knock on the door and the doctor leaves you. Or you guess he’s not really a doctor. You look back down between her legs. You’re not sure what to do now, you’ll have to wait for the after birth right?

She’s not bleeding out though, that’s a good thing. You’re taking your gloves off looking over at the woman stroking her baby's head. You let yourself smile, holy shit you just delivered a baby. Johnny would love to hear about that. Your smile fades as you remember where you are.

“They want to take you back.” The doctor says as he comes over to you. You nod looking at the person standing at the door. As you get up the woman calls out for you saying something in Arabic. You look over at the doctor.

“She says thank you. And she hopes you have a safe journey home.” He looks away from you. You turn and smile at her nodding your head.

“Congratulations.” You say and go over to the door.

“Oh by the way.” You say turning back to him. “The placenta, when it comes, make sure it’s complete.”

“How will I know if it’s complete?” He asks.

“Maybe there’ll be something in the book.” You say shrugging. He nods as the man in the door reaches out, gripping your arm and pulling you out.

___

The door to your cell opens. You watch as the doctor comes in carrying a plate of food and a bottle of water. Suddenly your stomach grumbles and your lips smack together as you realise how dry your mouth is.

He sets them down on the slab of concrete you think is supposed to be a bed. You look over on the plate, there’s flatbread and what looks like hummus. You don’t care what it is, you’re so hungry you’ll eat anything.

You look back over at him, if you eat you’re breaking down your defences, gathering your strength just so they can torture you more. You are so hungry though, the weaker you get the more likely you are to give up intel you know you shouldn’t.

“It’s not poisoned or anything.” He says you look over at him, you hadn't even thought about that.

“How’s the baby?”

“Good, they’re both good.” He says leaning against the door.

“Where did you study?” You ask.

“America, Princeton university.” He says.

“Fuck me, and you chose to come here?” You scoff. He doesn’t reply, pressing his lips together.

“You should eat, you might not get another chance. They won’t leave the plate in here.” He says nodding at the food.

“What? I deliver your leader's son and I get some hummus?” You spit at him, you want the food less now.

“Better than letting you starve.” He says. Starvation would be a pretty horrible way to die. You shuffle over to the plate, opening the water bottle first and trying not to drink it down so fast. You can’t help it though, you don’t even care that it’s warm, it feels like you haven’t had a drink in weeks.

When you’re done you put it back down letting out breath. You pick up one of the flatbreads and pull some off dipping it into the hummus.

“Why’d you leave America?” You ask.

“I couldn’t stand it. I thought it was the way to a better life. Then I saw all the abominations, I had to leave.” He says, you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Why are you here fighting in a war that isn’t yours to fight?” He asks, theres hostility in his voice.

“You keep blowing shit up in our country.” You say as you dip more bread.

“You’re special forces or something aren’t you?” It makes you stop chewing, you look up at him.

“I’m a medic.” You say.

“No ones ever lasted through torture the way you do. Most of them give up after a few hours, or a day.” He says. So it’s been longer than a day, you don’t know if you should be glad or not. It’s been over 24 hours and they still haven't come.

You look down at the food, suddenly it’s sitting heavy in your stomach. You remember the feeling of ingesting all the water and the feeling of it coming back out when your stomach’s full. You put the bread down and push the plate away.

“My name is Sayyid.” He says bending down to pick up the plate.

"I'm not going to tell you my name." You say. He nods pressing his lips together.

"Good luck" He says, nodding and leaving the room. You don't need luck, you need to get the hell out of here.

___

The car ride went in silence. No witty remarks from Johnny. There’s no filling the deafening silence, the only noise is coming from the engine and the wheels turning on the dirt roads.

48 hours that's how much time Lawell could realistically buy them, if Shepherd was going to send shadows after them they have to move quick. Ghost pulls the car up to the building.

This is the closest they can get to the next town without being spotted, there's an al-qatala base there. That’s where they’ll get intel, that's where they’ll find out where you are. It’s too late now though, the journey to get here was long.

“Gaz, Soap clear the place, we’ll wait here.” Price says as Ghost turns the engine off. There’s no reply, just the sound of doors opening and closing. Price watches them walk round the car and over to the front door. The building will be empty, as soon as they’ve confirmed that though, they can hide the car.

“I shouldn't have put her at the back.” Price says as he watches Gaz and Soap enter the building.

“It was the right call.” Ghost replies. Price sighs, yeah it was, he didn’t expect things to go so wrong though. Ghost's hand lands on his thigh, he looks over at him. He can see the softness in his eyes.

“We’ll get her back, John.”

“I know, I just hope we’re not too late.”

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ggirlthatgotaway · 3 days ago

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Like an Animal, Driven by an Inexplicable Desire He Had Never Felt Before

summary: Aemond Targaryen does not have friends and he does not wish for any. At the Cambridge University, he has everything he wishes for: free time, studies that interest him, money, and a perfect table to study on. Of course, when he sees you sat on his chair, one of the pillars of his perfect life crumbles, shattering on the ancient university’s stone floors.

trigger warning: obsession for both tables and girls, explicit and sexual language, degrading terms, choking, masturbation, slight stalking maybe.

word count: 7.2k

supposed reading time: 29 minutes

note: for feck’s sake, this took FOREVER. i’m sorry, but at least this one is kinkier than the others, so… ALSO, i have many ideas for next ffs, AND OMG THE NEW FONTAINES DC MUSIC VIDEO?!?!? thank you ireland, i love you deeply (never been)

-💎

Aemond Targaryen was weird- or so he told himself as a reason why he was twenty and still did not have one friend.

His highschool years had been hell to say the least: he used to feel like everyone noticed him and how he was always alone, but at the same time nobody noticed that he was not such a bad person to be around- not after some time, anyway.

University, on the other hand, had him feeling like he was not as bad as highschool had made him out to be. He realised that he needed to be discovered to be understood, and if nobody had the time to do so, that wasn’t his trouble. He still had no friends, but he had stopped caring right at the start. He had his studies that kept his mind sharp and trained, free time he used to train the body and still more moments to stare at the ceiling of his dorm in comfortable silence.

He had his spot at the ancient library of Cambridge University, where the light was soft but still lasted enough to make him feel how much he accomplished during the day. Aemond appreciated immensely the space that he had carved out for himself, for it was silent and empty and held the perfect warmth in the reoccurring rainy and humid days without being suffocating.

The spot at his table- the seat in front of the last shelf that was filled with books on Theoretical Physics, his major, had its chair complete of all screws and it did not creak when moved, never warm for nobody sat on it- was the the one near the window, so the sound of rain fell on the glass provided a calm white noise that had him go on with his studies without much effort. He also adored how no table was beside or behind him, which meant that no other student could see him there, but from his chair he could easily rest his eyes on most of the other study tables, which meant that he could look and sometimes stare at people without being noticed.

The perfection of said spot was sacred to him, that was the reason why rage boiled into his whole body when he was someone occupying it when he came into the library.

It was a girl, a stash of literature books sat on the place usually reserved for his physics material. Her hand was in her hair and she was chewing on her pen cap- a thing he found extremely irritating- while her eyes scanned the page she was reading.

What was she doing there, sat on his chair?

He was aware that it did not have his name on it or anything of the kind, although he wished it did. Such a problem had never presented itself before: that was the reason why he stopped in the middle of the corridor and the hold on his school bag tightened at the point his knuckles were white.

He was staring at her, and he was aware that people might have started staring at him after the amount of seconds he spent there like a shot-up mule, but he couldn’t help it for a long time.

It infuriated him how prettily she sat there, as if nothing was wrong, as if he were invisible although he was standing right in front of her. With her colourful highlighters and her legs put into a position that no human could find comfortable to sit in.

When his body finally permitted his feet to move, he reached the table and tapped his index finger on the wood, making the girl raise her eyes. Ignoring the way her gaze made him feel as it travelled his body before settling on his face, he spoke, “You’re in my seat.”

“Excuse me?” you said, furrowing your brows and straightening up.

Despite he was aware you did not ask that for him to repeat his words, he did, this time even more angrily, “You. Are. In. My. Seat.”

A grimace spread on your lips as his rude words reached your ears for the second time, and you could bot help but reciprocate the tone he had used, “You haven’t used it for at least a whole hour- I got here first.”

Your answer only served to make his anger rise, but he did not bite his tonge and deprive you of another stiff reply, “I come here every day. It’s practically my seat.” The word ‘practically’ was said to avoid that phrase he expected you to say: ‘I don’t see your name anywhere’. That would have not only gotten him even closer to slamming his hands on the table, but they also would have left him with no intelligent reply.

Your point was valid, and he was aware of it. It irritated him greatly how calmly you answered, despite the grimace on your oretty lips. But he found your following actions irritated him even more so: you rolled your eyes and shifted your stuff to the other half of the table, before getting up from his chair and sitting on the one opposite of it. “I hope you’re happy.” you said as you walked behind him.

“Hm.” he answered curtly, walking up to his usual seat and sitting on his beloved chair. He did stare as he took his books out of his school bag, appreciating and loathing how you resumed your studies without any semblance of annoyance.

He tried to study for the whole two hours you sat in front of him, but a sweet and fresh scent seemed to linger in the air around him, making his trousers tighten and his teeth sink into the inside of his cheek.

He liked to think he would have quickly forgotten about you in the short span of three days if you hadn’t sat in front of him again the following day. He had gotten to the library an hour before his usual study time and settled his things down, pretending he was not expecting you to show up and study in front of him again.

The way your eyes did not meet his sent a wave of annoyance crushing into him, but it was nothing compared to the wave of heat that would have hit him if you made eye-contact with him for even a split second.

You seemed impervious to his cold eyes on your scalp and to his very unsuccessful intimidation tactics, and he found it surprisingly refreshing, although immensely irksome. Aemond fixed his glasses on the bridge of his bose and let out a sigh, careful not to make any noise. He would be damned if he wasn’t able to study another day because a mere pretty girl sat in front of him.

But the words escaped his mouth before his brain was even able to register them, “You seem awfully committed to my table.” Aemond felt ashamed for his words for the first time in his whole life: never had he ever lost control of his mouth in such a way. He could get over the betrayal of his body from yesterday, yet his mind had also failed him despite it being what he redeemed himself good for.

“It’s the best one.” you answered, making his thoughts reel. Had you also noticed how much perfection surrounded his table? Was that the reason why you had chosen to occupy his chair yesterday, and not any other of the four seats?

“I’m aware.” he muttered under his breath, before letting his eyes fall on the open book in front of you. “And I suppose you need the best lighting to read those flowerry passages you study?” The mock was clear on his tone, for he had no intention of hiding it.

“Do you have problems with my choice of studies?” you asked as your eyes lifted from your book to meet his cold blue ones, and he basked in the slight annoyance in your voice like a lizard under the sun.

“Not at all,” he said calmly, but a hint of a grin gave out how much he was enjoying getting a reaction out of you, “Just seems like a waste of time when there’s real work to be done.” He tutted and raised his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulders imperceptibly, “To each their own.”

He saw your eyebrows raise as you looked down on your material, and he felt victorious for your surprised expression at his bastard words. But your absence of a reply irked him in a way that rarely happened- maybe he wanted to hear more of your voice, maybe he merely wanted to get even more on your nerves…

So he spoke again after some seconds of silence in which he desperately tried to find something else to say, “Also, I’m trying to concentrate here. So, if you don’t mind…” he trailed off, gesturing to your belongings that occupied half of his table, half of his territory.

He saw the way your grip tightened around your blue biro, signalling that he had succeeded in bothering you again. You gave him a fake smile and flipped your notebook open, making clear you had no intention of moving your things, “I believe half of the table is perfectly enough for you.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Aemond gave the same smile back to you, and looked back down at his textbook, but instead of words his mind replayed the way you had walked up to him just minutes prior, and he found himself staring wide eyed at the paper.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of your pen scratching against paper, drawing his attention to the way your hand moved gracefully, tapping your lower lip in concentration as you thought of what to write before putting it down on paper. He quickly turned his gaze back to his book, biting back a groan.

Since when were pretty girls so distracting to him? He pushed his thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand, but not before casting a sideways glance at you, a mixture of irritation and fascination swirling in his blue eyes.

After other three hours spent on studying- today he was able to concentrate slightly more than the day before, although the sound of your voice haunted his thoughts like a pleasing even if annoying melody- the sound of your chair against the stone floors made his head shoot up.

You gathered your things and pushed the books into the already overflowing bag you carried around. He was sure the covers of the books would bend horribly in such a position, but he made no comment on that. His eyes followed you even if his head didn’t move as you put the chair you were sat on back in place, which he appreciated, before you turned on your heels and made your way back out of the library.

He stared at your ass in an inappropriate way: the fabric of the blue jeans you were wearing gave him a perfect view, one he had no intention of missing. He wanted to say something to you, maybe a mocking “See you tomorrow.”, but no words came out of his lips.

He was not aware when his table became your table, despite the fact he thought of it extremely often. He had never studied as few as he had done in the three weeks you had sat in front of him in the library: he could smell the perfume you wore when you weren’t there, and he realised he was either going mental or you had walked there some moments before him; he noticed the nail polish on your nails and the way you changed it every weekend; he memorised the order in which you put your earrings, and the fact you wore three on your left ear and two on your right.

One day, you left the library earlier than usual. “Bye.” you told him with a small wave of your hand- you had started saying goodbye to him on the Tuesday of the second week.

Aemond let out a “Hm.” in response, hiding how he would stare at you until you were no longer in sight. Leaning back on his chair, he realised he knew an extremely limited amount of things about you- as in proper things, not your earrings, your nails, your books, or the bitten caps of blue pens. He knew your name and your studies, and that, he decided as he stared at the wooden door you had just disappeared behind, was far too few.

His chair creaked when he shot to his feet, and he rested his palms on the flat wooden surface to gather his thoughts. The library held a great amount of personal information in its yearbooks, and Gods be damned if he did not find you in one of them.

The waste of time that he could have spent studying or resting heavied upon him as he scanned the thick pages of the previous year’s yearbook, but then he took a deep breath, and his nostrils filled with your perfume as if you were there, pressing your sweater against his nose. That kept him going on with his research, and it also made him realise that, yes, he was going mental.

Apparently, you were so good at spelling you had won multiple awards for the school. The news made him click his tongue and shake his head, almost bothered, almost as if a picture of him wasn’t in that same yearbook for his chess award.

His eyes stilled on the picture, on the softness of your hair, evident even from there, on the soft curve of your lips and their rosy colour, and on your eyes, which have been making his trousers tight for weeks now. And you were staring right at the camera, and at the viewer.

Aemond Targaryen did not blink for a whole minute, maybe two. When he felt as if your face was imprinted onto his eyelids, he walked over to the photocopier, and before he knew it, he was staring again at your picture, only this time he was in his dorm, sitting on his bed, with his cock in hand.

It was a temptation he had weakly fought too long to resist, and despite the slight guilt he had felt before undoing the button of his jeans, he felt victorious at the accomplishment.

Said ‘accomplishment’, anyway, became a deep obsession, an overwhelming need that he needed to satisfy every single day after the study sessions you and Aemond had going on.

He felt fifteen in a way he hadn’t felt when he had been that actual age, and he secretly relished in it, both for the physical pleasure and for the adrenaline the immoral brought him.

He started to wonder, as he looked at you biting your pen and not really hiding anymore the fact that he was staring at you, what your reaction would be in the impossible situation that you would find out about the picture he kept safely put into his nightstand, second drawer to the left.

Would you slap him? Demand the picture brought to you? Sue him for stalking? Run away and avoid him ever after? The possibilities were endless, really, but also impossible to come true: the only ways you could ever find out were by rummaging through his stuff or by him telling you. Completely impossible indeed- nothing that would ever come true.

When he noticed you were staring at him, he realised he needed to get out of his thoughts. “What?” he asked, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter.

“I asked you for a pen.” you repeated, holding out your open palm and waiting for him to pout the requested object on it.

He gave the pen he was ‘using’ to you, bot mreting your eyes and pretending to be focused on his textbook, although the slight contact of your skin under his made him shiver pleasenty, “Don’t bite on it.”

That day he left the library before you, after he realised he was not going to study anyway, and it was better to spend his time doing something he knew he was going to enjoy.

Aemond opened the door of his dorm swiftly and carelessly left his bag on the floor, before sitting down on his bed with a sigh, his eyes locked on the second drawer. He did not reach to open it immediately: he had the sensation he was still being observed, still in your presence.

But since that piece of paper was imprinted on his eyelids, he really did not make a big difference whether he had it in hand or not.

He lied down, his hand massaging his length through the constraining fabric of his jeans. He closed his eyes when his fingers wandered close to the cold button, and imagined you standing before him, no useless fabric to cover your curves as you looked at him with thise eyes he had been idolising for weeks.

He imagined himself reaching out to tangle his hand through your hair, tugging you forward rather roughly before forcing you down with your knees on the softness of the carpet.

He undid the zip of his trousers and freed his cock, massaging it and imagining himself stroking it over your face as he held you close tt, so much the lenght often brushed against the skin of your cheek.

He groaned as he made you suck his tip, pulling it out as he pleased to trace the contours of your mouth before pushing it past your lips again. He imagined his hand taking a better hold of your hair and pushing your head further down his cock, making you take it whole as your eyes were still locked on his.

He craved that pretty, soft and definitely sweet mouth around him, warming him up as he fucked it roughly, making you choke on his cock.

He imagined seeing your ass reflecting on the mirror beside the bed, and your dripping cunt peeking out of it like a treasure he would take and use. He imagined making you take him down to his base as he reached down to grasp the soft flesh of your ass, molding it in his hand before delivering a sharp slap to it.

“Fuck.” he hissed, opening his eyes and quickly reaching for the left corner of the second rawer of his nightstand. He pulled out your picture and fucked his hand furiously over it, his mouth hanging open in pleasure.

He could feel himself about to reach the edge when someone knocked. The movements on his cock stilled instantly, trying to figure out if his mind had tricked his ears into hearing it, but when the noise came again he shot to his feet, your picture still on his hand as he haphazardly tucked his throbbing cock back into his jeans.

He wished he hadn’t opened the door when he found you standing outside of it, your hair tied back as it often was when you studied, and your bag still on your shoulder.

His expression was weird, you found, with his usually pale cheeks flushed and his normally perfectly put together silver hair slightly messy on his head. You wondered what had caused such distress on him, but you did not ask. You only offered his pen back to him after you realised he was not going to greet you. “I didn’t give it back: you ran away.” you explained, and extended your hand some more when Aemond didn’t take it right away.

He finally did, and the weird thought that he tried to make as little contact as possible when taking the pen from your hand settled in your mind. It was quickly swept off when he muttered a thank you and tried closing the door.

“Wait.” you said, your brows furrowed. His movements halted, and, although you didn’t notice, he dug the pencap into the palm of his hand so as not to scream, while trying desperately to hide the photo of you he still held in his hand, the one he used to open the door. It was crumpling under his grip and onto the metal of the doorknob, and the fact bothered him greatly. “You don’t invite me in?”

You saw him tense even further at your question, and his eyes darkened, and his voice came out hoarse when he finally spoke, “Why would you want to?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “‘Cause I have nothing to do.”

Aemond’s hand tightened on the doorknob, and, despite himself, he took a step back. “What makes you think I also have nothing to do?”

“I bet you never do.” you answered simply, entering his dorm and brushing your shoulder against his since he hadn’t opened the door all the way. “What were you do-“

But before you could finish your question, Aemond interrupted you with one of his own, “How did you find my dorm?”

“I have friends, on your contrary.” you answered dryly- which was his fault, really: he was the one who had started the bitchy comebacks that he called conversations between you two, and you made up your mind that he was going to be the one to cease with the childish behaviour, if he was ever going to. “One of them has the dorm in front of yours.”

“Mh.” was his answer, as it was for most things, you had discovered during your study hours. “Make yourself useful, then: I can’t find a book of mine. It’s called ‘Gravitation’.”

Why you were complying to something Aemond Targaryen had asked of you, you did not know, but you started looking for the tome anyway.

Thankful at your distraction, Aemond put back the photo on the second drawer, which he had left open, before pretending to care about that book he had already given as lost.

The space of his dorm was extremely neat, making you wonder how on Earth could he have lost something in such a place. You scanned half of the room, and then switched places, both of you not trusting the other’s searching skills.

There was no sign of that stupid book anywhere, so you decided to ask, “Have you checked your drawers?” as your hand was already on the handle of the second drawer of his nightstand.

“Yes!” he quickly said, but it was too late, because your eyes grew wide. You looked at him, taking in his stiff position and the tightness of his lip. What in the world was Armond Targaryen doing with a picture of you inside his nightstand?

Your eyes went back to the picture and you took it, feeling the crumpled material under your fingers and raising it, showing it to him. “I do look quite good in here.” you teased him, and a grin formed on your lips.

What was wrong with you, smiling at the actions of an obvious creep that kept your photo near his bed? You always had a thing for odd guys, and Aemond Targaryen was the closest incarnation of your type you had ever laid eyes on: always alone, intelligent out-of-the-ordinary, a complete cunt to whomever, and ethereally beautiful. But you would usually consider that picture slightly crossing the line- tonight was not the case.

You noticed his jaw clenching tightly, his eyes fixed on the photo. “That… Is not what it looks like.” His words made you scoff, and you noticed how your casual amusement surprised him greatly- it was surprising you, too. “Give it back.” he ordered then, walking quickly around the bed and next to you, still crouched down on the ground.

You squirmed away from his attempts at snatching the picture from you, and held it against your chest. “Why?” you asked with a mischievous grin that showed your white teeth, “Is it a treasure you must keep safe?”

“It’s none of your business.” he replied sharply, yanking his hand forward once again, this time taking the photo from you. He looked at it, then at you, his eyes hard, but you could see the embarrassment he desperately tried to hide behind his meticulously crafted facade.

“What do you do with it?”

“…What?”

“What do you do with my picture?” you asked again, looking at him through your eyelashes and with a grin on your lips you could bot contain- everything was just so exciting, for you had never thought you would have the chance to tease Aemond Targaryen in such a way.

“I will tell you again that it’s hardly any of your business.” he retorted, trying to tear his gaze away from yours. He put the picture into his left pocket with too much care.

“Well, but it is.” you said with a shrug, your eyes persistent on his face, “It’s me in that picture, no?” The fact that you were right seemed to bother him greatly, and his fists clenched at his sides.

“Indeed.” Aemond gritted out of his teeth as he finally looked at you, too. You saw it behind his eyes, the struggle he was feeling in trying to come up with something marginally more acceptable than what he actually did with that picture. “I find it helps me focus.”

You scoffed out a laugh at his pathetic response, and the thought that he fucked his hand while looking at your picture started forming into your mind. You leaned forward by resting your hands on the soft carpet beneath you, so you were closer, so close your breath hit his face.

“What is it you do with my picture, Aemond Targaryen?”

He swallowed thickly, and the notion that you were affecting him so greatly made your grin spread even wider. “I told you: it’s nothing important- I…” he turned his head to the side, unable to form a coherent sentence with you in such a proximity. “I just…”

You looked down, only to be met with the prominent bulge in his jeans, and then looked back up. “Mh…” you muttered, raising a hand and turning his face back towards you. “Don’t be scared,” you reassured him with the most mischievous tone you had ever spoken, “You can tell me.”

“Stop it already.” he breathed out, distancing himself from you and sitting down on the carpet, his back pressed against the wooden tiles on the side of the bed. His hand reached his face, massaging his forehead to both cover his eyes and relieve some of the pressure you had him feel.

You narrowed your eyes despite being aware that he could not see you: you were not going to give up until those words came out of his lips. So, you sat on his lap and took his hand off his face, feeling him stiffen even more. “You don’t think I was asking nicely enough?” you asked him, tilting your head.

He breathed heavily at your closeness, and his eyes closed instinctively, almost as if having you this close and looking at you at the same time was too much to handle. “What if you don’t like the answer?” Aemond whispered, opening his eyes but settling them down, on your shirt.

When he realised you were not going to reply, he bit the inside of his cheek. “I use it for inspiration…” he told you, definitely aware that the short answer was not going to be enough for you. So, when you asked him what kind of inspiration he was referring to, he continued, “I masturbate to it.”

That made a filthy, wide, and pretty grin spread on your lips. You reached behind him, pulled the picture out of his pocket and unfolded it. “I think I look pretty here, don’t you?”

You saw blood rush to his face when you pulled the picture back out, and his voice was hoarse and strained when he spoke, “Yes… You look very nice.” but that did not stop his lips from curving upwards slightly into a small smirk.

“And… What do you imagine doing to me?” you asked, leaving your mouth slightly opened as you stared down at him. You were aware that the question was risky, that guys like Aemond weren’t the kind to ask you to take your clothes off, and not even the kind to give such an order. No, Aemond Targaryen was the kind to rip them off and discard them on the floor without a care.

He raised a brow at your directness, and his smirk deepened. His eyes went down to meet your lips, hungry and dark. Beneath you, you felt his pulse quicken and his cock getting even harder. "I imagine grabbing you by that beautiful hair of yours, pulling your head back so I can see the desire in your eyes, and then..." he paused, his voice thick with lust, "ramming my cock down your throat until you choke on it."

“That’s the sweetest thing you could say to a woman.” you answered, your breath hitting his face as you grinned at him. Your hand went up to his hair pulling it back twice before gripping it.

You saw his eyes widening slightly at your tug, but he did not pull away, but leaned into the touch instead. “I suppose I’ll have to express myself in such a way more often.” he said, his voice hoarse. His hands then finally gathered the courage to grip your hips- which they did as tightly you did his hair- and they pulled you closer, so you were chest against chest.

His body was warm, even through his white shirt and the jumper worn over it. Your hand on hisbhair automatically loosened its grip, giving him the freedom to brush his nose against your cheek. “Do it again, then.” you breathed out, hating how he had gotten control of the situation in a matter of seconds.

“Oh,” he said with his usual tone, the apathetic one from which transpired only challenge, yet the strength with which his grip tightened on your hips betrayed and exposed him completely, whether he was aware of it or not. “You want to hear about how I want to take you from behind?” he stopped briefly, breathing deeply before continuing, “Want to hear how I’ll fuck that little cunt while the only audible sounds will be your screams of pleasure and that of my hips slapping against your ass… Occasionally my hand will contribute.”

You cleared your throat after his words, and got off his lap, your hand falling away from his soft silver hair in the process of your standing up. Aemond looked up at you, his mouth slightly parted as he took you in like a goddess. “Are we waiting for anyone or do we start?” you asked, making his pupils dilate even further, and his mouth close in sudden seriousness.

He swiftly got up from the carpet, and his hand found the base of your throat in an almost natural gesture. “You want me to fuck you, pretty girl?” he asked, massaging the tender skin without putting any pressure into the motion. But, when you nodded in response, he used his grip to bring your mouth onto his, so he could give it a bruising kiss.

Aemond’s hand moved to cradle the back of your head and angled it so he could slip his tongue inside more easily. When you finally kissed him back, he groaned in pleasure, and his arm sneaked around your waist, holding you flush against his chest as your tongue tangled with his.

The taste of your lips made him so greedy he leaned in even though your bodies were already as close as possible. His free hand travelled down your body until it found your ass, and gave it a rough squeeze that made him groan against your lip. Pulling away, you kissed his cheek, going lower with each one until you reached his jaw.

Aemond’s head fell back, his mouth parted and his lips reddened, his eyes closed. You felt his hand stiffening and tightening around your body, and under your lips, his heartbeat was thummering wildly. “Strip.” he ordered, his voice coming out like a strained plea.

Biting your lower lip, you realised he had loosened his grip on you the only necessary amount for you to obey. You took off your jumper, discarding it carelessly on the wooden floor, before moving your hands down your body with his eyes following their every movement until you undid the button of your jeans.

Ravenous eyes, he had, as he took in the flesh you exposed little by little, and when you unzipped your jeans he decided to take matters into his own hands by roughly tugging them down so they pooled at your ankles. He raised you so as to make you step out of them and threw you onto your back on his bed.

His knee landed on the space on the mattress between your legs while he kept himself up with his arms. His lips reclaimed yours, and his hand found your hip, squeezing it before moving his fingers to trace your stomach, and then down, over the black lace of your underwear. “You’re as wet as I’m hard.” he hissed ruggedly at your lips with a hint of triumph in his voice, the back of his fingers tracing your covered but drenched slit. “Filthy little slut.”

A moan came out of your lips when you parted them, and the little contact that had caused such a reaction in you made you think that, maybe, you really did crave his touch as much as he did yours.

He left the bed then, straightening up and bringing his hands to the button of his jeans right away, “Knees.” he said, already knowing you were going to comply. Once in the position he wanted you in, he ran a hand through your hair, brushing it out of your face, as the other one pulled his pants down.

He freed his cock and bit his lip, before guiding your head towards him. You kissed his tip, looking up at him as you did so and watched him letting out a slow breath. “Take it, pretty girl… Suck it…” he said, seemingly giving you control of your movements.

But mere seconds later he was already using the grip on your hair to guide your mouth up and down his shaft, at the rhythm he desired. Groaning as you took more of him into your mouth, his grip tightened, making your eyes water for the pleasurable pain, and he grinned. “That’s it,” he encouraged, “Take my cock like a good little whore…”

“Do you have an idea of how many times I’ve imagined this?” he continued in a sultry but strained voice. He pulled out of your mouth briefly, letting you take a breath while he slapped his length on your lips. “Every night I lay here in my bed, stroking myself to the thought of your lips wrapped around my cock, your pretty eyes looking up at me with nothing but submission."

He tapped his dick against your lips, silently telling you to open your mouth. When you did, he pushed back inside, moving slower this time. “And now you’re really here… On your knees for me.” He tightened his hold on your hair, pulling you back so he could look down at you. "Open your eyes. I want you to see who's fucking your face."

When you did and he took in your watery eyes caused by the way he was treating your mouth, his grin turned predatory. He pushed you back down, making you take him in til the base, and holding you there for some seconds, while you forced yourself not to choke on him.

He savoured the sensation well enough before pulling out. He moved his hand from your hair to your arm and pulled you up, before his hand moved back up to cradle you face. He kissed you again, with his mouth agape and his breath shaking.

When he moved his lips, he touched your cheek and angled your head to expose your throat before touching that. ”You’re so beautiful…” he breathed out against your flushed skin, forming goosebumps on it. He spun you around, his hand caressing your bare skin as he pressed his chest on your back.

Found the back of your bra he opened it with ease, sliding down your skin and letting it fall onto the floor. As his lips kept their place on your neck, both of Aemond’s hands found your breasts, kneading them with need but gentleness, brushing his thumbs against your nipples and making your breath hitch.

“Bend over.”

His command was executed by him when one of his warm hands found your back and pushed it down, while the other held your hip. He caressed the curve of your ass, chastely at first- as chaste as that kind of action could be- before kneading the flesh with a sharp intake of breath.

Your hands landed on the softness of the mattress, and he helped you get on all fours onto the bed by accompanying your legs with his hands. One of his index fingers hooked in the side of your knickers, and then travelled to the string that passed between your legs, pulling it aside to expose your dripping cunt to the warm air of the small room.

His fingers teased your entrance, lubricating your slit, before pushing inside, making a sweet moan come out of your lips. Aemond established right away that such a distance was far too much, so his free hand sneaked up to wrap around your throat and pulled you back until you were pressed against his chest.

Massaging your pulse point in tandem with his fingers inside of you, you let your head fall back onto his shoulder. “I didn’t think you knew how to fuck.” you said with a grin, although subtled by the pleasure his tapered fingers were provoking you by caressing the walls of your cunt.

Despite himself, Aemond scoffed out a small laugh, “It’s because I study Theoretical Physics, isn’t it?” When you nodded in response, he quickened the pace of his fingers, making your walls contract around them. “Interesting.”

Slipping his digits out of you and making you gasp in protest, Aemond bent you back down until your face collided with the mattress and your ass was completely exposed to him.

He quickly rid himself of his clothes, while his eyes did not leave once your beautiful form. Once you were both completely naked, except for those little black lace knickers he had all the intention to keep on, he took hold of his cock and brought it to rest on your ass, before giving your cheek a sharp slap, making you jolt forward.

Aemond scoffed once again, “For this few?”

“Shut it- I wasn’t expecting it.” you retorted, turning to look at him, but he pushed your face back around once you took in his smug expression, silently telling you to stay still where he had put you.

He slapped your cheeks with his length and probet at your entrance, teasing you mercilessly and making you want to push him on the bed and do it yourself. But not much time passed before he was not able to keep up his act any longer.

With a ragged breath, he pushed into you in one motion, burying himself to the hilt and making you moan and roll your eyes back in pure pleasure. He held you still with his grip on your hips for some time, taking in the feeling of being inside of you with his teeth sunk into his lower lip.

"Mmm," he hummed in pleasure, watching as your body quivered beneath his touch. He bent over, leaning his forehead onto the centre of your back, between your shoulder blades.”

He reveled in the feeling of your cunt gripping him tightly, welcoming him in. His strokes were deep and measured when he started to move, his breath coming in hot bursts against your neck. "That's right," he growled, breathing heavily, "take my cock like the little slut you are."

“Fuck…” you muttered, your hand reaching between your thighs to touch yourself. But he stopped you, blocking both your hands behind your back, almost hurting you.

“None of that, pretty girl.” Aemond said, swallowing thickly. He used his free hand to pull your hips back towards him, forcing his cock deeper inside you with each thrust. “You’ll cum with my cock tonight… Only that way.”

He spun you around, making your hair spread onto the softness of the white duvet. Gripping your thighs and digging his fingertips into the soft flesh, he parted them, entering you again, filling you up again, making you moan loudly again.

Your hands, now freed from his grip, found his hair and tugged at the short silver strands that curled slightly, pulling him towards you until your breath fanned over his face. “Is it how you had imagined?” you asked with a grin, trying to hide the fact you desperately wanted to know, “Fucking me… Is it how you had imagined?”

“Better.” he hissed, grabbing your face and pressing his nose against yours, “Real… But just as tight.” He then crushed your lips together in a bruising kiss, pounding at you like an animal, driven by an inexplicable desire he had never felt before.

You moaned into his mouth when he quickened his pace even more, making your body quiver under his. The way his fingers were leaving litteral fingerprints on the skin of your thighs was making your head spin in pleasure.

Scratching his back and marking him with angry red signs just as he was doing on you, you urged him deeper, rougher, and he obliged without a word. His hand left your face to hook the back of your knee, and the sudden shift in position made you scream against your mouth, making you feel like he was splitting you in two.

“Fuck, Aemond!” you hissed, feeling your walls quivering around his cock as he pounded at you almost as if you were a piece of meat he could use as he pleased.

From the look of his face, from his eyes that seemed injected with blood and pure, unbelievably strong lust and recklessness, you understood how he, too, was on the edge. You suddenly realised that he did not have a condom on, that the passion had been so strong you both hadn’t even thought about it. But you realised you could not care. You realised you wanted to cum inside you, to fill you up.

With the thought in your mind, you came around his cock, your vision going black and your ears whistling as Aemond emptied himself inside you completely. With his strength drained, the grip on you loosened, and he leaned himself on you.

Your legs remained wrapped around his waist as you regained your breath, and hopefully some strength, although you didn’t mind the feeling of him on top of you, still inside.

“Shit…” he murmured against your neck, as your hand still gripped his hair tightly. “I’m completely obsessed with you.”

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elliewrites77 · 2 days ago

Text

Pride and Anger

this is probably the only angst i've written to be posted, like ever. and it came to because I was thinking about Ace and Luffy, and how sad (and unnecessary, ill die on this hill) his death was. so, like most sane people, i will continue to pretend Portgas D. Ace is alive and well, and my poor Luffy did not have to go through something so traumatic by himself. I hope it doesn't come off as too angsty or all angst. that's a fun word lol

He was alive. Portgas D. Ace was alive.

Critically injured and on the brink of death, sure. But alive.

He was really alive and in front of you.

And you were furious.

You were furious with him, with the marines, with Garp, with Roger, with everyone. And that was exactly why the members of the Heart Pirates stayed as far away from you as they could get. The only person you had spoken to with even a little bit or kindness had been Law, and that's just because he saved their lives. Both boys had been on their last breath when Law saved you all in Marineford, and you were grateful to him, truly, but you were far too enraged to worry about your manners with his crew. You snapped at anyone that suggested you leave them to rest, and when Luffy finally woke up, you snapped at them when they said you should go up with him, to the island of warrior women. You refused to leave Ace's side.

You felt bad, sure. You wanted to be with Luffy, to comfort him as much as you could. But every time you tried to move, your body froze. It was keeping you there, with Ace. You knew Luffy would understand, and at least he wasn't alone. You were thankful for Jimbei too.

You keep replaying the events over and over in your head. Especially the part where Ace almost turned back. He almost turned around to fight, to die for some words. Pride, that's what almost took your closest friend. Pride over a pirate who had already given his life for Ace. Pride that almost make him break his promise to you. His promise to come back.

You don't know what stopped him, really. Maybe it was Luffy, or maybe his brain caught up with his ego. Maybe it was so he didn't disappoint Whitebeard or his crew. Maybe it was you. You didn't know, and you might not ever know. Because he was alive, yes, but it wasn't impossible for that to change, according to Law. And the fact that you still have hope but know that it could be in vain, that also made you furious.

So you stayed. You sat there, staring at his form, the wraps covering his body making him look like a mummy. You stayed, listening to his faint and abnormal breathing. You stayed, praying to whatever higher being their was that he woke up. That he survived. Because you'll be damned before if you didn't get a chance to tell him how angry you were with him. He has almost left you, just like that. Sailing away is one thing, dying is another. He wasn't allowed to die. He had promised that he wouldn't.

You were angry that he had spent his whole life thinking he wasn't loved or able to be, when you had spent your whole life loving him. More than a friend, more than a partner in crime, more than two kids who had a lot in common (including shit dad's). You were angry with yourself for never telling him, too.

You finally moved when Law came into the room, telling you that you really needed to speak to Luffy, now. Something about his look told you he was right, and your body actually let you move.

Hugging the boy you considered family was a relief, and you were close to crying into his bandaged shoulder as he hugged back. You didn't want to let go, didn't know if you could hold it together if you did. But after a few minutes, you heard him utter words that reignited your rage.

You saw the fear an most of the Heart crew when you pulled away, fire in your eyes. You saw how each one of them stepped back as if you were a bomb ready to blow. You didn't care, simply looking from Rayleigh to Luffy and back. Luffy knew the look in your eyes, and returned it with a serious one. That alone is what made you pause.

"Why?" You whispered.

"Ace almost died, he still might. I...I couldn't protect him..couldn't protect you. I have to get stronger, for you, for Ace, for the crew. If I'm ever gonna survive the New World, I have to be...better."

You wanted to argue, wanted to make him stay. 2 years? You didn't want that. But you knew Luffy, knew his determination was strong, and his desire to protect his loved ones was even stronger. So you just hugged him again.

"I swear, Luffy, you better be safe. I don't know what that weirdo is gonna have you do, but please just, try not to get hurt." You said in his ear, feeling him nod as a response. You understood, really, but that wouldn't stop you from worrying.

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It had been a few weeks since you said goodbye to Luffy. You were staying with Law, not having anywhere to go for 2 years, and since Ace still needed to be cared for, it only made sense. But everyday he didn't wake up, your hope waned. Law noticed this, offering to teach you more medical stuff or training you to fight better just to give you something to do. Both things helped, for a few hours. But at the end of the day, you returned to that cold room, and returned to watching his motionless body, the only thing telling you he was alive being the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Your anger was still there, yes, but it has lessened over time. At this point, you only held onto it because it made the hurt of everything that happened a little more bearable. It helped to talk to him, even if he couldn't hear. You confessed your anger, your worry, your pain, and your love. Getting it out, even if you were practically talking to yourself, helped you cope.

Which was good, considering he didn't wake up for an entire year.

He was in a coma for a year. His outside wounds, the small ones, healed. But there was still a large scar on his chest that would always twin with Luffy's. But he was slowly, slowly getting better, according to Law. And that gave you more hope, despite how long you waited.

And as you prepared yourself for another year of no change, you were surprised when Bepo enthusiastically approached you as you were returning to the polar tang, after spending the day on an island to gather supplies. It took a moment for your brain to process the animals words, but as soon as they did, you dropped everything.

"He woke up!"

You rushed onboard the submarine, pushing past everyone to get to that familiar room. But you froze inside the doorway. All you could see was Law, standing over Ace and talking lightly. You could barely hear his voice as he replied. It was cracked, and slow, clear that he was gathering himself after not speaking or being awake for so long.

You remained frozen until Law, who somehow knew you were there, slowly moves out of the way, revealing Ace to you once more. You had gotten so used to his 'sleeping' state, that it shocked you even more when you met his eyes.

They were dazed and tired, which was perfectly understandable. But they lit up at the sight of you, something you immediately noticed. It made you tear up as you forced your body to move closer. Law silently left the room.

Neither you nor Ace broke the silence, or eye contact. It felt like a dream, to be staring into his eyes, his beautiful eyes, once again. A dream you had for a year straight. At that thought, you did break from his gaze, your eyes running down the rest of his body in assessment, as if he grew new wounds just from waking up.

"You gonna keep checking..me out..?" He spoke gruffly, a small smirk on his face. The tears fell from your eyes instantly, and you dropped to your knees beside his bed.

"You stupid, dumb, beautiful idiot. You left me sitting here alone, for an entire year. A year of not knowing if you'd ever wake up. And the first thing you say to me is that?" you spoke through sobs, a laugh making its way through as well. You laid your head on his arm, feeling him slowly lift his other one to pat your head as you cried onto him.

"m'sorry angel...I..don't remember everything yet but...ink-dude told me a bit.." he spoke slowly. you could tell the words were hard for his throat to let out.

"Law. He's that captain of this ship." You informed through another teary laugh, lifting your head from his arm and instead grabbing his hand in yours. "don't push yourself right now. It's honestly probably best if you..don't remember everything for a little. You still need rest."

He used his free hand to rub your cheek, wiping away some of the tears still slowly rolling down your face.

"too..pretty to..cry" you heard him mumble. His eyes looked sad. You could guess why.

"You're too pretty to die. Remember that next time." you joked slightly, smiling at him. You were happy, so so happy, that he was actually awake now. Right now, that outweighed everything else.

He chuckled, coughing right after. You gave him a glass of water, holding his head to help him drink. When he was done, he laid it back down and closed his eyes for a moment. You stroked his hair, admiring him. Sure, he had his eyes closed for a year, but this was different.

His eyes fluttered open, and he gave you a smile.

"I heard ya...you know.."

Your brows furrowed. You thought he couldn't hear.

"You heard me every time?"

"I don't...think so...all I remember is...you talking about stopping for...medical gloves...and saying you love me."

Your eyes widen, and you freeze once again. That had been that very morning, before you left to get supplies. You did tell him you love him every day though, feeling like you'd regret it if you didn't. But you were okay with doing that when you thought he couldn't hear. Now that he had, you were nervous.

"I uh..I didn't...um.." You stuttered. He chuckled lightly, gripping your hand again.

"It's okay, angel...I..I'm sorry, about..this..about everything...but I need...need you to know that...I love you too." He confessed, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss the back of it. Tears came to your eyes again, along with a smile, and you closed your eyes resting your forehead against his.

For the first time in over a year, you weren't angry or scared. You were at peace.

ღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღღ

masterlist

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redjaybathood · 2 days ago

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That's probably because deep down you are tankie-adjucent or just not that good at judgment, maybe your own colonial past influences things, but you don't want to admit it. I recognise this manner of talking over Ukrainians ✨ for our own good✨ or ✨for the fairness ✨ , completely disregarding the current dynamics or how russia utilizes it's culture as a tool of imperialism and colonialism.

But Idk, I'm not your therapist or your priest. Face your idiosyncrasies yourself. Do some soul-searching. Read some Ukrainians. Idk.

I speak two Slavic languages, freely read another, learning yet another: believe me, speaking a Slavic language doesn't make you a tankie. Scaremongering and spreading pro russian misinformation about Ukrainians does, tho, depending on your motives

Where did I say it's good or bad for Ukraine? I said I will not support anyone who does learn russian in our god's year 2025, voluntarily, because it's fun, like I wouldn't support anyone voluntarily walking into a gas chamber because they have a kink for asphyxiation. But that never happened, and people are really learning russian and sometimes even proudly so.

Am I, a Ukrainian who spoke russian before they ever heard a word of Ukrainian; who grew up surrounded by russian language - at home, on the streets, in school, in books, TV, radio, movies; who grew up being told that I'm a russian because Ukraine doesn't really exist, but also that I am less than russian, because I am not really from russia, that I am from small russia, which makes me lessser than the true russian; that if I want to speak Ukrainian, read Ukrainian, watch a TV show in Ukrainian, I'm at best laughable, a village person, but I'm probably a Nazi and should be shot for my language of preference; I, someone who lived under russian occupation where people disappeared for just wearing wrong colours, much less speaking the wrong language; I, who is living under russian terror of rockets and Shakheed drones - and I am the lucky one, I'm far away from the front line, it's just won't help me to get even one night of sleep because my city under attack daily; am I allowed to feel a certain way about this, or do I need your permission?

And I dunno about russian breeds being cancelled. Maybe you are talking about Caucasian Shepherd, restricted because it is categorised as a dangerous dog, long before 2022 or even 2014 (but be for real, nobody cared about Ukraine in 2014). It's restricted by Belarus, too - what rusophpbia is this??? That's sarcasm if you don't get it.

I do know about cat and dogs shows that allow russian breeders to participate, giving them publicity and new clienttele. Like here, 2023, Geneva, World Dog Show: https://www.onlinedogshows.eu/Content/Catalog/v2.8/#/menu/breedDogs/ru/2548/2847

You can go look through the full catalogue, I spent literally 5 seconds to find the first russians:

What long dead Ukrainian poets mistaken for a russian - except someone like Hohol, who was misappropriated as russian and never was a poet to begin with? And yeah, his surname never sounded russian. It sounded more like a slur on Ukranians if anything. What poets with russian sounded surnames cancelled? Unless you mean canceled as in killed by russia for, despite the surnames, not being russian like Mykola Zerov?

Or, from recent examples, Maksym Yemetz, or Oleksii Bezpaltzev, Yevhen Ponamoriov, Maksym Kryvtzov? And more, and more, and more: See for yourself in the "Nedopysani" project, to remember every poet and writer russia cancelled, permanently, for not being russian, for not speaking russian, for not writing in russian

What the actual fuck, really. Like, what?

there's literally no justification for giving people shit about what languages they've chosen to learn btw. some of you might not have dealt with it the same as i have, but it's been an annoyingly consistant theme in my life.

#russian culture #russian language

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holylulusworld · 3 days ago

Text

Collateral Damage (2)

Summary: He only wanted some coffee.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: secret admirer, kinda love-struck Bucky, blood, getting shot, fluff

Catch up here: Collateral Damage

Collateral Damage masterlist

“I’ve got you, doll. Hang on,” Bucky whispers as he easily picks you up. He nods at two men storming into the café, guns in their hands. “Cleared.” He confirms and walks toward one of them. “I need Doctor Cho at the mansion and a cleaning team. One is alive; take them.”

“Got it, boss,” the man replies, getting to work. He grabs the barista and drags them out of the café.

“Back entrance,” the second man says, looking at you in Bucky’s arms. “Is that her, Buck?” The tall, dirty-blonde man asks, earning a grunt and a nod from Bucky.”

“Get her book,” Bucky grits out. “Her bag, jacket. Everything belonging to her. I don’t want them to drag her into this shit show.”

"You know, Buck. I'm not one of your men. I came by to have coffee with you and noticed you tried to have some fun." The man remarks as Bucky gives him another stern look. "Alright, I'll get her things while you bring her outside. The car is waiting."

Bucky wastes no time. He leaves the café through the back entrance, yelling orders at more men who come to help him.

One opens the door to the backseat of a black SUV while another helps him get you inside the car. Bucky joins you, taking the first aid kit from the man’s hands.

“We need to go back. Now. She needs a doctor.”

None of the men seems to be surprised that their boss is carrying an injured woman around, or that he didn’t even ask if you want to come with him.

“Where are we going?” You finally ask, a little too late. Getting into a car with a stranger; another mistake.

“Home,” he replies as he opens the first aid kit. He cleans his hands with sanitizer before checking on your arm.

“You don’t know where I live,” you reply, eyes glued to his hands cutting your shirt open. You wince seeing more blood seeping out of the wound.

“My home,” Bucky says while cleaning your wound. “It’s a graze.” He murmurs, relieved. “Why did you throw a book at an armed attacker?”

“I—” You blink a few times. Honestly, you didn’t think much at that moment. Your instinct told you what to do. You threw the book at the attacker to keep them from killing the mysterious man staring at you when he believed you were not looking for months. “I don’t know.”

“I think it will need stitches, but this should do for now.” He wraps a bandage around your arm, careful not to hurt you even more. “Doll, you have to be more careful. No more attacking people with books.”

“But—” you pucker your lips and sniff. “They wanted to hurt you. I had to do something. My mom always told me that people just looking the other way are the same as the ones doing the bad things.”

He gives you a half smile. “She’s not wrong, but you could’ve gotten yourself killed. I don’t want you to die for me, doll.”

You nod and return his smile. “So, can I get your name now that I saved your life? I’d like to know the name of the man who was too shy to have a coffee with me.”

“Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you say his name out loud. “It’s nice to meet you, Bucky. I’m Y/N.” You hold out your hand. “Please tell me not every day in your life is like this.”

He shrugs. “It can be like a slowly flowing river or rapids. You never know.”

Bucky guided you inside a huge house, or rather, a mansion. Protected by a large gate and more armed men. He was careful not to touch your injured arm and placed his hand on the small of your back to lead you upstairs and into a guestroom.

A doctor was waiting, just as ordered, to stitch your arm up and give you painkillers. She was very kind and careful. Maybe because she’s a good doctor—or the fact that Bucky didn’t leave your side.

He sent her home, handing her an envelope, undoubtedly filled with cash. Her payment for fixing you up without asking questions.

"What will happen now?" you asked after she left. “You killed that woman, and the barista is…” Biting your tongue, you tried not to say something wrong. Bucky is a dangerous man, so much you know by now.

“Now, I’ll get you some food and clothes. You need a rest and to sleep the day off. We can talk in the morning, doll,” he softly says, but his expression leaves no room for arguments.

“That’s not what I meant,” you sigh deeply. “What about the police? Do we have to call them, or did your men call them?”

“Doll,” he cups your face, “you are a smart one, aren’t you?” Bucky says, eyes dropping to your lips. “We both know the cops would never believe they attacked us first. I took care of everything. If you want to walk out of my house and life tomorrow and never look back, I’ll never bug you again. But…”

“But…?” You hold your breath and grasp for his hand.

“But, if you stay and let me explain a few things, maybe we can finally have this coffee date you were talking about…”

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #x reader #mafia au #mobster!bucky barnes #Collateral Damage (2)

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inseobts · 3 days ago

Note

Could I get the kidd pirates (wire, heat, kid, killer) reactions to the reader saying that they feel safe with them? Let's say the reader led a kill or be killed life where trust was scarce and death was a guarantee matched with isolation. But after joining the crew, despite the fact its a similar life style, they feel safer.

Sorry for the kinda odd request, hope your having a good day ✌️

Safe Among Monsters

kidd pirates x reader (platonic)

a/n: thank you for the request!! hope this is what you wanted and you'll like it (●'◡'●)

words count: 0.8k

tags: kidd pirates, hurt/comfort, emotional bonds, trust, safety

masterlist || ko-fi

The sea is always dangerous. You know this well. A life of blood and survival has shaped you, made you sharp, but also left you alone. Trust is a weakness. Safety is an illusion. At least, that’s what you believed before joining the Kidd Pirates.

But now… now, things feel different.

You sit on the deck, watching the ocean. The salty wind plays with your hair, and for once, you feel at peace. Heat sits nearby, fixing his weapons. Wire leans against a crate, quiet as usual. Killer sharpens his blades, the steady sound of metal against stone filling the air. And Kid? He’s yelling at some poor crewmember for messing up something in the engine room.

You take a deep breath. This is the closest thing to home you’ve ever had.

“I feel safe here” you say without thinking.

Silence.

The sound of Killer’s blade pauses. Heat’s hands still. Wire actually lifts his head. And Kid? Well, Kid turns so fast you think he might snap his own neck.

“The hell did you just say?” Kid asks, stomping toward you.

You blink “I said I feel safe here.”

Kid stares at you like you just grew a second head “Safe? With us?” he asks as he gestures wildly “We’re pirates! We kill people! We steal! We fight the Marines and the damn Emperors! How the hell is that safe?!”

You shrug “I’ve lived a life where trust meant death. Where every second was a fight to survive. And yet, with you guys, I don’t feel like I have to watch my back all the time.”

Kid looks completely lost. He crosses his arms, grumbling “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re just bad with emotions” Heat says, smirking.

“Shut up, Heat!”

Heat chuckles before looking at you “You really mean that?”

You nod “Yeah. I know we fight and kill, but… it’s different. I don’t feel alone.”

Wire exhales, running a hand through his hair “Tch. Can’t believe anyone would feel safe around us. We’re... monsters.”

“Not to me” you say simply.

Killer, who has been silent, finally speaks “You trust us.”

You meet his gaze “Yeah, I do.”

He tilts his head, studying you for a long moment. Then, he nods “Good.”

Kid groans “You’re all too soft.”

“Maybe,” Heat says, grinning “But at least we’re not in denial like you.”

“I AM NOT—!”

You laugh, and to your surprise, Killer chuckles too. Even Wire smirks. The tension fades, and the conversation shifts, but something lingers in the air, something unspoken but understood.

They won’t say it outright. Not in words. But you know. They feel it too.

You are safe here.

Not because the world is less dangerous.

But because you are not alone anymore.

Days pass, but the words stay in your mind. The crew still fights, still raids, still risks their lives every day, but something in their eyes has changed when they look at you. There’s an understanding now. A silent promise.

One evening, after a long battle at sea, you sit beside Killer, your back against the ship’s railing. He’s quiet, as usual, but you don’t mind. The silence between you is comfortable.

“You’re really not scared of us at all?” he finally asks.

You shake your head “No. Not anymore.”

He hums in response. Then, after a pause, he says “If you ever feel different… if you ever feel unsafe… tell me.”

You smile “I will.”

Across the deck, Kid watches you both, his expression unreadable. Wire mutters something under his breath, and Heat just grins. It’s a strange family, but it’s yours.

And for the first time in your life, you don’t feel alone.

Another storm rolls in one night, violent waves crashing against the hull. The ship rocks dangerously, and the crew scrambles to secure everything. You’re drenched, holding onto the railing as the wind howls.

Kid barks orders, his voice barely audible over the storm “Tie down the sails! Secure the cargo!”

You move to help, but a massive wave sends you staggering. A strong hand grabs your wrist, Killer. He pulls you upright, nodding “Stay close.”

Through the chaos, you realize something... no one is afraid. The crew works together, trusting each other completely. Despite the danger, there’s no panic. Just confidence.

When the storm finally passes, the crew collapses on the deck, exhausted but victorious. You sit beside Heat, breathing hard.

“You alright?” he asks, glancing at you.

You nod “Yeah. That was… intense.”

He grins “Storms happen. We get through them.”

Wire chuckles, running a hand through his wet hair “You held up well.”

Killer sits nearby, quietly cleaning his weapons. Kid crosses his arms, looking at the sea. Then, he glances at you “Still feel safe?”

You meet his gaze “Yeah.”

A beat of silence. Then, Kid smirks “Good.”

And just like that, you know you belong here.

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flightyquinn · 1 day ago

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I have a feeling that I know the plot of Legends: Z-A.

Did you notice how there's holographic technology all over Lumiose City? Well, guess who developed the holo-tech in X and Y. That's right. It was Lysandre. So the big corporation in Z-A is probably just Lysandre Labs, but redbranded.

So, you know how the CEO's secretary is a big guy with amazing sideburns and his hair tied back? And you know how the Ultimate Weapon able to grant AZ and Flowette eternal life? Yeah. I'm calling it now. That's Lysandre in disguise.

So what's the deal with the redevelopment plan? That's the big central event the game is revolving around, after all. You're a part of the action as Lumiose City is being rebuilt into a place where people and pokemon coexist. Well, I can't take credit for this, since I got it from a Youtube comment, but I'm pretty sure they were right on...

You remember what powers the Ultimate Weapon, don't you?

It's pokemon. The Ultimate Weapon is powered by the souls of pokemon. Taking out two armies killed enough to fill a three screen graveyard. So let's say you were building a new Ultimate Weapon. Say, under the pretext of urban redevelopment. If you wanted to reshape the world, you'd need a lot of pokemon on hand to power that. Like say a major metropolis' worth.

Could I be wrong? Sure.

Maybe Gamefreak wants to have a nice, cozy epilogue for X and Y where nothing bad happens.

Or maybe they have a third game that they never made, and finally see a chance to resolve the plotline they started. There has to be some reason that Zygarde, a pokemon that's supposed to protect Kalos' ecosystem, would be majorly involved in the solarpunk utopia urban redevelopment project, right?

#video games #pokemon #pokemon legends za #speculation #theory

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galaxymagitech · 1 day ago

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Ah, permission to ramble. I choose to take this at face value and rambled…a lot. Bear with me, I’m not really sure how to articulate this one.

Dick is a peacemaker in the family, but he’s not a peacekeeper. There’s a distinction there that a lot of people miss. They’ll portray him as either constantly fighting Bruce and holding grudges or completely just bowing to Bruce’s every whim.

Dick will fight with Bruce. He’ll stand up for himself or his siblings. But then his anger drains away like water in a colander, leaving him empty. He’s quick to fight, but pathologically quick to forgive. As soon as the fight is over, it just sort of drifts away.

I feel like Dick’s relationship with Bruce very much has a rhythm to it—high tide and low tide and then high tide again and then low tide again. A sort of inevitability that they’re both very aware of. And Dick doesn’t really stay mad at Bruce. He keeps leaving, but when he returns, it’s to help, with his previous grievances forgotten and unaddressed. Even after Bruce hit him over Jason’s death, he comes back without mentioning it to help. He fought Bruce over what he did to Jason, but was still there talking to Bruce as he pulled away and basically made Dick and Barbara the heads of the family. The strange thing is that Dick can hold grudges. But when it comes to Bruce, all that sort of just washes away. The tides again.

Why? Well, I have a theory about that. To some degree it’s subconscious, but people do have some control over their emotions. And staying mad often makes things really hard. For two reasons:

Sometimes, Dick’s relationship with Bruce is good. He doesn’t want to “ruin” it by focusing on Bruce’s past actions—ie: he wants to take advantage of what he knows will be temporary. And also, if Dick is too angry to enjoy the highs, then all he has left are the lows. So in order to get anything positive from interacting with Bruce, Dick has to push away his (100% valid) anger.

People don’t like when you’re angry at them. If Dick lets on that he’s still upset about something that Bruce considers to be in the past, let alone brings it up, the fragile success will be destroyed. And then it’ll be Dick’s fault for breaking the peace. So Dick needs to get really good at letting things go, or else he’ll just send things careening back into a fight, because Bruce leaves everything unresolved.

I’m not saying Dick is making an actual conscious calculation in his head where he goes “I need to stop being angry or else Bruce will hit me again.” But in general, I think that within the constraint of him not really being able to leave Bruce’s orbit, he developed the defense mechanism of pushing this away.

Over time, this becomes so ingrained that Dick literally can’t stay mad at Bruce.

I didn’t experience abuse, but after growing up constantly arguing with my mom I have trouble staying mad at people for any length of time—especially people who have said something hurtful to me. I will continue to act completely normally immediately after a really bad screaming match. Literally, tear tracks still on my face, back to normal interaction, what’s for dinner, here I’ll unload the dishwasher, etc. I’m not even pretending, I just. Literally don’t care anymore. My brain just whisks everything I’m upset about away and I can’t think about it while interacting with the person. Sometimes, depending on the situation, I can think about it at other times. But not when that person is in front of me. Something in my brain won’t let me.

And maybe it’s projection, but I feel like this matches up really well with Dick’s actions. He genuinely can’t stay mad at Bruce because he doesn’t let himself think of those grievances. All the horrible things Bruce has done to him are sectioned off into times when he’s fighting Bruce and forgotten when he’s on good terms with Bruce.

So in the context of therapy, he will genuinely believe it when he recants what he said about Bruce being awful. Because he’ll be calm (and maybe a bit numb) and look back at himself from a week ago and it’ll just be utterly incomprehensible. Why was he so mad anyway? It’s not a big deal. Whatever. It’s fine. He and Bruce are on great terms, no hard feelings! (He can’t have hard feelings, they’ve all just disappeared, and he’s glad of it, because Bruce made a joke during patrol today and that wouldn’t have happened if Dick was refusing to speak to him over something dumb.)

So, yeah. Dick’s anger at Bruce burns hot and then snuffs itself out. He would spend a therapy session crying about the abuse, and then come back the next week being like “oh that me wasn’t in his right mind, ignore it, I’m fine lol” and truly believe what he’s saying.

Oh. And in terms of disregarding his own feelings and believing that he’s completely unreliable when angry? Yeah, Bruce definitely taught him that. Whether through emotional abuse and repeated invalidation, Bruce saying that Dick is too angry for his opinions to have any weight, or just Batman constantly repeating that emotions make you too irrational. But I think Dick would consider anything he says when he’s angry to just be him acting irrationally. He could break down in therapy and say that Bruce is abusive and then just go “oh I was throwing words out there because I was upset, don’t trust whatever I said, Bruce definitely didn’t abuse me.” And then react completely calmly when the therapist asks him if each anecdote actually happened. Yes, Bruce hit him. Yes, Bruce spied on him. Yes, Bruce said that. But it’s all fine, what are you even talking about?

And I think the therapizing himself is a way to sort of skate over that gap in his emotions, because he doesn’t want to confront the fact that his brain is covering up large chunks of memory. So he doesn’t a brief analysis, thinks he’s dug into his brain fully, and then presents this “photocopy” Dick Grayson to the therapist. In his mind, he’s being completely honest. But by simply presenting everything to the therapist in the way he’s determined to be most truthful, he obscures all the messed-up thoughts that led him to that conclusion. It’s why you don’t have the overseers oversee themselves—they may produce a full report and believe it’s completely honest, but they’ll miss the things they don’t want to see.

So if Dick Grayson is going to successfully have therapy, then he should probably actually explain events instead of just presenting his self-psychoanalysis.

I think we all know that each and every one of the Batkids is on the verge of falling apart, constantly, just under the surface.

But I think there's something special about Dick Grayson when you think about him like this. Because generally, I think everyone expects the other batkids to be deranged and unstable, but Dick's general presentation to the outside world is as an easygoing dude. He probably seems like the most normal of the bunch.

But beyond even that, I think Dick thinks he's perfectly fine. Bro goes through life, constantly on the verge of breaking down, his mind consistently picking apart every single thing and every single person in his life, not really trusting anyone, and never really sleeping, and he's just like "Yeah, this is how life works."

Then he looks at all his siblings, and he's like, "Damn, look at how screwed up they are :(" and meanwhile he's 100% the worst of the bunch.

Barbara and Wally are the only people who are privy to this, I think.

#dc #batman #tw: abuse #dick grayson #bad parent bruce wayne

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darkmarkmarauder · 3 days ago

Text

Call me and I’ll come - S.S.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x you

You should have known better by now.

Should’ve known that getting your feelings hurt was just part of the deal when it came to Sebastian Sallow.

Because he never promised you anything, did he? He never said he was yours, never whispered I love you when his hands were all over you, hot against your skin, when he fucked you like he actually meant it.

Sebastian Sallow was not a good person.

That was fine, though, because neither were you.

Whatever this was between you—this thing—that was built on the kind of pleasure that left bruises and bite marks and bad decisions. It was never meant to be sweet. Never meant to be kind.

And yet, there he was. Playing at chivalry, walking Poppy Sweeting back to her dorm like she was something to be protected. Like she hadn’t spent the past seven years getting under your skin, all sunshine smiles and Holier Than Thou bullshit.

You weren’t sure why you even followed them. Maybe it was the way Poppy's laugh rang through the corridor, soft and sweet, like she wasn’t the most insufferable person on the planet. Maybe it was the way Sebastian looked at her—really looked at her—as if she were saying something worth listening to. The thought made your stomach churn. You had him first. Had him beneath you, above you, inside you. You should’ve been the only thing occupying that wicked little mind of his.

But no. He was escorting her back to her fucking Hufflepuff common room like some noble gentleman. Heart-of-gold-ass-bitch. God, you hated her.

So you had a little fun.

Just a little.

Legilimency was easy when your target was oblivious. You slipped into her mind without so much as a whisper, poking at her thoughts, nudging her attention away from whatever painfully dull story she was telling him. Watching her stumble through sentences, lose her train of thought, look almost dizzy with confusion. Sebastian’s brows furrowed as she trailed off mid-sentence, blinking rapidly.

“You alright?” he asked, concern evident in his tone. That made your teeth grind. So concerned for little Miss Perfect.

Poppy nodded quickly, but she was uneasy now. You could feel her nerves, the confusion settling deep. You kept at it—poking, prying, twisting little intrusive thoughts through the cracks of her consciousness.

Poppy winced, pressing a hand to her temple. “I… I don’t know. I just feel a little—”

You rolled your eyes. Pathetic. You got bored of that real quick. Whispering under your breath you sent a nauseating little hex and she was doubled over, face paling, gagging.

Sebastian stepped back, startled. “Poppy?”

“Uh, I think—I think I need to go lie down,” she groaned, turning away hastily.

You strolled up behind Sebastian just as Poppy stumbled off, pouting mockingly. "Aw, hope she feels better."

You barely kept the smirk off your face as Poppy disappeared into her common room, her face pale as she clutched her stomach. Whatever. She’d be fine. Maybe next time, she’d learn not to bat her pretty little lashes at your Sebastian.

Not that he was yours.

Sebastian turned to you the moment she disappeared, a slow, disbelieving shake of his head. His lips twitched in amusement, but his eyes were anything but.

"Yeah, okay, princess, we’re really gonna pretend?"

You folded your arms, feigning innocence. "Not sure what you mean, Sallow."

"Cut the shit," he scoffed, stepping closer, the scent of fresh pine, something unmistakably him filling the space between you. "The second she started looking like she might kneel over, I knew you were up to something. And then—what? you just coincidentally show up the moment she leaves? Please."

You rolled your eyes. "Please," you mimicked, voice dripping with mockery. "What, am I not allowed to take a little evening stroll?"

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "Right. Because you, of all people, just love late-night walks around the Hufflepuff dorms. Admit it, you’re jealous."

That word. Jealous. You bristled at it, anger flashing hot through your veins.

"Of what, exactly?" You sneered. "Little Miss I-Save-Orphaned-Dragons? Please. You think I’m worried about you wasting your time with a boring little goody-two-shoes like her?"

His jaw tensed, and fuck, you loved getting under his skin.

"You’re so full of shit," he muttered, voice dropping an octave. "What was it? You didn’t like seeing me with her? Didn’t like the thought of me walking her back? Maybe—" he took another step closer, and you refused to move back, even as your breath caught in your throat— "maybe you didn’t like knowing she actually enjoys my company without having to spread her legs first."

The words hit like a slap. You felt them crack through your ribs, shatter through your lungs. But you weren’t about to let him see it.

"Wow," you let out a sharp laugh, masking the ache blooming in your chest. "That’s rich, coming from the guy who can’t seem to keep his hands off me."

Sebastian tilted his head, brown eyes dark and unreadable. "Yeah?" he mused, his tone almost taunting. "Maybe I should try. Since it’s not like you’re anything special."

You sucked in a sharp breath.

"Fuck you," you spat.

Sebastian smirked, slow and lazy, his words venomous. "You already did. And if I recall, you come crawling back every single time."

Your vision blurred red. Your nails dug into your palms, the sting barely grounding you. You wanted to hex him. Wanted to make him hurt the way his words made your chest feel like it was caving in.

But instead, you took a step back.

"Go fuck yourself, Sallow."

And then you turned on your heel walking away, fists clenched, heart pounding, body burning with fury and something you weren’t ready to name. Jealousy.

Behind you, Sebastian let out a sharp exhale.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, voice laced with something that almost sounded like regret.

You were drunk when you called him.

Drunk and pissed off and reckless.

You’d heard about it from Imelda—how Sebastian had actually taken Poppy on a date, how he’d sat with her at The Three Broomsticks, bought her a drink, showed her a good time. How they sat together at dinner.

You refused to look at him for the rest of the day. You ignored him in class, in the halls, in the library. You ignored him even when he tried to get your attention, knocking his knee against yours under the desk, whispering your name when the professor wasn’t looking. You ignored him all the way up until tonight.

Right up until the moment you floo-called him from your room.

The moment he picked up, his voice came through the flames, exasperated but familiar. “What do you want?”

“Come over.” You softly demanded.

He sighed. “I’m busy.”

You leaned in, let your voice drop lower, silkier. “Didn’t ask if you were busy, Sallow. I said come over.”

A pause. He wasn’t even pretending to think about it—the sound of him moving, the clink of his belt as he got dressed . “Give me ten.”

You grinned.

Of course he’d come. He always did.

It didn’t matter how much he flirted with Poppy, how much he tried to pretend there was something there. It didn’t matter if she was sweet and kind and everything you weren’t.

Because at the end of the day, when you called—he answered.

Always.

Not even a minute later, there he was, disheveled, eyes swirling with something that looked like relief. His shirt was wrinkled, his tie loosened like he had rushed here.

You smirked. “Didn’t think you’d come.”

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re such a fucking piece of work, you know that?”

You didn't bother responding as his dark eyes bore into yours. Tilting your head slightly, biting your lip before yanking him inside, fingers wrapped around this tie as the door slammed shut behind him.

Yeah. Poppy Sweeting didn't stand a fucking chance.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: raw, next question.

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

#sebastian sallow x you #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #hogwarts legacy sebastian #poppy sweeting #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy oc

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munsonsmixtapes · 14 hours ago

Text

That's My Man

rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader

Eddie defends you in an interview and you repay him in the most generous way

cw: MDNI (18+) oral (m receiving) handjob, the interviewer makes some inappropriate comments about reader

This is a request made my the always lovely @the-witty-pen-name who also came up with the title!

Eddie puts on the pair of headphones that were pervaded for him as the “on air” sign glows the bright red, signaling that the show has started. He doesn’t even know why he even agreed to this interview. The guy’s an ass and Eddie just knows that he’s inevitably going to say something inappropriate.

He’s really only doing this because his team begged him to. Why, he doesn’t know since the majority of the band’s fanbase hates the kind of guy that Rick is. He’s everything in the book that Eddie can’t stand and now he’s gotta sit here for an hour for his segment. It can’t be too bad, can it?

“Eddie, welcome,” Rick greets and Eddie puts on a smile even though all he really wants is to kick Rick’s ass. He’s unfortunately caught clips of the show here and there and all he does is sexualize women and talk badly about people of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community.

“Hey, thanks,” Eddie replies, trying his best to not say something he really shouldn’t. He just sits there and waits for Rick to start the conversation.

“So you’ve got a new album out which is “From the Upside Down.” What was the process like for creating the record?” Eddie’s genuinely caught off guard by the question considering that Rick never seems to care about that kind of thing. Maybe this won’t be as bad as he initially thought.

“It was actually so different from what we’ve done for past albums. We actually did everything ourselves this time and that was really fun. We took some time off and wrote a bunch of songs and Gareth actually produced them so that was a really cool process to see.”

Eddie loves talking about his music. It’s like a parent talking about their child. He’s always so proud of himself and his bandmates for what they do and he doesn’t think that’s ever going to change. They worked so hard to get where they are now and he’s nothing but grateful that this is his job.

“That’s very interesting,” Rick nods and there’s just something about the look on his face that makes it obvious that he’s about to say some dumb shit. “So I know you’re seeing y/n l/n and can I just say, well done, man.” Yep, definitely some dumb shit.

Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes. Normally, Eddie would love to talk about you. It’s actually his favorite thing to do. But not like this, not in the way that Rick and a lot of other men like to. Where they just sexualize you and reduce you to an object. Eddie won’t stand for that for anyone, but especially not you.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that I’m “seeing” her,” Eddie laughs nervously. You’ve been trying to keep your relationship under wraps for the past six months but it’s so hard to do when the two of you are under a microscope.

“Oh, so you wouldn’t categorize this as seeing her?” Rick asks as he pulls up a photo of you and Eddie kissing outside a bar. He didn’t even know that anyone had taken photos of that and now he feels gross.

“Well-” he tries to explain himself but Rick quickly cuts him off.

“Is she a good kisser? Better yet, is she good in bed?” All of this makes Eddie want to throw up and he can’t believe that men like Rick actually have the audacity to ask questions like that.

“I don’t feel comfortable answering that,” he answers politely even though he’s seconds away from a crash out.

“C’mon, you can tell me. It’s just us.” It’s actually not considering it’s a live radio show and even if it wasn’t, that’s something just between you and Eddie and no one else. Especially not pigs like Rick.

“No, I’m not sharing anything about our relationship. That’s the only thing we have that’s ours.”

“Is she flexible? I bet she’s flexible.” He shows Eddie a photo of you doing a split on stage and his lunch is about to come up. “Oh yeah, definitely-”

Rick doesn’t even have time to finish his sentence before Eddie snatches the tablet and slams it down on the table. He would never let any woman be talked about this way. Especially not his girlfriend.

The anger is festering and he’s having a real hard time trying to keep his cool. Fuck that. He’s not going to be so nice anymore, not wanting anymore disgusting things to be said about you. He can’t let anything else be said about you or he’s going to do something he regrets.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he points at Rick, glaring at the man and the man actually looks afraid of him. Good. “I know you tend to objectify women and that shit stood today. If I ever hear you talk about anyone else this way or in a derogatory manner, you’ll have me to answer to. Now keep my wife’s name out of your mouth or we’re going to have a problem.”

With that, out of the room. Nothing is worth sitting there and letting that man sexualize you. It makes him feel disgusting and now he feels like he needs a long shower. He’s wiping his jacket with his hands to try to literally get rid of that feeling, but he knows the only thing that will help is seeing you. He just needs someone to talk to about the whole thing.

He’s driving to the venue where you’re performing tonight before he can stop himself. He just wants to hold you in his arms and tell you how much he loves you, hoping that you haven’t been listening to the radio even though he’s sure that you are because you always listen to his interviews.

Eddie’s so angry about the whole thing, still letting it eat at him even though he already took care of it. He just needs to calm down and he will as soon as he sees you. That always makes him feel better. Just thinking about you is doing the trick and when he pulls up to the venue, the weight on his shoulders is lifting.

You’re sitting in your dressing room, doing your makeup when he walks in, your face lighting up when you see him in the mirror. The anger on his face seems to melt away when he sees you, his smile matching yours as he makes a beeline for you. He saw you just this morning but the time you’ve spent away was far too long.

You get up from your chair and he’s quick to pull you into a hug, a tight one as he buries his face into your neck. This is all he’s wanted all day, especially since he stormed out of the interview. You always seem to calm the screaming that’s constantly going on in his head. Your hand moves up into his hair, scratching at his scalp as he kisses your neck, moving your hair away from it as he does so.

You pull away far too soon for his liking before pulling him in for a kiss. He’s needy and desperate and he just wants to show you how much he loves you. Your hands are in his hair as you lick into his mouth, moaning loudly which is only making him harder. He needs your cunt so bad and is so close to taking you right there until you begin to grind against him.

“I heard what you said on the radio,” you tell him as you kiss down his neck, unbuttoning his jeans. “Defending me like that, it was so…hot,” you whisper the last part into his ear before biting down on the lobe before kissing his neck again, giving it a rough suck, making him squirm.

You’re backing him up against the vanity, pinning him there as you continue to suck, his hands falling from you to grip the table behind him, white knuckling it as he lets out a whine, his cock hardening even more to the point where you can now fully feel him against you.

“Now I feel like I owe you.” He defended you and you know it’s because you’re his wife, but you know that he would do that for anyone and that’s how you know you got one of the good ones.

“You-you don’t owe me anything, sweetheart,” he breathes. He really wants whatever you’re willing to give but only if you really want to not because you think he deserves in return for defending you.

“How about I suck you off, is that payment enough?” His eyes widen at both your question and the way you’re biting down on him.

“Please,” he whines, needing to get some sort of relief. You give his neck one more kiss before pulling down his jeans, his underwear following as you get down onto your knees. You’re looking up at him with lustful eyes and he watches you, wondering what you’re going to do next.

You start by spitting into your hand then grab hold of the base, slow strokes to warm him up but they progressively get more intense. He’s already leaking with precum, letting out stuttered breaths as he watches, white knuckling as a moan escapes his lips.

You keep up the pace, moving as fast as you can as Eddie lets out moan after moan. He’s coming undone already so you know he won’t last long. And you only have a few more minutes before you have to be on stage, so you’ve gotta make it worthwhile. You’ve really gotta make this count.

You bring your tongue to the slit, licking up the cum that’s already come out, not wanting to waste a drop then bring your lips to the base, kissing it which catches Eddie off guard. You’re now peppering it with kisses and he somehow gets even more hard as he watches you leave lipstick prints behind. It’s hot. You’re hot and he thinks this is where he likes you most, on your knees.

You then bring your mouth back to the slit, licking it again before bringing it into your mouth, sucking lightly as Eddie’s hands wind into your hair, letting out yet another whine as you bring him in deeper, sucking harder as your tongue swirls around the head. You’re taking him inch by inch and he’s so close, on the edge of an orgasm as you finally get the last bit of him inside.

Cum leaks into your mouth as he screams your name, your eyes watering as the head hits the back of your throat, gagging as you suck him off for just a bit longer. Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you pull him out of your mouth with a loud pop, making sure to swallow as he helps you to your feet.

Eddie pats your tears dry with a tissue so as to not smudge your makeup before you press a lingering kiss to his lips. You clean him up before pulling up his pants and touching up your lipstick.

“How’s that for repaying you?” You ask and he smiles, still dizzy from receiving the best head of his life as he follows you to the side of the stage, wondering how he can get you to do that again once your show is over. He’s sure that you won’t need much convincing.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #rockstar!eddie x popstar!reader #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut

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solarmorrigan · 2 days ago

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3 & 4 steddie? I love everyone's takes on eddie interacting with steve after the halloween party in s2💛

So! A thing about me is that I'm actually not always comfortable writing about drinking. The "why" of it is kind of a moving target, and I really should have just nixed "drunk" as an option in the tags, so that's my bad D: But! I think I got the rest of your prompt in pretty alright??

4. Cry - Eddie &/ Steve

Eddie had only been looking for a quiet place to smoke. Business is great at parties like this, but sometimes he needs a break from all the hubbub. The backyard had been milling with people, but as Eddie had trailed out towards the edge of the property, close to the tree line of the woods behind the house, the crowds had dwindled to nothing, leaving undisturbed peace in their wake.

At least, Eddie had thought so.

It takes a minute for him to notice the new noise – the soft, inconsistent huffs of air working counter to the sound of the whispering breeze. It’s the sound of someone gasping, he realizes, cold anxiety beginning to pool in his gut.

Is someone hurt? Had some drunken idiot wandered out back here, maybe fallen or run into a tree and injured themselves? Were they too hurt to get back up? But, no – as Eddie gets closer to the source of the noise, it becomes clear it isn’t pained gasping, it’s the hitched-breath sound of sobbing.

And just as he starts to think maybe he should just give this person their privacy, let them have a good cry in peace like they clearly intended, he rounds a tree and sees exactly who it is that’s come out into the woods in their lament.

He can’t see the face, but even in the half-light spilling out from the house, the head of hair is unmistakable: Eddie’s just crashed Steve Harrington’s private backwoods breakdown.

For a moment, Eddie is frozen, unsure of what to do. He feels a little like Actaeon stumbling across Diana bathing in the forest, and at any moment he’s going to be turned into a stag for witnessing something he shouldn’t have (and take that, Mrs. Davis – he does pay attention in English class. To the cool parts, at least). Except it doesn’t seem like Steve has noticed him yet, still wrapped up in whatever’s got him miserable, so maybe Eddie can just make a clean getaway? Pretend none of this ever happened?

Intending to do just that, he takes one careful step back and puts his foot down directly on what is apparently the loudest twig in existence. The crack of it rings out like an alarm, and Steve’s head snaps up, his cheeks shining wet in the low light, glancing around frantically until his eyes land on Eddie.

“Uh,” Eddie says, raising one careful hand in greeting. “Hey.”

That seems to knock Steve back into action. He swears, reaching up to wipe roughly at his face, running a hand through his hair, probably trying desperately to look like he hadn’t just been crying. Eddie figures he should probably let him, give him some plausible deniability, pretend he hadn’t been able to see anything in the dark, that he hadn’t heard anything at all. Except now that he’s here, Eddie finds he can’t quite leave well enough alone. He’s curious.

And maybe he feels a little bad for the guy. Just a little. He looks sort of devastated from where Eddie is standing, eyes wide and wet, cheeks red, hair disheveled (but still goddamn pretty. How is that even fair?).

“You, uh… You okay?” Eddie tries, feeling a little lame in the attempt.

“Yeah,” Steve snaps, running a hand down over his face again. “I’m fine.”

Clearly.

“Did you come here with someone?” Eddie asks. “Like… someone I can go get?”

“What? I’m not drunk or anything, man, I’m fine,” Steve huffs, leaning back against the tree he’d been half-hidden behind, shoulders still slumped.

“No, yeah, I just – like, whatever’s going on with you, I figured maybe a friend would be… better,” Eddie says, waving a hand vaguely at Steve, who scoffs at him. “Wait– Wheeler. You came with her, didn’t you?”

That doesn’t get an answer – not a verbal one, anyway. All Steve does is sniffle and glance away.

“Ah,” Eddie finds himself nodding, speaking before he can stop himself, “trouble in paradise?”

Steve scoffs again. “You know what?” he asks harshly. “When your girlfriend says you’re bullshit, and that your love is bullshit, and blames you for her friend dying, you start to think that maybe there was no paradise to begin with.”

Eddie blinks. That’s a lot to process. “I thought Holland ran away?” he asks after a moment, because apparently that’s the thing to focus on.

“Right. Ran away,” Steve spits out, and that’s – hm.

What do you know that I don’t, Steve Harrington? Eddie wonders.

He doesn’t ask, of course, because nosy as he is, Eddie also has a healthily developed sense of self preservation, and this seems like the sort of thing he shouldn’t be prying into.

“That’s kinda fucked up, man,” he says instead. “She seriously accuse you of that?”

Steve shrugs, says nothing, but still looks miserable enough that Eddie would believe it. Whatever went down between Steve and Nancy had clearly been a hell of a mess. He isn’t entirely sure why he cares (his persistent soft spot for strays is honestly a bitch sometimes), but he finds he doesn’t want to leave Steve like this, depressed and alone in the woods on Halloween.

He reaches into his jacket pocket and withdraws his pack of cigarettes, shaking two out into his hand. Steve tenses when Eddie takes a few steps closer, but the only thing Eddie does is offer him a cigarette. There’s a moment of confused staring, eyes flicking between Eddie’s face and the cigarette in his hand, but eventually Steve reaches out to take it.

Eddie takes a chance, leaning in a little closer to offer him a light, and Steve takes it, the warmth of his face near Eddie’s cupped palm feeling almost as strong as the flame from the lighter.

Eddie drops his hand as soon as the cigarette is lit. He needs to get a grip. He lights his own cigarette and takes a drag.

“Thanks,” Steve croaks once he’s blown out his first breath of smoke.

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie replies.

They smoke in silence for a minute, watching the backlit figures of drunken teenagers churn in and out of the house before them.

“Maybe she’s right,” Steve finally says.

“Hm?” Eddie glances over at him, but Steve is glaring at the ground.

“Love,” Steve sneers. “Maybe it’s really just bullshit.”

And something about that just hits Eddie wrong. Maybe he’s never believed in love, as such—not the way it’s described in poetry or sung about in ballads or written about in shlocky romance novels—but Steve clearly does. Anyone who’s been around him and Nancy for more than a minute in the last year could see that. For it to be otherwise feels like it goes against the natural order.

“Nah,” Eddie says. “Love is out there, man. The real shit, y’know? Stuff worth fighting for.”

Steve lets out a little snort, more amused than derisive, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “You’re not a romantic, Munson,” he says, so sure of himself – which is fair.

“Oh, I’m a cynic through and through, baby,” Eddie says, grinning when Steve gives him a little laugh. “But you – you’re a romantic. You don’t really believe that love is bullshit. And you shouldn’t.”

Subsiding, Steve leans back against his tree, taking another drag of his cigarette like he’s stalling for time. “Why do you care what I believe?” he finally asks.

Eddie shrugs. “The world needs people like you. Romantics. Dreamers. You keep people like us pessimists from collapsing beneath the weight of our own dark souls.”

“What?” Steve coughs out, really laughing this time, and Eddie smiles right along with him.

“Just saying,” he offers.

Steve shakes his head. “Okay, drama kid. And I’m guessing people like you – what? Help people like me keep our feet on the ground?”

“Sure,” Eddie says. “Everyone needs a rock now and then. A nice solid foundation to start from.”

“Hm,” Steve hums, finishing off his cigarette as Eddie does the same. “Well – you’re, uh. You’re a pretty good rock, Eddie. Thanks.”

“Yeah, man,” Eddie says, pretending that the weird little compliment hadn’t made him light up just a bit. “Don’t mention it.”

And Steve doesn’t, but the smile he gives Eddie – well. What’s something else.

#steddie #pre-steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #fun fact: I'm taking an art history class right now and Titian's Diana and Actaeon was on the midterm #and thinking about Eddie dramatically recalling that story as part of his internal monologue is how I ended up with this fic #answers from solar #anonymous #solar wrote

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