#referenced past sa

[honeycollectswhump]

Things End | People Change – Healing

to the surprise of literally no one, i've been insane about vincent again... enjoy the result of that: a continuation of this!! i guess this is a slight spoiler for @whumpcloud's story? but rather for the vibe than specific plot points

CW: implied / undertones of past sa, references to past torture and starvation

There it is again. The thing, the wobbly metal plate Vincent has come to think of as a weird mirror. It’s the best he’ll get anyway, even though he likes to steal glances at the way modern mirrors are shaped and designed so very differently than what he grew up with. He is denied any grace of a reflection though, another trade for immortality and power he thought so simple. And yet…

Sometimes when he sees Clary’s reflection, her posture held high and proud, just like she should be, Vincent’s mind drifts, wishing for a similar soul that would allow him to see himself as he is. Unlike before though, he doesn’t dwell on it. The knowledge simply is, passing briefly through him, but barely leaving an impact.

Now, he’s in front of his almost-mirror, that twists and turns his shape and everything around him, that Cai got rid of again after what happened the first and last time Vincent had it in his room. The dent –a reminder of what happened– is still visible, distorting the reflections even more. It surprises him that Cai didn’t throw it away and instead just disposed of it in this room, that holds so many memories but mostly also old possessions they can’t seem to bring themselves to get rid of. 

Today, the twins have decided to declutter and Vincent is more than delighted to help. Maybe his vampiric strength couldn’t protect him, but now it can help with the mundane chores that come with everyday life, and maybe that's worth something more too.

Which is how he ended up here, once again face to face with his own warped reflection, and he can’t help but stare. He looks…different?

Logically, Vincent knows he shouldn’t look the same as he did after years of starvation and torture, that he prefers to bury in some dark corner of his mind. But without a reliable method of visualising himself, and too afraid of appearing eternally, cursedly bloodstained, he never dwelled too long on how his body might look, never even debated asking Clary or Cai. It was for the better that way. 

He’s not bloodsoaked though, his hands are not stained with ash sticking to him like goo, the scars where he ripped his own skin off in an attempt to cleanse himself of the reminder are long gone.

Instead, as he steps forward to take a closer look, he finds that his face seems softer. Gone are the hard edges carved by malnutrition, the sunken-in eyes setting shadows over what remains of Henry. His now rounded jawline is a stark contrast to what it used to be, and together with his slightly plump cheeks, feign a picture of youth.  Against all odds and the passing of centuries, he feels like twenty-two again, when he was still unburdened with immortality and foolishly wishing for a change. 

His hair is changed too, though he consciously worked towards that. He knows from the way it feels, his curls finally getting defined, the length cut regularly. It takes work, but it feels nice, so nice to finally have something only he can control.

Suddenly, a stray thought overcomes him, and Vincent sheepishly looks around for any onlookers, even though his vampiric hearing already tells him that the twins are busy in the living room. Hesitantly, almost afraid of what he will see, Vincent lifts his jumper up.

Maybe he should feel embarrassed at such a childish action, but right now his curiosity overwhelms any sort of shame. 

He chose the jumper by himself too, just like he decides how his hair looks, even though Clary said it makes him look like a grandfather, said that he is finally acting his age. Before, he would have scrambled to rip the fabric off of his body in a desperate attempt to please her again, but now he knows that she is joking. It feels good to know.

His skin is more lifelike, a blush shining through the paleness that makes him look like a dead man. It’s not just that though. Where once protruding ribs used to sit, he can’t even see his bones now, not even a hint when he stretches. It’s a hard-earned layer of fat, chubbiness he’d never take for granted

All of it is both a gift and a symbol, showing the care of feeding him every single day even when it comes at a cost to the twins. He can’t even remember the last time someone showed him such consideration, and it must have been back with Henry, two lifetimes ago, but now that thought doesn’t fill him with the same sadness anymore that it did before. 

He is not just grieving something of the past. Care was given once before and it will be given again, no matter how unlikely that still feels to him. Every moment he spends with Clary shows him that. Despite it all, life became good again.

It feels almost easy to believe, that his flesh and skin are ignorant of what happened, that the memory went past them like a light breeze, leaving no mark. Like seeking a thrill, Vincent looks for the imprints he once saw, collaring his neck, tainting his heart and hips. He–

He can find none.

Like a piece of paper left blank, he feels oddly empty. Even without seeing them, he had grown accustomed to expecting them there. The knowledge painting a clear picture spoken in dark, hand-shaped prints holding onto him forever. Something even death could never erase, and yet… And yet he finds himself devoid of such things, finds himself almost—

He cannot finish that thought, cannot think further, not yet. 

The curiosity that had taken hold of him made room for a wondrous disbelieve. Vincent looks closer, he finally does, expecting to see contradictions to the fickle hope bubbling in his chest like a new heart.

Another person stares back. 

Not the timid boy, with his eternally lowered gaze for reasons he couldn’t understand, hunching his back to make himself as unassuming as possible, always, next to everyone else. Born soft and squishy just to force himself into a rigid form, fitting in with expectations he could never hold, his spine bending under the weight. That never changed, not even after becoming a vampire, especially not with Lyfelde. One head held up high, the other forcefully pushed down. 

That’s not who he sees, though. Instead, he sees a young man, standing straight, only bending through the warbling mirror. There is a shine in his Henry-green eyes, and for a moment Vincent thinks that if someone were to look in his face, they’d notice his eyes first and the scar second. Maybe, the scar wouldn’t catch their attention at all. 

He can’t remember the last time was allowed to look this soft, the last time he allowed it himself. It goes beyond his rounded cheeks that bring back an air of innocent youth, beyond the comfy sweaters with the good texture. It’s the smile that comes to him easier, the glimmer it brings to his eyes, the silly laugh at stupid things he isn’t afraid to hide. It’s the piles of books, old and new, about linguistics, and the evenings where Clary listens to his rambles. It’s that somehow, before this moment, he had never noticed it all like this, never noticed the meaning beyond the thankfulness that occasionally overwhelms him.

It’s that all of this has never been touched by Lyfelde.

Maybe some of his impact will never leave Vincent, like the honour of creating the last scar his body could ever remember. Maybe he will never be who he was before Lyfelde. But, and the thought makes him feel almost giddy, he is not who he was with Lyfelde anymore either. A metamorphosis maybe, two- or threefold, a life categorised by before’s and after’s but never always’.  

Vincent hopes –victoriously–, that if Lyfelde saw him today, with all of his joy, and love, and caring friends that are starting to feel like family, he would be unrecognisable to him.

[queermentaldisaster]

I crave soft Ghoap...

Give me Ghost constantly avoiding sexual intimacy with Soap because he's still working through that trauma from Roba.

Give me Ghost breaking down, feeling like he's a horrible boyfriend because he can't even be intimate with his boyfriend.

Give me Soap finding him in the midst of the breakdown and helping him through it.

Give me Ghost Simon opening up to Soap Johnny

Give me Johnny telling him that he'll wait until Simon is ready.

Give me their first time.

Give me Johnny comforting Simon and reassuring him the whole time.

Give me soft and tender Ghoap sex.

Give me Johnny helping Simon work through his trauma the best he can.

[foxy-eva]

Warm Embrace

Summary: Spencer and his wife explore ways to be intimate with each other after a traumatic event

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut

Please read the CW, this story contains potentially triggering topics! 

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) referenced past SA of Reader (non-graphic), implied flashbacks, trauma related sexual problems, conversations about sex and intimacy, nudity, kissing, mutual masturbation, handjob, thigh riding

Word count: 5.4k

Masterlist

“Spencer?” Your voice echoed through the apartment when you stepped through the door and found no sign of your husband. 

A distant sound came from the bathroom. “In here!” 

After a quiet knock on the door and his confirmation that you could step in, you found Spencer sitting in the bathtub. The room was filled with the lavender scent of the bath soap and what you could see of his body was covered in bubbles. It almost looked comical how his knees stuck out of the water, making it obvious that the tub was not big enough to accommodate his long limbs. 

“I was too tired to take a shower,” he explained after discovering your curious expression. 

“I can see that,” you laughed. “I thought you hated taking baths.”

“Honestly, I think I’m starting to understand why you like them so much. This isn't too bad.”

You stood there for a few moments, smiling at the sight in front of you. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, you slowly began shedding your clothes. 

“Mind if I join you?” you wondered. 

Nothing about this situation would be unusual for any other married couple. Just a few months ago neither of you would have questioned your actions. Back then initiating any form of intimacy with each other felt natural and familiar. 

Things were different now, though. 

Spencer cleared his throat and shifted his position. “Are you sure about this?”

There was a reason to ask. For the past months any attempt to get close to each other resulted in you crying for the rest of the night. Something as simple as him placing his hand on your thigh was enough to startle you. 

A sigh rolled over your lips as you dropped your shirt to the floor. “No,” you confessed. “But I miss you.”

“I’m right here,” he reminded you.

That was not what you meant and he knew that. Of course he understood the meaning of your words. Spencer was well aware of the fact that ever since that son of a bitch hurt you, you fought a constant battle between wanting his nearness and pushing him away. 

Your husband gave you the space you needed and was there to hold you whenever you’d let him. It couldn't have been easy for him either but he never once complained about this new reality you had a live. 

A reality where that person took something from you that you’d never get back. It was hard to shake this feeling of being tainted after having your physical integrity stripped away like that. You were distant and closed off when it came to intimacy, despite your best efforts to get back to what once was normal. It had been months since Spencer even saw you unclothed.

That was about to change. 

Slowly, you pulled down your pants before reaching back to undo your bra. Spencer's sight followed the piece of clothing as it dropped to the floor before settling on your face again. 

“Stop profiling me,” you warned him with a playful undertone in your voice. 

“Sorry, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

By pulling down your panties, you shed your last piece of clothing, leaving you completely bare in front of your husband. It was a strange feeling to reveal yourself to him. It felt new yet familiar to allow him to see you. 

However, he didn't dare to look, even when you approached the tub. It wasn't clear whether he just tried to be respectful or if seeing you like this for the first time after months was too much for him to bear. His reaction reminded you that he never answered your question about you joining him. Maybe he was the one who wasn’t okay with this. 

Spencer’s eyes widened as he noticed the change of your mood before you did. Within a split second your heart started pounding and you stepped back to reach for your bathrobe. 

“Sorry, this was a stupid idea,” you muttered as you turned around to shield your body from his sight and your heart from the rejection. 

“My love,” he cooed from behind you.

The sound of splashing water gave away that he was exiting the tub. From the corner of your eyes you saw how he reached for his own robe. 

You felt his presence behind you. “Can I touch you?”

You nodded as you turned around, finding him wrapped in his robe with water still dripping from his jawline. Spencer reached out his hands to pull you into his arms. 

“What just happened?” He wondered, his voice laced with concern. 

Before you could think about it, you mumbled, “You didn't want to look at me.”

Your husband thought about your words for a moment, replaying the scene that had just unfolded in his mind. What you said wasn’t true. He wanted to look at you, to admire you fully like he had done countless times before. 

“I was afraid it would make you uncomfortable,” he confessed as he pulled back to be able to find your eyes. 

It was hard to read your expression which was not surprising considering you were mostly confused about your current state yourself.

“I miss the way you used to look at my body. I miss being close to you,” you whispered and paused for a moment. “I miss… sex.”

He closed his eyes before placing an innocent kiss on your forehead. “I know,” he breathed. Me too, he thought.

“Do you still think about it?” You wanted to know. 

“Sex?” 

Nodding, you watched his facial features intently. Ever since your attack, there were many occasions when the two of you had tiptoed around this subject. But never before had you been so blunt about it. 

It seemed like he was looking for the right words. “Yes, I do,” was what he settled on.

Raising your eyebrows, you asked, “With me?” 

The insecurity in your question wasn’t lost on Spencer but he still couldn't hold back a breathy laugh. “Of course, silly girl. You're my wife.”

“It’s just been so long that I would understand if you ever thought about doing it with someone else.”

“Stop that right now,” he said with a firm yet loving tone. “I would never cheat on you.” 

A shaky breath escaped your throat before you dared to say what had been bugging you for weeks now. “What if I’ll never be ready? What if things won’t ever be like before?” 

“That would be okay, too,” he reassured you. “There are many ways to create nearness and intimacy. Sex is just one way but it’s not necessary. At least for me it’s not.” 

“So you’d be okay to live without sex?” 

“Before I met you I thought that was my only option,” he quipped. 

You knew there had been a handful of women before you but you appreciated his joke nonetheless. It made you smile. 

Spencer let his fingertips brush over your cheeks. “But to answer your question, yes, I would be okay with that.”

His words were genuine. The way he looked at you with the most loving expression made your heart jump. The amber of his irises radiated a warmth you could get drunk on. You nestled your head against his chest and he held you even closer against his body. He was right. Sex wasn’t necessary to create nearness. However, you were still curious about what else you felt safe enough to try. 

“I want to get into the bathtub with you,” you whispered. “And I want you to look at me.” 

Loosening the embrace, you looked at your husband. With a nod he confirmed that he wanted that, too. 

With shaking fingers you brushed over his robe before gripping the material. “And I want to see you, too.”

Together you helped each other out of your robes until you stood bare in front of each other. You took a moment to admire the man in front of you. It had been a while since you had seen him like that. Unlike you he didn't deliberately hide his body from your sight but there hadn’t been many occasions in the past few months that allowed you to see him unclothed. 

His body looked familiar yet different at the same time. His tummy was a little bit softer than you remembered and you imagined what it would feel like underneath your palm. 

Spencer dared to let his eyes drop down to take in every inch of skin within sight. The way he looked at you made your skin tingle and you noticed how it broke out in goosebumps. 

“You're so beautiful,” he purred as he tentatively brushed over your arms. 

Tilting your head, you placed a soft kiss on his lips before breathing against them, “So are you.”

He took your hand in his to walk you over to the bathtub. Your husband got in first, bending his knees in an attempt to make himself smaller than he was. There was enough space to join him, a relieved sigh falling from your lips when you felt the warm water enveloping your body. 

First you sat a little awkwardly opposite one another for a few moments before you felt confident enough to get closer. Gently, you placed your hands on his knees to part them before moving closer to lean against his body sitting between his legs. Spencer’s heart pounded rapidly against his ribcage as you nestled against his chest. 

“Is that okay?” You wanted to make sure. 

“Yeah, I uh… I’m not sure where to put my hands,” he chuckled and you noticed how they hovered above the edge of the bathtub. 

Taking his hands in yours, you guided them towards the water, placing them underneath your chest. Even though you expected his touch, you still jerked when you felt his palms make contact with your body. 

Instinctively, your husband wanted to retract his hands again but you held them still with your own palms pressed against them. Once the initial shock faded, you were certain that you wanted to be held exactly like that. 

A part of you still wanted to fight this vulnerable situation but a much bigger, much more confident part longed to be close to the love of your life. 

It was as if Spencer sensed your ambiguity. “You okay?” 

“Yes,” you confirmed. Then you thought about the way your body flinched when he touched you. It had happened before each time Spencer had touched you in places that he had touched, too. “I just feel like my body has to relearn a couple of things.”

Spencer nodded before finally being able to relax a bit. He leaned back while holding you against him, relishing the sensation of having you close without any barriers between you. Just for a moment he forgot about what had happened to you and to your own surprise, so did you. 

For the following weeks you made it a new habit to take baths with each other. There was something so sweet about getting clean together, it became a sacred ritual you wanted to repeat over and over. 

Slowly but surely you got more comfortable around Spencer. There was a time when you didn't think it was possible that the two of you would cuddle every night and every morning without constantly having to fear that you’d freak out at any given moment. 

But just like that it happened. Spencer didn't have to think twice about hugging you from behind and leaving a feather-light kiss on your neck. He didn't hesitate to pull you into his arms when he woke up before you. 

He did however wake up in shock and almost jumped out of bed when one morning he realized he had sleepily pressed his erection against your thigh. Having woken up before him, you had noticed it, too. You could have easily moved away but found no reason to do so.

“I’m so sorry,” Spencer murmured as he moved away from you, his voice still sounding raspy from his slumber.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Spencer. I know basic biology,” you snickered. “Now come back here.”

Hesitantly, he moved back towards your open arms. The warmth you radiated was too hard to resist so it took very little convincing for him to find his place inside your embrace again. 

Gentle fingertips danced along his arms, making him hum in contentment. It had always amazed you how his skin felt so particularly soft and tender in the morning. His curls hung unruly from his head and you couldn't resist intertwining your fingers with them. 

You thought back to the many times you had woken up like this. Back then when it still was normal for your hands to become curious enough to explore every curve and dip of each other’s bodies. 

It was odd to think about before. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime away, other times it felt like nothing had ever changed. It made you feel like the man who hurt you had the power to bring a new time reckoning upon you. You didn't want him to. 

It only spurred you further on to fully reclaim your body again. 

Your fingers found Spencer’s jaw to tilt his head just enough for you to be able to kiss him. His lips felt so soft as he slowly reciprocated your actions. It was sweet and innocent at first but your desire to feel more of him only grew the longer you kissed. Slightly shifting your leg you could feel his hardness again, making him whimper at the sudden pressure against it. 

As your hand found its way under his shirt, you brushed over the softness of his tummy. Shaking fingertips followed the trail of hair leading further down before changing their direction and moving upwards to feel his chest. The beating of his heart was faster than usual, almost erratic. 

With cautious motions he mirrored your eagerness and let his palm wander beneath your shirt as well. You deepened the kiss when you felt his fingers wander over your waist, leaving goosebumps on their path. Spencer became hungry, almost desperate as his tongue brushed over yours, melting into you in a way he hadn’t for too long. 

It was what you longed for too, what you had been hoping to finally be ready for. 

Then he touched your breast and it all came crashing down again. 

“Stop!” 

Healing really wasn’t linear. 

In an instant Spencer retracted his hand and leaned back to give you some space. Widened eyes looked back at him and it took both of you a second to realize what had just happened. Before he could apologize, you did. 

“I’m sorry… I really thought I was okay with that.”

For a moment Spencer closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Then he looked at you again, a soft expression on his face. “Please don’t ever feel the need to apologize for that,” he cooed. 

Unlike other times, you were able to calm down quickly. Instead of pushing your husband further away, you still yearned for his proximity. He seemed surprised when you moved closer to him again to lay your head down on his chest. Content to still have the privilege to hold you close, he wrapped his arms around you before a relieved sigh fell from his lips. 

There was no need to leave the comfort of your shared bed just yet, so you just lay there together, basking in each other’s warmth. 

Spencer placed a gentle kiss into your hair before breathing, “I love you.” 

“I love you more.”

You tried your best to be kind to yourself in that moment. It was a learning opportunity for you. Just a few weeks ago lying close to your husband like that was unthinkable. Even if they felt like baby steps at the time, it was still progress. 

The images of recent intimate encounters flooded your mind and let a pleasant calmness spread through your body. Spencer’s kisses tasted sweet and made you feel insatiable, always longing for more. Feeling his skin pressed against yours as he held you close in the bathtub enveloped you in a safe feeling unlike anything else. 

You thought back to those rare moments when you considered taking things further lately, just like you had tried just now. There was something you had wondered about. 

“I have noticed that when we cuddle…,” you began your sentence, unsure of how to continue. “Even when we’re naked in the bathtub together, you uhm… never get aroused? That was very different before.” 

Spencer cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he let out an awkward laugh. “I try really hard not to. I think about baseball a lot.” 

His response confused you. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you raised your eyebrows at him. “You think about baseball when we’re taking baths together? You don’t even like sports.” 

Spencer just shrugged and added, “Sometimes I try to solve equations, too.”

“Please don’t do that anymore,” you pleaded as you laid back down beside him. “It makes me feel good to see you’re still interested in me.” 

“Of course I am still interested. I just really do not want to make you uncomfortable or feel pressured in any way.”

Your words were genuine when you said, “I don’t think that will happen. I actually really liked seeing you in all of your morning glory earlier.”

Your husband smiled at you. “Yeah?”

A smirk formed on your face. “It reminded me of the countless times we were both late for work because we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves after waking up.” 

“That was fun,” Spencer chuckled. “What wasn’t fun though was the conversation I had to have with Hotch after being late four days in a row.” 

His words made you laugh, too. Then, after a few moments of comfortable silence, your husband hesitantly asked, “Can I ask you something?” 

Tilting your head to find his eyes, you responded, “Of course.”

“You don’t have to answer this but I’m wondering… Do you ever get aroused in those moments, too?” 

You were used to talking openly about intimacy with your husband, that had always been a normal part of your relationship. His question didn't feel odd and you wanted to respond to it. 

For a long time after what happened, your longing to feel his nearness wasn’t connected to any sexual desires. At times you even felt like your libido had gotten lost entirely. Recently that had changed. 

More and more you had become aware of the little spark inside you that was ignited when you were with him. It was very different from the burning flame that was there before but your desire grew each time you were together. 

“Lately, yes,” you sincerely answered. Thinking about it some more, you decided to share another detail with him. “I even started uhm… touching myself again.”

Spencer seemed a little surprised by your response. “You did? That's good to hear.” His palm brushed gently over your arm when he added, “I can imagine that's a good way to feel a connection to your body and your needs.” 

For a second you thought he might start one of his ramblings to share all his knowledge about the health benefits of masturbating. He didn't, though. 

“Yeah, it feels nice. Almost normal,” you said instead. “I obviously still have a long way to go when it comes to sex but… I finally feel like I’ll actually get there, eventually.”

“There's no rush,” he reminded you. “We have all the time in the world.” 

Your lips met his in a tender kiss. “Thank you for being so patient with me.” 

After a few more moments of enjoying each other's company, it was time to get up and get ready for the workday. That night you found yourself tangled up in bed with your husband again. 

As you breathed in his scent and felt the heat radiating off his skin, you noticed it again – the little spark inside your chest flared up and spread a tingling sensation through your body. 

Your mouth found Spencer's neck to leave a trail of kisses along it, before it moved over his jawline and found his lips at last. He hummed when you kissed him and you could feel his fingertips twitching against your waist. 

It didn't take long until you deepened the kiss, a quiet moan slipping through your lips when Spencer’s tongue found yours. 

With your body pressed against his you didn't allow any distance between the two of you. It still wasn’t enough for you, though. There was too much fabric in the way of really feeling close to him. 

Your hand moved to the hem of his shirt to grip it and impatiently push it upwards. Spencer moved with you as you pulled it over his head. When your fingers moved to the waistband of his pajama pants next, he interrupted the kiss to find your eyes. 

A smile was painted over your face when you nodded, reassuring him that you were okay. You weren’t sure yet where exactly this was going but you felt safe enough to explore your options.

“We can stop or slow down at any point,” he reminded you.

“I know.”

After kissing him again, you sat up so you could continue undressing him. Slowly you pulled down his pants, an audible breath falling from your lips when you saw he was already half-hard. 

Spencer scanned your face for any sign of discomfort but found none. What he saw instead was excitement and curiosity. It made him smile. 

He sat up and brushed his hands over the fabric of your shirt. By lifting your arms over your head you gave him the sign he needed to remove the piece of fabric. He gently motioned for you to lay back down before he made contact with your hips, carefully brushing over your pajama shorts. 

There was no hesitation to be found when you lifted your hips for him to pull them down, without ever breaking eye contact. You thought about how different this situation was from being naked with him in the bathtub. Some parts of you remained hidden from him even then. 

You wanted him to see you, even when being exposed to him like that still felt a little scary.

After he had dropped the last piece of clothing on the floor, you dared to open your thighs for him to see every part of you. A rosy shade spread over his cheeks as he dared to look at you. It reminded you of when you were with him for the very first time many years ago. 

Just like then, he breathed, “You're so beautiful.” 

You could feel how some arousal had already gathered at your center and wondered if Spencer could see the glistening. By the way his pupils dilated you had a hunch that he did. 

Then, after he had fully taken in your beauty, it was as if he was frozen in place. He used to be so confident in situations like that, knowing your body better than his own and never questioning his next move. Things were very different now and you both sensed it. 

His eyes met yours and it became obvious how unsure he was of how to proceed. 

Opening your arms, you cooed, “Come here, love.” 

He seemed relieved when he lay back down beside you again. You wanted to kiss him but he hesitated. 

After a moment, he suggested, “I think it would be helpful if you talked to me more. I need you to tell me exactly what you want to do.”

“I’m figuring this out as we go, too,” you explained. “Right now I don't know where this is going. I only know that I really want to kiss you.”

His nose brushed against yours. “I would really like that, too.”

Just a split second later you got lost in another kiss. The way your bodies were pressed against one another while your lips were connected let you briefly forget where your body ended and his began. After shifting your position, you became well aware of that again. 

Spencer was fully hard now and his erection was firmly pressed against your thigh. You moved your leg slightly, prompting him to whimper into your mouth. The hand on your waist moved down to your hip and his fingertips pressed into your skin. 

“Hey,” you mumbled against his lips. “Can we slow down for a moment?” 

His grip on your hip lightened immediately before he moved his hand back up to your waist. Spencer placed one last peck on your mouth and pulled back. “Do you want to stop?” 

You shook your head. “No, I just need a little break. To make sure it doesn't get too much.” 

The truth was that you felt really good in that moment. Excited, loved and so, so turned on. It just felt safer to take things slowly. Gently you pushed against his shoulder until he was lying on his back. You found your home inside his arms. 

Your lips grazed over his cheek as you breathed, “How are you feeling, Spencer?” 

He chuckled at your question. “You have no idea how good I’m feeling right now.” 

As you let your head rest on his shoulder, you dared to look down at his body. The extent of his desire laid on his stomach and you noticed how a bead of precum had formed at his tip. Your fingers itched to touch him, to remember how hot and heavy his cock always felt inside your palm. 

A curious hand made its way down his chest, over the side of his stomach, brushing along his thigh. For a second you hesitated but then you let your palm hover over his hardness. 

Then you felt a pit form in your stomach and decided to retract your hand again. It might have just been your nervousness but that didn't change the fact that you couldn't continue in this moment. 

Your husband had watched each of your motions intently. It was obvious that he was burning to find relief. 

Tilting your head to find his eyes, you purred, “I want you to feel good.”

“It’s okay, my love. You don’t have to,” he reminded you.

You knew that, of course. There was still something else you could do together. 

As you began kissing his neck, his throat vibrated under your lips and a moan escaped his mouth. Then, you whispered into his ear, “I want you to touch yourself.”

Spencer’s eyes widened at your request and the rosy color on his cheeks turned a shade darker. It seemed like he needed a little more encouragement, so you lay back down inside his arm and opened your legs to give yourself access. 

“Okay, I’ll start,” you teased as you let your hand wander down your own body. 

Mesmerized by the sight, his eyes followed the path of your fingers. When you parted your folds to access your most sensitive spot, Spencer hissed a curse. 

The honeyed wetness between your legs made it easy for your fingertips to move through your folds. It felt relieving to touch yourself like that. Just like Spencer you were yearning for release. 

When your husband heard your heavy sighs as you pleasured yourself, he couldn't hold back anymore. You watched as his hand found his cock, a view that let your heart pound inside your chest. 

First, he wrapped his fingers around his shaft and squeezed, prompting droplets of his arousal to run down his tip. Then, he swiped his thumb over the leaking head before he slowly began moving up and down. Your mouth hung open as you watched that sinful scene unfold in front of you. 

As Spencer accelerated the pace of his fist, sounds of pleasure filled the room. His eyebrows were scrunched up and desperation was written all over his face. 

He had never looked more beautiful.

Distracted by the mesmerizing view, the hand at your core stopped moving. Instead of continuing, you let it wander away from your body to touch Spencer’s thigh. Before you could overthink it, your hand kept moving to his center. 

A heavy breath fell from his lips as your fingertips cautiously brushed over the velvety skin of his balls, making his body jerk underneath you. Smiling to yourself, you remembered how sensitive he was. 

Spencer stopped moving his hand, waiting to see how you’d proceed. When you touched the soft curls at his base, he whimpered. It was then that you realized that you were not scared anymore and that your nervousness had turned into excitement. 

“Can I continue?”

Spencer audibly gulped before removing his hand. “Yes… please.” 

When you wrapped your fingers around his length, both of you moaned in unison. Holding him in your hand like that felt both familiar and novel at the same time. You started moving your palm and quickly remembered how exactly he liked to be touched. 

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Feels good!” 

With all the built-up tension and those months of abstinence, it only took a few moments until Spencer was getting close to reaching his point of no return. Familiar with all the telltale signs of his impending climax, you continued caressing him. Coming closer to his undoing, his cock twitched inside your palm and his entire body started quivering. 

His release began spilling over your hand and onto his stomach while he kept pulsing against your fingers. You kissed his jaw and his neck before you reached for the tissues on your nightstand to do some damage control of the mess you had created. 

Your husband’s chest was still heaving when you finished cleaning him up. Concern was written all over his face when he found your eyes.

He pulled you back into his embrace as he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah I am. That was really fun,” you snickered. 

Spencer's hand brushed over your back as he placed a soft kiss on your mouth. “Do you want me to touch you?”

The truth was that your entire body was aching for his touch. You could feel the heat burning between your legs and were aware that your arousal had started coating the insides of your thighs. It had been a long time since you’d felt so turned on. 

And yet, the thought of him actually doing something about it made you nervous. 

“I’m not sure,” you admitted. “I would like to kiss you again, though.”

He let out a breathy laugh before finding your mouth once more. Feeling his lips on yours only blazed up the fire burning inside you. You shifted your position until you were hovering over your husband, one of his thighs pressed between yours. 

Tentatively you began rocking your hips against his leg, sighing as you realized how pleasant the friction was. 

“Is that okay?” You breathed against his lips as you kept moving. 

“More than okay,” he reassured you. “Use my body however you like.”

You sat up as you ground against his skin, feeling him tense his thigh underneath you. Taking his hands in yours, you placed them on your hips so he could help you move. Soon you had created a mess on his leg as you spread your wetness along his skin. 

With your entire entire body twitching, your motions became erratic. Looking down at Spencer, you found him staring at you with lust-filled eyes and a wicked grin painted over his face. 

As you danced along the edge of euphoria, you forgot your surroundings. It was only you and him right then. “I love you,” you whimpered and before your husband could respond, you collapsed into his arms as pleasure overcame you. You kept pressing your core against his leg as your whole body shook. 

Spencer held you firmly inside his arms as you came down from your high. He kissed your forehead and whispered, “I love you more.”

After your heart rate had come down to a normal frequency and you weren’t panting anymore, you kissed your husband. 

“How are you feeling?” He wanted to know. 

“Good. And also a little sticky,” you snickered, hinting at the mess you had created between your legs. 

“Yeah, me too,” Spencer chuckled. “How about I run us a bath so we can get cleaned up?” 

The prospect of that made your heart flutter. “That sounds wonderful.”

Author's Note: Writing this story took me two years and I am so relieved I was finally able to get it to paper. I hope reading it felt as cathartic for you as writing it was for me. Thank you for reading! I would really appreciate a reblog and a comment.

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter VI - One Flesh, One Heart, One Soul

Summary: After marrying in the Faith of the Seven, you and Aemond are ready to consummate your marriage. But something has been troubling him about it and you are determined to get to the bottom of this before finally giving in to your desires.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 10k (on the dot!)

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); p in v sex; hand job; fingering; switch!Aemond (leaning more towards sub!Aemond); jealousy; referenced past SA (Aemond talks about the time Aegon took him to the Street of Silk) and it's consequences to oneself (please please read carefully)

Notes: Hello everyone! You thought this story was over, didn’t you? Well, it is not. I just took a really long time writing this chapter. Because of this, the first thing I’d like to do is apologize. I’m sorry for taking so long, I got caught up in some college work and this huge event I help organize, and it took me quite a while to finish that (and not only that, as you can see by the word count, this chapter is one chonky boi, for the more I wrote the more I wanted to write and I just couldn’t stop.) Anyway, here it is and I’m sorry once again.

TW: Please please read the warnings, this one does talk about SA and it’s repercussions and consequences to oneself, (it doesn’t happen during the story, it’s only mentions of past events). If this is something you are uncomfortable with feel free to skip this one, put yourself and your own comfort first, only read it if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Stay safe!

This story will have more parts to it, but like I said, I’ve been having a lot of work to do (a shame I can’t just write all day, but meh, c'est la vie) so I won’t be able to update weekly like with the previous chapters and updates will take a little while longer.

Also, I used an online translator (I don’t know if it’s grammatically correct, I’ll just roll with it, if someone spots any mistakes please let me know and I’ll correct it right away), translations are in the end notes.

I am really proud of how this one turned out, really, I’d even dare say (throwing modesty out the window entirely) it’s one of my favorite works of mine so far. So I really hope you enjoy this one as much as I did! Thank you so so much for reading!

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Your feet were killing you. There was no other way to describe it. You yearned to finally retire to your marital chambers and take off these dreaded shoes, but alas you had to entertain the guests for a little while longer at least.

“What troubles you, ābrazȳrys?” your husband asked from beside you.

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with, valzȳrys.” you smiled softly at him, your heart clenching at his concern.

Husband.

After four whole moons you could finally call Aemond your husband. Twice over in fact. Not only were you married in the Faith of the Seven, as per his mother’s and grandsire’s wishes, but Daemon and your mother had organized a ceremony for you to be wed in the ways of Old Valyria (after which your step-father had jested, asking if you were to consummate the marriage already or wait until after the second ceremony at the sept, earning a slap on the shoulder from Rhaenyra and a chuckle from Laenor. Aemond had in turn blushed profusely, and you thought the pink hue that dusted his cheeks suited him, wanting to see it more often).

Laenor had stayed with you in your chambers, running his fingers through your hair until you fell asleep. He had woken you by dawn, reluctantly saying he had to go, for Daemon had arranged a ship to take him back, but he needed to leave as early as possible as to not risk being seen by anyone. You said your goodbyes with tears rolling down your cheeks, for you felt this was the last time you’d ever see him again, though he did tell you to pay him a visit in Qarth should you ever find your way to Essos before disappearing through the secret tunnels of Maegor’s Holdfast.

You barely managed to fall back asleep after that, too eager to start the day already. Both Rhaenyra and Alicent insisted on helping you get ready, you and your mother sharing complicit smiles every time your good mother referred to her son as your ‘soon to be’ husband. The ceremony itself went by without a hitch, with Aemond placing his cloak, in a mixture of both green and black colors, over your shoulders and kissing you tenderly afterwards.

The feast was grand, with almost every major house having been invited. You had saved your first dance for Aemond, but quickly switched partners and danced with Helaena, then with Baela, Jace, Luke and even with Aegon, though the last one was short lived for Aemond, not at all enjoying the sight of his brother’s grubby hands all over you, not so gently pushed him aside and resumed as your partner once more. You felt happy, happier than you had been in several years. Your family, or most of it, was reunited again, celebrating love and not fighting a senseless war like you feared they would.

And now, even though you were having a splendid time, you were counting the minutes until you could finally retire and spend some time alone with your husband. 

“I cannot believe you are going to forego the bedding.” Aegon groaned from next to you “It is tradition.” to which you had to hold Aemond back from reaching across from you and strangling his brother as the latter cackled.

In the moons that followed your betrothal you had noticed that, whenever someone who wasn’t you made any reference to anything involving your marital bed or your marital duties, Aemond would tense up. Anyone else would think the way his shoulders straightened was a demonstration of pride, a man who couldn’t wait to bed his future wife, but you had come to know him better than that. While you had no doubt he was eager to lay with you, you knew his stiffness stemmed from somewhere else, somewhere he had yet to disclose. Where most saw him preening with pride you noticed him shrinking back in on himself.

So you requested, more, begged your mother to forbid the bedding ceremony, much to Aegon’s dismay, claiming you weren’t comfortable with the situation and you were the one who wanted privacy. It wasn’t technically a lie, for you truly wanted to share this moment with your husband only, but you wanted to get to the bottom of the issue first. She was quick to agree, and anyone who complained that it entailed breaking tradition got a scorn filled glare from her and a reminder that, as Queen, her word was final. The only condition, set by some of the men in the Small Council, was that you deliver the linens to one of the maesters in the morrow as proof of your virtue.

Aemond must have noticed you slumping in your chair, tiredness seeping into your bones from hours upon hours of celebration, for he stood from his seat and extended a hand to you.

“Shall we retire for the evening, my love?”

My love. 

The moniker set your cheeks aflame as you smiled softly at him, glancing briefly at your mother, seeking her permission to be excused. She nodded softly, mentioning something about retiring as well to check on Visenya. You accepted his hand and both of you left the great hall amidst praises and cheers from the guests. 

As you approached his, now yours as well, chambers you could see him getting progressively more fidgety. If it was due to nerves or anticipation you could not tell. He opened the door for you, allowing you to step inside and take in the room, the things you had requested the servants to move from your previous quarters already in place.  

“I have something for you.” he spoke hurriedly, almost as soon as the door was closed “A wedding gift, if you will.”

“What is it?” you watched him cross the space towards a chest nestled against the wall, rummaging inside. When he turned back to you in his hands laid a sheathed sword, a large sapphire resting on the top of the handle, almost where it met the blade, catching your eye.

“I had a little help from my uncle to get the measurements correct for you.” he extended the sword to you which you took from him almost reverently, running your fingers delicately over the intricate golden designs of the sheath.

Your eyes were filled with wonder as you pulled the blade out of the sheath, noticing how smooth and shiny the metal was. There was something different about the steel, it was more vibrant than what you were used to seeing, softer, yet somehow almost… sharper.

Aemond must have seen your questioning gaze aimed at the sword for he smiled, an almost proud smirk adorning his features as he explained.

“Valyrian steel.” you whipped your head to stare at him, astonished “Jewelry from all over the realm made of valyrian steel was melted and added to the steel alloy.”

This was a lot. It was such a thoughtful gift, made just for you by your husband that it almost brought tears to your eyes.

“I know it is not the same as an actual valyrian steel sword, like Dark Sister, but those are even harder to come by.” he started rambling, taking your silence as a sign you didn’t enjoy the gift “And it is not made with the same technique, as it was lost after the Doom-”

“It is perfect.” you cut him off, gazing at him with eyes full of emotion “It is absolutely perfect, valzȳrys, thank you. How did you manage to find the jewelry?”

“I have my ways.” he shrugged, as if unbothered.

He hummed in contentment, his face softening as he took a step closer to you.

“I also had a belt made just for you.” he stepped even closer, his gaze turning slightly darker, as if he was a predator stalking its prey “So you can wear your sword around court. All day, every day.” his finger stroked the sapphire on the handle as his lips grazed your ear “I want all to know how fierce of a woman my lady wife is.”

He closed the gap between your mouths, claiming your lips in a soft yet passionate kiss. It was over all too soon as he pulled away from you, but thankfully he didn’t go far. He took the sword from your hands, resheathing it and placing the gift on a nearby table, before kissing you again.

His arms circled around your waist and clung to your back as he kissed you hungrily, like if he didn’t get a taste of your lips he would die of starvation. His kisses left you burning from the inside, wishing, craving more.

Yet, as you placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself you noticed how tense he was. You couldn’t help but take in the way his hands trembled as he started unlacing the back of your gown. 

“Aemond.” you tried pulling away, to look at him properly, but he chased after you, not wanting to be parted from your lips. He only stopped when you gently grabbed his cheeks and had to physically pry himself from you “Husband, I think we ought to talk.”

He recoiled and was out of your arms and across the room in an instant, moving so fast you barely had any time to react.

“Do you not wish to consummate our marriage?” he looked so heartbreakingly hurt for only a moment but then he steeled himself and you could sense the mask of indifference he often wore around court starting to slip back on.

“No, my love, of course not.” you rushed to his side, once again cupping his jaw urging him to look at you “I am just worried for you, is all.”

“Why should you be worried about me, ābrazȳrys?” he spoke, his tone clipped and cold, more so than it had been in a really long time. If he noticed how much his question offended you he didn’t let it show.

“Why should I not worry about you, husband?” you emphasized the last word, taking a long deep breath to steady yourself and let go of your exasperation “I just wish to know why the thought of consummating our marriage worries you so.”

It was Aemond’s turn to stare at you in confusion.

“I believe I have made it quite clear the depths of my desire for you.”

“I know, I know. And I desire you greatly as well, never doubt that even for a moment.” you sighed, worried he’d shut you out or push you away if you prodded any further, but decided to push forward regardless “It is just that, in the past few moons, whenever anyone else mentioned or even hinted at our marital duties to one another you became tense, withdrawn even.”

He looked taken aback at your words, as if he hadn’t even realized he was doing such a thing in the first place.

“I just wish to understand what ails you, my love.”

My love.

Those two words once again seemed to be what chirped at his resolve. He averted his eye, almost in shame, and turned his back to you. For a moment you feared he was going to walk out the door and leave your shared chambers altogether but he did no such thing. Instead he walked to the bed and sat down on the edge. You wondered if you should approach him or give him space, worried he’d flinch from your touch like a frightened animal, but even if he didn’t meet your gaze his body was turned towards you, open and inviting. So you took slow and deliberate steps towards him, taking your place besides him.

He stayed silent for a moment, clenching his fists as they rested on his thighs. You took one of his hands in yours, intertwining your fingers and giving it a gentle squeeze in hopes of calming his nerves. You raised your free hand towards the side of his face but stopped before you could touch him.

“May I?” you asked, and you didn’t need to say the words for him to know what you meant. Only after he nodded almost imperceptibly did you remove his eyepatch, revealing the alluring sapphire that matched the one placed on the gift he had given you. 

“Aemond.” he glanced at you, something akin to guilt clear upon his features “Remember what we told each other earlier? I am yours and you are mine. Whatever it is, your burdens are now mine to carry as well.”

You placed your hand on his cheek, caressing the edge of his scarred flesh. 

“Let me help you relieve some of that burden, please.” you practically whispered, almost begging.

For a moment he said nothing. Then he turned his head slightly, placing a kiss upon your palm.

“I have something I need to tell you.” he spoke, fear clinging to his voice.

“What is it?”

A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, wondering what could possibly be afflicting him so badly as to react like this, but nothing came to mind. So you settled on waiting for him to speak, not wanting to rush to conclusions.

“I have laid with a woman before.”

That… is not what you were expecting.

“When?” you did not know what else to say, so you settled for asking that.

“Years ago.” he shook his head, as if trying to forget “You were in Dragonstone at the time.”

You didn’t know how to react to that. You didn’t wish to dismiss his feelings, but you couldn’t seem to understand what the big deal was.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” he pulled back, almost offended 

“Yeah.” you shrugged “I fail to see what the problem is.”

“How could you say that?” he stood up, pacing back and forth in front of you in frustration.

“We were not yet involved with one another, so you were not technically bound to anyone.”

“You waited around for me-”

“I did not remain a maiden specifically for you.” you reminded him “If I were a man I, too, would probably have indulged in the pleasures of the flesh.”

“Still. I should not have sullied myself like that, it was unbecoming of someone of my position and a disrespect to you, to my future wife.”

You wanted to argue further, to make him see reason, but the disproportionate reaction to something that, to you, seemed so trivial clued you in that his troubles ran deeper than you first thought. So you stopped talking, choosing to just annalyse his mannerisms. His movements were erratic, his fingers clawing at its nail beds almost to the point of breaking the skin, a habit inherited from his mother which he almost never indulged in.

He halted when he felt your hand wrapping around his arm, the leather of the doublet cold against your skin.

“You do not have to explain yourself to me. But I feel like there is something you are not telling me.” you grabbed both of his hands in your own, kissing his knuckles tenderly “I completely understand if you do not wish to share it. We can just forget this conversation ever happened and I shall not press any further, but, husband, please, I only wish to help ease your troubles.”

Aemond paused, exhaling shakily, before averting his eyes once more. Shame and guilt emanated from him in waves as he sat back down on top of the linens. You waited for his next move, smiling softly when his arms circled around your waist and brought you closer to him, standing between his parted legs.

“On my thirteenth name day,” he shuddered softly when he felt your fingers running through his scalp, his cheek resting in your stomach as he spoke “Aegon took me to the Street of Silk, as his gift to me. I did not know where we were going, ‘a surprise’ he said.”

It was your turn to shudder, your stomach churning as you felt where his tale was headed.

“He said… he said it was time for me to become a man. To become as well versed as he was, ‘a scholar in the ways of life’. I did not understand what he meant at first, but it was clear to me soon enough.”

He turned his head, hiding his face in your stomach as his hold on you tightened. The scene reminded you so much of the last time you saw him before your years-long distance, on that fateful night on Driftmark. Looking at him now you realized that, deep down, he was still that scared little boy, hiding behind the image of the fierce, impassive warrior he had created for himself over the years. 

“Aemond, ñuha jorrāelagon,” you whispered “I get it. You do not need to continue if you wish to stop.”

He shook his head in response, desperate to get it all out now that he had already started. You supposed this was the first time he was speaking these words out loud, never having dared to utter it to a single soul before. So you tried to soothe him as best as you could, pulling the band that held his hair up in its usual half updo and letting it down, giving you more room to run your fingers through his locks, untangling the silver strands. This seemed to give him enough strength to continue, shifting his head so only his forehead was in contact with you and his words were directed to the ground below him, as if he couldn’t dare to look up at you. 

“He arranged for a… a w-whore” he spit the word out like it was poison on his tongue “to take care of me in exchange for a bag of gold, and when the woman tried to give him back the excess amount, claiming it was too much, he told her to keep it. ‘For your trouble’ he told her.”

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest at his words. You were never too fond of Aegon, especially for the way he treated both Aemond and Helaena, but this… this was vile even for him.

“He wanted to watch.” he propped his chin on your stomach, peering up at you with a round, frightened eye that was steadily brimming with tears “I did not want him to watch. The madam tried to send him away, but he insisted, saying that he was the prince and he commanded it. Thankfully he got distracted by some other woman there and left.”

“A-and how did-” you swallowed thickly, trying to stay strong for him even though your own heart shattered for the boy he once was, the boy who shaped the man he was now “how did that make you feel?” 

He shook his head once more, his gaze becoming distant, as if he was now looking through you rather than at you.

“I do not remember much.” he whispered “I just remember the stench. The whole place stunk. It reeked of sweat and wine and something… something so sickeningly sweet it was foul. Once I left I could still feel the smell clinging to me.”

One lone tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another, and then another. You cupped his cheek, your thumb catching the tears that refused to stop as he hiccuped.

“I tried washing it off. Scrubbed at my skin until it was raw and tender, but it would not go away.” his voice started to get tight “After a few days and several baths later it was still there, still lingering. I tried asking mother and even Helaena if they could feel it in me but they lied. They lied and said I smelled fine but I could feel it.” he choked back on a sob “I could feel it in me still, like it had seeped into my very bones. Sometimes when I think too hard about that night I can still feel it in my skin, like it never even left.”

His arms brought you even closer to him, almost to the point of pain, as if he was trying to completely merge his very being into you.

“I know I shouldn’t have.” his gaze focused on you once more, eye pleading for you, his tone bordering on desperation “Forgive me, please, mandianna! I shouldn’t have gone there in the first place, I shouldn’t have-”

“Qȳbor, stop.” you whispered softly, not wanting to aggravate him when he was this vulnerable “You have nothing to apologize for. You were only a child.”

“Still, I should have known better than-” he started shaking his head again, the look in his eye almost crazed, like he wanted so desperately for you to see him the way he saw himself.

“Aemond.” you spoke firmly, gripping his chin to force him to look at you “You were a child.”

A moment of silence passed, only his heavy breathing to be heard. Then something dawned on him, for he pressed his face against your stomach once more and started sobbing uncontrollably. His shoulders shook with the intensity of his wails, your arms coming around his frame to hold him against you, one hand gripping the back of his head and the other stroking his back. He cried and cried and cried. It seemed like he finally understood, after all these years, what truly happened that night. He realized his own brother sold his innocence, something that was his to freely give to whomever he chose, for some coin. His brother and, by extension, the madam forcefully took from him something that was inherently his, that should have remained his, something he would never get back and would never not miss. It was his, it should have been him to choose what to do with it, and they took it from him.

His loathing shifted then. What was once aimed at himself, the hatred he felt for the stench that never truly went away, shifted in turn to Aegon. He slowly, very slowly, started to forgive that thirteen year old boy, the one that never left either, for the things that happened to him that night. He now realized you could not forgive him for what he had done, for the one whose forgiveness he really needed was himself. It would take him a long time, he knew, to accept his own absolution, and perhaps he never would, not fully anyway, but he could certainly try.

Once he calmed down enough, his sobs turning to mere sniffles, he raised his head to glance at you once more. You were smiling softly at him, eyes so filled with love and compassion he felt almost undeserving of it. Your fingers in his hair helped to ground him, to bring him back to this moment in your arms. Realizing what had just transpired he tried to turn his head away in embarrassment but you wouldn’t let him.

“I am glad I have earned your trust enough for you to share this with me.” you spoke with reverence, earning a shy smile in return.

He then dried the remaining tears from his face and tried to stand up, but you were quicker, pressing onto his shoulders so he would remain seated.

“We do not have to do anything tonight.” you brushed a strand of hair away from his face and tucked it behind his ear “I can just prick a finger and smear some blood on the linens.”

“But I want to.” he almost whined, not wishing for you to part from him “I want to do this with you. With you I do not feel that stench, I-” he took a steadying breath before whispering “I just feel you.” 

In that very moment you felt like your heart would burst from how much love you held for this man. 

“Okay.”

He smiled brightly then, nuzzling his nose against you.

“But…” you pulled back from him, commanding his full attention “we will do only what you wish, nothing more. Whatever you want, tell me and it is yours. And if you wish to stop, at any moment, you tell me, alright?”

“Alright.” he nodded, quite enthusiastic.

“You have to promise me you will tell me if you want to stop.” you reiterated “Promise me.”

He stared up at you with so much adoration you felt like the Mother brought to land.

“I promise.”

You smiled, satisfied that he would follow through should he need to.

“Well, how do you want to start then?”

His gaze turned to one of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we cannot just jump right into it.” you jested.

“We can’t?” he looked so preoccupied at that, and your heart broke all over again. By the Gods, what had they done to this boy in that brothel?

You crouched down so your face was level with his, your noses almost touching as you whispered into his lips.

“Tell me what you want, valzȳrys.”

Aemond was at a loss for words, a world of endless possibilities presented itself to him and he didn’t know where to begin. But he supposed there was one thing he knew could be a good place to start.

“Can you kiss me?” he pleaded.

You sat down next to him on the bed, your body turned towards him, your knees bumping against his. 

“You want me to kiss you?” you spoke softly, deciding to tease him for a bit by pulling one of his hands to your lips and kissing his knuckles “Is this where you want me to kiss you?”

“No,” he shook his head “not there.”

You hummed as if confused and let your lips graze his cheek.

“What about here?”

“No.”

Your lips traveled lower, placing a gentle kiss against his jaw.

“Here?” to which he shook his head.

Going lower, your lips traced the column of his throat, earning a soft gasp from him.

“N-not there either.” he whimpered as your teeth nipped against his skin gently.

“Then where do you want me to kiss you?” you pulled back, staring at his eye “I need you to tell me.”

His cheeks lit up bright pink, embarrassment coursing through him at the thought of speaking his thoughts out loud. But he had come to learn that if there was one person in his life that he could trust, that person was you.

“On the lips.” 

You relented then, chasing his lips with your own. They were soft, only a trace of salt left behind by his tears previously shed. You kissed him gently, hands cupping his jaw as his own settled on your waist. It was tender, almost chaste, and you tried pouring all the love you felt for him into the kiss.

“I like it when you kiss me.” he whispered when you pulled back “No one else has ever done that for me.”

It was your turn to look confused, staring at him wide eyed.

“You have never been kissed before?” you questioned “By anyone other than me?”

He shook his head. That explained why he seemed so inexperienced the first few times around, because he truly was inexperienced.

“Not even…?” you didn’t want to say it, but he understood what you meant.

“No.” he denied again “It felt too intimate.”

More intimate than sex? you thought.

“After that night in the tub, before Driftmark,” you recalled that night, the night you shared your very first kiss. It was a peck more than anything, a childish attempt mostly, but it had meant the world to you “whenever I thought about doing it with someone else it did not feel right. Yours were the only lips I ever wanted to taste.”

You couldn’t help yourself, surging forward to capture his lips with your own in a heated kiss. The quiet whimper that escaped his mouth only spurred you on, seeking his touch. Your tongue eagerly tangled with his, tasting the sweet Dornish Red he had been sipping on before and something that was so inherently him. 

He pulled back then, breathing heavily against your lips, a sheen line of saliva connecting both your mouths before dissipating.

“What about you?” he questioned, still trying to regain his breath.

“What about me?”

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked, averting his gaze shyly “Before me, I mean? You are quite good at it, I believe.”

“Well, I have had some practice.” it was your turn to feel embarrassed, quickly glancing away from him “For a while Jace and I believed mother would eventually marry us to one another after we left for Dragonstone. We decided to get used to each other before the inevitable happened.”

Something twisted painfully in Aemond’s chest at the thought of you, a younger you, locking lips with his damned nephew. It was almost primal, this rage he felt. You were his and his alone. You have always been his from the very moment you had come into this world, and you’d continue to be his until the Stranger came to collect your soul.  

“It was gross, really. Happened only a handful of times before we gave up trying to pretend we were not disgusted by the idea.”

Your words did little to quell his unsettling feelings. Was this what jealousy felt like? Not envy, actual jealousy? Envy was something he was familiar with, for he had felt it pretty much all his life. He envied Aegon the most, but he also envied Rhaenyra a lot as well, your brothers and hells, even Helaena sometimes even though he loathed it. This was different. 

“And I may or may not have gotten a bit too tipsy while staying on Winterfell during my travels and shared a kiss or two with the Warden of the North.”

“Cregan Stark?” he scoffed. While the thought of you swapping spit with a boresome and self-righteous northerner was a little less rage inducing in comparison to Jacaerys, that simmering jealousy was still present.

That all dissipated though at the feeling of your fingers gently brushing his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear.

“But none of them hold a candle to you.” his heart skipped a beat at your words, your hand reaching to do the same to the other side of his hair “Especially when you blush so prettily.” 

Heat spread all over his face, as he stammered.

“I-I do no such thing!” he tried sounding offended, but all he did was make you giggle, as he proved your words right.

“Yes, you do.” you hooked a finger under his chin, forcing him to keep his gaze on you “You turn all red at a mere brush of my fingers, at the slightest of compliments. Like a maiden.” 

He felt the warmth spreading to the tip of his ears, the back of his neck and even down his chest.

“How red do you think you would blush if I touched you some more, hm?” 

Your fingers gently traced down his throat, feeling when he gulped harshly. 

“Would you like that, husband?” you trailed down his soft skin, reaching the spot where his collarbone met the leather coat he still wore “For me to touch you?”

He nodded, somewhat shyly, but very much eager for you to make due on your word.

“Can I take this off?” you tugged at his doublet, almost startling at the speed at which he stood up and took it off for you. The linen chemise he wore underneath it quickly followed and he was left shirtless in front of you. You’d never get tired of looking at him, bare or otherwise. He was beautiful, all valyrian and almost none of the Hightower blood from his mother. You believed if the god Balerion ever had a physical body it would definitely look like Aemond.

You stood up as well, facing him as your fingers traced his features. You started by tracing his nose, following the curve of it down to his mouth, his lips twitching upon your touch as he puckered them, placing a soft kiss on the pads of your fingers. You traced along the column of his throat, your fingers tangling softly on the strands at the nape of his neck and tugging gently, earning a whimper from him. Then you kept going, fingers sliding against the planes of his chest and tracing the taunt lines of muscle in his abdomen. As you reached the hem of his breeches you snaked your arm around his slim waist, sprawling your hand against the slope of his lower back and pushing him towards you. The little ‘hmph’ sound that escaped him at the impact of your bodies was quickly drowned by your lips as they claimed his own in another fierce kiss.

Your fingers started their exploration all over again, starting once more at the back of his neck and slowly following down the length of his spine, feeling each and every ridge and bump under his skin, as he shuddered with every brush of your digits.

“P-Please,” Aemond mumbled as you nipped at his bottom lip “ābrazȳrys, please.”

“Please what?” you kissed his jaw, then down his neck, then at the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

“Please, touch me.”

“I am touching you, valzȳrys.” you smirked against him, your teeth nibbling gently on his skin.

“J-just please…” he moaned softly as your tongue soothed the spot you had bitten “touch me, please.”

You decided to have mercy on him, moving your hand to the front of his trousers, stopping short at the laces.

“May I?” he nodded his head desperately.

Untying his breeches you let them slide down his body, pooling at his feet, as he finally revealed himself to you. He was already hard, almost painfully so, weeping at the tip and awaiting your touch.

And then… you hesitated, unsure how to proceed. While you felt satisfaction at teasing him, you were the maiden in this situation. No amount of hushed, almost shameful lessons from your septa, no amount of embarrassing tips and advice from your mother could prepare you for the actual thing. You may have practiced your kissing skills with Jace and, briefly, with Cregan, but you had never gone any further, knowing what the realm regretfully thought of women of your station indulging before being wed and refusing to let your virtue be made a spectacle of. So while you may have talked a big game before, as if you held all the knowledge, it was all purely theoretical. 

Aemond, sensing your apprehension, searched your gaze with his.

“What is it?” he asked, voice laced with quiet concern.

“Nothing much.” you chuckled, although it sounded mirthless to your ears, conveying your embarrassment “I am merely assessing the best way to approach the situation at hand.”

While you had chosen not to be direct about your troubles, opting instead to jest about it, he had understood you clearly, for you had become so intune with one another the past few moons. With deliberate movements he delicately held your wrist, never breaking eye contact, as he brought your hand over to him slowly, very slowly, giving you ample opportunity to stop him if you wished. But you didn’t want to. You let him guide you, his large hand settling over yours as you gathered some of the pearlescent wetness dripping from his tip in your palm before guiding you to encircle his cock, his fingers around yours as he shuddered at the first contact of your skin against his.

He was hot and heavy in your hand as he directed your movements with precision, stroking his cock up and down, pumping him, slowing or speeding up your motions to his liking. Slowly but surely you started to take control, following his lead and mimicking his actions. He groaned encouragingly, letting go of your fingers, his hands settling on your waist as you continued to stroke him up and down and up and down, speeding up or slowing down, gathering some more wetness under your thumb and stroking his cock with it. His groans and grunts emboldened you, trying to gauge his reactions. 

And then you tightened your hold on him, squeezing his cock just a bit tighter under your grip, and he almost tumbled to the ground, his knees nearly buckling in reaction. His own grip on you grew tighter, as if supporting his weight on you, head tilted forward and face hiding in the crook of your neck as he moaned.  

He was loud.

Even muffled against your skin, his moans and whines resonated throughout the bedchambers as you continued your ministrations, increasing in pitch with each tilt or flick of your wrist, with each squeeze and stroke of your hand. You were tugging him faster now, your grip firm and deliberate as his cock twitched in your hold and his whole body trembled against you.

“Wait.” he mumbled, his voice strained “P-please, just wait.”

You ripped yourself away from him then, a sudden surge of guilt blooming in your chest.

“Forgive me.” you glanced at him, averting your gaze in shame as you wondered if you had made him too uncomfortable “I got carried away. I apologize.”

“You misunderstand me, wife.” he tried to slow his erratic breathing “I do not wish for you to stop. But if you continued as you were I would surely spill my seed against your hand. We should not let any of my spend go to waste on a night as important as this one.”

What?

Your confusion must have been reflected on your features for he continued his explanation, his voice carrying a teasing tone to it.

“It is expected of us to produce an heir tonight. We wouldn’t want to fail our duties now, would we?” he gripped your chin, placing a chaste kiss against your lips “The first time I spill my seed I want it to be inside your cunt.”

Had it been anyone else, had you been married to anyone else, you would have assumed they meant it as a command, solely means to an end, as producing heirs was indeed part of your duty. But this, you noticed in his eye, was his way of showcasing his true intentions without actually saying it, hiding behind some mere jesting: he wanted this. He wanted to give you an heir, for his seed to take root in your womb and for you to carry his child. The thought elicited warmth in your chest, feeling giddy at the idea.

“Can I touch you now?” he asked, his plea bordering on desperation as he gave a quick peck to your lips.

You pulled back then, staring deeply at him.

“Do you believe you deserve to touch me?” you whispered against his lips.

He faltered then, unsure what you wanted from him. A shake of his head had you scoffing softly.

“Try again.” you nuzzled your nose against his, trying to coax him out of his self made shell “Do you deserve this?”

The glint he noticed in your eyes gave away what you wanted from him, so he nodded, his movement curt and shaky.

“I want to hear you say it.” your voice made it sound like a request, but he knew it was anything but.

“Yes.” he whispered back, his breath fanning your lips.

“Yes what?”

“I deserve it.” as the words left his lips, for the first time in a long time, he started to actually believe them.

You nodded, satisfied with him.

“Yes, you do.” you cooed, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging “You do deserve this.”

As your lips settled on his jaw, he caught onto every hidden meaning of your words, affection swarming in his chest.

You deserve to be loved.

He claimed your lips in a soft kiss once more, his fingers resuming their task of untying the laces in your beautiful wedding gown, letting it slip down your arms and pool in a heap on the floor. He made quick work of your smallclothes as well, leaving you bare before him. He hurriedly stepped out of his discarded breeches, carefully helping out of your dress and closer towards the bed. 

Aemond’s fingers danced across your skin, caressing you with such reverence it almost brought tears to your eyes again. His fingers crawled down your spine, sliding between your shoulder blades, like you had done for him, his lips trailing down your neck with soft kisses. Goosebumps formed on your skin as his fingers traced your ribcage, his touch so close yet not close enough to your breasts. He nipped at your collarbone, his hand finally closing around one of your breasts, gentle, like he was weighing it in his hand, his lips following down and nibbling at the skin of the other breast. A loud, strangled whine left escaped you as he pinched your nipple, rolling the bud between two fingers, growing louder as his lips closed around the other nipple. 

You could feel the walls of your cunt pulsing as his tongue worked your breasts, your heartbeat increasing as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked. The noise that left your lips seemed to spur him on even further, as he sucked with more intensity and he groped your other breast more firmly, his entire hand surrounding the skin.

His fingers trailed even further down, passing your navel and slipping between your folds. His touch was featherlight against your dripping cunt, gathering some wetness and circling your entrance, without ever dipping inside

“P-please, husband.” you whined, your back arching in pleasure at his teasing, pushing your breast even more into his face.

He relented then, pushing his finger inside your cunt, slipping in easily with how soaked you already were. His moan echoed your own as your walls fluttered around his digit. He let you get used to the intrusion for a moment before starting to move his finger inside you, his movements tentative as he explored your walls, almost like he was searching for something, for what you didn’t know.

Though you’d never admit this to anyone, you were acutely aware of his fingers, having paid close attention to them when you watched him train. They were long and slender as they gripped the handle of his sword, but at the same time they were strong and thick and, as he added a second one, you could feel how perfectly well he filled you. As he explored your cunt, you could feel every movement of his fingers brushing against your walls, that familiar coil of pleasure slowly but steadily building in your core. It only intensified as the heel of his hand pressed against your clit as he tried to reach even further inside you, the molten heat pooling in your core and starting to spread through your whole body, so much so you barely noticed when his mouth had moved to your other breast. 

Then his fingertips brushed against one spot inside your cunt that almost made you see stars, your legs wobbling as pleasure shot up your spine and assaulted all your senses. You could feel him smirk against your skin as you moaned loudly, brushing against the same spot again as you mewled and whined, trying to move away from him but the arm snaked around your back prevented you from doing so. His fingers seemed to reach places inside you didn’t know existed as he clawed and scissored inside your cunt, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. It was almost too much and barely enough at the same time; you wanted him like you had never wanted anything else in your entire life.

He let go of your nipple with a wet smack of his lips, his mouth settling on that spot behind your ear and pressing soft kisses against your skin. It was such a contrast from the way his fingers were working inside your cunt, his words gentle and sweet, mumbling caring words in high valyrian as he mouthed and nibbled on your skin, but the pleasure was clouding your thoughts, the words getting fogged up in your mind. But something caught your attention, and as you tuned into the words, they were your undoing.

“Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos.” he whispered against the shell of your ear, laying a soft kiss on the skin “Va moriot emagon se va moriot kessa.”

With a stutter of your heart the coil in your core snapped, hot, molten pleasure washing over you and spreading throughout your whole body, tingling with dozens of goosebumps that formed on your skin. It left you breathless, sluggish and warm as you tried to regain your bearings.

“Aem…-” you tried calling out to him, voice hoarse from the intensity of your moans, but you couldn’t seem to find your voice just yet. 

But he heard you. And something in him snapped.

In an instant you were lying on your back against the soft linens, barely having time to react as he pushed you down on the bed and crawled on top of you. His lips claimed yours in a hungry, almost desperate kiss, you were sure your mouth would be sporting bruises on the morrow such was its intensity. He settled in between your spread thighs, his hard length nestling between your folds as he nipped on your jaw, kissing a line down your neck.

“Say it again, please.” he begged “Say my name again.”

“A-Aemond?”

“No, no, not that.” he admonished softly, kissing your mouth once again.

You searched your mind for what he could possibly be referring to. That was his name, was it not? What you’d always referred to him as, if you weren’t calling him by his familial ties to you, in common tongue or high valyrian alike?

Except it wasn’t.

It had been years, well over a decade even since you referred to him as something else entirely. Barely a toddler, Jace only a babe and Luke still in your mother’s womb, you followed Aemond around the Keep like a lost puppy all day, for he seemed to be the only one willing to entertain you. It was only natural then for you to worship the ground he walked on, basking in his attention for as long as he was willing to give it to you. But as such a young child you couldn’t properly speak such a complicated name in conversation, settling on calling him for a shortened sobriquet. You didn’t think much of it, and he never opposed such a nickname, until Aegon caught you calling him by the moniker and instantly started teasing the both of you relentlessly because of it. It earned him a swift kick to the shin and three days without speaking to either of them, but as it often is with small children, your grudge was quickly forgotten, going back to trailing after Aemond. However, to save both him and yourself from further humiliation, you settled for referring to him only as ‘uncle’ until you could utter his full name, never again daring to use the nickname.

It was so meaningless to you, back then. And you were both so young, he couldn’t possibly remember that, could he? 

“Aem?” you spoke tentatively, not sure if this is what he wished for.

The loud whine that escaped his lips, breathed against your cheek, and the way his cock twitched were all the answer you needed. 

“Please, little niece, byka mandianna,” he rasped, desperation dripping from his tone as he started gently rocking his hips against yours “Please say that again.”

“Aem…” you said with more confidence, breaking off into a moan at the end as the head of his cock brushed against your clit.

He shifted his body on top of you, lining his cock up with your entrance.

“Again, please.” 

“A-Aem?” even though you wanted this, truly and wholeheartedly, now that you were about to consummate your marriage for real you were suddenly filled with a twinge of apprehension. While you were certain Aemond wasn’t like most men, you had heard stories from women at court about how their husbands treated them in the throes of passion.

Sensing your quiet distress, Aemond lifted his head to stare at you, sapphire eye glinting under the soft glow of the candles and silver strands cascading around you.

“We can stop if you wish.” he spoke quietly.

“No, no please, I want to. I am just…”

Even if you couldn’t quite explain it he seemed to understand, for he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

“I promise to be gentle.”

In his eye you saw nothing but truth, the sincerity of his words easing your nerves.

“I trust you.”

He nodded and started ever so slowly pushing inside you, inch by inch, pulling back and thrusting inside again, a little deeper than before. It was a lot for the both of you, your combined moans echoing through the chambers; even though he wanted to look upon your eyes as you shared this moment he couldn’t, his head falling against your shoulder as he hid his face in the crook of your neck. His cock was met with little resistance, your cunt still soaked. The pain you were previously expecting came in the form of an acute pinch as your cunt stretched to accommodate him, your breath hitching and a whimper passing through your lips. Aemond shushed and cooed against your ear, little whispers of ‘I’ve got you’ spoken against your ear as he stalled his movements, only resuming them when he felt you relax in his arms once more.

When he finally settled, his hips flush against yours and his cock inside your cunt to the hilt, you released your breath, not even realizing you had been holding it. You felt like you were burning from within where your bodies were connected, yet it was a comforting kind of heat, not at all like dragonfire. At least not yet. You could feel every ridge of his cock, every twitch that made the walls of your cunt clench in response. It was so intimate, you had never been closer to a person in your life, and you felt like the longer you stayed like this you were being perfectly molded to one another, as if you weren’t already a permanent fixture in each other’s hearts. You felt complete.

As your discomfort subsided, the pain slowly turning to a sense of fullness, you tangled your fingers in his hair, turning your head to the side to breathe upon his ear.

“I am alright now, husband. You can move.”

Regardless of your request he stood still for a moment longer, breathing heavily and erratically against your skin. 

“Aem?” you spoke softly, worried it might be too much for him.

That seemed to do the trick, as Aemond slowly started to roll his hips against yours, pulling his cock almost all the way out and thrusting back in, filling you to the brim once more. Every time he would thrust back in the head of his cock would brush against that spot inside your cunt that had your eyes rolling back, shooting little bolts of pleasure up your spine and filling your core with fire once more. 

His hips picked up pace, then, his thrusts far faster and more powerful than before. He let go, fully dropping his weight on top of you, pressing you against the mattress as your legs framed his hips, your hands gripping at his shoulder blades. 

It was intense and blazing and comforting and overwhelming and caring and sultry and loving and oh, so good, all at the same time this push and pull and shove and tug and you couldn’t think straight yet your focus was sharp and you could feel everything and it was absolutely, downright perfect. 

The stretch of your cunt wrapped tightly around his cock was no longer painful, giving away to unimaginable pleasure like you had never felt before. You were acutely aware of the way Aemond mouthed at your shoulder, mumbling barely coherent words against your skin.

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria.” he grunted against your skin, groaning as the words made you clench tightly around him “Dōna zaldrītsos, jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys.”   

He was rambling, almost irrationally, too far gone in his own pleasure. That and the way his thrusts were becoming sloppy, now more of a rut of his hips against yours, indicated that he was close.

Enamored with the way he moaned your name and your title and your future title and sweet monikers, in high valyrian mostly, you couldn’t help but want to see how far he would go.

“Husband, valzȳrys,” you tangled your fingers in his hair once more, giving the locks a gentle tug, earning a whine in response “Avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes. Avy jorrāelan tolī hae olvie hae konīr issi qēlossās isse se jēdar, Aem.”

It was enough to send him off the edge, his hips stuttering and cock twitching violently, painting your walls with warm ropes of his seed. He practically sobbed in your arms between clenched teeth, his arms squeezing you tightly against him as he gave a few more weak thrusts, his breath fanning the skin of your neck still. The scorching pressure that had been building in your stomach seemed to fade slightly as Aemond slowed to a stop, his softening cock still nestled inside you as he stilled completely on top of you, trembling in your arms. His hair was sticking to his head, damp with sweat, the rest of his body also drenched and clammy from the exertion, much like your own. He stood still for a moment, trying to catch his breath and recover. 

“F-Forgive me, ābrazȳrys.” he raised his head and it was then you could see the remnant of tears in his eyes, from your words or the intensity of his peak, you couldn’t tell.

“What for?” you smiled brightly at him, pushing a strand of silvery hair behind his ear, making him shiver as your fingers brushed against his cheek.

“Y-you did-” he finally seemed to recollect his thoughts as he pushed himself on his forearms above you “You did not peak.”

“That is quite alright.” you shrugged, not at all bothered by that “I did so earlier, from your fingers.”

He shook his head, a determined look in his face as if to say that that wouldn’t do.

“No wife of mine will be left unsatisfied.” he was already pulling out of you with a soft hiss and maneuvering on the bed despite your protests, coming to settle on his stomach at the edge of the mattress.

“Aemond what are you-” you yelped as he grabbed both your legs and yanked you towards himself, his face level with your cunt. He placed your thighs over his shoulders and placed one arm over your stomach “Aemond, you do not have to.” you tried once more.

“I want to.” he said, his eyes never straying from where his spend started leaking from your cunt “Can a man not enjoy the taste of his wife on their wedding night?”

“Of course you can, it is just that-” he didn’t let you finish, pulling another broken, choked moan from you as he licked a broad stripe over your folds. 

Aemond feasted upon your cunt like a man starved, drinking down your juices mixed with his own spend, but that didn’t seem to deter him, oh no, if anything the salty taste of himself against your own tangy one only seemed to spur him on.

It didn’t take long to get you back to where you were moments before, that burning pressure still lingering in the back of your mind. You knew Aemond was talented with his tongue, hells, he was known for his silver tongue that could cut down even the most fearless in court. Moreover, he was fluent in the language of your ancestors, his tongue rolling around the letters as he almost purred the words into the world, a language just for your own. And yet, he never ceased to surprise you with how good he could make you feel with his tongue alone.

Clenching the sheets under your palms, you almost sobbed as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked. He rolled it around his lips, his tongue peaking out to give your clit a few small licks as he extended one of his arms to, prying your fingers from the linens and threading them with his own, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, his other arm draped across your stomach, holding your hips down as you started canting them against his face.

You weakly raised yourself on your forearms to be able to look at him properly, peering at him through heavy lidded eyes, and were surprised to notice him already looking at you, gazing at you with so much adoration in his eye as his hips rutted against the bed. You realized, not for the first time, that bringing you pleasure brought him pleasure in return. He hummed as he noticed you staring at him, the vibrations sending jolts of unbridled pleasure up your spine and down again. His eyes twinkled and curled up, little crinkled lines adorning the corners, and you recognized that the smug bastard was smirking, self-satisfied at having you reduced to such a moaning mess before him.

The coil of pleasure in the form of a pool of liquid heat was steadily building up again with each stroke of his tongue over your folds, each flick of his lips over your clit stoking that fire growing and expanding inside you. His grip on your hips tightened as his other hand moved down to your cunt and shoved two fingers inside you, pulling back a bit to address you quietly.

“Let go, wife. I know you want to. You can let go for me.”

And then his fingers curled upwards, brushing against that spongy spot once more and you were done for. The bliss that washed over you, tangling with the burning love you held for this man, was so intense it sent waves through your whole body. Stars danced behind your eyelids, your eyes having closed on their own accord some time before, as the pleasure rolled and stretched to all of your extremities, making your fingertips tingle and your toes curl, knocking the breath from your lungs. Although you knew your jaw was hanging open you couldn’t hear yourself, but you couldn’t discern if it was due to the ringing in your ears or if you had already screamed yourself hoarse.

As your perception of the world around you slowly returned once you came down from your high, the pleasure subsiding and leaving a warm, fuzzy feeling in its wake, you felt Aemond’s thumb gently stroking your knuckles, having removed his hand from inside you, his other palm spread over your stomach as he helped you coax you back down and when you gazed at him you were met with his gentle smile

“T-thank you, husband.” you said a few moments later after catching your breath, exhaustion starting to settle in your bones as you relaxed over the linens, your head falling back on the bed.

“Oh, you thought I was done with you?” he asked, almost mockingly. Raising your head again you noticed his prior smile had given way to a menacing smirk as he started crawling over you slowly, looking predatory. He covered your body with his once more, and you felt his hardened cock against your thigh, having stimulated himself back to full hardness.

“I don’t intend on letting you leave this bed until I have filled you with my seed over and over and over,” he punctuated each pause with a kiss to your lips as he whispered “that I have made sure it has taken root inside you. We need to produce an heir after all, dear wife.”

High Valyrian translations: - ābrazȳrys - wife - valzȳrys - husband - mandianna - niece (older sister’s son or daughter) - qȳbor - uncle (mother’s younger brother) - ñuha jorrāelagon - my love or my dear - avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrītsos - I love you, my little dragon - va moriot emagon se va moriot kessa - always have and always will - byka mandianna - little niece - ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria - my wife, my queen - dōna zaldrītsos, jorrāelagon ābrazȳrys - sweet little dragon, dear wife  - avy jorrāelan, ñuha zaldrīzes - I love you, my dragon - avy jorrāelan tolī hae olvie hae konīr issi qēlossās isse se jēdar - I love you as much as there are stars in the sky

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

@bitchassgoose

@voguiing

@dibutw

@fruityvampslayer

@garden-in-the-rain

[hectorthedoggo]

teehee!! new chapter!!

tws under cut (but, they have slight spoilers, so steer clear :D)

Tws: referenced underage drinking (/j), suicidal ideations, implied past es not living la vida loca (slight physical, emotional child abuse), also, there is no csa/sa at all in this fic for es, btw :)

(@kani-miso good morning)

[litnerdwrites]

Justice for Nesta recs (AO3)

Most, if not all, of these recs are in the Justice for Nesta/ ACOSF rewrite/fix-it vein. It will be updates as I find more fics, but feel free to send any recs you have.

TRIGGER WARNING! Many of these fics will be very dark, with references to suicide, ptsd, misogyny, and IC BS. However, I'll be sure to add specifics where applicable.

Fics For Those Craving Nesta JusticeI put all the fics I found into one collection on AO3 that, as the title suggests, are for those craving Nesta Justice. Please read the relevant tags for each fic, as many of them contain reference to PTSD, SA (both past referenced and in story), and general IC BS.

I'll also list every fic in this collection bellow, just to keep them all in one place. Feel free to also add your own finds or works if you have any. The collection is open, but moderated.

Those the Stars Cannot Hear by @kataraavatara An ACOSF rewrite where Mor makes good on her threat to leave Nesta in the CON.

Baby, now we got bad blood by Pumpkinspice_Lou They say you should never come between a male and his mate. Rhysand should've known better. Aka Cassian finally choosing Nesta. Completed two-shot.

A Court of Vice and Victors by Wishcamper Acosf rewritten by a therapist. Need I say more? Incomplete.

You Made Her Like That By BookWorm77071 A few days into their Hike from Hell, Nesta is able to form one coherent thought: I don't want to do this anymore. So she stops. Three chapter short story. Completed.

Nesta becomes a baby by Theladyofbloodshed Exactly what the title says. Oneshot.

A Court of Tangled Flames by Theladyofbloodshed A Neris fic where Nesta gets the love story she deserves.

ACOTAR snippet collection by Theladyofbloodshed A collection of Acotar what ifs.

Nesta vs. The Buffer by Theladyofbloodshed After Nesta finally snaps at another 'family' dinner, calling Cassian and Mor out on their shit, she begins to heal and fall in love on her own terms. With a certain shadowsinger. Completed. Nezriel fic. Anti IC but they kind of redeem themselves at the end. Completed.

AU Where We Pretend Acosf Didn't Happen by Theladyofbloodshed An alternative take to ACOSF, starting from post ACOFS. Nesta ends up leaving Velaris, starting herself on a journey of self discovery and healing. TW Beron Vansera, implied/referenced SA, IC being assholes.

Nightmare Dressed Like A Daydream by This_Immortal_Hope Nesta was a wolf. So, much like a wolf, she bided her time, accepting her exile with ice in her and determination in her heart. When she was ready, she tore their Court of Dreams apart with their own hypocrisy. One shot. No ship. Rhysand is thoroughly put in his place. Oneshot.

Second Chances by miryamdev Cassian apologises to Nesta after the HOFAS bonus chapter.

A trick of the light by closet_monster There was nothing condemning about madness or paralyzing fear. Nesta was familiar with both — they seemed to be a recurring theme in both womanhood and life in Hewn. Oneshot. TW Depression, self harm, and implied abuse. Please double check the tags before reading.

Burn for Eternity by rosemai Nesta is defeated and broken down by the words of her sisters and the IC, so she takes matters into her own hands and meets a group on individuals who could give her the help she needs. Incomplete.

Nesta's Truth by grovellingboyfriends After another year of leaving Nesta alone, Cassian finds Nesta in her apartment on Solstice, standing over a dead man. TW for implied SA, parental abuse, Elain is a bitch. 3/5 chapters published as of making this post.

Daylight by Flowerflamestar Nesta Archeron, banished and betrayed, ran from cold and hatred straight into the light of Day and found a place where she could belong. Completed.

Might I Suggest You Don't Fuck With My Sis by MacabreGiggles The intervention rethought, where the Archeron sisters decide to stand up for one another and put the IC in their place. Incomplete.

I died. I will die. It's alright. I don't mind. By MacabreGiggles Nesta resorts to other means to cope, like drugs. Incomplete. TW. Abuse. Alcolism. Suicide. Sexual assault. Drug abuse.

The Veil of Silence by Hrizantemy There exists a veil of silence, it shrouds our voices masking our truths, muffling our cries, our voices are muted, and dreams whispered. Incomplete.

You're a crisis of my faith by porque_nolosdos Nesta and Elain leave the NC, and upon seeing the IC's reaction, Feyre decides to ditch them too. Incomplete.

A thousand cuts by adelindschade It finally clicks for Cassian just how badly Nesta was hurting (it only took three TW suicide TW attempts), so he decides to try thinking of what Nesta would want. This decision leaves a ripple effect that will change the NC as we know it. Incomplete.

The consequences of normality by TheTeaQueen After the events of ACOSF, things seem relatively normal. Until Cassian realises that Nesta doesn't ask for things, or that self hatred still grips her, or the facade she puts on for her family. When she starts cutting back on training and work in the library, he begins to worry. Maybe things aren't as perfect as he thought. Maybe their methods in helping her weren't as effective as he thought. Incomplete.

Three little words by TheTeaQueen Cassian finally says those three little words that Nesta needed to hear. Oneshot.

Like fire, she raged by TheTeaQueen Emerie stands up for Nesta and puts Rhys and Feyre in their place. Completed.

Of Death and Resurrection by TheTeaQueen Part 1 of In the name of healing and happiness. Nesta was ready to die. So to save Feyre and Nyx, she did. Can Rhysand, the only person who can save her, bring her back from the brink? Completed. TW Implied suicide, rape/sa, anti Elain.

Of Shadows and Light by TheTeaQueen Part 2 of In the name of healing and happiness. Technically more of a Gwynriel fic, but does have some Nessian since it follows the aftermath of Of death and Resurrection, only Azriel, Gwyn & Elain are the main focus. Ties up a lose thread or two from part 1, and is 100% Anti Elain. Completed. TW Implied child abuse, implied suicide, torture.

Of Reopened Wounds and Retribution by TheTeaQueen Part 3 of In the name of healing and happiness. A trip to the human lands to discuss the treaty leads Nesta to face Thomas Mandray again. This time, she has family willing to go to hell and back for her. Incomplete. TW Implied rape/sa, panic attack.

Lady Death and Her Kingdom by TheTeaQueen Amren pushes Nesta too far, causing her to awaken a strange new power. TW Implied child abuse. Incomplete.

The Hike, Alternatively by TheTeaQueen An alternative take on The Hike from Hell, where Nesta attempt to TW commit suicide TW, and Cassian realises just how messed up their methods, and the events leading up to the hike are. Written for Suicide prevention month. Completed. TW Self harm, suicide, The Hike.

To Pay a Debt by TheTeaQueen When Nesta sees that Feyre didn't include her in any of the paintings, she does the only thing she can think of; Run. Incomplete. TW, attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, mentioned sa.

Burning from the Inside out by TheTeaQueen An au where Nesta's secretly lived with Chronic pain her whole life, only for the cauldron and her new powers to exacerbate it. Complete. TW Implied/referenced child abuse, suicidal thoughts, ableism, internalised ableism.

The Whole Truth by TheTeaQueen An alternative take where Nesta's deepest secret comes to light when Elain explodes at the dinner table one night. This forces the IC and her sisters to reevaluate their perception of her. Incomplete. TW: Child abuse, suicidal thoughts/ideation, forced prostitution, sexual assault (underage!!)

Set my Soul Alight by moodymelanist Nesta finds solace in Autumn. No Nessian. Completed. TW Implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced torture.

Falling by becauseofreading Another take on what happens after Cassian tells Nesta that everybody hates her. Incomplete. TW Self harm, suicidal thoughts, blood and injuries.

Destruction and Renewal by Vorbi Nesta is given the opportunity to form new alliances. Initially, she scoffs at the idea, but after a small, final act of disrespect from the IC, she decides to see where this new path leads us. Incomplete. TW Implied/referenced abuse.

No One Likes A Mad Woman by Separatist_Apologist You made her like that. Nesta has had her choices tripped away, so when Eris offers her an out, she takes it. No happy ending for Cassian. The Night Court gets no sympathy. Completed. TW Domestic violence

A Cup of Tea by shaziskhalid After realising that the Cassian of her dreams isn't the Cassian she's mated to, everything changed. (MCU! Wanda, modern Au). Incomplete.

Promise by Daughterofthesea Begins during that scene where Cassian follows Nesta, and ends with him understanding just how much pain she's in, and deciding to actually help her.

Stay here (I love you, but I need another year) by littleplease Nesta is tired, and losing the will to even try. Complete. TW Apathy, depression, vuage suicidal thoughts.

What you did to me (I'll spend my life trying to rise) by filthymouthedslut Nesta is done with the IC's holier-than-thou attitude. No ship. Incomplete (3/4) as of updating this post.

Everybody hates you by Booksandsushi A different take on the time Cassian tells Nesta that Everybody hates her. Incomplete.

Change is good by Booksandsushi Nesta figures her life out on her own. Complete.

Truth of the Heart By TheFreakPanda The months after ACOFAS leave Nesta presented with some new opportunities. Full of therapy and dancing. Completed.

I've Always Liked to Play with Fire by catalyste After her village is destroyed and family killed by Hybern following Feyre's revenge mission, you wake up healed in the NC. After Lucien leaves you there, you find yourself trapped with Nesta Archeron, who turns out to be an unlikely ally. The two of you plan your escape with the help of Eris Vansera. Polly, Neris/reader, with IC bashing, and dragons. Incomplete.

The relapse by Janes_Melodies Something broke in Nesta when she learned about the results of the vote, knowing it was a tie until Feyre. She was trying for her sisters and for Cassian, yet they still think she's cruel enough to create a whole new trove just to kill them all. For the first time in months, she gave into her desires. Incomplete. TW Alcoholism, Implied/referenced self harm, suicidal thoughts.

You're safe now by annieleonhardtsring Rewrite of the scene where Nesta falls down the stairs, and Azriel stands up for her. Complete.

Love her how she should be loved by julemmaes Cassian overhears his family making some not-so-subtle comments about Nesta, and it pushes him over the edge. So he goes to bat for her, blaming his friends for everything wrong with their relationship with his girlfriend. Modern AU completed.

The Nest World - The Next Life by bat_called_phil ACOSF canon divergence fic that starts with the intervention, but diverts when Nesta takes a stand for herself, and Feyre starts holding Rhys accountable. TW Implied/referenced suicide, Implied/referenced abortion.

A Court of Spite and Isolation by xxTAO Nesta choses the human lands, separated from the IC and the distractions from her trauma, she spirals. Incomplete (4/6) TW Suicidal thoughts, Implied/referenced alcoholism, Suicide attempt.

Come Home by Rhysanoodle Cassian learns how Nesta's been living since she came to Illyria, and which fears haunt her the most. Complete.

[mybworlds]

Chapter 7

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader (no use of Y/N)

Summary: Javier Peña and his partner can't stand each other, but to take down an old enemy they are forced to work together and pretend to be a complacent married couple.

Series warnings: language , violence, alcohol use, slow burn, angst, mutual pining, smut (18+ MDNI), creampie, oral sex (m and f), fingering, masturbation (m and f), trauma and SA referencing.

Masterlist

Before to start… thank you so much for your likes and reblogs, I really appreciate it ☺️ I'm not an expert on these spy agencies, so if I got something wrong, don't get angry or offended. 😬 And maybe some aspects of Peña's character may change, if it's necessary. 🔎 I don’t know how many chapters the story will have. 📖 If you didn't like this story, it's okay, be kind and move on 🙂

Taglist: @love-affair-with-fandoms; @pedr0swh0r3; @angel98624; @missladym1981; @harriedandharassed if you want to be added let me know.

Thanks @saradika for the divider.

Thanks @vase-of-lilies for the banner

In his arms you fell asleep again, every now and then you open your eyes when you feel him kissing your shoulder or the hollow between your neck and shoulder. You find yourself smiling and then falling back asleep, still savoring the moments spent with him and basking in the idea that all of this could last forever.

When you wake up about an hour later, you sit up in the middle of the bed, he's lying on his stomach, hugging his pillow, you notice his fake wedding ring and then you look at yours. You see and hear him breathing deeply, everything still seems so sweet and perfect, you slide your fingers very delicately along his back in a caress that almost feels like a farewell. You frown as if gripped by a horrible and painful thought, you can't be with him.

You and him will never be happy together.

Just the thought of having to separate from him hurts, but if your past echoes within you, at the same time you think you can't go back to work and let everyone know that you and him are a couple..

But are you really a couple? Or are you just one of the many women for him? A notch in his infinite scale of seductions and subsequent abandonments?

You turn your head towards him, his lips are half open and he has a sweet, innocent expression that, if possible, almost makes you feel guilty for having these thoughts. However, you tell yourself that it's right to have these qualms about him given his reputation. A few days are not enough to completely erase it.

We should end it here and hope we can ignore what happened, you think.

You get up and go to the bathroom, you lock yourself in and get in the shower and you think that you don't want him to join you in the shower or everything would be even more painful and difficult. It's hard enough as it is, you think as you turn on the jet of cool water that wets your hair and flows down your body.

While you're soaping up, you think that you don't want your coworkers to gossip about you behind your back and say things like, how could Peña get together with a bitch like that? Or again, she who pretended to be indifferent to his attentions, finally gave in and let Peña fuck her, but on the other hand, how could she resist him?

No, you can't stand to hear these sentences or hear snickers behind your back. Better to ignore what happened between you, it's better.

But better for whom?

You and him can't be together.

Better cut this relationship now.

You only know how to make someone suffer.

A thousand thoughts, a thousand words, a thousand doubts, a burning bitterness crowd your head. Javier won't take it well, he won't like it, but you're doing it for his own good. Or maybe you're just doing it for you and you're giving yourself the alibi that you're doing it for Javi too. You find yourself thinking about how sweet he was to you, how he took care of you...

You curl up in a corner of the shower, the water soaks you, streaks your cheeks, and with it hot tears begin to flow and fall down towards the shower tray. It almost feels like your heart is being ripped out, but maybe that's for the best. You couldn't bear the thought that for him you were just someone to have fun with during this time and then move on to another woman.

You dry yourself as best you can before wrapping yourself in a towel and looking at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are puffy, your features distorted, your hair a still damp and messy mess. You comb your hair, untangling any knots, you think about the words you want to say to Javier, you want to be direct and yet you don't want to hurt his feelings.

You are awakened from these thoughts by Javier knocking on the door, “Is everything okay?”

You take a deep breath, feeling even worse if possible. However, you convince yourself that you are right, even though this choice hurts.

“Yes, I’m comin’,” you answer.

You look at your reflection one last time before going to the door and opening it, Javi is there leaning against the door jamb still half naked. He was obviously about to tell you something, but seeing your eyes swollen from crying he stops and looks at you perplexed.

“What happened?” he asks you, not understanding what could have made you cry like that. “Hey,” he says cupping your cheeks, “what happ...?” he’s about to ask you, when you free yourself from his grip and you move away from him and approach the bed where you let yourself fall.

You feel his gaze on you, you wring your hands, feeling your heart in your throat. You don't know how say out loud the turmoil and the tightness that grips your stomach and heart. You feel terrible.

“Please, talk to me.” he tells you sitting next to you on the bed. You close your eyes and feel the dull beating of your heart, it hurts. It hurts so much. He's been so sweet these days, but you don't want to have to suffer one day because of him. You don't know if when all this is over he'll go back to his old self. You couldn't bear the thought of seeing him go with other women, hearing them murmur about how he made them come, no you can't.

“Whatever was here, in this place, has to end here,” you mutter, head down, unable to look him in the eye.

You are selfish, you must be alone. Those words...

Your heart pounds painfully in your chest, almost as if your own words had stabbed you and you were now bleeding. You can't look at his face, you just imagine his expression and imagine he's hurt and confused. You were together and yet now you're violently pushing him away. You would probably feel the same way: rejected as if you meant nothing to the other person.

The silence that surrounds you almost seems unreal, as if you were suspended in a dimension that doesn't even belong to you. Maybe you’d have preferred him to yell at you, to pull you, in short, a violent reaction, but not that deafening silence that, if possible, hurts you even more.

“I thought it would be best for both of us.” You continue, feeling almost like you're walking on a very thin sheet of ice and on which a slightly heavier pressure is enough to break and make you fall into its icy waters.

You finally hear him make a sound, almost a snort as if what you said bored him. You look at him, “And did you have to cry to tell me that?” he asks you in an annoyed tone, almost as if it were obvious what you told him.

His cold and detached reaction completely throws you off. So, in the end, you really mean nothing to him, you really are one of the many women on his endless list. If his words are as sharp as a sharp blade, his gaze and the expression on his face betray him.

“You expected me to tell you this, right?” he asks you in a tone of someone who already knows the answer and doesn't need confirmation because he knows it's true “Precisely,” he says when he looks up at your face again.

He chuckles getting out of bed and walking towards the nightstand where there is a pack of cigarettes, he takes one, brings it to his lips and lights it up. Another long silence falls between you as he approaches the balcony, opening the shutters and allowing the smoke to escape.

“So the days we spent together have done absolutely nothing to make you understand who I really am.” His is a statement, not a question. He probably wants to sound cold, but the bitterness in his voice gives him away.

“I didn't say that.” you try to say, making sense of the tangled mess of thoughts that are dulling your mind. You hate all this that you started.

“No need. You made your point” he replies, taking another drag on his cigarette turning his back to you.

You don't know what to say, you just know that your own words have backfired on you. Your stomach is in knots and your heart is beating painfully in your chest. You feel terrible making him feel this bad and doing this to you.

You get up and go over to him, not knowing what to say. You look up and notice his eyes are covered in tears, while he stares out the balcony and takes a drag on his cigarette. You see his Adam's apple bob and hear him breathing deeply as if he’s trying hard not to lose control of himself.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want anything to do with you,” you try to clarify, but it just makes things worse.

“You want us to be friends with benefits, after all.” he tells you spitefully, almost turning his head towards you. “But nothing else. Don't worry. Got it.” he tells you, taking another drag and then expel a large amount of smoke.

“Please don't be dramatic,” you tell him running a hand through your hair “We’ll still work together and we’ll always be coworkers.” you add, then pause, searching for the most appropriate words, but none of them seem right.

He tsks shaking his head, “Yes, whatever." He snorts, putting out his cigarette with an expression that is somewhere between anger and disappointment. "Can I just ask what made you change your mind? I mean, you didn’t seem sorry or remorseful after we did…” he sighs shaking his head “let’s forget it,” he tells you, looking up again and waiting for your response.

“I wasn't and I'm not now." You answer him looking him in the eyes and he looks back at you with an unreadable expression, “I just think it's better for both of us to ignore what happened,” you add with a shrug.

He nods, “So there is no danger of anyone thinking you have a heart. This way everyone will still think you’re a bitch,” he continues, but it’s more like he’s talking and reasoning out loud rather than talking to you.

Maybe he hits the nail on the head. Maybe you really prefer to be thought of as heartless. Maybe that way no one suffers. Except you.

You breathe loudly, not knowing exactly what to say. It's better if Javier hates you too, you won't hurt him if you push him away from you.

“I know who you are.” He tells you when you think he's decided not to talk to you anymore. “And you're wrong and you're only hurting yourself.” he sentences looking you in the eyes, you instead lower them as if struck by his words. Yes, he's right, you're going to suffer but you can't do otherwise.

Six months have passed since that evening. You have returned home, each to your own home and life. Fortunately, nothing has happened since the day you arrested El Diablo, you have not heard from him or his henchmen anymore. You have returned to work normally, you dedicate yourself more to seeking information and connections, you are less devoted to action. What you experienced in France has left its mark on you and for the moment has led you behind a desk.

For many, working behind a desk is bad, but not for you. Even better if you can help in this way too.

In these six months, five new colleagues have arrived, two are women and three are men. The two women, Andrea and Maxime, are more or less your age and both have their eyes on Javier, but neither of them has managed to attract his attention at the moment; the three men, Mark, Christian and Paul, are real gentlemen, at least from what you have been able to see. They are almost as stubborn as you and Javier, but if you tell them to do something, they do it without ever going beyond that. They never say or do anything more than they should and this newfound calm is definitely good for you. You really need it.

Your days are marked by a slow and regular rhythm, your actions and words are almost always the same. In this routine, you and Javier don't share a single moment except for the occasional brief, silent glance.

Part of you misses him. You even miss being teased or hearing him talk to you. On the other hand, you think it's a good thing that everything between you ended this way. No drama or tears, that's better.

It hurts you to know that behind that look there’s some form of regret. There’s also a great regret on your part in not having wanted to see if there could actually be something else between you.

You look up at him again, but he's already back to fiddling with some paperwork. You see his absorbed gaze and how he frowns when something doesn't convince him, you see him massage his chin and then light a cigarette.

For your own good, you decide to immerse yourself in the papers and not sit there mulling over your decisions or you risk going crazy. Your work takes up a lot of your time in typing into the computer two reports, one of which is the one you wrote by hand shortly after returning from France.

It's almost nine o'clock at night when you stretch your hands and get up with a small satisfied noise. You turn off the light on your desk, grab your jacket and go out.

You huddle in your jacket as you wait for the bus. The wind is particularly cold and biting today, you just hope you don't have to wait too long.

When you fear that no one will come, you hear a horn that almost makes you jump and then turn in that direction. It's Javier.

“Come on, jump up.” You look at him almost surprised. “I hope you don’t want to wait for that wreck that you don’t even know how long it’ll be until!” he adds, raising an eyebrow.

You zigzag your gaze from one corner of the half-deserted street to the other before opening the car door and getting in. The warmth of the passenger compartment immediately envelops you, making you relax against the backrest and moan with pleasure at this newfound warmth.

“What the fuck were you still doing there? Did you still have that report to finish?” he asks, giving you a quick glance before returning his focus to the road.

You nod, “Yes, I wanted to finish by tonight.”

“And did you succeed?” he asks you.

“Yes,” you reply, rubbing your hands together. “And what are you still doing here?” you ask, turning to face him.

“Andrea invited me for a drink.” You nod, feeling your heart skip a beat and finding yourself looking down, you shouldn’t have this reaction, you shouldn’t feel this way.

“I’m glad to hear that.” You say the last thing you should probably say, but you want to find a way to fill this strange silence.

"Yeah?" he asks you and from his tone you understand that he must be surprised too.

No, you are not.

“Sure.” you grumble, but look outside the car and watch the road pass by.

A strange, embarrassed silence follows, in which the sweetness and the weight of what happened between you comes back to light.

Neither you nor he say anything, you don't know what to say to him. You still feel embarrassed to be so close to him.

“Um, thanks anyway for... for the ride.” you find yourself adding, looking at him sideways as if afraid that your eyes might meet and you might say something that goes beyond the desired formality of your relationship.

“En cualquier momento! (anytime!)” he responds by driving slowly and confidently, almost as if he wants the journey to last much longer. Or maybe that's just how you interpret it.

Silence stretches between you again. You don’t know what to say to him. You were afraid something like this could happen.

“So, um.. what do you think of the new colleagues?” he asks you and you are surprised that he asks you for an opinion. But then you realize that it’s just a way to fill that numbing silence.

“Well, um.. the three boys are very friendly, cooperative and very prepared.” you answer, carefully choosing your words to describe them. You then turn to Javier and notice his perplexed look, “What?”

He shakes his head gently, he doesn't seem annoyed, but it's as if he's trying hard not to express his true thoughts. You see him purse his lips and then let out a small sigh.

“I'm not dating any of them,” you say even though you're not sure he really cares to know, but a part of you almost feels like you owe him this information.

His eyes are fixed on the road and he doesn't comment on your sentence, but you notice how his shoulders relax slightly and how the car is slowing down and then stops.

You barely notice that you are in front of your apartment building.

“Here we are.” he says pulling the handbrake almost straining to stare straight ahead.

“Here we are.” you repeat almost embarrassed and then turn your gaze towards him “So, um… thanks.”

He turns to you, stares into your eyes for a long time as if he wanted to say something else, but then gives up, lowers his gaze for a moment and then stares straight ahead again, “No problem.” he says simply “G’ night,” he adds.

You open the door, you're about to get out, but then you think better of it, you turn to him and he finally returns your gaze again, "Do you want to tell me something?"

You swallow as you feel like thousands of words are competing to be shouted and heard, but then you find yourself choking them all down, “No.” You reply, “And you?”

He takes a deep breath, but it sounds more like a sigh, “No.”

You nod, “See you tomorrow.” He nods, as you get out of the car and grab your keys to enter your building. As you close the door, you hear Javi’s car drive away.

Your heart pounds in your chest and for a moment, a long moment, you wonder what it would have been like if you hadn't said those words to him in your room, you linger on that fantasy for a while, regretting it soon after, only to tell yourself that you shouldn't think about it anymore, but not doing so will be really hard. When you are together the air inevitably charges with an electricity that passes through you and connects you in a way that pushing it away almost hurts.

You've been lying in bed for almost an hour, but all you do is stare at the ceiling. Javier and his gaze, Javier and his words are right there in front of you.

When you are about to fall asleep, your stepfather's words reverberate in your head with such force that you almost jump out of bed. You haven't thought about him in a while, but when you do, a feeling of remorse, guilt, and even shame wells up inside you. You weren't guilty, but your stepfather did everything he could to make you feel that way.

You remember that day all too well. It was a summer day, you wanted to swim at all costs, but the sea was very rough. You and your brother were two kids, you certainly didn't have the same perception of danger that your parents had.

You were a lively little thing, always smiling, reckless. Your brother was your exact opposite, shy, fearful, too cautious, a bit sulky. Your brother didn't have the same father as you, but you always felt like a brother to you. You loved each other very much. You would have done anything for each other, even doing something crazy just to not leave the other alone and so on that crucial day.

He followed you despite not being a great swimmer, a series of waves, one stronger than the other, knocked you down. You survived, he didn't.

When you came to and were informed of the tragedy, you cried, you sobbed his name and it was then that your stepfather thundered “It’s useless for you to cry now, you are a disaster, a catastrophe. Everyone around you dies, you were supposed to die. You don't deserve anyone's love because you pay back like this.”

Timid tears stream down your cheeks at the memory of those terrible words, you were a child then, but those words have dug so deep inside you that since then you have shied away from relationships with anyone. Even if it hurts to be alone, maybe it's better that way. You can't really hurt anyone. Except yourself.

[angeldeviloshi]

Ch. 189 Fumiko thoughts compiled from my bsky.

The Fumiko and Makima parallels back again with her immortality(?) coming at the cost of human life offered as resource for the state but in this case, it's her own life and body.

Fumiko and Yoshida's role reversals are so!!!!!!

I'm still mind blown by "Yoshida-senpai" she got us good.

The point is that her calling Denji-senpai (and the fact that her senpai specifically is carried over into the localisation) is noteworthy in of itself due to her technically being both Denji and Yoshida's senior as an adult and was mostly playing the role of their junior.

This is carried over into her being the "Denji-senpai" fan and not just a chainsaw man fan.

Her calling Yoshida "senpai" has more layers of implications than her calling Denji "senpai" however due to their jobs and how it reflects their positions.

In the case with Yoshida, Fumiko could be referencing her student roleplay or addressing Yoshida as her actual senior in Public Safety, or both. It both reframes the scene at the hospital and expands on her audience with the cabinet.

Given that Yoshida hasn't been in PS long himself and he's still in high school. So the term "Yoshida-senpai" in a professional context would place him in a position of higher authority to Fumiko despite being a teen who recently joined PS for roughly a year or so.

It serves a huge role in their dynamic here and it contributes to their framing as well, of who is in control.

It's the juxtaposition of seniority as both age and position that she's playing with Yoshida here. And having that acknowledged opens things up for me personally. If that makes sense.

Fumiko having Tomie-coded abilities would actually tie in so well with Aging here.

The youthful woman in a cycle of exploit of her body, it really amps up the disposability of it, as well as the stasis that comes with it. That it's triggered as she dies too.

She can renew herself + her role as the junior placing her alongside and beneath the children.

Her weaponising her womanhood too in her seduction. She effectively becomes an immortal tool herself. Transcending human and dog as the "unbreakable toy".

Especially when accounting for Aging using "boku" too. It's a pronoun that's commonly used by children because they'll often be addressing people they have to be respectful of, namely their elders until they grow out of it.

Youth placed over old(er) age.

Ok Fumiko's regeneration makes me all the more curious about her connection to Quanxi.

Fumiko feeding her organs to a devil, the winner + her past with the Gun Fiend fight and her being a chainsaw man fan is so!!!

When Denji was revived with the blood of the civilians in the area to defeat Aki-47.

Denji revving up the Chainsaw by devouring the guts of the old, the last thing Aging took from Fumiko being her intestines...

I kinda also wonder if Fumiko's deliberate lowering of herself is a conditional thing for her regeneration to work. Hence the fail girl moments. Like she has to be inferior in some capacity to side with "the winner" she makes herself subordinate to.

It being triggered as she dies too, when she's at her most pathetic, beaten down.

Circling back to the Makima/Barem parallels again. Makima's ability works in her seeing herself as above others, Fumiko's could potentially be the inverse of that while mirroring Denji's eating of Makima as his victory over her.

And then you have Barem playing the victim card with the crowd looking pathetic and bloody to turn them against Nayuta.

Fumiko establishing herself as prey, to be eaten both literally and metaphorically (sex) in order to be able to escape.

In a paradoxical way, this also reflects how women (esp in Japan too) often have to be passive to avoid stigmatisation and escalation of SA/harassment.

Just suck it up, be the convincing victim to be taken seriously, but if you let it get to that point aren't you just letting it happen?

And if you can discard and disconnect from this victimhood of yours, then your womanhood remains untainted, "unused".

She can't be competent but she's still useful.

The woman in the workplace...

Her referring to Yoshida as senpai despite her age also kinda signifies how women are made subordinate to men in the workplace even those who are younger/greener.

[punkshort]

Chapter warnings: language, descriptions of violence, death, graphic description of dead bodies, angst, smut (m masturbation), sexual tension x a million

A/N: please tell me if I should use any additional tags/warnings on this story. Also this is the longest chapter yet, I knew when I wanted it to end but I kept adding more detail and more scenes as I wrote and it just got away from me oops

Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

December 2003

Chicago, IL

The cold, bitter wind blew off the lake as you trudged through the snow. You had three layers underneath your thick jacket, but you were still freezing. You had forgotten just how cold it felt this close to the lake, but you kept eagerly pushing forward.

"I think I know where we are," you said excitedly to Joel, who had been unusually silent the past few miles. "There's this golf course a couple miles from my house, I think this is it."

"Can hardly see a thing out here," was all Joel said in response. You frowned, annoyed that he was bringing you down when you were finally starting to feel hopeful.

"What's wrong?" you asked, putting an arm out to stop him. He sighed and you watched as a puff of air leave his mouth then dance away on the wind before he turned to look at you.

"I'm just -" he stopped, rethinking his words. "I'm worried. If they ain't there, we need to go to the QZ, and I don't know if it'll be as easy to get out once we're in, like it was before." He paused before adding, "And I'm worried about you... if we don't find what you're expectin'."

"Don't be worried, I know it's a long shot. But I have to try. What else do I have?" You looked up at him through your eyelashes, dusted with snowflakes. You looked so beautiful that it took his breath away. He had to jam his fist into his pocket to keep himself from reaching out and cupping your face.

"You got me," he said, looking at you softly with his heart hammering in his chest. You inhaled sharply. He didn't mean it like it sounded. "We can go out west, see if we can find Tommy. It'll be warmer out there, too," he added nervously.

You could tell he was really trying, he looked anxious as he shifted his gaze to your surroundings, his hands fidgeting deeply in the pockets of his coat. You weren't even sure where you would even begin to look for Tommy, if that plan was even possible, but if he was willing to take you all this way to find your family, the least you could do is agree to try to find his.

"Yeah, okay," you said quietly. His fidgeting stopped, and he made eye contact with you again. "If I can't find my parents, that's a good plan. We can do that." You smiled reassuringly at him now, trying to ease his mind. He gave you a small smile in return and a quick nod, then looked back down at the snow, brushing his nose with the back of his gloved hand.

"Can we get moving, now? I'd like to get out of this cold soon," you said, stomping your feet lightly, trying to get more blood to circulate in your legs.

"Yeah, sure, let's get goin'," he said, and you headed across the golf course towards a wooded area in the distance. If this was the golf course you thought it was, then your neighborhood was just on the other side of those woods.

You made it to the outskirts of your neighborhood just before dusk. The familiar tree lined streets just a few blocks away from your house made your heart flutter in anticipation. You knew you shouldn’t get excited; you knew it was unlikely they would be there, or even leave any type of note telling you where they went, but you couldn’t help it. This was where you grew up, this was your home. Your memories were etched in these streets: learning how to ride a bike, falling out of the tree and breaking your arm in your best friend’s backyard, trolling the streets at night as teenagers thinking you were tough and cool. A part of you was excited to show your home to Joel, but you quickly stopped that line of thought. He was not your boyfriend you were bringing home to meet your parents. He was your boss who agreed to help keep each other safe these past few months.

You both approached your street as darkness wrapped around you. Joel insisted you survey the street for a while to see if there was any movement before giving away your position. You reluctantly agreed, ducking behind a house on the corner, until you saw light moving inside a house. Your house.

“Oh my god,” you said breathily, “that’s my house. Joel!” you latched onto his forearm, dragging his attention onto you, “My parents!” you gasped.

You lurched forward, but Joel’s hand yanked you back. You angrily spun around to face him.

“I know you’re excited,” he began, clenching both his hands on your shoulders, “but we don’t know if that’s them, it’s been a long time. I think we should wait- “

You cut him off, saying, “It’s got to be them, what are the chances? C’mon, Joel, please!” you begged, clutching his wrist. His gaze bore into yours as you held onto him, and again you whispered, “please,”.

He groaned, unable to deny you when you looked so sweet and adamant. “Alright, just give me a few minutes, let me think of a plan,” he replied, at which your face broke out in a huge smile, still grasping his hand in yours as you bounced on your heels.

“Sure, whatever, I just want to see them,” you replied, looking back at the lights moving around your living room. You couldn’t believe it; your parents were alive! Joel had tried to curb your expectations, but it wasn’t even necessary, they were there. They were right there!

You approached your house in the darkness, unable to keep the smile from your face as Joel led you quietly across the street. He rapped his knuckles three times on the door and pulled out his revolver as he stepped to the side, ready for hostility.  When the door cracked open, it was not what either of you expected.

A man you didn't recognize peered out from around the corner. All you could see was his eye, but he looked terrified as he feverishly looked back and forth between you and Joel.

"Who are you?" he asked, the door still cracked.

"Who am I? Who are you?" you replied before thinking, "this is my house, what are you doing?"

The man faltered a moment and Joel stiffened on the other side of the door. "Are you armed?" the man asked nervously, unable to see Joel's revolver at his side.

"Goddamn right we are," Joel spoke up, his grip on the gun tightening, "you better start explain' yourself."

The man went to slam the door shut but Joel was anticipating it, shoving his boot in the doorway to stop him.

"Alright, alright, I don't mean any harm," the stranger said, opening the door up more and walking backwards with his hands in the air, "come in, I'm not armed, but please don't hurt us."

Us. You entered your living room. It looked the same, except some pieces of furniture were pushed closer together. You glanced up at the wall above the fireplace by habit, seeing your high school graduation photo still prominently displayed, then your eyes settled on a woman cowering in the corner of the room. She was taller than you and blonde, with wide blue eyes and bangs that brushed her eyebrows, and she was shaking with fear. You held your hand out to Joel and pushed his revolver gently towards the floor. He resisted until his gaze met the girl in the corner, and his arms went limp.

The man who answered the door stepped forward, and you noticed now he seemed much younger, maybe around you age. He kept his arms up in front of him as he stood in front of the woman, his eyes pleading.

"Please, we don't mean any harm, we are just looking for a safe place to stay." He repeated, his brown eyes anxiously shifting back and forth between you and Joel.

Joel met your eyeline, and you sighed. Obviously, your parents had moved on, which left you distraught, but these people were harmless.

"It's fine," Joel said, tucking the gun in the back of his jeans. "This is her house," he gestured towards you, "we're lookin' for her parents, you know anythin' about that?"

The man lowered his hands now that Joel put his gun away, and drifted backwards to stand next to the woman, who still looked shaken.

"No, I'm sorry, I don't know who used to live here. We just needed someplace safe to stay for the winter, and this neighborhood was abandoned. We just picked your house randomly, I'm so sorry." the man apologized again, truly looking upset he couldn't help you more. "I'm Tim, this is Lucy," Tim rubbed Lucy's back affectionately, trying to ease her nerves.

You both introduced yourselves and they relaxed a bit, sitting down on the sofa and chairs surrounding the crackling fireplace.

"You think havin' a fire is a good idea? What if someone sees the smoke?" Joel asked, rubbing his hands together.

"Hasn't been a problem yet," Tim replied, "until you two."

You shook your head. "We didn't notice the smoke, but we saw your flashlights."

Tim smacked his palm against his forehead. "The one day I forget to pull the curtains closed, dang it!"

Joel shook his head and learned toward to Tim, "You need to be more careful. You're lucky it was just us," he said, swinging his thumb between the two of you. "You need to be better prepared, you gotta protect her," now motioning towards the Lucy.

Tim's face paled and he gulped nervously, reaching out and clutching Lucy's hand. "Can you give us some pointers? We just left the QZ two weeks ago, we are doing our best out here but," Tim gave Lucy a tight smile, "we could use all the help we could get."

Joel's eyes shifted between Lucy and Tim, then back to you. He didn't want to waste his time helping some kids who clearly were in over their heads, but the look on your face when you turned to meet his gaze changed his mind. He was finding it impossible to say no to you.

"Yeah, alright. For starters, close the damn curtains and put out the fire," he told Tim gruffly.

"How will we stay warm?" Lucy spoke up for the first time, nervously casting her gaze between you and Joel.

"Blankets. Keep your bedroom door closed. Body heat. Set up tents to sleep in inside when the temperatures really drop," you replied curtly. "Only when absolutely necessary should you risk a fire. It's still November, there's a long winter ahead of you."

Joel smiled at you proudly as you spoke, Lucy catching his look. You had been picking up tidbits from him over the past few months, and he was happy to see you've been paying attention.

Tim got up to close the curtains as Joel began to put the fire out. Lucy turned to you, shooting you a nervous smile.

"Tim and I are already in the master bedroom, do you and your boyfriend mind taking the other one?"

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend," you replied quickly. Too quickly. Joel's shoulders tensed over the fireplace. "But no, that's fine, we're used to sharing a bed, and that's my old room anyway."

Lucy smiled at you politely before shifting her eyes between you and Joel curiously, her eyebrows scrunched together as if she was trying to figure something out, then relaxed her brow when Tim returned to her side.

"Alright then, we're going to get some sleep. Obviously, help yourselves to whatever's in the cupboards. It is your house, after all." Tim said, glancing at you with a quick smile.

You nodded and wished them good night as they headed towards your parents’ room. It was just as well: it would have been weird to sleep with Joel in their bed.

The door shut behind them and you got to work rummaging through the familiar cupboards, pulling out some canned food you could eat and without having to think, pulled open the drawer that housed the can opener, and then the silverware. Joel eyed you warily as he sat down at the kitchen table. He knew he wasn't your boyfriend, but the way you quickly corrected Lucy still bothered him.

You ate in silence, leaving one flashlight on between you. Joel looked around your kitchen, trying to imagine you growing up here. His eyes landed on the fridge that had some pictures stuck to it with magnets. Once you were finished eating, he picked up the flashlight and went to take a closer look.

"Oh, those were taken so long ago, I hardly even look the same," you said, noticing where his attention was drawn.

Joel tsk'ed, zeroing in on a picture of you when you were little and drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, then another where you were on a field trip with your 8th grade class, and a third picture where you were in a sparkly red dress for a homecoming dance with some boy's arm around your waist.

"As I said, those were taken a long time ago," you whispered, suddenly appearing beside him. He turned to look at you, really look at you: he could still see the similarities from the pictures in the way you smiled, the shape of your eyes, and the curve of your mouth.

You yawned and reached out to grab your backpack. "Follow me," you said quietly, not wanting to disturb Tim and Lucy.

You led Joel down the hall towards your bedroom and pushed the door open. You were pleasantly surprised that your parents left it exactly the same. You still had posters hung on your wall of the Backstreet Boys, Britney Spears, and Destiny's Child. The pictures that decorated your dresser mirror were the same ones you shoved in the frame from high school: pictures of you and your friends at dances, at a restaurant, the mall, and a couple with the same boy who was on the fridge.

"Who's the guy?" Joel couldn't help but ask.

"Oh, that's Matt. He was my first boyfriend. We broke up right before college," you said coolly as you pulled out some more comfortable clothes from your backpack and left to go change in the bathroom down the hall.

Joel took the opportunity to look casually through the items on your dresser, sniffing a few different half used perfume bottles and flipping through some CDs. It was strange to be here in your bedroom. He had never considered actually being here before, too focused on the journey and not really thinking about the destination. You returned to the bedroom with a couple of extra blankets in your arms.

"My parents kept these in the hall closet, I already made sure Tim and Lucy had enough," you explained, spreading the blankets over your twin bed. You swallowed nervously, realizing this bed was smaller than the beds you've previously shared. Joel excused himself to go clean up and change as you slid into the sheets, your eyes closing in relief at the familiarity of the room. You didn't realize you had nearly fallen asleep until the mattress shifted, and your eyes snapped open. Joel's leg and arm brushed up against yours as you tried to keep your body from going rigid at the contact. It was unavoidable, your bed was too small, so you forced your body to relax and tried not to overthink it.

"Tomorrow, I'll ask ‘em about the QZ. If they can share any details about the place, then I think we can go there lookin' for your folks," he whispered in the dark.

"Mhmm, sounds good," you whispered back, still struggling to control your reaction from being so close to him. Your whole body felt hot. You told yourself it was just the extra blankets, but you knew better. Whenever he had been this close before, it was in your sleep, your mind was unable to process his touch until he was already pulling away from you. You squirmed a little, trying to get more comfortable.

"You need more room?" he asked, about to move before you stopped him.

"No, I'm fine, thanks," you said quickly, and turned to your side, finally getting a few more inches between you.

Joel stared at your back longingly. It seemed like every day something reminded him of what he would never have. The way you shirked away from his touch and how you made it perfectly clear you were nothing more than companions to Lucy felt like a punch in the gut. It's been months, and he still couldn't get his mind off you. You were becoming a burning need and it was driving him crazy. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing sleep to come so he could find some peace.

You woke up the next morning feeling well rested and warm. Really warm. With your eyes still shut, you burrowed into your bedsheets deeper to enjoy the warmth a little longer before having to wake up and face the frigid Midwest. You nuzzled your face forward and froze when your nose and lips met skin instead of a blanket. You slowly opened your eyes and found yourself face to face with Joel’s chest. You must have shifted around and ended up facing him at some point overnight. You stared at the exposed skin of his neck, taking in the little details of his tanned and pebbled skin, examining every birthmark you could lay your eyes on, then leisurely allowed your gaze to travel upwards where his prickly beard scattered over his neck, jaw, and upper lip. You inspected the patchy spots in his beard, seeing a few grey hairs sprouting up on the corners of his jaw. You noticed one bald spot resembled a heart, making you ache with the desire to press your lips there. His lips looked soft and plush, and you remembered how good they felt pushed against your own as they maneuvered your mouth open. His nose was sharp and angular, your favorite feature after his eyes. You were caught up in examining the wrinkles developing around his face when he woke up suddenly and his gaze immediately fixated on you.

You now realized you had your arms tangled around each other. Even your leg was wedged in between his under the blankets. You both lay on your sides, faces inches away, as you continued to stare at one another silently. Joel's eyes flicked down your face, examining you the same way you had just done to him. You felt your cheeks flush under the scrutiny, and you parted your lips to take in more air as your heart thumped wildly in your chest. Joel noticed the movement, his gaze fixed on your lips before flicking back up to your eyes. He exhaled softly through his nose, the puff of air blowing gently over your face. The air around you was thick with tension, causing you to shiver involuntarily. Joel lifted his hand from your hip to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your lips. You sighed and your eyes fluttered shut, unable to resist leaning into his touch this time. He took a moment to appreciate the gentle features of your face while your eyes were closed. He ran his thumb over your lips again, marveling at how soft they were. He swallowed nervously, moving his thumb from your lips to rest on your cheek, then leaned forward, closing his eyes when his nose tenderly nudged your own.

A sharp knock on the door made you gasp and jump away. You sat up in bed, clutching the blanket to your chest and Joel laid back with a frustrated groan, roughly running his hands up and down his face.

"Yes!" you yelped; your voice high pitched. Lucy's quiet voice on the other side of the door answered.

"Just checking on you, we have breakfast and coffee whenever you're ready!"

"Be right out!" you replied, voice still too high, no doubt the result of your nerves short circuiting. You stared down at your hands, unsure what to say.

"Did you sleep alright?" you finally asked, a question he usually was asking you. You fidgeted with the edge of the blanket and turned to look at him, anxiously waiting for his answer. He dragged his hands down from his face and let them rest on his stomach, then shot you a grin.

"Slept fuckin' great," he said, grinning wider as he watched your face heat up from embarrassment, and you bit your lip to hold back a smile of your own. It took everything he had to not grab you and pull you back into his arms as you stood up and walked to the door.

"I'll see you in a minute," you said shyly, and closed the door behind you. You headed to the bathroom first, giving yourself a moment to catch your breath. You hovered over the sink and stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess, and your face was flushed. You looked completely wrecked. What were you thinking? The tension was beginning to be too much, and maybe if you just had sex and got it out of your system, just one time, it would help clear your head. It doesn't have to mean anything. If that was all he was willing to offer you, would that be so bad? You could separate the physical from the emotional, right? You sighed, raking your fingers through your hair to tame it, and went to meet Tim and Lucy in the kitchen.

"Fuck," Joel whispered out loud to himself after you left. He palmed his erection over his sweatpants, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. It had been so long since he last jerked off. It was risky, you could come back in here at any moment, but he was convinced he would be hard half the day if he didn't take care of himself.

He pushed his sweatpants down just enough to pull out his cock, squeezing his eyes shut as he gripped himself firmly, setting a fast pace right away, knowing it wouldn't take him long. He let out short, quick gasps as he replayed the events from that morning: the way he caught you looking at him when he woke up, the sound you made when you sighed into his hand, your soft lips. "Shit," he groaned through clenched teeth, his hips thrusting into his fist as he imagined those lips wrapped around his cock, looking up at him through your eyelashes, your face all flushed as you brought him into your mouth as far as you could before stifling a gag.

He frantically reached out to the bedside table where he saw a few scarves piled near the lamp, snatching one and catching his release just in time before he made a mess all over your bed. He laid there for a few minutes catching his breath and then tucked himself back into his pants, shoving the scarf deep under your bed. He reluctantly stood up to change his clothes and ran his fingers through his hair before heading towards the kitchen.

"Oh my goodness, that sounds awful!" Joel heard you saying as he walked into the room. The three of you sat around the table with mugs of coffee, some oatmeal and pop-tarts. He sat down in a chair next to you and poured himself coffee before digging into the food.

"It got really bad there, we just couldn't risk sticking around. From what others were saying, it was just as bad in any other city," Tim had finished saying. You turned to Joel, faltering for a split second when your eyes met, before explaining.

"They just told me the QZ is a shitshow. People are having their food rationed, they're doing grunt work for hardly anything in return, and some people are being attacked for their supplies and the soldiers don't do anything to stop it," you said, listing each item off on your fingers as you spoke.

"Well, it could have been worse. We heard stories about soldiers going to neighborhoods and filling up trucks with people, telling them they'll go to the QZ, but the trucks never arrived," said Lucy, eyes wide. "Rumor has it, there wasn't enough room, so the soldiers shot everyone and left them on the side of the road."

"Why would they do that?" you gasped, a hand over your mouth.

"Dead people can't turn into infected," said Tim sadly, "that's why we stuck it out in the QZ as long as we could."

"How long were you there for?" Joel asked, pausing to take a sip of the piping hot coffee. He looked around, frowning, wondering for the first time how they heated up food, and then he saw the fireplace roaring. His eyes flicked back to Tim angrily.

"I know, I know, we're gonna put it out, we just wanted to warm up a bit and make something to eat," he waved off Joel's glare with a chuckle, "besides, you couldn't even see the smoke last night."

"We were distracted, anyone else walkin' up this street will see it. I'm warnin' you right now," Joel scowled and pointed his finger menacingly at Tim, "if you get her hurt 'cause you ain't listenin' to me, I'm gonna make the QZ look like a fuckin' playground." The whole table was silent while Joel stared daggers into Tim's paling face. You were confused why Joel was so protective over Lucy, a stranger by all accounts, until the coffee kicked in and it clicked: Joel wasn't referring to Lucy. He was talking about you. You could feel the tips of your ears getting red.

You cleared your throat, trying to break the tension at the table. Then a thought occurred to you. You got up quickly and snatched a picture off the mantle over the fireplace, bringing it back to the table and slid it between Lucy and Tim.

"Did you ever see those two people in the QZ?" you asked desperately, your gaze bouncing between them as they examined the photo carefully. They frowned as they stared into the faces of your smiling parents, then slowly shook their heads.

"I'm sorry, I don't think so. But it was a big place," said Lucy, "it's possible they could be there, and we just never saw or noticed them!"

You sighed, thanking them anyway, and pulled the picture back towards you. Joel could see the disappointment in your eyes, and he wanted to take your mind off it. His gaze traveled to a corner of the kitchen where he saw a bow leaning up against the wall with a quiver of arrows. He nodded towards it.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked, standing up to inspect it. You looked up and gasped.

"That's mine! Oh my god, I had no idea my parents kept it."

"Yeah, we found it in the basement. We didn't have any weapons, so we figured it was better than nothing. I've never even used a bow before," Tim said. Joel picked it up and pulled on the strings a few times, then picked up a couple arrows and flicked the tips to test their sharpness.

"You mind if we borrow it? I wanna try to get us something substantial to eat. Looks like it's gonna be a nice day," Joel said, peeking out the window up at the sun, watching the icicles on the gutters drip.

Tim agreed, since it wasn't really his to begin with. You insisted on leaving your pistol on the counter with them, in case of an emergency. Lucy shuddered when she saw the gun, and Tim picked it up to put it in the cupboard next to the sink.

"She hates guns," he explained quietly to you as you and Joel got ready to head out to hunt. "After seeing so much brutality in the QZ, she can't stand them. I'm just trying to keep her calm and happy, so I do as she says." He smiled at you both as you walked through the front door. Before you walked away, Joel turned back to Tim and just simply said "Fire," in a forceful tone, to which Tim nodded and gave a thumbs up, closing the door behind you.

The two of you walked silently down the street back towards the woods you came from, your heads swiveling every so often to make sure no one else was around. The sun was bright, and it was bouncing off the white snow, making you wince. You could tell as you walked that the few inches of snow that was on the ground was breaking up under the warmth. It would probably mostly be gone by nighttime, leaving muddy and dead grass to admire.

Once you reached the woods, Joel did his best to track any animal prints that looked fresh. He wasn't exactly an expert, but he knew enough. You followed closely behind him and kept your eyes on the trees for any movement. You had been walking around the woods for almost an hour before you stopped to rest. You found a fallen tree trunk elevated a bit from the ground that you could both comfortably sit on. You took a sip from your canteen as you glanced around. The forest was so still and quiet, it felt peaceful. You closed your eyes for a moment to savor it, unaware Joel was watching you closely.

Neither of you had mentioned anything about this morning. Joel felt a glimmer of hope inside him that maybe not all was lost, that maybe you could feel the same way he did. He wanted to talk about it, but he didn't want to scare you off and ruin the progress he had made. He cleared his throat, the noise grabbing your attention and making you open your eyes to look at him.

"So," he began, fiddling with the bow in his hands, his eyes cast downward, "I guess when we get back, we oughta ask 'em how they escaped from the QZ, then we can make a plan, get in and see if we can find your folks."

"Mhm, that sounds good," you said, watching him pick at the bow. "Maybe we should stay one more night, then leave early tomorrow."

He looked up at you now, unable to hide the shock from his face. He expected you would want to leave right away, eager to find your family. He scanned your face, seeing a small, playful smile, and he swallowed roughly. You wanted to stay another night for a reason.

His breath caught in his throat, and he could feel the warmth spreading across his cheeks. He hoped you would think the cold air was to blame as he shifted his weight on the log, dragging his gaze from you and onto the trees.

"Yeah," he finally squeezed out, "that's fine, we can leave tomorrow."

You bit your lip and turned your head away from him so he wouldn't see the smile that threatened to spill across your face.

You heard a snap of a twig nearby, drawing both of your attention as you fixated on the location of the noise. You froze when you saw a fat rabbit about 10 yards away, happily munching on some grass that had been exposed by the sun. Joel slowly reached down for the bow, but without looking you reached your hand out to place on top of his, stopping him. You motioned with your fingers to hand over the bow. You were more familiar with it, but it had been a long time. It was like riding a bike, right?

You loaded an arrow slowly into the bow, and drew back the string silently, closing one eye and aiming straight ahead. You let out a slow breath, then held it for half a second before letting go of the string. You cried out in happiness when the arrow made contact, killing the rabbit instantly. Joel swiveled his head towards you with a huge grin plastered on his face, beaming with pride.

You held the rabbit by the feet as you made your way back to the house, explaining you used to shoot archery in middle school but lost interest. The adrenaline from the kill combined with the excitement of what lied ahead for you and Joel was making you dizzy with happiness. You should have known something was going to ruin it.

You were a few doors down from your house, still smiling and teasing Joel about how much of a better hunter you were when his eyes fell on the front door of your house, and he froze. You stopped automatically, following his gaze to the front door of the house that was wide open. You both stood there for a minute, waiting to see if Tim was going to appear walking back inside with a bucket of snow to melt, but he never did. You turned to Joel, your eyes filled with worry.

"Did he leave the door open?" you asked shakily, hoping there was a reasonable explanation. Joel slowly shook his head, eyes still trained on the house. You looked around you now, trying to make out any footprints in the snow that may have been foreign, and Joel looked around at the houses on the street for movement. When it appeared to be quiet and still, you both begrudgingly approached your home, afraid of what you would find.

Joel stepped through the door first, his face immediately contorting in a grimace. He held his arm out to keep you back, but you refused, dropping the rabbit and pushing past him, gasping at the sight before you. Tim and Lucy were slaughtered, laying lifeless on your living room floor. Blood seeped into the beige carpet, making it spongy and red. Their eyes were open and staring up at the ceiling, their mouths agape as blood slowly trickled from their multiple stab wounds.

You bit back a sob, turning away to focus on literally anything except them. Joel desperately wanted to comfort you, but he first needed to know the bandits were gone, so he advanced into the small house, clearing each room before returning to find you standing in the kitchen, tears streaming down your face.

He briefly noticed the cupboards were left wide open, all the food taken, as well as the pistol you left for Tim, before he reached out to envelop you in his arms. You sank into his embrace, sobbing quietly into his shoulder. His eyes flicked back to the scene in the living room.

“That fuckin’ fire, I told him to put it out,” he said, staring at the small flames still licking at the embers.

You tried to argue with Joel about burying them, but he didn’t want to risk it. He wanted to get back into the forest behind the shelter of the pine trees. You had packed up your things quickly while Joel draped a couple sheets over their bodies. He made sure to grab the rabbit you killed before hurrying you out the front door and back towards the forest, not stopping until you were miles away and you begged him to take a break. He relented only when he found a secluded spot where he felt safe making a small fire to cook the rabbit. As you ate, he examined his map, trying to figure out where you were in relation to the QZ. He was fairly certain you were heading in the right direction, his eyes lifting up towards the sun and then turned the map around in his hands.  

“I think we’re here,” he told you, pointing to a green area on the map. “If we hook up with this road here,” he dragged his finger over to a thick line on the page, “then that will take us right into the city, and we can find the QZ.” You nodded, cleaning off your plates in what little snow remained on the ground. “You doin’ ok?” he asked you hesitantly. You stopped cleaning the plates to look up at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you assured him, “just… that could’ve been us. It scared me.” You held his gaze for a moment, trying to express how much he meant to you with a look. Joel shook his head and leaned forward to grip your hand.

“It ain’t gonna be us, we don’t make stupid mistakes like that, you understand me?” You nodded, your eyes raking over his face, wondering if your luck will eventually run out. He gave your hand one more squeeze before standing up, urging you to pack up so you could make it to the QZ before nightfall.

The road Joel had pointed out to you on the map was deserted, surrounded only by thick forests and a few abandoned cars as you made your way slowly towards the city. You kept your gaze on the ground in front of you, absentmindedly kicking a stone here or there as you walked beside Joel, who was on high alert for raiders and gripping his rifle tightly in his hands. The road curved and steered you towards an open field, where you could now see buildings not too far off in the distance. Suddenly, Joel stretched his arm out across your chest, stopping you both. You looked up at him, confused, then followed his gaze. Not far ahead, you could see a pile of bodies on the side of the road, just like Lucy had warned. You held your breath, unable to fathom how evil those soldiers must be to execute all those innocent people. He looked down at you, and you nodded to him, telling him you were ok, to keep walking.

You continued down the road, both of you unable to keep your eyes off the bodies as you got closer. You couldn’t tell how long they had been there, the harsh winter had likely preserved their bodies, but with the snow melting today, you could make out most of their exposed faces and clothes. Your eyes scanned over a few of the bodies on top and that’s when you saw them: their bodies twisted and lifeless, laid next to one another on the side of the pile.

You dropped to your knees in the middle of the street, not even registering the pain from the impact. Then your vision went blurry before blackness creeped along the edges. You forced out a choked cry, unable to control the volume of your voice as sobs shook your body. Joel’s arms were around you instantly, cutting off your view from your parents, and kneeled down in the street with you, holding you to his chest to muffle your screams, rocking you back and forth until your breathing slowed and you ran out of tears.

Chapter Twelve

Taglist: @chiogarza, sparklejumpropequeen-777

[xx-slug-xx]

//tw- antis, sa, death

Some shit I found on Twitter today. The fuck are antis on

When someone dies, it is traumatic. Full stop. Death is the worst fear that we, as people, instinctively have. If someone in our lives dies, it it’s terrifying. Not only is it a reminder of our own mortality, but it’s also heartbreaking to loose someone. Especially when it’s someone close to us. To say that it’s not traumatic because they are gone is absurd. It’s traumatic BECAUSE someone you love is gone. It’s not an “out of sight out of mind” type deal. People don’t suddenly mean nothing if they are dead. And if this anti was referencing how dead people can’t be traumatized by their own death, that’s still fucked up. It’s true, but their death will affect the people around them. And the people who experience attempted murder, and live with the trauma of living with a near death experience? Do they not matter? Should they have died instead of living?

If this is how someone truly feels about death (nonspecific and just generally death), I fully believe that they should seek therapy. This is an abnormal response to loss, and it can be a good indicator of underlying mental health issues that can and will cause further problems for both the people experiencing this sort of feeling and the people around them.

I don’t want the morality police to start saying this type of thing though. It makes their argument even more outlandish imo. If real death means nothing to you, but fictional death does, then what kind of moral stand point is that even supposed to be? And to say that people are better off dead than to live their lives with the experience of trauma is disgusting. Victims of sexual abuse, or anyone who has experienced trauma of any sort, often feel like they should be dead and struggle with suicidal thoughts. I know my own trauma has caused this in me when I was younger. By saying that victims are better off dead helps drive people over the edge. This is abhorrent. And maybe, that’s what they want. Victims deserve to live regardless.

There’s beauty in this world, and we are here too see it and to create more of that beauty for others. Nobody is better off dead because of the things in our lives that were out of our hands.

As a csa survivor myself, yes, my trauma is life long and will always affect me to some degree. However, I’ve grown past it. I’m more than my trauma, and so is every other victim out there. It’s important to my growth as a person and my experiences. But it doesn’t define my whole life. I won’t give my trauma the right to dictate who I am or how I behave. I’m not an animal that needs to be put out of my misery because of what I went through. Death is not a better option to living with past trauma

[aceandurmom]

Harlequin Hearts: The Archivist's Swordmaster Affair Chapter Five

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ONLY ON TUMBLR UNDER ACEANDURMOM//////////////////

TRIGGER WARNING: Toxic Relationship, Referenced SA

Waking up, your eyes darted across the room. Desperately, you searched for the cause of why you awoke at such an hour. With a quick glance to the window, the sun had yet to rise. The feeling of someone watching was causing chills to form on the back of your neck. 

Trying to remain as calm as possible, you sucked in a breath before laying back down. Appearing as if you were to go back to sleep so you could lure out whoever was out there. A shifting caught your attention, grabbing the pistol form under the pillow, you armed yourself and pointed where the sound had come from. A chuckle sounded from the depths of your room, but the unease remained. 

You knew the voice, had been hearing it everyday for years now. 

But this was the first time he had made his way to your room, especially in the dead of night. 

Rising, you went to make yourself presentable, only to be stopped in the process. The fishman approached, pushing you by the shoulders to that you fell back to the mattress. 

Eyes expecting, you had tried to question him. 

“Quiet. I have something to say to you.”

You had stilled, not wanting to disappoint. You only prayed the message was some kind of raise and nothing degrading. 

“You impressed me today. I didn’t think you would be able to do it, little minnow.”

A pause.

“You proved me wrong.”

The shark came forward, eyes angry. 

“I hate being wrong.”

A shudder swept through your body, freezing you in your place. You had upset him, not at all meaning to or your intention-

His webbed hand drew closer, delicately swiping away the tear you had been unaware even existed. 

Your breath hitched, aware of what Arlong did when he was angry. 

“But.”

Arlong dropped to one knee in order to meet your gaze. 

“I guess I’ll have to deal with it when it comes to you. So eager-”

His hand fell from your face, a cruel grin forming, teeth glimmering in the dark. 

He stepped closer, arms pushing you further down. His face all of a sudden right in front of yours, his strong arm flying in the corner of your eyes-

He flung his hat to the depths of the room, the dark concealing its existence. 

You were scared, not at all pleased with how he kept on approaching you. Feeling vulnerable, you tried to keep him in place, hands pressing against his chest to stop his descent. 

He scowled, not pleased. 

And what was a small human like you to do against a monster like him?

–

Waking up from the memory, you thrashed against the constraints of the duvet. Breathing heavily, you tried to push the past away, trying to repress it once more into the back of your mind. But Arlong had never been the one to ignore. And so the thought came back with a vengeance, throwing you back into the uncomfortable night. Growing colder and sick at the remembrance, your feet led you to the door. Hand hesitating in the handle, you tried to think of where to go, who to seek comfort in. 

And then you remembered a week ago, the moment shared with Mihawk. 

Ever since then, he had continuously been by your side, always offering a presence to be apparent in everyone’s field of view. If he was to be busy, he had insisted Crocodile to be there in his stead. 

Reluctantly, but not once complaining, the reptile had agreed. 

And Buggy had been all too happy to have them do so for his peace of mind. At least until he had deemed it unnecessary for them to do so. 

Mihawk was the one you had leaned on most in the days following. So, you thought it wouldn’t hurt to bother him now. After all, he had been the one to insist if you had a problem to approach him. 

Determined, your hand stopped its shaking. Turning the doorknob, you pushed the wood open. The cold air of night flew to your face immediately, seeming to freeze the spilling tears that had been dropping for a minute now. Scoffing at yourself, you realized how much of a crybaby you had been recently. Maybe Buggy would notice and decide you would be better somewhere else. 

The thought only brought more despair. The hiccup from the depth of your throat hadn’t been expected, nor one you could stop in time. The sound felt like it reverberated in the halls, heard from even outside the tent. 

Sucking up your tears, you fled from your doorway and down the halls, yearning for someone to share your burdens with. 

Approaching the wine red door, you had gone to knock before pulling back your hand. 

What the hell were you doing, going so late at night to wake up one of the leaders of the Cross Guild!? You were grown, you should be over this bullshit by now! 

But your appearance had already been noticed. 

Because of course it had, Mihawk wasn’t an amateaur with Observatin, it just wasn’t his most developed. But you were just outside of his room, a place that was way too close to him not to be unaware of. So he had stepped out of bed, thrown on a robe, and waited for you to gain the courage to knock. 

Unable to simply walk away now, you had conceded. 

Dracule had answered almost immediately, the door swiftly opening in a matter of seconds. The man of the hour appeared in its absence, his body seeming to glow in the light of the candles lit behind him. His silhouette was enchanting, drawing you in ever closer. 

Mihawk cleared his throat, drawing back your attention. 

Head hipping to face him, the swordsman recognized the telltale signs of your current state. 

The tear stains were there, even though you were no longer actively crying. The whites of your eyes were bloodshot, and the wobbling lips were only more damning. Sighing in defeat, Mihawk opened his door wider. Reaching out, the ravenette drew you into his domain. 

Once inside and behind the closed door, Dracule enclosed your weary body in a firm embrace, softly drawing patterns on your back. 

Voice quiet, he moved the two of you to the side of his bed. He sat, holding you still. 

“What happened, little rabbit?”

“Just a nightmare.”

“Nightmare or something you would have preferred to forget?”

He was so gentle, voice bordering on a murmur that you could barely comprehend. The deep timbre rumbling his chest so that you could hear it. Head tucked under his chin, you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to collect yourself. 

“I forgot where I was. It was as if I was back there.”

An understanding hum escaped him. 

“It seems as though your recent encounter has brought you more distress than originally thought.”

Chuckling, you had to agree. Even when he was trying to be soft, he was so put together. 

“It would appear so. I imagined I had gotten past all of this.”

One of his arms broke free from his embrace, coming up to gently card his fingers through your hair. 

“Trauma comes back into the most unexpected of ways, my dear. It does not mean you are weak to experience it.”

“I feel like a child afraid of a monster that isn’t there.”

His chin plopped on top of your head, starting to softly rock the two of you.

“But he was.”

You paused, taking in what he had been saying. 

“He is dead now.”

“Say his name.”

“...why?”

Your voice was small, not wanting to do so. Mihawk had frowned, hearing the broken child Arlong had left behind. If the man was still alive, Dracule would have drawn out his death far longer than whatever Strawhat had. 

“I wish for you to accept it. He is dead, and he will not hurt you even if you speak ill of him.”

You didn’t respond, struggling to come to terms of such a request. You unintentionally drew in to yourself, curling up. 

“It was like he was untouchable. I think….I think I thought of him as a vengeful deity. I wanted to please him but I was terrified.”

It was hard to explain. 

But you didn’t have to. 

“I understand.”

And wasn’t that the only thing you needed? 

–

Arlong moved further, hand caressing your own before trailing up your arm. 

To your shoulder. 

To your neck. 

A breath of air escaped from your mouth. Water pooling in your eyes. 

Arlong noticed, grin crawling up even further up his face. 

“Scared, minnow?”

The question was airy, said more in a statement rather than a question. 

His dark hair fell from behind his shoulders, draping around your own face. 

He watched your face, trying to pick out what made you the most uncomfortable. 

His webbed fingers left your neck, slowly circling around your throat, holding you in place. You tried to ignore the hand, tried to look him in the eyes to show you weren’t afraid.

“So cute how you try to be tough,  I can feel your pulse, here-”

He pushed his thumb against your artery. 

“But what if…”

He removed his hand, drifting down to your chest. He brushed against the flesh there, watching as your breathing grew uneven. You closed your eyes, willing yourself away from here, any place away from Arlong. 

He chuckled low in his throat. 

Teeth shining threateningly. He backed away from you, completely removing himself from your personal space. 

“How fun. Do not ever disobey me.”

You nodded frantically, eyes closed tight.

He left, steps heavy in his departure. 

“Not here, not here-”

A sob escaped before Arlong fully made it out of your side of the hall. You heard him laugh, a cruel and evil sound that made you shudder. 

And continued to repeat your mantra. 

Until the morning came, the sun creeping over the horizon. You wanted to leave. 

But you go out of bed on shaky legs, stumbling through the room like a newborn faun. Finally dressed, you made your way to your office. And Arlong hunted you down, already a list made for your tasks for the day. 

And so it went. 

-

You spent the night clinging to the man, hungry for the peace of mind he gave you.You had finally fell back to sleep, only to wake up to the blinding sun assaulting every one of your senses. 

Mihawk was already awake, or maybe he didn’t sleep, and was witnessing you in all of your glory. 

Eyes shutting once more, you tried to dig deeper into the comforter, burying yourself into Dracule’s chest. You felt the rumble of what may have been a laugh, the swordsman apparently amused at your defiance to the world itself. 

“It is time for the day to start, mi paloma.”

You could hear the adoration even under the blanket, unable to push away the warmth rising to your face. There was no embarrassment that you felt, just flustered at the new kind of attention being received. It was different compared to what Arlong made you feel, the strange flutter in your stomach was usually anxiety…this was completely new to you. 

It was a good kind of new though. 

Dracule moved the blanket, slowly pushing it away so that you were gradually revealed to the world. Blinking, you grew used to the sun trying to blind you. You made out the figure of Dracule, tenderly smiling in the sun. 

Dear Nika, he was beautiful. 

“There you are, Star.”

Eyes wide, you tried to ignore the feeling that continues to swell in your chest. The endearment from Buggy was familiar, but when Dracule said it…there was something else. 

“Did you have any more nightmares?”

“None that were as bad as the first one.”

His golden eyes felt like they were staring through you, pure curiosity in his gaze. Sensing the lie, he tried to gently pry. 

His hand cupped your cheek, directing you to look at him. 

“Would you like to talk about it more, it may make you feel better.”

You shook your head, feeling much better compared to last night. 

And then the calm morning was destroyed by your beloved captain. 

“STAR!?”

The bluenette screamed. The clown was loud but this was impressive. His room was right next to yours, put there so he could help in case something went awry. He must have been concerned since you weren’t in your office. That alone told you how late in the morning it must be, usually you were there before any of the other three. 

Groaning, you shot Mihawk an apologetic look before rising. He nodded, normal scowl resurfacing on his pretty face. 

Before you could leave the room, your hand was caught. Turning to see what was the issue, you were met with the sight of Dracule reaching from the bed tos top you. He tugged you over, placing a light kiss on your knuckles. 

“I will meet you in the conference room in a moment.”

“Alright, I’ll calm down Bugs.”

“You do a wonderful job at it.”

And so you left the room with a blush decorating your cheekbones. 

Racing from the door, you ran through the plaid halls to meet your panicking captain. 

“STAR!?”

Your form finally comprehended in his mind, his body parts flying to you in hysteria. 

His hands cupped your face, turning you every which way to check for any injuries. 

“What happened, who touched you, did someone go into your room again, what-!”

Catching his disembodied hands, you reattached his limbs to his arms. 

“I just had a nightmare, Sir.”

He stopped, a concerned look falling into place.

“You should have woke me up, I would have made sure you were okay.”

Your heart stuttered, the kindness in his gesture catching you off guard. 

“I don’t know why you look so surprised. Your my sibling, dumbass. I worry about you. What was it about?”

You winced. 

“It was…”

You thought of what you had discussed with Dracule, contemplating the logistics of such. 

“Arlong. It was about my time with Arlong.”

Buggy choked on his spit, not expecting you to say it so straightforward. You normally darted around the topic, trying to distract from the topic at hand. 

“I-uh,.”

Shaking his head, Buggy steeled himself. 

“Who did you go to? Or did you go somewhere by yourself?”

He was back to fretting, the very thing you wanted to avoid. 

“I may or may not have gone to wake someone up.”

“Who.”

He went back to being a captain, knowing that you would never not answer him when he was serious. 

“Mihawk.”

He nodded before sitting there, frozen. 

“What.”

The office was dull, the bright colors no longer as vibrant as they used to be. The paint had slowly started to fade, and as soon as Buggy stepped in he had made a huge deal over it. He rushed around, frantically yelling orders for his crew of builders and sampling paint. Once he left, another man made his way into the room, just as he said he would. 

“Little rabbit, you’ve already caused quite a stir.”

You laughed, shaking your head at him. 

“My brother does that by himself, Dracule.”

He breathed in through his nose, eyes closed. You didn’t expect his approach, quick and silent. 

Swiftly, he turned you around to face him before gently pushing you against the desk you often overworked yourself on. You gasped, not expecting the sudden movement. 

He leaned in, nose brushing your own. 

“I crave you in a way I have not for a long long time. I wish for you to be pressed to me every moment we part.”

His spoke into your mouth, lips finally pressing harshly against your own. 

For a man so kind and gentle, he was incredibly passionate. 

Breaking apart, he studied your face before pressing his forehead against yours. 

“I hope I am not scaring you off. If this is too much I would understand. I can dim it down.”

You shook your head vehemently, not at all bothered by the man’s advances. 

You reached out, hand brushing along his neck. You threaded your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging him in your direction. Getting the hint, he kissed you again. 

His hands wrapped around your thighs, swiftly picking you up and depositing you onto the surface of the desk you were previously pressed against. 

He spread your legs, stepping between them so he could be closer. Dracule’s tongue darted past his lips, lapping at the seam of your own. You allowed him to do as he pleased, eagerly allowing him to slide his tongue into your mouth. He traced your tongue with his before pulling back. Your mixed saliva connected the both of you for a moment longer, trying to reconnect, you were pushed away. Confused, you had reached out to him, but he stepped away further, pressing a finger to your lips to hush you. 

“Shh, my dear. There is someone coming this way.”

And right he was, as Sir Crocodile sauntered across the hall. 

Once the man saw the state you were in, the Swordsman tried to tidy you up. Brushing the spit away from your chin with his thumb, he placed a chaste kiss to your lips in an apology. 

“Later, mi amor.”

And he left.

[dixonsdarkelf]

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter One

Masterlist

AO3 link Wattpad link

Lydia Vector is a trauma surgeon trying to find herself again after a traumatic incident--on top of surviving the zombie apocalypse. Along the way, she finds community, friendship, and maybe something more.

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted SA, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family & bestie (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--blood, violence, amputation, swearing

“Lydia Rae Vector, Board-Certified in Trauma Surgery!”

The grin that spread across my face caused my cheeks to ache. I looked out and saw my parents and brothers, who fought like hell for their front-row seats to witness their only daughter and sister receive her certification. This was the moment I had worked my entire life for.

My residency was complete. And my boards had been passed. I was officially a surgeon.

The “waterproof” mascara I had spent my last $20 on ran and flaked into my eye, causing it to water more. I take my certificate from the officiator, shake his hand, and look out to the audience once again.

And I see him. Every single time, I see him.

A man stumbling down the center aisle, appearing drunk and disorderly, but he’s covered in blood, and his skin is bluish-grey. Decomposition has clearly already started. That was evident by both the open wounds on his body and the putrid stench that accompanied him. And the rest always happens the exact same way.

The crowd notices him, and slowly, the entire auditorium falls silent. Security starts to come around from the emergency exits, but before they can get to him, the man has made his way to the front row.

And he attacks my mother.

Her screams, the screams of my father and brothers, the screams of the audience and the screams coming from my own throat haunt me. He rips her vocal cords out with one swift bite, and her screams cease as quickly as they began.

And this is always where my nightmare ends.

I wake up in a cold sweat, nothing unusual there. I throw myself upwards, letting out a small yelp and feeling all over myself with my hands, checking for wounds and blood. My mornings went exactly the same way.

Every. single. time.

The small shed I had spent the night in looked even dustier during the day. I used my hands to prop myself up off of the floor and and pulled my backpack, which was my pillow every night, out from behind me. Scooting slightly to my left to get out of the blinding sun coming in through the window, I unzipped it and went through the checklist that I always do, making sure every weapon I had was still in its place.

“Axe, knife, guns, spear,” I said out loud, pulling one of the small guns and the collapsible spear out and setting them on the ground next to me. Checking that the safety was still on for both guns, I checked for my other items. Nothing had ever been stolen from me in the night, but you couldn’t be too careful.

“Journal, water bottle, clothes, food, tools, gauze, lighter, bandages, disinfectant, sewing kit, pills, and my most unique weapon.” Once everything was accounted for, I took the blanket I had been using and folded it as best as I could, stuffing it in on top of everything. I slipped my water bottle out and took the smallest sip, just enough to get rid of my cotton mouth and dry throat. I slipped the gun I left on the floor into the strap on my leg and extended my spear, getting up off of the ground and dusting myself off.

I paused for a moment and listened to the birds chirping outside. I wonder what they were saying to each other, I thought to myself. They seem happy. Of course they did. They don’t have to live through the end of the world in the same way humans do.

My reveling in listening to bird calls was quickly interrupted by the sound of a scream. A human scream. And Walker groans.

I swung my backpack onto my shoulders and jumped to the corner next to the door. I lifted my head slowly, just enough for my eyes to enter the window frame.

There was a man, probably around my age, on the ground, and three Walkers surrounding him. I could see that he had lost his knife in the scuffle, and I imagine he was hesitant to use a gun because he didn’t want to attract more of the reanimated corpses. I readied my spear, took a deep breath, and kicked the door open in one fell swoop.

“Aye motherfuckers!” I yelled, drawing the attention of all three Walkers towards me. I skipped backwards, away from the man, putting a little more distance between myself & the undead. I swung my spear and stabbed the closest one right between the eyes, pulling it out and watching the heap fall to the ground. The other two went down similarly. I paused for a moment, perking up my ears and listening to make sure no others were coming.

Once it was clear, I ran to the man. He was still on the ground, groaning in pain. That’s when I saw the bite on his ankle. My heart sank. But I knew what I needed to do. I ran and kneeled down next to him.

“Hey, what’s your name man?” I said to him, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. I saw a small glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“A-A-Aaron,” he said, gritting his teeth through the pain.

“Alright Aaron, my name is Vector. I’m a doctor, and I can save you, but we gotta get you inside that shed right there. Can you sit up?” He nodded and used his arms to pull himself into a sitting position. I got up on my feet and put an arm around his back, under his arms.

“Alright Aaron, let’s get you on your feet,” I told him, and I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. He put his body weight onto his right foot & onto me, and we slowly stood up together. Thankfully, the shed was right by us. I got him through the door and helped him back down onto the floor. Once he was on his back, I moved like lightning to get out my small axe, disinfectant, lighter, bandages, gauze, and two of my shirts, one with long sleeves and a small one.

“Aaron, you probably know where this is going, but I’m going to have to cut your foot off. And then I’m going to cauterize your wound so it hopefully won’t get infected,” I said between inhales, taking the my smaller shirt and tying it into a knot to form a gag. We couldn’t have him attracting any more Walkers. “I need you to take this and bite down as hard as you can. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes…” Aaron said. I saw a couple of tears leave his eyes. He put the knotted shirt into his mouth, laying his head back onto the dirty floor. I poured a small amount of disinfectant onto my axe and onto his leg, just above the bite mark. Some of the disinfectant ran into the wound, and he writhed in pain.

“Alright.” I looked over at him, meeting his eyes, “I need you to stay completely still. Bite down as hard as you possibly can. You got this my man.” He squeezed his eyes shut. I raised the axe up, lining it up with where I was going to make my mark.

“I’m so sorry Aaron,” I whispered, swinging the axe down as hard as I could. Thankfully, his foot and ankle came off with one hit. His blood sprayed across the shed, getting onto the walls and all over both of us.

Despite the muffling of the shirt, his screaming was loud. The tears were flowing. And so was the blood. I grabbed my lighter with my right hand and grabbed Aaron’s hand with my left one, squeezing it to remind him he wasn’t alone.

“I’m going to cauterize it next. This pain is probably going to be worse, but I know you can do this. Just keep breathing through your nose and squeeze my hand when you need to,” I told him. He didn’t nod or acknowledge what I said in any way, but I had to keep moving to stop the bleeding. I flicked on my lighter and held it to his open wound, gliding it back and forth across the whole area. I did this for a couple of minutes to ensure the whole area had been cauterized. For Aaron, I’m sure it felt like hours. He squeezed my hand so hard that I was sure he was going to break it. His muffled screams were the only sound I heard.

“You’re doing great bud,” I spoke softly, “I have padding and gauze that I’m going to put onto it next, then I’m going to wrap it in one of my shirts. Keep biting onto that one for as long as you need.” This time, he opened his eyes, which were bright red from crying, and nodded. I took a couple of pads and pressed them to his leg, holding them in place while I started the gauze wrapping.

“I’m sorry I don’t have an ice pack or anything to help with the burning,” I said. He spat my shirt onto the ground and let out a small chuckle.

“Sorry? You just saved my life.” I took my long-sleeved plaid button-up and wrapped his leg in it, using the sleeves to tie it around his calf. He was still hyperventilating a little.

“Just rest for right now,” I instructed, “once you’re doing a little better, I’ll help you get back to your home base.” He tried to pull himself up to a sitting position, but I lightly pressed on his shoulders to let him know to lay back down, “Stay like that. Just focus on your breathing. I have some water, and I have food if you’re hungry.”

“What did you say your name was?” he asked me. I pulled my water bottle, which was about half-full, out of my bag.

“Vector,” I repeated. I scooted over to him and helped him lift his head enough to sip some water without choking on it. I took my knotted shirt and unknotted it, giving to him to wipe the tears and water off of his face. He rotated his head and looked up at me.

“Vector, why did you help me?” he asked, “you could’ve just killed me, saved your resources. Or taken my stuff and ran.” I squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

“I took an oath,” I explained, “I’m a doctor. This is what I do.”

“How can I—“ a cough stopped him mid-sentence, “repay you? I can get you food, water, supplies. I have a community. Just say the word and whatever you want is yours.” I leaned back and grabbed my spear, which I had dropped on the way in, and collapsed it fully, rolling back and forth on the floor between my hands.

“Honestly, I could just use directions to a certain place, I must be close to it by now. I’m looking for a safe zone, it’s called—“

“Alexandria.”

I cocked my head at him, my words catching in my mouth and my facial expression displaying my shock. “How did you know that?”

“It’s the only one around here. We’re only a couple miles out” he laughed. Despite my protests earlier, he used his upper body to pull himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against some boxes, “I’m actually from there. I’m a recruiter. I go out with my partner Eric, and we search for survivors, like yourself, and see who would make useful additions to our community. And hell, we could definitely use you.”

I couldn’t believe my luck.

“I’ve been looking for Alexandria for months.”

[megyulmi]

➠ Sukuna, the ‘shunned’ child and the demonisation and worship of ‘unwanted’ children in Japanese folklore:

[long read. trigger warning: referenced folktales and practices depict themes of infanticide, religious rituals and child exorcism, demonisation and worship of children, ableism, suicide, implied sa, and period-typical outdated social views. they are not a representation of my personal beliefs. please read with caution.]

New revelations of Sukuna’s past in Chapter 257 made me look deeper into some of the tales and customs from Japanese folklore about children deemed ‘abominable’ in the eyes of society that I had previously noted down and I decided to share as I think they could offer a better insight into Sukuna as a character and what might have inspired Akutami Gege’s depiction of him.

It would be better to start with a bit of the social background of Japanese folklore. I will use the Emishi (an ancient ethnic group of people who lived in parts of Honshū, especially in the Tōhoku region) as an example, the oral tales of whom later blended with Shintō and Buddhist religious concepts and heavily influenced Japanese folklore. It is believed that many of their tales were shaped by the region’s difficult history of natural disasters, famines, and geographic isolation. In the Tōhoku region, infanticide was sometimes used as a form of ‘birth control’ due to repeated famines. The bodies of ‘unwanted children’ were often disposed of in rivers or lakes.

Another important source of such folklore is the city of Tōno in Iwate prefecture, known particularly for Kappa, tales of which could offer a good basis for the beginning of my intended analysis.

Kappa, a green, amphibious, child-like creature with a yellow beak for a mouth and a turtle shell on its back is one of the most popular Yōkai from Japanese folklore. Some researchers say that the darker aspects of Kappa tales in Tōhoku may be an echo of the region’s tragic history of famines and the high rates of infant mortality caused by a harsh climate, natural disasters, and the tax system that was paid in rice. Similarly, many people in Tōno (which is part of the Tōhoku region) believe that tragic history is one of the origins of the stories of Kappa. The Kappa of Tōno specifically are said to be red in colour rather than green, which may allude to the Japanese word for infant - akachan, which derives from aka, the word for red. From this perspective, Kappa are creatures born out of social challenges and disasters. They may not seem all too relevant to Sukuna, but the need to mention them will come up in the later part.

Moving on, at the beginning I mentioned that ‘unwanted children’ were often disposed of in the rivers and lakes, which is also found in the Japanese creation myth. I discussed the variations of the myth in this post about Sukuna previously (you do not need to read it for the moment, but please note that it has many variations), but somehow I did not mention their first ‘inadequate’ child. According to the myth, before they had Kagutsuchi, Izanagi and Izanami had a child as a result of their first attempt at a union, but the child, known as Hiruko (‘Leech Child’), was born deformed. The mistake was attributed to a ritual error on the part of Izanami, who, as a woman, should never have spoken first (i.e. initiated the union). Considering the child inadequate for a diety, they set him adrift in a boat in hopes he would die at the sea. This myth reflects how women and children who were born ‘different’ or seen unable to serve their ‘purpose’ were treated.

Continuing from the myth, Chapter 257 made me think of the tale of Katako, in which the protagonist is born half-human and half-oni. What is Sukuna’s true nature we cannot know for certain. We know he was a human once, but we do not know enough of his past to assume if there was more to him (how and why he as a human might have come to be called the King of Curses will be explained in the later part), but the tale still has the potential to give us insight into Sukuna and his mother’s relationship. The tale has various versions with different endings, but it generally could be summarised as follows:

[A long time ago, a man encountered a man-eating ogre (from here on referred to as oni) while working in the field. He told the oni how much he loved mochi (rice cake), jokingly adding that he could even trade his wife for it. Taking his casual banter seriously, the oni treated him to mochi. The man ate his favourite food to his fill and happily went home only to find that the oni had taken his wife in exchange for the treat. The man searched everywhere and finally found his wife on the island where the oni lived. The man and his wife managed to come back home with Katako (meaning ‘Half-Child’), a child born of his wife and the oni on the island. However, Katako was always ostracised by his human peers (in another version, it is said that he had an insatiable appetite for eating humans). At ten years old, tired of being ridiculed, he asked his mother ‘to cut the oni part of him into pieces’ when he died, and then committed suicide.]

In the tale, Katako’s relationship with his mother seems to be of trust. He is cast out of society by humans and despite his mother being one as well, he does not harbour hate for her, he trusts her enough to leave his final wish upon her. We do not know much about Sukuna’s relationship with his mother, but the manner he referred to her in the last chapter makes it seem that he also harbours no hostility toward her. This tale also shows how children deemed ‘different’ were treated.

In past ages, children, being considered closer to the gods and the Other World, also played the part of intermediary between humans and the gods in Japanese society. This task of mediation between two separate worlds fell to them because they were regarded as incomplete persons (until the age of seven it was considered uncertain whether they would live or return to the Other World: a belief related to the challenges indicated at the beginning). While considered sacred beings different in nature from adults, they were at the same time looked down upon and referred to as kodomo (where ~domo has a negative/belittling connotation), gaki (hungry ghost or demon; brat), or jari (lit. gravel).

Back in the day, people referred to the killing off of ‘unwanted children’ (mabiki or ‘culling’, a common old slang for infanticide) as ‘sending a child back’, and a dead child was given a special non-Buddhist funeral. The various rituals surrounding birth and the child’s upbringing were intended, through communication with the Other World, to transform the child into an earthly being. This aspect of the ritual made me think of Sukuna’s mask and how that part of his face resembles a burn scar (note: i am aware the nature of his ‘mask’ is still not clear and whether it is really one) in some of the official illustrations. It is known that rituals of purification included fire and water magic. Exorcism of demons, aversion of disasters, and other rituals for the removal of pollution were frequent. A katashiro (paper cut in the shape of a man) symbolising the disaster would be burned or floated down the river as well. Personally, I see the possibility of Sukuna’s scar (if it really happens to be one) being from one of such rituals. At the same time, it resembles a fragment of a wooden mask used in ceremonial rituals associated with Shintoism, where it represented a ‘spirit of a head,’ which was believed to be a god in the shape of a human. In this case, it can be a remnant of such ceremonial ritual gone wrong.

Continuing, there is a term - Goryō used to refer to the spirits of those who had died violently (e.g. by murder or execution) and have become gods. It also included those who had died untimely deaths and therefore had been unable to fulfil their purpose in this world. Some notable gods such as Hachiman, Tenjin, and Tenno were once considered powerful Goryō. Great natural disasters and social unrest were attributed to them; rituals designed to appease them were performed, and a cult of such worship evolved. It was (usually) as a result of belief in Goryō that particular individuals came to be worshipped as gods. At times when public unrest threatened the social order, elements estranged or excluded from the ‘normal system/order’ were assigned the status of Goryō and worshipped as such. The cult was intended to purify and renew society. Manga has given us a similar glimpse of Sukuna’s past, where despite being feared (and despised), people were ready to serve him (and pray in his name) for their own well-being. I think Akutami intended to echo this very aspect of society through the scene.

I mentioned that children were considered closer to the gods and the Other World, but not all children were treated equally. One version of the origin of Kamadogami (additional post on the parallels between Sukuna and Kamadogami after Chapter 258) in the Tōhoku region is that he was an ‘ugly child’ from the Dragon Palace who had been killed and was thereafter worshipped at household hearths. Zashikiwarashi, who often inhabits old houses and is said to bring good fortune while he remains, is another household god in the shape of a child or, in another version, the spirit of an unwanted child who, having been killed off, became the guardian god of houses. I mentioned Hiruko at the beginning as well, who was set afloat on the boat in the sea. Despite that, he is in some Shintō shrines identified with Ebisu, the patron of fishermen and tradesmen. Their worship was for the purposes indicated in the previous abstract, to avoid their wrath. Sukuna has not been ‘killed off’ like these children were, but such worship shows us the general psyche of the public.

The ‘ugly child’ who appears in the story of the origin of Kamadogami has parallels in Yokenai, Untoku, Hyotoku, and Hanatarekozo, children who brought good fortune and prosperity to the house in return for offerings to the Watery World of kadomatsu (pine-branch gate decorations for the New Year) and firewood. But despite that, their ‘ugliness’ and names were used as an indication that these children did not belong to this world. It is important to note that socially inferior and rebellious beings were treated in the same manner (here is where the point connects to Sukuna, continued from the next part in depth). Such children were often associated with the colour red. For example, Zashikiwarashi is described as red-haired and red-faced. Kintaro, Shutendoji, and other children born in unusual circumstances (but may not have been considered an ‘ugly child’) and brought up in the mountain wilderness are also said to have had red bodies and were endowed with superhuman strength. I also mentioned that Kappa from Tōno were depicted as red. We see Sukuna often associated with the colour red, particularly, his eyes are red. I believe the above-mentioned could be the reason for that.

I indicated that socially inferior and rebellious beings were treated similarly in the previous part. The character Dō of Dōji (童子, meaning child) once meant ‘slave’, tattooed on the forehead, and was closely linked to notions of personal status. It signified one who was not a complete person and also one who had not yet been initiated, in other words, one who did not belong to the order of this world, one who was in this world but not of it. They were despised, feared, and avoided by ordinary people for their strange appearance and magical powers. In some cases they even formed separate ‘child’ villages (dōji mura), calling themselves ‘descendants of oni (demons)’. Since they played the role of demons during the rituals, they were shunned by the nobility as if they were real demons. Could this somehow connect to Sukuna’s title? I do believe there is a possibility this could have inspired his being as the King of Curses.

Personally, what we know of Sukuna and his past seems to echo these folktales and practices as the foundation of his character. He was a ‘Demon’ for being an ‘abominable’ child, but he was worshipped for this same reason as well. Whether he was born that way after eating his twin in the womb or something happened to him later in life cannot be known yet, but it is clear his ‘abominable’ appearance could have warranted the same treatment from society. It could also explain Kenjaku’s ‘fascination’ with him as a being. We do not know what relationship they had or how exactly they came to know each other, but there is clearly a reason why a being such as Sukuna would ‘work’ with them. We do not know much about Kenjaku either, but it could be possible that they (Kenjaku) once were either (1) one of those ‘priests’ who performed exorcism to purify ‘demon’ children or (2) someone who offered such children refuge (perhaps and more likely, for their own personal gain). It would also relate to the variations of Ryomen Sukuna’s story that inspired Akutami Gege.

[Disclaimer: This post does not intend to demonise Shintoism or Buddhism, but to tell folklore and practices for analytical purposes. Additionally, English is not my native language and this is only a personal interpretation as just another reader that I am sharing in case someone finds it interesting or can use the information for better analysis.]

[fr0mthefires]

haunted. - vampire!shigaraki x f!reader / part 2

In which you're down on your luck, taking the first job that will have you after being laid off from Endeavor Dynamics. There, you cross paths with a certain mysterious, red-eyed individual who seems to be harboring a secret, and (un)fortunately find yourself tangled in a web of obsession and danger you're not sure you can handle. Or stay away from.

cw: implied/referenced alcohol use, death, violence, blood, gore, implied/referenced SA, not beta read

~7.5k words part one here

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

That seems to be the only word currently available in your vernacular as you dig furiously through your closet, a growing pile of vetoed options accruing on the floor where you’ve thrown them in your panic. You currently have an impressive total of zero possible outfits to wear into your first shift tonight, and it’s already nearing 7pm. Kurogiri had made it a point to warn you about being late so as to not upset the infamous He, and the fact that it’s a thirty minute walk from your apartment only makes that little piece of advice more daunting.

You drop down on your bed with a distressed sound and go to rake your fingers through your hair before you remember how long it took to tame it into something more presentable, move to rub your hands over your face instead, and then stop that, too, the idea of ruining the makeup you’d spent an hour doing almost enough to send you into cardiac arrest. At least both those things are sorted, anyway. It may or may not have taken several attempts and a couple mental breakdowns to make it happen, but you think the effort has paid off.

You allow yourself a solid five minutes to breathe and regroup before begrudgingly making your way back over to your closet, eyeing it the entire three steps there like it’s committed grave atrocities against you. You stare blankly at what hasn’t yet been yanked from the hangers, cursing yourself silently for the array of anime and video game shirts you’d accrued over the years. You sure as hell can’t wear your now-retired slacks and blazers, either.

Toga’s cheery voice comes back to haunt you then. “Just take a look at some of the clientele if you need inspiration!” Yeah, the clientele was real inspiring, alright. You sigh in defeat, acknowledge you have no loopholes around the inevitable, and throw down the white flag that just so happens to take the form of the towel wrapped around your body.

You have to shift around the rest of your clothes that had been spared from your ransacking to get to it, but the storage bin buried in the back of your closet is still right where you’d left it, back when you thought you finally had your life together. You hold it away from yourself as you carry it over to your bed like it’s about to grow teeth and bite you and then proceed to drop it like it’s burned you. An anxious glance at the time allows you a generous two minutes to stare at it in distress before you’re yanking the lid off with a flourish you don’t really feel.

The relics of your past are laid before you, folded neatly and looking far more harmless than they do in your mind. They serve as reminders of all the things you used to think you enjoyed back when your only source of serotonin was going out, partying until sunrise, and hooking up with men you knew would never be capable of loving you.

It was easier that way, knowing feelings would never be involved. Easier knowing they wouldn’t still be in your bed when you woke up feeling emptier than the day before, nothing but a raging headache and self-loathing for company.

You don’t bother sorting through it, opting to grab whatever’s on top and praying to whatever’s out there that it still fits. You try not to acknowledge how little fabric is currently clutched between your fingers in a death grip, lest you dive under your covers and forget about this whole thing altogether.

For maybe the first time in your life, your prayers are answered. You’re mortified the second it’s on your body, clinging to you like a second skin. It’s all black lace and leather that leaves very little to the imagination. And was it always this goddamn short? You think you’ve worn this a grand total of one time and that was in the dressing room before you bought it and proceeded to never look at it again.

It takes you another precious minute to work up the courage to fully look at yourself in the mirror and then another two after that trying to not hyperventilate. It’s not that it looks bad. If anything, you’d almost dare to say you look… good. Really good. Better than you have in a long time. It’s just so far outside your comfort zone now that you don’t know how to feel about it.

Glimpses of the women at the club last night flash through your mind, all of whom were wearing even less than you, and somehow, that fact eases your nerves. Just a little bit. Enough to get you slipping into the only pair of heels you own and out the fucking door before you hesitate again and change your mind.

***

The walk to Nine Lives is surprisingly (and mercifully) uneventful despite a couple of whistles and cat-calls once you’re closer to the building. You have to do a double-take to even realize they were directed at you, before quickening your pace as much as the heels allow. You’re definitely out of practice, the added height throwing you more than a little off-balance, and the thought of surviving an entire shift in them makes you want to locate the nearest bridge to throw yourself off of.

You make it at 7:50, proud that you’re a whole ten minutes early before you realize there’s a line wrapped around the entire front of the building waiting to get in. It is a Friday night, after all, and you should’ve maybe planned for this outcome. But hindsight is 20/20, and you’re just about to head to the back of the line and mentally kick yourself for being late on your first day when a now familiar, gravelly voice calls out to you.

“Is that you, little mouse?” You turn, meeting nothing but hulking chest, once again barely contained in his signature red tank top. You wonder how he doesn’t get cold standing out here in that. Probably all the steroids. Your gaze travels up, and up, until it meets his. There’s a glimmer of real surprise in his eyes, and for a brief moment, he genuinely looks baffled to see you back here. You don’t think it’s that surprising that you’d actually gotten hired and try to not be offended that he seems to think it is. 

“Barely recognized ya, ya clean up nice. Real nice.” You try not to cringe at the comment and the way he says it, instead offering him a forced smile that you hope looks genuine. “Guess they haven’t scared ya away yet, huh? Boss is real picky. Didn’t expect to see ya again, if I’m honest.” He stares at you like he’s searching for something, a contemplative expression on his face before it’s gone, replaced by his usual indifferent stare. He nods towards the entrance and gestures for you to follow, and after a hesitant glance at the line wrapped down the sidewalk, you do.

“Employees don’t wait in line. Just come right on up to me, doll, and I’ll get ya sorted. In more ways than one, too. Just gotta ask.” He throws you a wink over his shoulder, an amused smirk on his lips. You get the sense he likes toying with you. He stops at the door, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze by, probably on purpose like the asshole he is.

Just as you’re about to step inside, he throws a hand up to halt you. He waits until you look up at him to speak, his expression unexpectedly serious. “If you’re gonna be working here, we should be more familiar. Name’s Goto Imasuji. Know we’re a rough crowd ‘nd all, but we look out for our own. Ya need anything, holler, doll. Y’know where to find me.” Okay, maybe he’s not as much of an asshole as you thought.

You give him your first genuine smile of the night, albeit a small one, and offer your name in return. You make sure to express your thanks, hoping it sounds as grateful as you intend it to be. It does go a long way in easing your nerves knowing this hulk of a man is here if you need him. He nods at you once before you pass through, and you think you see something like concern in his eyes before he turns back to the front of the line. Trick of the light, probably.

“Keep your wits about ya in there,” he murmurs as you squeeze past him, so quiet you’re not sure if you were really even meant to hear it. “Or ya may never walk out again.” You’re already inside when he says that last part.

***

Nine Lives bombards you with it’s, well, everything, though not as severely as yesterday now that you somewhat know what to expect. The music is more or less the same, another dark, sensual beat that vibrates from the soles of your feet all the way to the top of your head. You think you can understand the appeal, if you really think about it. You could see yourself easily drowning in an atmosphere like this under the right circumstances.

It’s definitely much more crowded than it was the day before, impossibly so, the crowd of people spilling out closer to the door and leaving fuck-all for a path to the bar. You think the fire marshal would have a field day with this place if they’d ever be brave enough to step inside. You catch a lot more looks than yesterday as you push your way through, this time a lot less annoyed and a lot more interested. Hungry. Goto’s warning resonates in your mind, and you swallow nervously, reaching to tug down the hem of your dress on impulse. It’s a futile attempt.

“Oh my god, is that you? It is you!” you hear someone call to you over the music, and already, you’d recognize that cheery voice anywhere. Toga seems to materialize in front of you from literally nowhere, momentarily stunning you. You chalk it up to her small stature making it easier to maneuver the crowd. “You look amazing! I already knew you were pretty, but wow! You really took my advice to heart,” she giggles, eyeing you in a way that would likely make you uncomfortable if it were anyone else.

“You’ll have to tell me where you got that outfit later! Let’s get you upstairs to Kurogiri.” She grabs your hand and pulls you through the crowd the same way she did yesterday, but you struggle a bit more this time thanks to the heels. She’s a lot stronger than she looks, easily pulling you along despite how small she is. You wonder if she works out in her free time even though she doesn’t really seem the type.

She releases you to unclasp the red rope again, and then you’re traveling back up the stairs to the VIP lounge for the second time, incredibly conscious of how short your dress is and fervently hoping that nobody below can catch a glimpse of anything underneath.

You notice the same few people are milling around and looking utterly bored, but there’s a noticeable shift once you appear at the top of the stairs, like they’re all waiting for something. Toga disappears through the mysterious lone door in the corner to presumably get Kurogiri, and you’re suddenly left alone. You take the time to really observe your surroundings and the people in them, all of whom seem to be men. You start to understand a bit more why Toga wanted you here so bad.

There’s a guy in the corner with red eyes and almost lilac hair who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, dressed in a white hoodie with a black jacket thrown over top. There’s another one standing next to him that looks much more animated with blonde hair and grayish-blue eyes, sporting a white tank top with a cigarette hanging from his lips.

The one with the striking blue eyes and burn scars is there, too, talking to a man in an orange button-up long sleeve with a black vest thrown over top. He looks oddly dapper compared to everyone else, and you’re once again uncomfortably reminded of how little you’re wearing. They’re all nursing drinks and seem to be in varying stages of intoxication. Unfortunately, every man in this room is attractive despite their odd quirks. Almost inhumanly so.

Toga returns before you can dwell on that fact any further, an impassive Kurogiri trailing behind her. You think you catch a shock of white hair behind them too, but that’s all you really glimpse before your first shift officially begins, your attention zeroing in on your new boss for all intents and purposes.

“Welcome,” Kurogiri says simply, his tone just as monotone as it was yesterday. “I am glad to see that you have returned. I trust Toga will get you well acquainted over the course of the evening. Do not hesitate to find me should you need anything.” And with that, he’s off to his post behind the bar in the corner, polishing more already-clean glasses. Maybe he has OCD.

“He’s very to the point,” you mumble to Toga, who erupts into peals of giggles at the statement. “You have no idea! Don’t worry, he’s like that with everyone, even us!” Us, you presume, is the small group of people occupying the space currently. The small group of people that have all turned their attention to you, and only you. “Well, let’s introduce you to everyone! Don’t be shy!”

***

Over the next half hour, you’ve gotten names to all the faces you’d observed, mentally cataloging them in your mind. Dapper man is Atsuhiro Sako who greets you with a kiss to your knuckles like it’s the 1950s, purple hair is Shuichi Iguchi who doesn’t give much more than a nod, white tank top is Jin Bubaigawara who you suspect may have multiple personality disorder if the “Nice to meet you!” and then the “I hate meeting new people!” approximately two seconds later is anything to go by. 

Burn scars simply goes by Dabi and offers to get you well acquainted with himself if you get bored during your shift. To your mortification, your face grows warm at the prospect, and he seems overly drawn to the color rushing to your cheeks. Actually, they all do.

“And that’s everyone!” Toga exclaims cheerfully as ever before reassuring you that you’ll fit right in. You’re not so sure about that yourself. “Well, almost. The last one likes to hide away all alone like a weirdo.” You watch as she scans the room, a pout forming on her face when she presumably comes up empty. She turns to Dabi and they have a murmured conversation too low for you to hear over the music. It ends with a frown from her and a shrug from him that tells you he likely couldn’t give a fuck less about any of this.

“I’m sure he’ll turn up at some point,” she says at a volume you can actually hear, and you realize she’s now talking to you. She takes your hand again, her skin so cold against yours that it momentarily stuns you, and starts leading you back downstairs. “He’s antisocial, to put it nicely. But don’t worry, he’s not a bad guy once you get to know him!” You try not to let the uncertainty show on your face. If Goto and Kurogiri’s passive comments about this infamous He so far are anything to go by, you doubt it.

***

The next couple of hours pass by quickly while you’re hyper-focused on absorbing all the training Toga goes over. So far, you’ve learned how to make most of the drinks they offer, where to find spare supplies and ingredients, the layout of the standing room tables, and how best to interact with customers. “Try to keep all your interactions short and simple, but don’t be rude. You don’t want to encourage them, but you don’t want to offend them, either. Trust me on that.” Toga says it in a way that makes it seem more like a warning than a piece of advice, and you’re inclined to believe her.

She lets you watch while she serves a few people, and then you’re basically on your own with the promise that she’ll be nearby if you need her. You’re not sure if you’re ready for that, but you’d promised Kurogiri you were a fast learner, and you don’t want to disappoint him. So you do what you do best - pretend, become someone that you’re not for the sake of others. You plaster on the most convincing fake smile you’ve got, grab the drinks that Toga places on the counter, and head off into the crowd to the table number printed on the ticket.

It’s more difficult than it likely should be to maneuver through the swaying crowd without spilling anything. You choose to blame the heels instead of your lack of experience. You manage to make it to the small standing room only table tucked in the far corner with only a little bit of liquor spilled over on your fingers and consider that a win.

“Okay, here’s those drinks for you guys,” you say as nicely as you can manage, being mindful of keeping your distance as you slide them across the table. You don’t look up until you’re certain the glasses are in fact steady on the table and no longer in danger of slipping from your hands. You regret it as soon as you do.

The two men currently staring back at you share a concerning resemblance with the ones you’ve recently seen on news broadcasts about the rising threat of the Yakuza in the area. Actually, you’d be willing to bet what’s left of your meager life savings that they’re the same people.

It’d be hard to not draw that conclusion, given their distinctive appearances; one in the same green jacket and god-awful purple fur collar he was wearing in his mugshot, and the other in a white trench coat that vaguely makes him look like a school shooter. Both of them sport the same plague mask tattoo on their hands, a symbol you recognize as part of the Shie Hassaikai.

You think you remember green jacket’s name from the broadcast, Kai something. He’s currently wanted for an entire dirty laundry list of reasons, but the ones you remember with nauseating clarity are sex trafficking, kidnapping, and murder. They really do let anyone in this goddamn place.

That realization instantly has you on edge, and the way they’re looking at you isn’t helping; like you’re next up on their list of things to ruin. There’s a gleam in Kai’s golden eyes that makes it easy to guess just what he’s thinking about you, and white trench coat has started fidgeting in place like he’s just waiting for you to try to run away. To your credit, you don’t run, but you do fumble out the base of your escape.

“I have a lot of other tables tonight, but if you need anything else you know where the bar’s at.” You say it as neutrally as you’re currently capable of and offer them the most pathetic attempt at a smile before you’re whirling around, fully intent on making Toga handle their table if they do in fact need anything else. You don’t make it more than two steps away.

“Whoa, why such a rush, hm?” His hand is locked around your wrist, not tight enough to hurt but enough to let you know leaving isn’t an option. Your body goes stiff from the unspoken threat, any color you’d had from the heat of the crowd draining from your face. You glance around the area wildly for Toga or literally anyone at all that’s sober enough to help, but she’s nowhere to be seen and the people around you are probably just as intimidated by Kai as you. Any one of these people could be working for him or scared shitless of him.

Your body goes slack with despair and defeat, and he seizes the opportunity to tug you backwards until your back is against his front. “Stay a little while, yeah? My friend here and I know how to take care of pretty little girls like you, promise,” he murmurs against your ear, his breath ghosting over your neck making you nauseous. “Don’t we, Hari?” His friend just laughs in response, the sound so sinister it’s not hard to imagine just how they take care of women.

Your mind starts to work in overdrive, your fight or flight kicking in so fast it makes you dizzy. You could make a scene, but would any of these people even give a shit? No, you decide, they wouldn’t - not when they’re all so drunk or high they can barely stand, and not when most of them likely have some sort of warrant out for their own arrests. You could try to fight your way out, but how heavily his arm is locked around your waist tells you immediately that you’d be outmatched, not to mention it’d be two against one.

So that leaves running. Maybe if you went along with it just long enough for them to let their guards down, you could claw your nails into his eyes and make a break for it into the crowd. Or maybe you could-

“Don’t get any ideas, sweetheart,” Kai grits out into your ear, his grip around you tightening. “I can hear the gears turning in that pretty little head of yours. Do the wise thing, yeah? I’d hate to have to hurt you.” His hand glides up your front slow enough for you to feel every touch, intentional enough that you know no matter how hard you scrub later it’ll still linger. Hari circles around the table then, stopping in front of you and blocking off any potential escape you have left.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There’s that word again, on repeat in your mind. Your first night here and already you’re about to be murdered and god knows what else.

You reach up to claw at his arm in a pitiful attempt to get him off of you. “Please, let go. I-” Your voice shakes too hard to get out whatever else you had planned to say, and his hand slides up and around your neck to squeeze lightly, further stopping any other objections. “Ah, don’t be that way. Kai told you we’d take care of you, didn’t he?” Hari grins down at you, his dark eyes gleaming wickedly in time with the flashing neon lights. It makes you sick.

He looks to Kai over your head, and a silent conversation happens between them. “Let’s get her out of here. Somewhere more… private.” You don’t know why they even bother. Nobody in your immediate area has hardly even glanced your way. “But first, I want a little taste.” Kai’s hand shifts on your neck until his fingers are wrapped around your jaw and pulls, trying to tilt your head to the side. You shake your head wildly, struggling in his grip. No fucking way are you letting this bastard kiss you.

Hari’s grin falls, his expression shifting to something a lot more angry. “Do as he says,” he snaps, his hand shooting out to latch onto your jaw. You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable, but it never comes. Seconds tick by, but you don’t dare open your eyes, not until this nightmare is over and you finally wake the fuck up. But then you hear a sharp intake of breath, a grunt of pain, and your eyes crack open.

***

“Tomura, have you met her yet?”

He sighs through his nose, long and loud, as Toga appears next to him. He looks up from the glass he’d been blankly staring into as opposed to drinking, his eyes narrowed in irritation. No, he hadn’t met you yet. He’d been busy. Busy slouching over the bar, going over all the tips the group had given him after you’d left last night on how to make a good first impression.

“Be an asshole. Girls like that shit,” Dabi had said, as unhelpful as ever.

“No, absolutely not, young man! Always treat a lady with respect!” Atsuhiro, ever the gentleman.

“Yeah, Tomura, just be nice to her and she’ll love you!” Toga, always so sickeningly positive.

“I don’t know, man. Just talk about video games and shit. Something you actually like.” Shuichi, who clearly didn’t have a clue of what the fuck he was talking about.

“Just tell her you want to get to know her!” Jin, who had sounded almost reasonable until he followed it up with, “Just tell her you’re after her blood!”

Tomura had been one more word away from burning Nine Lives down with all of them inside of it at that point, himself included.

He didn’t see why it mattered so much whether you liked him or not. You certainly hadn’t been hired here for him to like you. You were just a temporary solution to a problem he had unintentionally created, a way to fix it and get back in Master’s good graces. He’s never given a shit about a first impression a single time in his entire existence, but everyone swears up and down that it somehow matters for your sake. You’re already becoming a headache, and he hasn’t even spoken to you yet.

Which brings him back to the present dilemma, Toga glaring at him as she waits for him to say what she already knows. “No, I haven’t met her yet,” he snaps, his patience already redlining. He doesn’t know why exactly he’s so high strung right now. Probably because it’s been a few days since he last fed, getting dangerously close to his current limit. He can probably push it another four days, but any longer than that and he’ll be a lot more than just a pain in everyone’s ass, he’ll be a bloodsoaked monster on the evening news.

It’s with that thought he starts to understand everyone’s pressing a little more. The sooner he gets you to like him, the sooner he can get what he wants, what he needs. If all he has to do to get you to let him sink his teeth in you is give you a couple half-assed compliments and tell you he likes playing League of Legends in his copious amounts of freetime, well, he thinks he can do that. Maybe.

“Tomura, I swear to god if you don’t go down there right now and-” He throws a hand up to halt Toga’s empty threat and stands so abruptly the bar stool almost topples behind him. The liquor burns down his throat as he downs what was left in the glass, the sound of it slamming against the counter when he places it back down catching everyone else’s attention. “I’m going,” he hisses through gritted teeth, a scowl twisting his features as he starts to stalk off towards the stairs. It seems he’s put it off as long as he can.

“Maybe don’t go down there with your face looking like that, psycho. You’ll scare her away before you even get a damn word out,” Dabi mutters, sounding as self-satisfied as he looks. “Ah, who am I kidding. You’ll probably scare her off either way.” Tomura has to fight the urge to throw him off the balcony, opting instead to settle for one of his most murderous glares and a less-than-tasteful hand gesture. “Fuck off, Burn Unit. I’m surprised she didn’t take one look at the mess of your face and die of a heart attack,” he snaps, but it only seems to make Dabi more amused.

Tomura starts to descend the stairs before anyone else makes any further comments about his appearance or his attitude. He’s already psyching himself out of this, for fuck’s sake, and he doesn’t need their dogpiling on top of that. He stops about halfway down to survey the crowd, trying to get an idea of where the fuck you’re even at. He knows Toga had turned you loose about half an hour ago (not that he’d been listening), so you couldn’t have gone too far, but even with sight like his it’s hard to make out individual people in this big of a crowd. Goddamn Fridays. Why couldn’t you have come to him just two days sooner-

“... but if you need anything else, you know where the bar’s at.”

If he hadn’t been so intrigued by your soft, sad voice yesterday, he would have missed it over the other cacophony of sounds around him, but once he hears a voice he cares about one time, even minutely, it presents itself above everything else. Even now, he has to tune out Jin’s animated garble upstairs in favor of focusing on you better. Your cadence sounds a little off somehow, but he’s still certain it’s you. He tilts his head in the direction he thinks your voice drifted from, his eyes narrowing as he tries to pinpoint where exactly you’re at.

He moves down another couple steps, his surveying narrowing down to the darker side to his right. Still, he doesn’t see you, even with a smaller area to work with. He starts to get irritated then, silently hoping you’ll say something else. It’s not often his senses fail him, but it’s also not often he’s trying to track down a girl in the sea of the Friday night crowd, either. Actually, he’s never tried to track down a girl at all. First for everything, even for the immortal, he guesses.

He’s just about to give up on this entire stupid fucking thing altogether, stomp back up the stairs and tell everyone to eat shit, but then he finally hears you again.

“Please, don’t. I-”

His body goes stiff, his spine rigid as his gaze locks on to one of the tables in the corner where he’s now certain the sound of you came from. You don’t sound like you at all, at least not the you he heard from the shadows yesterday. You sound panicked, scared. Immediately, he knows something is wrong.

He leans over the railing to get a better view now that he knows exactly where to look. It’s no wonder he hadn’t seen you before - you’re sandwiched between two people, two people he recognizes very well. Kai Chisaki, the most recent wanna-be leader of the Yakuza, and Hari Kurono, his pathetic little underling. They’d done nothing but cause more unnecessary trouble for him ever since they’d decided it was a grand fucking idea to operate outside of his space.

The last time these two fools had shown up here, they’d left three dead bodies in the back alleyway and garnered so much police attention on Nine Lives that even Master had seemed to lose his cool a little. Tomura had made a promise to both Master and himself that day - he’d kill them if they ever came back, and now here they were, despite the warning he’d given them via the severed head of their previous Yakuza boss left on their base’s doorstep.

That promise is only made sweeter once he fully sees the position they’ve put you in. The fear on your face, the pitiful acceptance in your eyes. The hand wrapped around your throat. You were his, and here they were, toying with you like it was a fucking game. His jaw clenches so hard he’s certain it would break if he wasn’t what he is, and he’s jumping over the railing before he has time to consider he’s about to make a scene. He’s vaguely aware of Shuichi appearing behind him and telling him to stop, but he’s too blinded by rage to pay it any mind.

“Do as he says,” the white haired idiot is barking at you, and Tomura swears it’s the last thing they’ll ever say to you. To anyone. It’s almost laughable how easy it is, really. Disappointing. He’s able to stop Hari’s arm midair without expending any effort. He makes sure Hari gets a good, full look at the manic grin on his face right before he applies the most minuscule pressure and snaps his forearm like a fucking twig. The sound of the bone crunching is likely too quiet for you to hear, but he hears it. It’s likely the most beautiful sound he’s heard as of late, aside from your voice.

He knows you can hear the gasp of pain, though. It’s what finally prompts you to open those compelling eyes of yours, eyes that meet his immediately. He knows he must look as unhinged as he’s feeling right now, but still, you don’t look away. You stare at him, and Tomura stares back at you, and the idiot continues to wail in pain, but he doesn’t really notice that now.

He feels a shift when he fully looks into your eyes for the first time, like the world is realigning itself, adjusting its axis until it’s perfectly balanced with you. His vision tunnels until all he can really see anymore is the woman before him. A myriad of things pass through him then, so strongly he wonders if his heart has somehow restarted after so many years lying dormant in his chest.

The distance hadn’t done you justice yesterday. It’s such a bizarre thing to notice in the midst of what’s happening, but you make it impossible to not. Seeing you this close in all your glory confirms what he already subconsciously knew - you’re beautiful, and as much as he hates that word, he makes an exception for you now. Your features are so soft, so inviting even with the distress on your face. That little v is back between your eyebrows, and he finds his body wanting to act on its own accord again, this time to reach out and smooth it away.

Not to mention what you’re wearing. Fuck, he’ll have to kill everyone down here that lays eyes on you in that after he’s finished with these two. He’d already found you alluring yesterday from a distance and in the modest clothes you’d shown up in, but this… He finds himself wanting to consume you in an entirely different way now, one that’s foreign to him and has nothing to do with the blood pumping in your veins.

He thinks he can stare at you for eternity or however long he has left on this planet and it still wouldn’t be long enough to fully appreciate every captivating aspect of you. He’s never encountered anything or anyone like you. You’re out of his league in this life and his previous.

What the fuck is this?

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t think he even wants to know, and he doesn’t have time to find out right now even if he did. He’s brought back to reality when Kai makes his second wrong move of the night, his hand constricting around your throat now with the intent of fully cutting off your airflow. Tomura squeezes Hari’s arm hard enough that he hears a second crack in response to the sound of you struggling to breathe.

“Now, now, friend, no need for theatrics.” It takes Tomura a second to realize that’s directed at him. Kai has bigger balls than he thought, but that won’t save him, not now. “I’d hate to have to kill her.” Tomura’s teeth bare in a snarl, a growl rumbling in his chest at the threat. Hari drops unceremoniously to the floor when he releases him, cradling his arm to his chest like the pussy he is. He doesn’t get much reprieve before Tomura’s foot comes down on his neck, applying just enough pressure to make it hurt, right on the border of it being fatal.

“Let go of her or I’ll crush his fucking neck.” He knows he’s going to do that anyway, and he’s pretty sure Kai knows it, too. There’s a brief moment of contemplation, drawn out much longer than it needs to be likely to provoke Tomura further, before Kai’s hand slowly lifts from your throat. It takes even longer for his arm to move from your waist, but once you’re free, Tomura reaches out and yanks you around behind him. 

“Go upstairs and find Toga.” It’s not much of an introduction, he knows. He’d planned to start with a hello and maybe a how are you, but that’d have to wait now, if he ever even got the chance to try again. He’s sure you must be terrified of him and this place after witnessing all of this. He’d be surprised if you ever even came back at all after this shitshow. But you’re still there, hiding behind him, your warmth blooming across the icy cold of his back. “Now,” he grits out, and then you’re finally scurrying away. Well, if you weren’t scared of him before, you are now.

He decides it doesn’t matter, not if it means there’s several feet of distance between you and this band of merry fucking idiots. He’s far too protective of you right now for reasons he can’t explain, and it’s fucking with his head. Something happened when he made eye contact with you, something that made you a lot more than just a blood bag. That complicates things. He’ll have to ask Kurogiri what the hell is happening to him when he’s done here.

Speaking of… He shifts, applying full force onto one foot, crunching Hari’s neck beneath the sole of his shoe and effectively silencing his pathetic wailing forever. Tomura has always been one to give credit where it’s due, and to Kai’s, he doesn’t react more than a slight widening of his eyes. “Hm. And here I thought we’d had a fair trade.” Tomura almost laughs at that. “You know as well as I do the Yakuza have never prided themselves on fighting fair. Don’t act like you weren’t going to linger outside in the shadows until she left alone for the night,” he hisses, and if the slight narrowing of Kai’s eyes is anything to go by, he knows he’s right.

“Perceptive. Though I guess I should have expected that, from your kind.” That catches Tomura’s attention. So he knows, then. Knows about what Tomura is, and likely about the others, too. That means others could know, whether that be other Yakuza or whatever highest bidder Kai sold that information to. A problem, sure, but one that can wait for now. Right now, Tomura’s done playing games. He needs the satisfaction of killing this idiot more than he needs answers at this point.

“You should know better than to reveal your hand too soon, Chisaki,” he tsks before he moves. He’s on him and dragging him out the back door before his mortal brain has a chance to catch up. He sees Shuichi and Dabi swoop in to take care of Hari’s body right before the door swings shut, and then they’re alone in the back alleyway.

“And you should know better than to try to take someone else’s things, too.” Kai laughs at that like the idiot he is, like his life isn’t approximately two seconds away from ending. Irritating until the very end, it seems. “You know how they punish thieves in some places?” Tomura continues lowly as he moves in a blur, his hand wrapped around Kai’s wrist before he can react. “They cut off their fucking hands.” And then he does just that, tearing and ripping through bone and sinew until the hand that had been squeezing your throat is effectively torn from the wrist.

Finally he gets a reaction, a glorious one as Kai screams in agony. “No Hari around to help you now,” Tomura mocks gleefully. Oh, you’d be horrified if you could see him now, but this is who he is at the heart of it all, isn’t it? He tears the other hand from the wrist it was joined to, the blood coating his fingers and pooling on the cement below. A waste, but a worthy one. “I’ll be sure to leave these on the Yakuza’s doorstep next.”

It doesn’t take long after that for him to get bored. Kai is moving in and out of consciousness, his blood spilled and spattered all over the pavement along with his hands and arms, his screaming finished after the first arm came off. Tomura thinks he’s only got two minutes of life left at best. Still, he manages to wheeze out a few more words. “A far greater threat than me and the Yakuza are hanging over your head, Shigaraki. My only regret is I won’t be there to watch you fall.” He coughs, spits up a mix of blood and saliva. “That girl will be your undoing.” And then he’s dead, his pupils blowing wide and unfocusing forever.

Tomura has no clue what the fuck that could mean. The threat part, sure, they could deal with that, but the part about you is what he’s stuck on. Maybe Chisaki knew a lot more than he was letting on. It’d make sense, would fit with what Tomura knows of his character. He almost regrets killing him too soon. Almost. But if Chisaki could find whatever intel he’d found, surely Tomura and the others could too.

He doesn’t get to dwell on that any longer, Shuichi and Dabi appearing out the back door. They take one look at the scene before them before they start letting him have it. “What the fuck were you thinking, stupid? What happened to remaining inconspicuous?” Shuichi shouts, moving around frantically to survey the damage.

“Sheesh, bossman. Lost your cool a little, huh?” Dabi throws in, a weirdly smug look on his face. Tomura scowls at both of them, far too fucking overwhelmed by everything that’s transpired over the last twenty minutes to deal with them right now.

“Just clean this up,” he snaps before stalking back inside, the door slamming behind him. He can’t face them and their inevitable questions right now, not when he doesn’t even have answers himself. He needs to see Kurogiri right now, find out what the hell happened when he made eye contact with you. The rest of it is hardly a blip on his radar.

***

“Are you okay?” Toga asks for what feels like the thousandth time, her hands flying around you helplessly and looking for damage that isn’t there. She sounds guilty, likely for leaving you alone down there, but that was part of the job, wasn’t it? You stand from the bar stool, your hands flying up in a silent request for her to stop. “Toga, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.” And you are, you think. You’d dealt with a lot worse than that before you’d even started first grade.

“I just- I hate to think of what would’ve happened if Tomura hadn’t been there,” she continues, her eyes big and watery. Jesus, she’s more affected by all this than you are. She makes a valid point, though, and now you have a name for the one that had swooped in and saved you. You space out, playing that moment again in your mind.

He’d come out of literal nowhere, there so fast you start to wonder if he was actually there the whole time. But no, you know that’s not right, because you would remember his face if you’d seen him before. He was just a blur of white hair and black clothes before you’d really made eye contact with him. He became a lot more than that afterward. All sharp features, striking red irises, and a couple scars on his lip and eye; he was easily the most attractive man you’d ever seen, even with the flaws.

You can’t get the way he looked at you out of your mind, like he was seeing a fucking ghost. So many emotions had played across his face, and you can’t pinpoint a single one of them. Then he’d snapped that guy’s arm like it was nothing, ordered you away, and is now likely somewhere doing god knows what to the other one.

The whole thing is so bizarre you’d think you were dreaming if the feeling of his touch on your arm wasn’t permanently burned into your nerve endings, if the slew of feelings that had passed through you when you looked at him weren’t so visceral.

“Tomura?” you repeat, sounding dazed. Toga looks at you like the shock she’s been expecting you to go into is finally pulling you under before her gaze focuses on something behind you. Someone. It’s strange, how you’ve gone your entire life without knowing he exists, but now you swear you can feel his presence.

You turn, meeting his gaze for the second time over your shoulder. You both stay locked there like that for what feels like hours before he snaps out of it, glowering at you as he stalks past and disappears behind that lone door in the corner, the sound of it slamming shut reverberating through you.

You don’t see much of Tomura after that.

***

note: hello again, and welcome back. it's good to see you ♥︎ this part was a bit longer than the last, and finally, we have our first encounter. as always, thank you for hanging around until the end and coming back for part 2.

part 3 in the works, coming soon. see you then.

[hamiltonconfessions-but-better]

TW!!

I know it’s not how it happened in real life, but exclusive to the canon of Hamilton and pretending nothing else happened and that it’s not biased. Say No To This is an SA song.

NOW HEAR ME OUT

I do NOT care that Maria was younger than him, first of all perpetrators come in all ages.

Second of all I don’t care that Maria was put up to it by James!

In the musical, Alexander does not actually ever say yes to Maria until the LAST FEW LINES. I’m aware that it’s referenced that they continue to do this, so my point is more about the first time. Alex does not say yes ONCE. He does not want to cheat on Eliza at first and he simply just does not know how he’s supposed to say no in that situation. (Personally, that hit me hard as a victim.)

I do believe that the rest of the times were consensual but the point begins that their relationship starts and is therefore built off of Maria assaulting him. So therefore I don’t think Alexander (in the musical) should be held entirely at fault for this. He was outright forced the first time and I’m sure there was pressure to say yes the rest of the time. Granted he did keep going back and admits to becoming a past time.

My final point of evidence? Guilt. The way they generally portray his mood at the end of the sentence. Cheaters do not feel that kind of guilt. He is generally depicted as numb or seconds away from tears and that is NOT the reaction that would be provoked from cheating. Maybe you feel guilty, yes, but it’s more of an “oh my gosh I messed up” not an in tears just at the thought of those interactions. Also at the end, when he’s talking to Eliza is It’s Quiet Uptown, he says he would literally trade his life for Phillips because Eliza would be happier. He is very aware of how he’s hurt Eliza in a way that most cheaters I’ve heard of just can’t seem to comprehend, leading me to believe that his self awareness is due to some guilt he feels that because of this he doesn’t deserve to be alive for hurting Eliza, not realizing that he is a victim in this situation and desperately trying to get that point across to her.

Again, IRL? Alexander is at fault. He agreed to cheat on Eliza and continued to do so. But it’s different in the musical. Mostly due to the way Lin wrote Alex to be more of a self insert and possibly due to the musical being from Eliza’s perspective. Still my point stands that this is the way the scandal is portrayed and therefore I believe that Alexander Hamilton (FROM THE MUSICAL) is male SA representation.

(My god that got long, my bad guys 🤷‍♂️)

.

[writing-oof]

lucky

TW: Implied/referenced SA, Past SA, Pregnancy mention, implied abortion

You wish you were angry.

It's so, so much harder being scared.

---

The ship crashes before anything can change.

(or: anya tells daisuke about jimmy. then, the ship crashes.)

(or: or: this game has grabbed me by the throat. ur welcome)

Alt Day of @ailesswhumptober "If you weren't around, I'd be long dead by now."