#repeated family altercations

[townpostin]

Jamshedpur: Family Dispute Leads to Vandalism at Dr R K Agarwal’s Residence in Baradwari

Pediatrician’s home in New Baradwari targeted by female relative, police investigate A local doctor’s house becomes the scene of a family altercation, prompting police intervention and raising concerns about repeated disturbances. JAMSHEDPUR – The home of Dr. RK Agarwal, a pediatrician in New Baradwari, was the site of a domestic disturbance on Saturday when a female relative allegedly vandalized…

[soulofapatrick]

Protect You - Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Summary: You come into work injured and Hotch accidentally outs your relationship

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: None really

Notes: I honestly don't know where this one came from but enjoy hehe

Y/N’s POV

As I step into the familiar confines of the BAU bullpen, a sigh of relief escapes my lips upon noticing it’s only Spencer present as the others always arrive later. Hotch and Rossi must be holed up in their offices, shielding them from witnessing the bruised left side of my face and the split lip that I’m trying to conceal with my hair, keeping my head down. I would try make-up but they’re profilers, we’re profilers, there’s no point hiding any of it as they’ll work it out. 

Every moment reminds me of the ache throbbing on my face, a constant reminder of the altercation that occurred early this morning. I try to mask the discomfort with a tight-lipped smile, but I know Spencer sees through it the moment his gaze flickers up from the file he’s absorbed in. His eyes widen in concern, and he’s on his feet so fast his chair clatters to the ground, abandoning his document to rush to my side. 

I appreciate his silent understanding, his quick grasp of the situation without needing an explanation. It's moments like these that remind me why the BAU feels like family.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice is gentle, his concern palpable as he takes in my appearance, eyes flickering over the bruises, assessing whether I need medical or not, “What happened to you?” 

I offer a weak shrug, sliding onto my desk so Spencer can slide into my chair like we usually sit, waiting for Emily, JJ and Morgan to arrive, “Oh just a little accident.” I murmur, trying to downplay the severity of it, though the pain pulses with each word. Spencer raises his eyebrows, scoffing lightly, drawing a heavy sigh from me, I relent, knowing I can’t actually keep it from my best friend, “Jessica might have found me in Hotch’s bed this morning after he left to be here early,” I pause, letting that sink in first, the fact I was in our boss’ bed, “She… well, she punched me and I just left her… she’s still grieving and it’s been just over a year now…” 

Spencer's hand finds mine, a silent gesture of solidarity amidst the chaos. And in that moment, I'm grateful for his unwavering support, his quiet strength anchoring me to reality when everything feels like it's spiralling out of control, “Are you going to tell Hotch?” 

Before I can respond, the authoritative timbre of Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, drawing my gaze towards his office. Instinctively, I turn my head away, a futile attempt to shield him from the truth of what his ex-sister-in-law had down to me. But it’s too late. The damage is already written across my bruised face, a stark reminder of the violence that had erupted in the early hours of the morning. 

Hotch strides into the bullpen, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on me, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. "Tell me what?" His voice is clipped, demanding answers that I'm not ready to give. Spencer gets up from my chair and moves over to where the coffee station is, staying within hearing distance but giving us enough privacy. 

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of Hotch's gaze bearing down on me like a heavy burden. "It's nothing, Hotch," I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper as I keep my head bowed, unwilling to meet his gaze. But I can sense his skepticism, his unwavering determination to uncover the truth lurking beneath my hesitant words.

Before I can protest further, Hotch grips my chin with a gentle finger and thumb, forcing me to raise my face and meet his gaze. The shock that flashes across his features sends a shiver down my spine, his expression morphing from concern to horror, then to simmering anger barely contained beneath the surface. 

His voice is low, a dangerous undercurrent lacing his words as he practically growls, “Who did this to you?” 

I try to shake my head free from his grip but he won’t let me, cognac eyes full of anger as he searches my face. Every part of my wants to submit to him but I can’t ruin the last bit of Haley he has left by telling him and he finally sighs. He takes a risk and presses his forehead to mine, eyes closing and taking a deep breath before he’s letting me go and taking a step back just as the bullpen doors open. With one final lingering look he turns to the others and tells them to meet him in the meeting room in ten. 

As Spencer intercepts Hotch on his way back to his office, a sense of foreboding settles over the bullpen, amplifying the tension already thick in the air. I watch, heart sinking, as Spencer murmurs something to Hotch, the words lost in the charged atmosphere. Hotch's head snaps up, his entire demeanour shifting in an instant. Even from behind, I can sense the fury radiating off him, a palpable force that sends a shiver down my spine. Whatever Spencer said has stirred a tempest within Hotch, one that threatens to consume everything in its path.

Before I can comprehend the gravity of the situation, Derek's voice breaks through the tense silence, his concern evident in the way he addresses me. "Oh shittt, what happened to you, baby girl?" he asks, his usually jovial tone replaced by genuine worry. 

Spencer slumps back into my chair, his expression somber as Derek rounds the desk to his, drawing Emily and JJ's attention in the process. In moments like these, the boundaries between colleagues blur, replaced by the unspoken bonds of friendship and camaraderie that define us as a team. They crowd around me, their questions a chorus of concern as they inspect the bruises marring my skin. Despite their genuine care, I can feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken questions lingering in the air like a heavy fog. 

Just as I'm about to ask them to drop it, a voice cuts through the chaos, echoing from Hotch's office with a force that silences the entire bullpen. "HOW DARE YOU LAY A HAND ON HER?!" Hotch's voice booms, despite his door and blinds being shut, reverberating off the walls with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.

A stunned silence settles over the bullpen, the air thick with tension as Hotch's voice echoes through the confines of his office, despite the closed door and drawn blinds. His words hang in the air like a heavy pall, commanding attention and demanding justice. The sudden yelling draws Rossi out of his office, his expression a mix of concern and confusion as he surveys the scene unfolding before him. It's rare to witness Hotch lose his composure, and even rarer to hear him raise his voice with such raw intensity. 

But, as the seconds tick by, the tension in the air becomes almost palpable, a tangible force that hangs heavy around us. We exchange uncertain glances, the weight of Hotch's anger casting a shadow over the once tranquil atmosphere of the bullpen. And then, just as quickly as it began, Hotch's voice rises again, the sound muffled by the closed door of his office. Despite the distance, his words carry with them a sense of finality, a declaration of his unwavering resolve, “I CAN DATE WHO I WANT, YOU DON’T GET TO DICTATE IF Y/N IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.” 

As Hotch's voice reverberates through the closed door of his office, his words cut through the heavy silence like a knife. The weight of his declaration hangs heavy in the air, leaving us all stunned into silence.

Derek's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his mouth slightly agape as he processes the implications of Hotch's words. Emily's eyes widen, a mixture of shock and admiration reflecting in her gaze as she exchanges a quick glance with JJ. Spencer, ever the observer, remains stoic, his expression unreadable as he absorbs the gravity of Hotch's statement. 

The realisation settles over us like a heavy blanket, each of us grappling with the implications of Hotch's unwavering resolve. In that moment, it's clear that he's not just defending my honour; he's asserting his autonomy, refusing to be swayed by the opinions or judgments of others. And as the echoes of his words fade into the background, we're left in a stunned silence, the weight of the moment pressing down upon us like a tangible force. For a brief moment, the chaos of the world outside fades away, replaced by the quiet intensity of the bullpen. 

But our reverie is short-lived as Hotch reemerges from his office, his face flushed with anger and frustration. His gaze sweeps over us, a silent command to gather ourselves and move forward. Without a word, he gestures towards the conference room, his authoritative presence brooking no argument. 

As the rest of the team practically rushes towards the conference room, driven by the urgency of the moment, I find myself lingering behind. The weight of everything that has transpired settles heavily upon my shoulders, anchoring me to the spot as I struggle to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. I remain perched on the edge of my desk, head bowed, my hands suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. The sound of familiar footsteps draws nearer, the rhythmic cadence echoing through the empty space of the bullpen. And then, like a beacon in the darkness, Hotch's shiny smart shoes appear in my line of sight, his presence casting a warm glow against the backdrop of uncertainty. 

He says my name softly, a gentle reminder that I'm not alone in this moment of vulnerability. I lift my gaze to meet his, finding solace in the depths of his unwavering gaze. There's a tenderness in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the tumultuous journey we've embarked upon together. 

In that moment, he looks at me like I've hung the stars, like I'm a goddess deserving of reverence and adoration. It's a gaze that speaks volumes, a silent confession of the depth of his feelings. And then, with a gentle touch, his hand reaches out to cup my unbruised cheek, his touch a balm against the ache of the morning's events. In the stillness of the bullpen, he draws me into a soft kiss, a silent promise of solidarity and unwavering support. In that fleeting moment, time stands still, the chaos of the world fading away as we find solace in each other's embrace. And as we pull away, the weight of the world feels a little lighter, buoyed by the strength of the bond that binds us together.

With a silent understanding, we rise from the tumult of the morning, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And as we make our way towards the conference room, hand in hand, I know that no matter what the future holds, we'll face it together, united by the unbreakable ties of love and loyalty.

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y @rosaliedepp @kajjaka

[disillusioneddanny]

Emergency Contact dick/Danny

Prompt: dick is in an incident and Bruce learns that not only is he no longer his sons emergency contact, his son is also married.

Bruce frowned as he listened to the police scanner, his forearms rested on his knees. There was a hostage situation in Bludhaven. He had seen it on the news in the middle of his work day at Wayne Enterprises. Not long after, Tim had come running in, pale faced and nervous. It seemed that Dick had been a part of the situation and was trying to get the suspects out of the bank.

The two were now hyperfocused on the scanners as the others sent check in messages every so often asking if they had heard anything from Dick yet. So far, they were planning on sending in a group of officers to invade the bank and take down the suspects. The main problem was that they weren’t sure how many suspects nor were they sure what all they had on them or the amount of victims inside of the bank.

Tim was gnawing at the bit to go and intervene. All of Bruce’s children were. The patriarch had to remind them, though, that Bludhaven was Dick’s territory and unless he asked for backup or some kind of assistance then they let him be. And so far, none of them had heard a peep from Dick. So they would each continue to monitor the situation and hope that their family member would be alright.

“Officers Grayson, Sanchez, Roarke, Blankers, and Miyap are in position,” a voice crackled out and Bruce squeezed his hands together tight, heart pounding. Why was Dick doing this? They didn’t know enough about the suspects to know that they would be able to apprehend them without casualties.

“Go,” a different voice ordered through the scanner and Bruce watched the news screen as Dick and other officers forced their way into the bank, guns raised and prepared to shoot if necessary. Bruce watched as flashes of light from gunfire flashed through the building and screams sounded on the screen, Tim turned up the police scanner.

“Shots fired, I repeat shots fired.”

“Suspects apprehended.”

“Shit! Grayson!” A voice shouted and Bruce’s blood ran cold. “We’ve got an officer down! I repeat, an officer down!”

“Get a car arranged,” Bruce said faintly to Tim. “We need to get to Bludhaven as soon as possible,” he said, eyes never leaving the screen as five suspects were brought out one by one. A gurney was quickly wheeled into the bank and moments later the paramedics wheeled out Dick out of the building. To the side Tim was calling Alfred to come and pick them up and make the drive to Bludhaven.

Soon he’d be getting the call from either the hospital or the chief of police to give an update on Dick’s condition or to tell them what happened. He was Dick’s emergency contact, after all. If anyone was going to be alerted it would be him.

The call never came.

Bruce, Tim and Alfred made their way to Bludhaven General Hospital and Bruce was already contemplating the words he would be having with whomever was in charge about how he had not been alerted of Dick’s current status. He couldn’t believe that the Bludhaven PD and hospital were so ill equipped that they couldn’t even call an emergency contact and make them aware of what had happened to his son, his precious boy, his eldest sweetheart whose smile was brighter than the sun.

Yes, he would be having words alright.

The three rushed into the hospital and Bruce stormed towards the front desk and rested his hands on the plastic desk carefully. “I’m here for Richard Grayson, he was a part of the altercation at the Bludhaven Bank,” he said, trying his best to keep his tone even. “I should be his emergency contact, Bruce Wayne,” he said, adding his name just for good measure. Just in case they didn’t know. However doubtful that may be.

They lady typed along the keyboard for a moment before she looked up. “I’m sorry Mister Wayne, but Detective Grayson does not have you listed as his emergency contact nor as someone who can obtain his information. I’m unfortunately unable to share anything with you.”

Now Bruce was going to see red. This had to be a mistake. He was Dick’s father. He had been his son’s emergency contact for as long as he had Dick in his custody. How dare this woman say that he wasn’t, that he wasn’t privy to Dick’s information! His sweet littile boy!

Bruce let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to maintain an aura of calmness. “I need you to call his doctor then, and obtain permission. I am Richard Grayson’s father, I should be listed on his emergency contacts list.”

“I’m sorry sir, but the only name we have associated with Officer Grayson is a Daniel Nightingale and he is already in the room with Mr. Grayson. I can call and let them know that you’re here but I can’t do much more than that, I’m afraid,” the woman said, looking beyond flustered as she grabbed the phone.

“Please do,” Alfred said, shooting the eldest vigilante a pointed look as he ushered Bruce and a shocked Tim away from the information desk.

“Who the hell is Daniel Nightingale?” Tim said, looking beyond stumped. “And why would he be Dick’s contact?”

“I have no idea,” Bruce said, his jaw set as he thought of ways to get around the information desk and find his son without anyone suspecting a thing. He could do it, he really could! He was the Batman!

“All I can find on him is that he’s a reporter for the Bludhaven Gazette and has written several high fantasy novels about ghosts,” Tim said with a frown. Bruce looked down at Tim’s phone to find a scrawny looking man with dark black hair, white streaks scattered throughout, crystal blue eyes and a wide smile. If he weren’t obviously a grown adult, Bruce would think that he was a Bruce Wayne Adoption Bait candidate. Otherwise, though, he was unfamiliar, Bruce had never seen the man before in his life.

“How does he know Master Dick?” Alfred asked with a frown as he glanced over at Tim’s phone.

“I’m not sure,” Tim said with a huff. The three looked up, though, as footsteps echoed in the near empty waiting room and a gangly man stepped through the doorway and gave the three men a sheepish look.

Bruce looked between the picture and the man standing before them and scowled. It was the same person.

“Hi, uh, Dick is still unconcious,” he said, walking towards the three vigilantes. “I didn’t realize he took you off his contact list for emergencies,” Nightingale said, looking clearly distraught.

“Who are you?” Bruce demanded, eyes narrowed.

Nightingale sighed. “He’s fine, by the way, in case you were wondering. Two shots, one in the hip thankfully didn’t hit anything. One in the thigh right above the major artery. Other than that, his kevlar vest took the brunt of it, he’s just very bruised. They knocked him out, though to give him stitches and get some rest but he’s going to be fine.”

“Who are you?” Bruce repeated, despite feeling calmer knowing that his precious boy was going to be fine. He was going to be benched for a few weeks but they would get someone else to patrol Bludhaven in his stead. Bruce would probably be able to get Red Robin or Orphan to take over the area while Dick was out of commission.

Nightingale blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This wasn’t how Dick wanted to introduce me,” he mumbled, looking embarrassed. “He’s going to kill me. But I’m Danny Nightingale, his husband.”

“Dick isn’t in a relationship,” Tim blurted out as Bruce stiffened beside him. “He would have told us.”

Danny gave him a weak smile. “No, no he wouldn’t,” he said awkwardly. “Not if he hadn’t been ready, at least.”

“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Bruce said, his heart aching. How could Dick keep this from him? An entire husband? Bruce’s entire world was falling down around him as they spoke. He couldn’t believe this, how the hell was his son married? How had he not been invited to the wedding? How had Alfred not been invited to the wedding?

Danny blushed even brighter at that as he pulled out his phone and handed it over to Bruce. Bruce clicked the button to unlock it to find Danny and Dick, drunk off their heads with a marriage certificate held up between them and a wedding chapel behind them. “It happened like four months ago? We had been dating for like five months beforehand and well it just happened. We decided to go ahead with it and stick to it. We’ve been married ever since. Dick didn’t want to tell you because he wants a redo, especially since I stole his thunder and apparently proposed to him with a ring pop.”

“Take me to him,” Bruce deadpanned.

“Woah, Big Bat,” Danny said, holding his hands up placatingly. “I can’t do that. He’s only allowed one visitor at a time and it’s me. You’ll just have to wait until he wakes up and they move him out of ICU.”

“I thought you said he was fine,” Tim said with a frown as he inspected the picture before searching on his phone to find the marriage license. Danny pulled his phone back and tucked it into his pocket.

“He is, it’s just as a precaution until he wakes up,” Danny said. “And when he does, I’ll come and let you all know how he’s doing and what his room number is. In the meantime, I have his phone on me and you’re welcome to call me any time you have questions.”

And with that, Danny fled from the room as quickly as possible.

“He called me Big Bat,” Bruce murmured. “Dick wouldn’t have told a man he barely knew all of our secrets, not without telling us first!”

“The marriage license is legit,” Tim said with a sigh. “Can’t believe he got married and never told us.”

“Hn,” Bruce muttered out grumpily.

…

Danny was going to die, he could feel it in his core. Either Dick was going to murder him for spilling the beans to his dad, or Bruce was going to murder him for telling him he couldn’t back to see Dick.

It seemed that his husband wasn’t exaggerating when he said that Bruce was insanely overprotective of Dick and would always see him as his baby boy. It was almost endearing if it hadn’t been so utterly terrifying to be glared down by Batman himself.

He shook his head roughly as he marched down the hall and back to his husband’s hospital room. Enough with that Nightingale, he said to himself. He was the star reporter for the Bludhaven Gazette, hell he had turned down that stupid news place in Metropolis when they offered a position. He was good, he was great and he was not going to let Bruce Waynce scare him!

He had dealt with much scarier than his father in law out in the field and he needed to remind himself of that fact.

He made it to Dick’s room and took a seat at his bedside, holding his husband’s hand in his. “I can’t believe you did this to me, Dick, you scared the half life right out of me,” he murmured, running his thumb along the back of Dick’s hand softly. “And now we’re going to have to deal with your father and it’s all your fault because you still haven’t quit the police force, you big dummy.”

He let out a huff and looked away from his husband. Dick had been talking about quitting since Danny had met him nearly a year before. He had realized that the police life just wasn’t for him and that he’d never be able to get rid of the corruption but he had been struggling to quit, to figure out what he would want to do instead. And Danny had been there to support him all the while but it was starting to worry the halfa. He knew that Dick was Nightwing, had figured out the identities of all the bats almost immediately upon moving to Gotham. It hadn’t been too hard for him to figure out. But then again, he was a journalist, he always knew how to sniff out the truth and the Wayne’s big secret was no different.

Of course, there was also the fact that he had also been a hero once upon a time and he didn’t care what anyone else said, you could always spot another hero a mile away if you knew what you were looking for.

He sighed and felt Dick’s phone vibrate. Already he was getting floods of texts from the Wayne Family.

This was going to be a long day.

…

“I want a divorce,” Danny seethed as soon as Dick opened his eyes. The cop gave his husband a tired smile and squeezed his hand lightly.

“Hello to you too, Dove,” he murmured.

“Your family will not leave me alone. Why didn’t you tell me you took Bruce off of your emergency contact information? He’s driving me up the wall,” Danny whisper shouted, trying to be mindful of his husband’s current state.

“I didn’t think about it,” Dick muttered. “How mad was he when you told him we’re married.”

Danny snorted and ran his fingers through Dick’s hair. “He bluescreened,” he admitted softly. “Definitely wasn’t happy about it, Alfred looked hurt and Tim looked like he thought I brainwashed you.”

Dick chuckled softly and shook his head. “Well they should move me to a general room soon so they can all calm down. Until then, I need you to take care of your poor, injured husband.”

The halfa laughed and pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead. “Never scare me like this again, Dick Grayson, or else you’re joining me on the ghostly side, understand?”

“Understood,” Dick mumbled, his eyes fluttering closed once more. Danny just sighed and fell back into his seat. Thank god he was Dick’s emergency contact, or else he’d have to have used his ghost powers to sneak in here to get his husband. Unlike Bruce Wayne who seemed to be following the rules and waiting in the waiting room, Danny was not a patient person and he would have absolutely refused to wait and not see his poor husband.

Anyone is welcome to add to this btw. I just needed to get it out of my head XD

[missswritesalot]

Can I request something with Robb stark x shy reader. She is very quiet and a good wife too rob, but she loves seeing him be a true king to his people so when someone comes along and tries to knock him down a few pegs she speaks up and reminds said person of who they are speaking to leaving Robb speechless and a little turned on. You can end it there or add in a little smut if you want. Thank youuu

A/N requests open! Hope you enjoy, anon! There is just a sprinkle of nsfw at the end, but I tagged it with smut just to be safe ;) i think i used the word shy like a million times. Reblog/Comment if you want more!

You and your husband, Robb, were touring the North and providing supplies to the smallfolk to support them through the Winter. There were many grievances to address and you held court at all the small towns.

You hated the attention, and it was a small mercy that you rarely had to speak. Even when Robb needed your counsel, he asked for it in private so you weren’t embarrassed. The eyes of the people on you were enough to mortify you, yet you bore your discomfort silently and stood by his side.

At one such hearing, Robb ordered the Lords of the lesser Northern houses to visit. You were seated next to him on your throne, Greywind sleeping on the raised floor at your feet.

“The old ways have served the North fruitfully for years. Listen carefully, one war does not make a boy a man and you are yet to know the ways of the world.” Lord Karstark said, wagging a wrinkled finger at Robb.

It was the third time he had questioned your husband in front of his Council. You were furious.

All Robb had suggested was reducing the great burden of supporting lesser houses with tithes from the peasants. Many smallfolks families were missing men and weapons due to the war, and winter was coming. It would be his first Winter as King of the North and he wanted all his subjects to survive, not just the noblemen.

You thought it was admirable. You also knew how hard he worked, spending almost all nights this week pouring over papers and accounts.

“Don’t forget yourself, I am the King,” Robb chided him. Greywind woke up and went to him, a silent threat.

“No man that calls himself King is a true-“ Lord Karstark began in his crotchety old voice. Anger coursed through your veins. How dare this senile old man try to insult your husband.

You cleared your throat. The hall fell silent. Robb frowned and turned to look at you. His wife was a woman of few words but they were all worth hearing.

“My King husband would have no need of repeating his station if you would remember it, my Lord. And if you cannot, then perhaps in the evening of one’s life we must accept our limitations and resign to things we are capable of.” You said calmly, yet sharply. Robb’s jaw dropped in awe.

It took Karstark’s slow mind a moment longer to process.

“Control your tongue, woman,” he said said, eyes wild, pointing to you.

“Disrespect the Queen and you will feel my blade,” Robb yelled, stepping down from the throne and pulling out Ice, just as the direwolf by his side leapt into action.

Karstark did not know when to keep hush. He retorted back sarcastically, and the altercation ended with him being dragged to the dungeons for his impunity. The other lords were also greatly displeased with him, for now they had no chance of changing the King’s mind about restoring their allowances.

You were glad to see the end of the day, and walked into the chambers of your current abode with Robb trailing behind you.

“Lord Karstark demands hot oil for his feet, did you hear it, darling?” Robb said, crushing the piece of correspondence he read. “To send his demands with servants even when imprisoned. The gall of him.” He chuckled.

“I’ve had it up to here with that old bastard,” you said angrily. You let your hair down and started running your fingers through it roughly. The more you thought of it, the more your anger flared.

“How dare he set foot in your court, dine and dwell in our hospitality, and feel entitled to disrespect you like that? I will not stand for it, Robb.” You said, tugging at the lacing and stepping out of your gray court dress.

“Age does not guarantee wisdom, darling. Experience does. And the old fool has none.” Robb said, walking up to you and resting his hands on your shoulders. He pushed your hair to the side and kissed up your neck from your shoulders to your ear.

You tilted your head to give him more access. After a while he turned you around and kissed your mouth. You savored his languid kisses. His hands slowly pushed your chemise over your shoulders till it hung just above your breasts.

You pulled away, and leaned back, his strong arms holding you up.

“I’m sorry for speaking out of turn, love” you said shyly. You were bold in your anger but the shyness was starting to creep in now. “I love you, and I cannot bear to see you insulted after you pour your soul into this Kingdom.”

“Don’t be sorry, you were fantastic,” Robb said, apparently unable to keep his lips off of you. You gasped as he nipped at the bottom of your throat. “I would like to see the wolf in my little wife more often.”

You giggled at his words, and he walked you backwards till your calves hit the bed. Your chemise dropped to your hips and his hands made quick work of finding your breasts.

Your hands came up to cover yourself.

“Robb, the candles,” you said, eyes wide. His own blue ones lit up with mirth.

“I know now that you are not shy, let me see what is mine, darling.” He whispered, pushing your chemise to the floor. You stepped out of it, naked as the day you were born. Your skin felt hot under his hungry gaze.

“Lie back, Y/N,” he said, licking his lips and pushing you down on the bed. “I wish to show you some of my appreciation.” He knelt before you with a wink.

Robbs hands found your knees and he spread them apart. Your hands twisted into his auburn hair in surprise.

And there was nothing shy about the sounds you made that night.

[two-white-butterflies]

i'm a m*therfucking starboy | d. targaryen

Description: You meet the elusive Prince of Dragonstone, and he fucking hates your guts. [semi-enemies to lovers] Pairing: Daemon Targaryen/Supermodel!Reader Rating: 16+ [suggestive themes]

Models were fucking angels descended on earth - women who continued walking earth knowing that they looked amazing. Daemon swore that he'd never date models - his friends would make fun of him, and his reputation would be decimated. He swore that he wouldn't even look at a model twice - that was until, he saw you.

He knows who you are - he's seen your pictures everywhere. Heck, your face was plastered on the perfume that he bought for Aemma last year. He continues sipping his coffee - watching while you walked confidently inside the coffee shop. You weren't on the damn runway, but it seemed like you were. He has a keen eye on fabrics - but now that he was staring at you, he wanted that pink dress on his bedroom floor.

He stands up, walking towards you on the counter. "Which one do you like, the blueberry or the chocolate one?" he whispered - leaning slowly towards your body, but still giving you personal space. You turned to look at him - annoyed that someone was talking to you after your long ass flight. "I like chocolate - but I'd love it more if you stepped away." you tried to answer as politely as you could muster, but it was no use - he already felt your energy telling him to fuck off.

"Alright, alright." he repeated, taking a step backward and cursing himself. Daemon Targaryen reaffirmed his opinion. He'd never date models or even talk to them.

GalaxyButterflies: Late night. San Fran. 💗🕊

3 comments 981,345 likes

bellahadid: 💙

comments have been restricted.

targaryenroyalfamilyupdates: HRH Prince Daemon of Dragonstone was spotted outside of a club in San Francisco without security.

99 comments 12,390 likes

possitai: WHY DID HE DYE HIS HAIR? WE GAINED PICTURES, BUT LOST A BLONDIE 😭💔 - machintamarden: Probably because of the security issues the Targaryen family faced last 2020, everyone kept bothering people who had silver hair 🤷🏻‍♀️

Of course he saw you again - you were sipping lazily on the drink at your hand, scrolling mindlessly through social media like all the kids did nowadays. A scowl found its way on his face - reminded of the altercation between you. Daemon didn't want to be a petty asshole - but your denial bruised his pride. You and your friends quickly made their way towards his table. A smile paints his lips - it was time for revenge. "It's nice seeing you again," your friend smiled at Laenor.

"It's been too long, I swear to god." Laenor exaggerated, pressing a soft kiss on both of your cheeks. You smiled softly at the man - quickly settling your bag on their table, and squeezing yourselves beside them. "Last time we saw each other, you were still married to Princess Rhaenyra - how is she?" your friend asked, and all of their chatter began to drown away from Daemon's ears.

He turns to look at you - and you were staring at him. Eyes trailing up and down his body, presumably checking him out. "I'm (your name)," you smiled - joy not reaching your eyes. You offered your hand for his to shake, but he ignores you - and looks the other way. A small huff exits your mouth, before turning your attention to another thing.

It was a good thing that you lived in a democratic republic - no need for these snobby royals. "Forgive him darling, he's a little drunk from all the vodka we drank." Laenor apologized, glaring at his ex-uncle-in-law. Laenor wanted to be friends with people in Hollywood - and Daemon was shooing away his models. "It's alright," you smile uncomfortably, shifting around your seat.

It was the fifth round of drinks, and everyone began loosening up. To Daemon's surprise, you were a lightweight - already shifting around after your third glass of alcohol. You leaned your head on his shoulder, melting his thick wall of ice. "Lightweight," he scoffed, pushing your head down so that it would be resting on the chair. "It's a gift, actually - so I don't have to pay too much money to get drunk." you slurred - eyes softly flickering and closing.

"Sweetheart, we're drinking water and you're still getting drunk." he teased, taking a shot of vodka - which tasted like water at this point. A grunt escapes from your mouth, but nothing else - you were too tired and tipsy. At this point, you weren't sure if it was the vodka that made you sleepy - or the lack of actual sleep. "Not everyone is a drunkard," you managed to whisper, before getting knocked unconscious.

targaryenroyalfamilyupdates: Prince Daemon Targaryen, HRH Laenor Velaryon, Y/N L/N and Bella Hadid leaving Bar IX.

43 comments 21,394 likes

y/nismommy: Princess Y/N L/N (let me dream)

watercoloredeyes: Who let Prince Daemon drive?💀

Every time he sees you - it doesn't seem like a coincidence. His eyes trail towards your body - walking down the runway. He doesn't know why he was invited to a fashion show, he wasn't exactly a fashion icon - but he's not complaining, if it means seeing you. He was annoyed with you - but he couldn't deny your sex appeal.

You continue walking down the ramp - stopping in front, and flashing him a wink. His eyes widen - taken off guard by the sudden action. He could pretend to hate you, but hate is love persevering.

Your hands play with the bracelet on your wrist.

"It should be a sin to look as good as you," the string of words exit your mouth - turning him into a crimson hue. He was stoic and mean, but under the pressure of a pretty girl - he was as good as putty. "I've heard that a lot of times," he pretended to be unbothered. A soft smile finds its way on your lips - melting all his armor. "I like it when you play hard to get," you continued - staring deep into his purple irises. You wanted him to breed you - fuck you and love you.

"I'm not playing hard to get, darling. I just don't want to be taken." he snapped, crossing his arms - trying to avoid your siren stare.

"Why are you so mean to me?" you pouted.

"I don't have to be nice to you, baby." he scoffed.

Your hands trail to his chest - up until you were cupping his cheek. "It confuses me when you bully me - and call me baby at the same time." you whisper, bridging the gap between you. It's been a while since the both of you had a good fucking - too busy with work and royal duties. It's time for carnal desire to rule.

His hands reach for your waist - pulling you closer and providing you a small kiss. He was igniting a fire within you - one that couldn't be put out with a simple kiss.

HRH PRINCE DAEMON OF DRAGONSTONE MARRIES MODEL, Y/N L/N IN A PRIVATE CEREMONY.

This morning Prince Daemon, the youngest son of late Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa, married infamous supermodel Y/N L/N, in a private ceremony that only featured their close relatives and friends. The ones that are confirmed to be in attendance are Princess Beatrice of York, Catherine, Princess of Wales, Bella Hadid and Isha Ambani. Y/N L/N is currently trending in twitter for deleting all of her social media accounts. Her agency IMG Models confirm her retirement. The Dragonstone Castle is yet to announce the former model's titles.

targaryenroyalfamilyupdates: First Picture: HRH Prince Daemon. Second Picture: Queen Rhaenys (left) and Lady Y/N (right) in East Dragonstone.

23,567 comments 123,567 likes

y/nfanbase: Our queen married a prince, but we lost her 😭

bananacakes: it's been a year daddy

grinchlover: I love how the Queen is like 🙂 & Y/N is like 😎

liverspread13: THIS IS MY REPUTATION ERA

wemissyouy/n: so i'll watch your life in pictures like i used to watch you sleep 😭 Y/N L/N as Last Kiss.

134 comments 139 likes

LADY Y/N L/N SAYS THAT 'ROYAL LIFE' IS A PRIVILEGE

The 29 year old model was interviewed outside her family home in San Francisco. When she was asked about letting go of her modeling career, she affirmed that it was a privilege and a blessing for her. "It opened my eyes to the reality of the situation - that a lot of people are struggling in all the other parts of the world. As part of the royal family, I think it mobilized me to act on those and help as much as I could."

Her husband, HRH Prince Daemon, is third-in-line to the throne following Prince Laenor leaving the royal line of succession and Princess Laena's untimely death in '08. Prince Daemon overlooks the estate/island of Dragonstone, which is the capital of the country. Lady Y/N L/N is estimated to be worth $50 Million. Her title is set to change after HRH Prince Viserys ascends to the throne.

HRH PRINCE DAEMON AND DUCHESS Y/N L/N OF DRAGONSTONE WELCOMES THEIR FIRST CHILD.

taglist: @watercolorskyy

[sentientcave]

okay so Price/Ghost one shot where Ghost is a tow-truck driver and Price is a cop, and Ghost sees Price parked in a fire lane while he's inside a store buying cigarettes or a coffee and tows his ass, and Price has to walk all the way to the impound lot just steaming mad, where he meets this huge, scarred-up ex-military tow truck driver who isn't the least bit intimidated by him. But Price tries to throw his badge around a little, so Ghost (ornery motherfucker that he is) decides to teach him a lesson personally, and makes it his life's mission to catch Price parked illegally and tow first his squad car, and then later on his personal vehicle. Price tries to catch Ghost doing things he could arrest him for but Simon is the most boring man on the planet, he works, goes home, drinks one beer, sleeps, rinse repeat ad infinitum. So Price arrests Johnny for something bullshit instead (Ghost only has one friend and no family), and Ghost has to go down to the precinct to bail him out. Price starts leaving Gaz in the vehicle to stop Ghost from towing him, but he tows it with Gaz inside as retaliation for the Johnny arrest.

Culminating in them having an altercation when Price finally catches Ghost hooking up his car, and after a few punches are thrown they probably end up on the ground making out sloppy style.

Is this anything? I feel like this is something.

[lovemyavatar]

Just for the Night

Lo’ak x Fem!Omatikaya!Reader

Part Two

Warnings: (aged up) nsfw, enemies to lovers, angst, arguing, hate-fucking

part one

The skin on the back of your neck prickles with unease, color tinging your cheeks as frustration mounts with each rushed stride through the forest.

You're practically vibrating with irritation, muscles pulled so taunt a dull ache radiates from between your shoulders. You welcome the sting of short nails biting into your palms, reveling in the distraction for only a moment before the scrutiny at your back becomes too much to bear.

“Will you stop that already?” Your lips purse with a low hiss, head turning just enough to send a steely glare toward the man behind you.

Lo'ak glowers at your quickly retreating figure, lips turning downward in displeasure. Long fingers tighten around the woven basket perched on his hip, the mere sound of your voice putting him further on edge.

“I can feel you plotting my murder back there.” You mutter with a roll of your eyes, attention returning to the path ahead.

The weight of his hard stare is palpable. It settles in your gut, twists your insides uncomfortably. Warmth blankets your skin, a heady mix of anger and...something else, something you haven't dared begin to dissect since the night you both crossed a line it doesn't seem you'll be able to come back from.

“Oh, I don’t have to plot, sweetheart. The whole thing’s already planned out.” His voice is rough, lips twitching into a satisfied smirk at the way your spine stiffens.

You whirl around to face him, fists clenching impossibly tighter, eyes narrowed in a fierce glare. Despite your best efforts, he's continued doing what he's best at: worming his way under your skin.

Whatever this is between you—this stifling tension—it's only gotten worse since that night in his family's tent. The lingering looks, the constant bickering...it's driving you crazy. Not a single day has gone by without some altercation with the youngest Sully brother.

Despite years of this back and forth, you aren't accustomed to the cold, unreadable wall that Lo'ak has built around himself since that night. It makes you uneasy, has you questioning if there may be some deeper issue he has with you, past the point of friendly competition.

“Charming.” Your nose wrinkles with an insincere smile, a scoff falling from your lips as you turn away from him again.

“You always do this." A humorless laugh echoes through the trees as you near your destination. Lo'ak jogs forward, arm extending to brush away a large leaf from the path, allowing you to duck through into the clearing first. “Get all mad as if it's not your fault we're in this position.”

You're already facing him as he steps into the plush grass after you, an expression of exasperated shock etched into your features.

“You're joking, right?” Wide eyes scan his lithe form, taking note of the way strong arms cross so casually over his broad chest.

He can't possibly think this is your fault. You were simply minding your own business, as usual, when he appeared and started bothering you. Kiri was at your side, the two of you helping prepare for the midday meal, chopping various vegetables for the clan.

Less than a minute after Lo'ak plopped down onto the rock only inches from yours, the fighting was unbearable for your best friend. She disappeared with the typical departing insult—calling you both skxawngs (idiots) with a soft sigh.

Truthfully, you don't even know how it started. You never do. Somehow, despite your best efforts, the two of you always end up right here. Harsh words and cold glares exchanged until one of you snaps and stalks off, only for the cycle to repeat the next time you see each other.

“I know you're used to getting away with everything, but you should know by now that I see through the good girl act.” Lo'ak's head tilts to the side, tail swaying with ease at his back.

Despite the volatile nature of your relationship, he's never stopped watching you. He's tried, he really has, to leave you alone—to keep his wandering eyes at bay. But you're always there, always so close yet still out of reach.

It's his own fault, and he knows it, but the fact does little to lessen the sting.

“What are you talking about?” Something ignites in Lo'ak's chest at the flare of heat in your golden eyes. It eggs him on, pushes him closer to the line he's always toeing, between good-natured bickering and actual fighting.

“Oh, please. The clan's precious little angel, used to getting whatever she wants.” His voice drips with mockery, and it makes a wave of embarrassment wash over your cheeks. “And you can't stand that I don't like you.”

Lo'ak's feet move on their own accord, bringing him a step closer with each harsh word. He has no idea what he's doing, doesn't know what's possessed him to take it this far, but he's just so...fed up. He's tired of this push and pull, tired of warring with himself every time you're close.

He can't stand you, and yet, he aches to be near you. His heart yearns for yours in a way he's never experienced with anyone else. In a way he hasn't been able to shake since the very moment he realized his feelings for you breached well past platonic.

It was only a breath later that he decided he would never have you. Decided it would be best to push you away, to protect his fragile heart from the surety of your rejection. Because, even at such a young age, he knew it would never work. He'd long been labeled the trouble child, the rebel, the one who ruins everything he touches...

And how could he bear to bring you down with him?

A surprised laugh bubbles in your chest, and you move back, desperate to put some distance between you. It's clear, what he's insinuating. That you're the instigator, the one to blame for the argument that got you into this mess in the first place.

Regardless of who threw the first verbal punch, Lo'ak's father—your Olo'eyktan—was not the least bit happy. He stormed toward the two of you without hesitation, sternly hissing that you were drawing attention to yourselves. Bringing shame to your families.

His words settled heavily in your heart, made your ears flatten with shame. But he was right. It only took a single glance toward your father, standing just a few feet behind Jake, to notice the disappointment gleaming in his eyes.

As the Olo'eyktan's closest confident, he has an image to uphold. Which, in turn, means that you do too. And typically, you're an exemplary member of the clan. You pull your own weight, help others whenever possible, and keep to yourself otherwise.

But there's just something about Lo'ak that makes you forget all duty and responsibility in the name of defending yourself, of proving that you're not some wallflower. That you're worthy of being noticed.

Jake quietly ushered you both off to collect some fruit for lunch, ordering that you not return until you've figured out how to get along.

“Are you actually that self-absorbed? You really think I'd waste my time trying to get at you?” You peer up at Lo'ak in disbelief, a flash of anger making your heart beat just a fraction faster.

“Drop the innocent act. It's just me, and I've already seen the real you. Can't get much worse than that.” He regrets the words the instant they leave him, jaw clenching at the way your lips part in surprise.

He's taken it too far. That much is clear, if the pained glimmer that washes over your eyes is any indication. It's gone in an instant, replaced with the fiery anger he's used to. Your ears twitch, tail snapping, a clear display of your animosity.

“If I’m the clan's angel, what does that make you? Clan screw up?” Your hands curl into fists and you take a small step forward.

The air between you is sharp, jagged edges of your tattered friendship hanging by a thread. You can't help but lash out, even if the insult has your own heart cinching in your chest.

It was a low blow, and it's obvious you've hit a nerve. Your chest heaves as you watch the words settle over him, watch his expression crumble before turning hard as stone again within seconds.

Lo'ak's tail twitches to attention against his spine, before swishing from side to side harshly. His breath hitches, heart racing with an overwhelming mix of emotion.

It washes over him in wave after wave, an onslaught of anger, frustration, crushing sorrow. Because after all this time, you finally see him for what he truly is.

What he fears he'll always be.

“At least I actually contribute. You can’t do anything without daddy hovering right behind you. How pathetic.” He crowds the remaining space between you, towering over you, chin dipping as his eyes narrow into a harsh glare.

He looks downright menacing, not an ounce of warmth in his expression. A soft gasp falls from your lips, moisture blurring your vision. He's breathing heavily, chest nearly touching yours as he fights to slow the violent thrum of his heart.

You peer up at him, equal parts rage and hurt swirling deep within your belly until you can't take it for even a second longer. One of your hands rears back, but before you can land a hit on his cheek, he snatches your arm out of the air.

Long fingers curl around your wrist, his hold gentle but firm. The feeling of his skin on yours sets you ablaze, fans the flame of desire that's been building within you since that night. This is the first time he's touched you since then, and though it was only in an act of self-defense, the warmth from his palm has you reeling.

“I hate you.” You voice wavers, the proclamation nothing more than a broken whisper.

“Good.” His jaw clenches, your spiteful words only spurring him on.

He pulls you forward roughly, capturing your lips with bruising force. You stumble into him, body responding without hesitation despite the weak internal protests warning against falling into this pattern with him.

The pressure on your wrist disappears, instead moving to your hips as both of his hands circle your waist. A gasp tears your lips from his as rough bark bites into the skin of your back. You hadn't even realized you were moving, too distracted by the burning heat of his lips on yours.

Lo'ak devours you like a man starved. His kiss isn't sweet, it isn't tender. It's all tongue and teeth, a explosion of pent up tension that's been brewing for years. A shiver rolls down your spine, and you arch into him, pressing your chest flush to his.

Your tongues battle for dominance, ragged breath mingling as you both pour every ounce of distain for each other into the kiss. One of your hands lifts, fingertips smoothing over the side of his neck to draw him in.

You hold him there gently, a quiet moan spilling into his mouth despite your best efforts to keep any noises at bay. Warring desires clash in your mind. You want to shove him away, and pull him closer all at once. He's so infuriating, so intoxicating, and you're far too under his spell to escape now.

Within seconds, your loose hold is ripped away as he cages your hand against the tree, holding it above your head. You can't help the way your hips writhe along his, a breathy sound falling from your lips when you feel the stroke of something hard against your soft heat.

You respond by tangling your free hand into his braids, tugging harshly just to see his reaction. His head jerks back at the unexpected sting, a rough growl rumbling his lungs. Your hips rut against his again, the vibration of his chest on yours settling hotly between your legs.

A wave of pleasure washes over him, the color of his cheeks deepening. His eyes snap to yours, narrowed in warning before he leans forward, nipping at your bottom lip lightly. An involuntary whimper escapes you, hold on his hair tightening.

A low moan falls from his lips, a shaky breath fanning your face as he staggers back a step. Your lips chase his, seeking the heat of his touch before your mind has a chance to catch up. The two of you stumble blindly, an uncoordinated dance of passion as you desperately fight to stay connected.

This continues until one of Lo'ak's heels catches on an upturned root, sending him crumpling to the ground. His arms slide around your middle, caging you to his chest as his tailbone takes the brunt of the fall. He grunts against you, lips still ravaging yours without skipping a beat.

The slight ache from the fall is instantly forgotten as you mount him, spreading your legs so his body easily slots between them. His head tilts back at the sensation of your plush skin on either side of his hips, a shudder wracking his chest when your hands begin exploring his skin.

Your fingertips trail along his chest, over trembling abs, all the way down to the hardened length still trapped beneath his loincloth. When your touch ghosts over his cock, he jerks, his hips rutting into your hand. A breathy moan falls from his lips, followed by a shaky gasp when you do it again.

“Not so tough now, are you?” Your lips twitch into a smirk against his, earning you a low growl.

“Shut up.” He hisses, long fingers curling around your throat.

The hold is possessive, and oh so dominant, a show of control even though he's the one beneath you. He pulls you forward, claiming your lips harshly again. A shiver rolls down your spine, and you can't help but drag your soaked core over his cock.

“Fuck, Y/N.” He gasps, lips ripping from yours as his head falls back, eyes fluttering with a surge of pleasure. His hands fall to your hips, his hold tight as he presses you down onto him, guiding your movements.

“Take this off.” Your chest is heaving, breath ragged as you hurriedly tug at the strings of his loincloth.

His lips curve into a lopsided grin, though another moan rumbles his chest when your hips roll along his cock again. “That desperate already?”

“Don't.” Your voice drops in warning as you successfully undo the knot, before practically ripping the material from his body.

It's quickly discarded, leaving you with nothing to do but dissect his cock with heavy-lidded eyes. It's bigger than you imagined, slapping against his stomach as it stands fully erect.

Something warm and unwelcome blooms deep within Lo'ak's chest, as he watches you. Wide eyes, flushed cheeks, plump lips parted with wonder as you take him in for the first time.

He's quick to flip you over, to lay you gently onto the soft grass. His palms press into the earth on either side of your head, supporting his weight as he takes a moment to gaze down at you. He can't help it, the way his eyes lock onto yours, pouring out every last bit of his usually tightly shackled emotions.

Having you beneath him like this is something he's fantasized about for years, and even now, he's not quite sure that it's real. He's tried so hard to push you away, to wedge so much distance between you that this could never be a possibility. And yet, here you are, more beautiful than ever...and all his.

He rips his gaze away, warmth blanketing his face. He deftly unties your loincloth with one hand, slipping it down your legs smoothly. His palm skims along the outside of your calf, sending a shiver down your spine.

When he reaches your thigh, he gives it a firm squeeze before hooking his fingers behind your knee and urging your legs apart. A deep moan rumbles his chest at the sight of your glistening pussy, fingers moving to drag along the trail of slick coating your inner thighs.

“Goddamn, you always get this wet when we fight?” He rasps, only half joking. The mere idea of you so hot and bothered by him, by your frequent disagreements, has his cock throbbing in anticipation.

“Stop. Talking.” You hiss, the color of your cheeks deepening with arousal and embarrassment alike.

Lo'ak gives his cock a few strokes as he aligns himself with your entrance, dragging his swollen tip along your soft folds. You arch into him, a quiet moan falling from your lips. The sound has his gaze snapping to yours again, breath lodging in his throat.

Suddenly, this position feels too intimate. It tightens his chest, makes his stomach flip with conflicting emotion. A deeply seeded desire within his heart urges him to take care of you, to allow whatever this is between you blossom into something real. Something warm and soft, unlike the cold bitterness that's been festering for years.

It's all too much. Too good to be true.

So, instead, he grips your waist and roughly flips you over, hauling you onto your hands and knees before him.

“Lo'ak—” You gasp, surprised at the unexpected movement.

“Thought you said no talking?" His teeth clench so hard he fears they may shatter, but he welcomes the ache as he easily slides into your waiting pussy.

You cry out, arms already trembling, nearly collapsing onto the grass at the burst of pleasure. Lo'ak's eyes pinch closed, hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he slams his entire length into your sopping pussy. He groans when he bottoms out, tip pressing firmly into your womb.

You're a mess before him, reduced to a string of moans and whimpers as he drills into you mercilessly. Your back bows, head dropping between your arms when your lower belly tightens. His head falls back, a low growl echoing through the clearing as your silky walls flutter around him.

He doesn't give you even a second to rest, maintaining a brutal pace as he chases his high. One of his hands smooths over your lower back, pressing into it to force a deeper arch. It continues trailing upward, until his fingers tangle in your braids, jerking your head back firmly.

Sharp teeth catch his lower lip, restraint tightening his chest as he fights to hold back mounting pleasure. All you can do is whimper meekly, the sting in your scalp pushing you closer to a quickly approaching orgasm. Moisture pools in the corners of your eyes, his roughness too much and not enough all at once.

This is what you expected from him, and yet, it's better than you could've imagined. The way he handles you, bends you to his whim, it has your pussy spasming around his cock all over again.

“Fuck.” Lo'ak rumbles, his free hand snaking around your stomach, fingers expertly finding your clit.

You jolt at the sudden explosion of pleasure, the mere swirl of his fingers over your overworked pussy throwing you into an intense release. A series of sharp moans echo through the trees, every muscle in your body tensing before you shatter around him.

Lo'ak suddenly jerks his cock free, the abrupt emptiness jostling your trembling form as he pumps his cock, riding out his orgasm with an arm still firmly wrapped around your middle.

Silence falls between you, thick and uncomfortable as the weight of what you've just done settles over you both. You fight to catch your breath, pushing yourself up and out of his hold with shaky limbs. You avoid the sharp glare you can feel prickling against the side of your head, eyes scanning the area for your loincloth.

“That's never happening again.” The words aren't nearly as strong as you would've hoped, the slight quiver in your voice betraying the turmoil raging within.

Being with him like that, it was...good. Too good. It felt right, like the two of you should've been doing this for years, rather than pushing each other away at every opportunity. It's planted a seed of doubt in your mind, made you wonder what it could be like to let him in, to explore the possibility of being more.

It's a dangerous thing, hoping for something like that.

“Obviously.” Lo'ak is quick to agree, averting his eyes as you shakily stand to your full height and pull your loincloth back on.

By the time he's retrieved his own clothing, you're gone. A rough sigh caves his chest, disappointment lodging deeply within his gut. Some part of him, however small, thought maybe things would be different after what you just did.

He runs a hand down his face, replacing his practiced mask of indifference before he'll have to face you again.

The walk back to Home Tree is silent. He doesn't approach you, instead he maintains a wide birth between you, trailing your tense silhouette from a distance. When he breaks through the tree line a few seconds after you, his irritated groan has your head whipping around.

Your eyes widen, silently asking him to corroborate whatever story you've just told before your attention returns to his father.

“Lo'ak.” Jake's arms are crossed tightly over his chest, a signature look of disapproval etched into his strong features. “Did you two work it out?”

“Uh…yeah.” He winces, rubbing at the back of his neck as a wave of uncertainty makes his stomach twist.

Had you? Or did he only make things worse, like he always does?

Jake's eyes narrow, flicking between the two of you for several seconds. He notes the absence of any fruit, which is the entire reason he sent the two of you into the forest in the first place. That, coupled with your disheveled hair and Lo'ak's crooked loincloth, tells him everything he needs to know.

“Alright. Dismissed.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, a sigh of exasperation filling the space between you.

You're quick to scurry off, practically running away the very second you're given permission. Lo'ak's gaze remains locked on your retreating figure until it disappears into the center of Home Tree. His head drops, eyes closing as he considers the consequences of what you've just done.

He only makes it one step before Jake grips his arm, gently pulling him back.

“Not you, boy. We need to have a talk.”

@youcantseem3 @neyetams @pandorxxx @daiyuu27 @taleiak @neyetams @mrslandryy @superiorbyfar

[vasyandii]

PHAYVANH "NAK" SOTSVAHN 🐉🌺

Old Introduction

Nak Reference Sheet

Nak IRL Gear References

NSFW Alphabet (TREAD LIGHTLY)

GENERAL INFORMATION

Status: ACTIVE

Year of Birth: 2000 (Aged 20)

Day of Birth: September 13

Place of Birth: Vientiane, Laos

Race: Lao

Nationality: Laotian

Languages Spoken: Lao, Thai, English, Russian

Occupation: Tactical Assault Operator, Close Quarters Combat Specialist (Chimera Member)

Affiliation(s):

Golden Triangle Cartel (Formerly)

Lao People's Armed Forces (Formerly; Dishonorably Discharged)

Allegiance

Chimera

Physical Appearance

Eye Colour: Brown

Hair Colour: Black

Height: 5’2”/159 cm

Build: Lean Muscular

Scars: None

Tattoos/ Markings: Large tattoos on left upper and Center of back

BIOGRAPHY

Born in Vientiane, Laos. Living the first 15 years of her life off her uncle's fortune, partaking in the trafficking of illicit narcotics at a young age. The two were close due to them being family, not having many friends due to her uncle's line of work.

Enlisted in the LPAF by her Uncle's wishes to "Carve a better path for herself". Was not liked by her peers for her cocky attitude, overly aggressive tactics, and habit of prioritizing her personal safety over the team.

After 3 years of service in the LPAF, excelling in Close Quarters Combat, dishonorably discharged due to repeated physical altercations among teammates. Spent the next 6 months back to working for Kapano Vang despite his reluctance, eventually fleeing to Urzikstan after an argument with Vang about difference in beliefs, multiple people injured; their relationship has been strained ever since.

During her time her path crossed with Nikolai, in search of work she signed a long term contract with Chimera, with one year of service.

Shown to exhibit signs of social anxiety and difficulty forming close relationships around people her age. Inherited Kapano Vang's short temper in combat, though more relaxed outside of it.

Developed a bond with Syd, seeing her as an older sister. Often paired up with Sebastian Krueger in order to keep them both in line.

Skills and Abilities

Fighting Style: Muay Thai, Brazilian Jiu Jitsu

Weapon(s): Whatever is heavy

Distinct Weapon: SCAR FN PDW, Dual Push Blades

Shortcomings: Overly aggressive tactics, focus on personal safety, short temper

Family

Familial Status: Adoptive Niece

Siblings: None

Mother: Adoptive sister of Kapano Vang; (whereabouts unknown, records not found/withheld)

Uncle: Kapano “Naga” Vang; (Former warlord drug trafficker, formerly in Warsaw Pact)

Relationship with Family: Nak still idolizes her uncle to an extent, but the more that she's out in the world,the more she realizes that he isn't a good person. Nak’s mother wasn’t present in life. Her uncle took her in after mother wasn’t able to care for her. Naga trained her at a very young age; he thought it was best if she was strong in their lifestyle.

Pet: Cat person, never was allowed to have pets but she would throw scraps of food to strays.

PERSONALITY

Myers Briggs Type: ESTJ-T

Nak is an extroverted introvert, she likes and enjoys talking to people, however it drains her energy quickly since she's not used to talking to people in such a casual manner. Things like talking business she’s more used to.

Adaptable

A quick thinker, Nak is able to carry out missions by finding creative solutions to make sure her operations are successful. Outside of the battlefield her adaptability allows her to have better communication with people, even with her social anxiety.

Pragmatic

Nak strives to make the most effective solutions so it’s easier on her in the future. Her decision making skills ensure that she’ll survive in the field and outside of it.

Responsible

Living on her own, Nak is responsible, she can’t relax unless all her work is done beforehand. As she starts forming close relationships with people, she realizes that she likes taking care of people.

Negative Traits

Stubborn

Starting out Nak isn’t a very good teamplayer. She doesn’t like others telling her what to do or how to do things so she’s stubborn in a way that she’s adamant about what she wants but adaptable with what methods are needed.

Judgemental

Her formative years with Naga didn’t allow her to trust people, because of the Golden Triangle Cartel she has a habit of being overly critical of others.

Paranoid Perfectionist

Nak is self-demanding, she doesn’t take failure lightly. This leads to her paranoia of not being properly prepared. She becomes aggressive out of frustration if her ability isn’t to her liking.

TRIVIA

Nak is a shortened version of “phayanak” the mythical water serpent in Laos, it’s also the Lao pronunciation of “Naga” which is her Uncle’s name in the field.

Her face paint draws reference to how snake teeth are shown in Phayanak statues. There are multiple snake motifs in her design. Is the design practical? No, she just likes standing out in that way.

Nak cuts her own bangs (long blunt bangs) she doesn’t trust anyone with cutting them.

Has a lot of upper body and lower body strength; she can lift things heavier than her and calisthenics skills (handstands, full planches, etc.)

Often, most people's First impressions of her is that she's "Unsettling."

[builtbybrokenbells]

builtbybrokenbells ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ masterlist ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

— ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ —

hi! welcome to the shitstorm! if you’ve read any of my works already and came to check out some more, thanks!!! also, if you’ve left any comment on my stuff i have def read them and appreciated them dearly :)

requests: OPEN (please be respectful and patient with me, I’ll do my best to get to them as soon as I can!)

taglists: please specify if you want to be on a general taglist, a fic taglist, or for a specific person 🫶🏻

disclaimer: i do not know gvf or any of the members. tis’ all fiction and imagination and i will never claim otherwise! also, i try to keep my works 100% original; i do not read as much as i write, and i would hate for someone to think im copying them in any way. also, please don’t steal my stuff :) also, i’ve said it before and i will say it again. please be kind to me and everyone else. this blog is a safe spot. my feelings get hurt easily, and i will not stand for any disrespect towards others. thanks in advance 🫶🏻

♡ - fluff, ☾ - smut, ★ - angst

as always, be kind, stay happy, and shoot me a message anytime if you want to chat!

t’s fic rec list

— ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ —

Josh Kiszka

Long Time Coming ☾ ★

The one in which y/n can’t handle Josh’s eccentric personality. An altercation at the bar leads her to see a side of him that she never saw before. A personal family struggle causes a blowout and leaves her wondering if she had misjudged Josh a bit too much. (Josh x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 8.3K

It’s Never Over ♡ ☾ ★

A year and a half after a devastating breakup, y/n finds herself face to face with the boy she’d spent months trying to fall out of love with. although separated, neither her nor Josh found it within themselves to forget about each other. they’re faced with the choice to let history repeat itself, or walk away for good. (Josh x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 17.7k

Lex Talionis Masterlist | ☾ ★ | ON HOLD

LEX TALIONIS: the law of retaliation, whereby a punishment resembles the offense committed in kind and degree | The one in which a player, who is fantastically gifted in her ability to play, finally gets a taste of her own medicine. SERIES | ON HOLD

Blurbs

Flowers ♡

— ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ —

Jake Kiszka

Complicated ♡ ★

Growing up as Josh’s best friend was fantastic, but his twin brother held a separate, special place in y/n’s heart. A time lapse of an undying, embarrassing high school crush. (Jake x f!reader) ONE SHOT | 14K

Spitfire Masterlist ♡ ☾ ★

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The Green-Eyed Monster ☾ ★

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Gold Dust Woman Masterlist ♡ ☾ ★

Y/n finds herself completely in love with Sam with no hope of ever recovering. After months of waiting, hoping for a bit of reciprocity, she spends a night drinking his memory away. But, as we know, liquor never solves an issue, and always has the potential to create another. One messy hookup leaves leaves her undeniably in lust with the worst possible person: his brother, Jake. (Jake x f!reader, series, Sam x f!reader, love triangle, SMUT 18+) FINISHED | 190k

Guilty Pleasures ♡ ☾ ★

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Capital Vices Masterlist | ♡ ☾ ★

Religion never seems important until you’ve engaged in so much sin that salvation is no longer an option. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, series, SMUT 18+) FINISHED | 120k

Reaching New Heights

Jake walks in on y/n during some particularly interesting alone time, opening them up to a whole new world (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 11k

Lex Talionis Masterlist | ☾ ★ | ON HOLD

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Partners In Crime | ♡ ★

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Rotten Apple | ♡ ☾ ★

Karma takes form in the strangest of ways. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 16k

Heartbreak Hot Seat | ♡ ☾ ★

Jake Kiszka seems to have the perfect remedy for a broken heart. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 20k

Poolsides & Pizza Boxes | part 2 | some time later | ♡ ☾ ★

Alcohol and secrets make for a deadly combination. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) TWO PART SERIES | 35k

Little Miss Sunshine | ♡ ☾ ★

One little confession leaves you second guessing everything you’ve ever known about Jake Kiszka. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 26k

Melodic Memories Masterlist | ♡ ☾ ★

In a tattered old box shoved deep down in the corner of an overfilled closet, a lifetimes worth of memories lie dormant at the bottom waiting to be rediscovered. (Jake Kiszka x f!reader, series, SMUT 18+) SERIES | WIP

Blurbs

Doing each others hair ♡

Confessing feelings ♡

Bringing home a stray kitten ♡

Jake loves dogs, but you own a cat ♡

— ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ —

Sam Kiszka

Hate To Love You | part two | part three | ♡ ☾ ★

Sam and y/n spent months hating each other, but a drunk confession and a bathroom hookup leads to more trouble than they bargained for. (Sam x f!reader with a Danny love triangle, series, SMUT 18+) FINISHED | 25k

Picasso | aftermath | ♡ ☾

COLLEGE DORM AU y/n finds herself pining after the boy across the hall, taken by surprise after a series of events reveals that he feels the same way. An unconventional hookup leads to Sam making her first time unforgettable, both hoping for a romance to blossom from it. (Sam x f!reader, AU, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 15.5k

Gold Dust Woman Masterlist ♡ ☾ ★

Y/n finds herself completely in love with Sam with no hope of ever recovering. After months of waiting, hoping for a bit of reciprocity, she spends a night drinking his memory away. But, as we know, liquor never solves an issue, and always has the potential to create another. One messy hookup leaves leaves her undeniably in lust with the worst possible person: his brother, Jake. (Sam x f!reader, series, Jake x f!reader, love triangle, SMUT 18+) FINISHED | 190k

Catch-22 Masterlist ♡ ☾ ★ WIP | ON HOLD

Catch-22: a dilemma or difficult circumstance from which there is no escape because of mutually conflicting or dependent conditions. | Even if you knew every word to exist in every language known to man, you would still be certain that there was no better way to describe your relationship with Sam Kiszka. SERIES | ON HOLD

Blurbs

Early Morning Fluff ♡

Kissing in the rain ♡

Sam giving you his sweater ♡

— ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ —

Daniel Wagner

Bugs, Bears, and a Thunderstorm ♡ ☾

Y/n is not particularly enthusiastic about a camping trip. A set of unfortunate circumstances ensues, turning out to give the best possible conclusion to the situation. She realizes that maybe camping isn’t so bad, after all. (Danny x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 12.5K

Fade Into You ♡ ★

A bad day leaves y/n searching for solace in her boyfriend, Danny. He’s quick to the rescue, showing his unconditional love and willingness to help however he can. (Danny x f!reader) ONE SHOT | 6k

Guilty Pleasures ♡ ☾ ★

Due to a strong foundation of trust and a willingness to share, a situation which would normally be catastrophic seems to turn out to be quite rewarding. (Danny x f!reader, Jake x f!reader, SMUT 18+) ONE SHOT | 20.4k

Belladonna ♡ ☾ ★ WIP

Too beautiful to resist, and too deadly to survive; the tragic tale of belladonna in all its glory. SERIES | WIP

Blurbs

Doing each others hair ♡

Danny helping when you’re overwhelmed ♡

In the rain ♡

— ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ —

[lullaebies]

Absolutely love your blog! If you're still taking Jaehaera/Aegon III requests what about one where they're in a secret relationship and are keeping it from their families but some shenanigans ensue (maybe they snuck out or something, or someone walked in on them kissing?) and they're somehow discovered? Also please overprotective father Aegon II because yes!

(Preferably an AU where the Dance happens later?)

The gathering in the room feels like a court of thorns, and Jaehaera feels as if she is going to hurl. Standing by her family with her grandmother looking at all around with hawk eyes, she feels if something is about to implode. Aegon had been taken from her side to his mother’s, Princess Rhaenyra. The heiress to the Throne had been most wroth, her, her husband, and her sons waking in the middle of the night for this… issue.

The worst of it all, Jaehaerys had been still laughing with damn near tears in his eyes while telling what he witnessed. She had begged him to leave it be, but then he and Aegon got into an altercation, and now… Ugh!

“So I enter her room because I left my book there—” he looks at Princess Rhaenyra and her family, particularly Aegon. “It was my room once too, do mind— and what do I see if not Aegon the Younger pining my sister against her own closet? The closet, grandmother. He didn’t have the mind to get her against a bed.”

She’s going to choke him.

“Oh, fuck off,” Aegon yells at her twin. “As if she hasn’t told me about you becoming a damn near Rosby stableboy in your visits there—”

Princess Rhaenyra pushes him back to his half-brothers, the lot of the brown haired boys holding their brother of nine and ten, yet only his father manages to stare him down. On the other hand, her father had been gritting his teeth beside her, while mother held onto Jaehaerys’s forearm in warning. Alicent gives her twin a pointed look.

“Mind your words, Jaehaerys,” she says, and turns to look at Rhaenyra and her family. “Prince Aegon, would you mind explaining how you came into my granddaughter's rooms?” 

Aegon licks his lips, and Jaehaera swallows. The story is longer than both of them would be able to admit. Despite the blood feud of the families, they had managed to talk last year at the ball for her and Jaehaerys five and tenth nameday. Even went on a joint ride with Morghul and Stormcloud, and before he left for Dragonstone, they decided on a day to meet again at the Kingswood. Such meetings repeated. They could only afford a day a moon, but those days were all so sweet. Did she do anything wrong? Yes, had been the objective answer, but she couldn’t care for it.

And here he is, in her very own home. They could hardly speak by their family, how could she not ask for a moment of privacy?

Rhaenyra rubs her temples. “Things like these happen at this age, Alicent,” she says. “You are stressing Jaehaera and Aegon both.”

Alicent furrows her brows. “Oh, these things do happen at this age, don’t they?” she asks, glaring. “We had known since we were her age how reputation matters in finding marriage. Your son is three years her elder and should know not to fiddle with a noble girl’s corset strings at the hour of the bat.”

Jaehaera feels some tears well up in her eyes. She doesn’t care for the embarrassment of being caught by now, but this makes her feel a fool. It had been nothing insidious, was it? They hadn’t even kissed until they celebrated the new year. She hadn’t lost her chastity, either. It is not just…

“He came into those rooms because your granddaughter let him in, Queen Alicent,” Prince Daemon says. “You should mind her doings before you lay judgement on my son’s.”

Jaehaera’s father had been standing quiet for the longest while, but with that he flares. “Men had been sent to the wall and got castrated for less, Uncle. If you don’t like my mother’s judgement, perhaps I should see to it?”

She holds onto her father’s arm. Please, let this stop. 

Daemon eyes him dangerously. “See to your own misgivings,” he says. “Your own son laughs at your daughter's.”

“Father, please,” Jaehaera says, when Aegon the Elder tries and almost manages to escape her grip. Her mother and brother come quickly beside them. Her mother stands in front of her father and puts a hand on his chest, warning, while Jaehaerys comes to Jaehaera’s side, a wroth smirk thrown at their grand-uncle’s way.

“I am laughing at my sister’s choices, grand uncle. At least if it had been Viserys, he has my aunt’s pretty face,” he says, backing their father for once. They often argue, but at times they work together, they prove they’re made of the same cloth. “The Seven had laughed at Aegon giving him yours.”

Daemon starts stepping towards them. “You think you are a jester, you defected—”

Prince Jacaerys comes against his step-father to stop him from coming forward, the same ways her mother has to stop her father from doing the same. Her grandmother and Princess Rhaenyra had come to yell at one another, and even the kingsguard had come to get involved. Jaehaera’s body is reduced to shaking, fat tears fully sliding down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly between gentle sobs, the sleeves of a dishevelled dress wiping against her face again and again to try and catch all the tears. Only the family beside her hears, so loud were the voices in the room. Her brother and father turn around, with similarly apprehensive faces. “Please, please stop..”

Behind them, from the other side of the room, Aegon sees her in her pathetic state too. She never was the emotional type, and she had oft hoped he liked it for he had been none too different. The unusual petrification on his face makes her blood feel as if it is running dry, and it feels all gone when the dark amethyst of his eyes fall into what she could only call resigned acceptance.

Aegon, her Aegon, comes by his mother and her grandmother, holding Princess Rhaenyra’s arm. “It was my fault. We didn’t mean to… I took it too far,” he finally says. “I won’t come by her any more, Queen Alicent.”

It hurts more than anything else he could’ve said.

Her mother pushes their father aside to cloak her in an embrace. Jaehaera can only tremble and sob against her mother’s robe.

The room grows silent as Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent agree to not tell The King or all else of the incident; so ill had been King Viserys, it had not been worth ailing her grandfather further with this issue when he had been on the brink of passing. 

All is to be forgotten, and cast away. Jaehaera’s puffy eyes lift from her mother’s shoulder, and catch his gaze one last time before he leaves. He tries to mouth something, but is pushed by his family out of the room.

Jaehaera sinks against her mother again. Even if she banishes the days in the green Kingswood from her thoughts, the scent of the campfire charring wood black will live in her dreams.

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

The Forgotten Nest (Part 5) - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Mitchell!OC (Cora)

Word Count: 3.9k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Past Unplanned Teenage Pregnancy; Angst; Absent Father Figures; The 'He Didn't Know About the Pregnancy' Trope; Repeating Trauma Cycles; Crying; Arguing; Verbal Altercation; Named Mitchell Daughter OC (Cora) and Named Mitchell-Bradshaw Son (Nickie)

Summary: Cora and Nickie talk. Rooster and Maverick argue.

A.N. There are references to a previous unplanned teenage pregnancy (between two eighteen-year-olds) in this fic. There won't be any flashback scenes to the pregnancy, but the references are still there, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Master List

Nickie grabbed his doorknob and slowly turned it didn’t make a sound. His mom called him out of school and although she offered to take him somewhere special, Nickie told her that he just wanted to be left alone. And for the whole day, his mom didn’t bother him. And he was hoping that she didn’t come up for the next hour or so.

Opening the door slowly, Nickie glanced down the stairs to see if his mom heard him, before sliding down the hall. Nickie quietly entered the small room at the end of the hall. Carefully rifling around, Nickie slid out two plastic boxes that were covered in dust and all the way at the back. He carried them back to his room and shut the door behind him softly.

Nickie opened the first box and started looking around for any information that he could find on one person—Bradley Bradshaw. His father. DNA donor. His mom’s ex? Nickie didn’t really know what to call him at this point.

Sifting through all of the random papers and photos, Nickie pulled out a thick photo album. Setting it on the ground, he flipped open the cover. He vaguely recognized the handwriting scrawled there, and when he saw the first set of photos, he quickly identified the author.

Carole. Carole Bradshaw. His grandmother.

Whenever Cora talked about Goose or Carole to him, she always talked about them as if they were his grandparents, which Nickie didn’t really think meant anything. He called Ice ‘Pops’ just like he would Maverick, after all.

Nickie knew he was named after Goose—Maverick told him back when he was probably six or so. But Nickie just always assumed that it was because his mom and grandfather been so close with Goose and Carole, not because his mom was honoring his actual grandfather.

Flipping through the photos of a young Carole, Goose, and Maverick, Nickie paused when he saw a set of wedding photos. Goose stood in his dress whites, waving happily at the crowd, while Carole wore a simple white lace dress that did very little to hide the prominent baby bump that she was sporting and seemed to be giggling with glee.

Did young unplanned pregnancies run on both sides of his family? Suddenly his grandfather’s very stern lecture just a few months ago made more sense to him.

After the wedding photos, there were a few more of Carole pregnant, before Nickie flipped the page and saw a photo of his . . . of Bradley as a newborn in the hospital. Goose and Maverick were in several photos with Goose holding Bradley in just about every other one.

Twenty-three hours later. Baby Goose was very stubborn, was what Carole wrote there.

Nickie flipped through a few more pages of baby Bradley Bradshaw, subconsciously picking out the similarities between the two of them, until suddenly there was another baby in the photos. Cora. His mom. And though there were individual photos of both Cora and Bradley, the vast majority of the photos involved both of them.  

Cora and Bradley really had known each other for their whole lives. And that, in the back of Nickie’s mind, made Bradley’s decision to leave and never look back all that much worse.

Nickie kept flipping through the photos. Goose and Maverick popped in occasionally but Nickie assumed that they were busy being deployed to be pictured often. Flipping to another page, Nickie paused when a simple set of dog tags and a funeral card were preserved.

Carole’s note read: The day that my heart died. July 29, 1986.

Gently pulling out the funeral card, Nickie flipped it over to see a photo of his grandfather. Goose. The man that he never got to meet. The man that his mom admitted that she barely remembered. She had only been three or so when he died, after all. And Nickie had to wonder if it was some kind of Bradshaw curse to grow up without a dad.

Not that he was a Bradshaw. He was a Mitchell. He was Nicholas Peter Mitchell.

Shaking his head, Nickie put the funeral card back and pulled out the set of dog tags. Goose’s dog tags. Running his thumb over the thin metal, wondering about the man that he was named after, Nickie suddenly looked up when he heard his mom’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Nickie? Did you want dinner?”

“Just a second, Mom!” Nickie yelled back, hurrying to shove the dog tags back into the album.

Carefully putting the photo album back into the box, Nickie scrambled to hide them. But before he could do anything more than haphazardly shove them behind his bed, his mom knocked on his door.

“Nickie? Are you alright?”

“Just a second!”

Nickie hurried over to his bedroom door. Yanking it open, he tried and failed to act casual, earning an immediately concerned look from his mom.

“Hey, Mom.”  

“Why are you covered in dust?” Cora asked immediately, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not . . .” Nickie started to say before he noticed that his shirt and shorts were very much covered in gray dust, “. . . covered in . . . dust.”

“Nickie,” Cora sighed, looking completely concerned about him, “what are you doing?”

“Just . . . cleaning.”

“Well, you missed all of the dirty clothes on your floor,” Cora stated without missing a beat. She didn’t even need to look into his room to know that. She could just sense it. Resuming her concerned mom expression, however, Cora tilted her head to the side. “What’s going on?”

Sighing, Nickie stepped to the side and let his mom into his bedroom. Cora stepped further into the room until she spotted the two plastic boxes full of old memories that she tucked deep into the closet for a reason. Cora slowly turned back to Nickie with a resigned expression.

“Did you want to talk about it?”

Silently, Nickie sat on his bed and Cora sat down next to him. Reaching into the box, Nickie flipped to the page that he had been on, causing Cora to look all the more depressed at the sight of Goose’s dog tags. She specifically tucked in there after Carole died so that they didn’t set off Bradley or Maverick.

“I know that you always told me that Grandpa Goose died young, but . . .” Nickie trailed off quietly.

“He died at Top Gun. While he was training there with your grandfather. Maverick,” Cora stumbled over her words. “There was a training exercise and they flew into some jetwash and there was a mechanical failure during the ejection and . . .”

Turning to her son, whom she had named for the second father that she lost out over the seas that were not that far from her now, Cora swallowed thickly.

“His ejection failed and he hit the canopy and . . . that was it.”

Cora turned back to the photo album and slowly pulled the dog tags out. Grabbing Nickie’s wrist gently, she placed the dog tags in his hand.

“They’re yours, if you want them,” Cora stated, causing Nickie to nod slow. “Just try not to show them off around your grandfather when he’s . . . you know, when he gets—"

“—I won’t,” Nickie promised, placing the dog tags on his night stand.

Silently, the mother and son flipped through the photos. Cora would point out certain events or little secret memories to her son, who listened intently to every little bit of information that she had for him. Coming to the page for one of Bradley’s birthdays, Cora couldn’t help her soft smile. Bumping Nickie with her shoulder, Cora looked up at her son.

“Remember how when you were small and I used to put little random drops of food dye in the cake and mix it all together?” Cora suggested, causing Nickie to nod along. “Well, that was one of Carole’s old recipes. She’d make it for me and for . . . Bradley for our birthdays all the time.”

Cora flipped through a couple of the photos herself, getting lost in her own memories of the happier times when Carole was alive and well. It was hard to not think about how life would have turned out if Carole never got sick.

“Most of the baking recipes that I have are from her,” Cora mumbled out, lost in her thoughts.

“She was a good cook?”

“The best. She never let anyone leave her home hungry,” Cora replied, turning back to her son with a soft smile. “She was a tough woman. A strong woman. And she had a bigger heart than most of the population combined.” Flipping to another page, Cora choked back some tears as she cupped her son’s cheek and rubbed it with her thumb. “You got her smile.”

“What happened to her?” Nickie asked quietly, causing Cora to nod and look down again.

“She got sick. Cancer,” she stated softly. “They caught it late and . . . there was nothing that anyone could do.” Discreetly wiping a tear from her cheek, Cora sniffled before turning back to her son. “She went very fast. Very fast. It was only a few months between the diagnosis and . . . and the end.”

“Was . . . should I get checked?” Nickie inquired curiously, causing Cora to turn to him quickly.

“Oh, honey, no, no you’re fine. It was ovarian cancer,” Cora explained softly, resting a hand on Nickie’s shoulder. “You and . . . and Bradley . . . you’re both fine.”

“Where’re they buried? Goose and Carole?” Nickie asked curiously after a few moments of silence. “I don’t remember visiting them.”

“They were buried out east. Virginia. It’s where your grandfathers were first stationed out of flight school. It’s where their house used to be.” Turning to Nickie with a sad smile, Cora offered him some strength. “Did you want to go and visit them one day?”

“If we can.”

“Yeah, we can go one day,” Cora agreed, staring down at the photo of Carole, herself, and Bradley.

“Do we . . . is there still family out there?”

“Not very close ones,” Cora replied honestly, wracking her brain. “Both of your grandparents were only children. And both their parents died long ago, so . . . no, I don’t think so.”

“So, Bradley . . . he had no one else to go to . . . except you and Grandpa?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Cora responded, nodding along.

“Then why did he leave? Did he really want to be by himself that badly?” Nickie asked, trying to put the pieces together.

It didn’t make sense in his mind. If Bradley was raised alongside Cora and with Maverick as his stand-in father, why did he leave? When he had nowhere else to go? Why did he leave Cora in the dust like that? Was he just that big of an asshole?

“No, Nickie, he was just . . . angry,” Cora sighed, smoothing down the fabric of her pants.

“Why?”

“Him and your grandfather had a fight,” Cora began, staring down at the floor. “A big fight.

“About what?”

“About . . .” Cora sighed, rubbing her face with her hand. “About the Navy.”

“What about the Navy?” Nickie pressed, anxiety suddenly lacing his features.

“Your grandfather, he . . . Bradley . . .” Cora cut herself off and started over. “Ever since I can remember, Bradley wanted to go into the Navy. Your Grandpa Goose went to the Naval Academy and then to flight school and Bradley wanted to do the exact same thing. He wanted to carry on his dad’s legacy.”

Nickie sunk a bit more into his bed, looking at the floor as his mom continued with the story.

“And your grandfather . . . Maverick, he—I don’t know how he did it—but he ruined or pulled or did something to Bradley’s application to the Naval Academy and because Bradley was a legacy and a Gold Star kid, he should have gotten in. So, Bradley went digging, called the school, and somehow figured out that Maverick messed with his application and then . . ."

Cora sighed, holding her head in her hands for a moment, remembering that awful night and all of the words that got thrown around. She cried so hard after Bradley left in a fit of rage that she threw up. But, then again, maybe there was another cause behind that.  

“And then he left,” Cora stated softly, picking her head up again.

“Gramps pulled my d—Bradley’s application to the Naval Academy?” Nickie asked quietly with his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yes. It’s what they’re still fighting about to this day,” Cora responded honestly.

And your existence, she thought, though she never would have said in a million years to her son.

Nickie sat back on his bed, lost in a train of thought. Cora gave him some time to process, assuming that he was emotionally exhausted from the last few days. And while that was true, that was not the main reason behind Nickie’s sudden silence.

He knew that his Grandpa Mav didn’t like the Academy. And he knew that Maverick wouldn’t have exactly been thrilled with Nickie’s desire to go there? But did Nickie ever think that his grandfather had it in him to actually pull someone’s application? No.

That didn’t justify what Bradley did, but holy hell Nickie was starting to feel scarily close to the man.

What was it that Ice always told him?

Those who do not learn history are doomed to repeat it.

Cora looked away from her son when her phone started to buzz. Pulling out her phone, she spotted the Kazansky name. Cora gaze Nickie’s shoulder a tight squeeze before standing up and moving to answer the call in the hallway. Nickie was still caught up in his own thoughts for a moment, but snapped his head up when he suddenly heard his mom cry out.

“Mom?” Nickie called worriedly, getting up from his bed. “Mom, what’s wrong?”

Nickie raced out of his room, causing the dwindling sunlight to rest on a photo of Maverick and Ice holding Nickie as a baby and Goose’s dog tags, which Nickie had just placed on his nightstand.

~~~~~

Bradley was stewing, absolutely stewing, in a mess of emotions in the ready room.

He swore that he could still hear the explosion echoing through the comms after Phoenix and Bob’s plane burned in. The clear edge of fear and panic that entered Phoenix’s voice when she yelled for Bob to eject from her backseat. Maverick’s screams for Coyote rattled around in there too, along with the altitude warning systems.

Bradley had never lost a wingman before and now he nearly lost three in one day. One right after the other. And, of course, Maverick was the only aviator up in the air when shit hit the fan that seemed to walk out of it unscathed. Like he always managed to do.

And don’t even get Rooster started on the emotional toll that was still weighing on him from yesterday.

Bradley hadn’t slept and he barely ate since that confrontation at the Mitchell house. He briefly fell asleep on the floor by his door, after crying out every last bit of moisture that his body could expel, but it wasn’t much. If Phoenix or any of the other Daggers noticed the dark bags under his eyes, they didn’t speak about it.

But honestly, right now, it was the silence that killed Bradley.

The silence let his thoughts run wild and untethered. He had already run through at least a thousand scenarios about how the situation with Cora happened and none of it made him feel any better. They all made him feel sick to his stomach.

It still didn’t feel real. It still didn’t feel possible. And yet it was.

Cora was pregnant when he left. But that wasn’t possible, he argued with himself. Except it was. It definitely was. It was so possible that Rooster wanted to smack his head through a wall for being dumb enough to not think about the risk back then. Jesus Christ, how could he have been so stupid? How could they have both been so stupid?

And Nickie—his son—how did he not recognize him at the Hard Deck? How did he not feel some kind of instinctual pull towards his own son? And hell, the kid was a walking sign that screamed ‘Bradshaw.’ All that he was missing was a mustache and a Hawaiian shirt. And his name was Nickie, Nick, Nicholas—whatever—after his dad. After Goose.

God, Bradley could have laid there for hours and cried about that. He did, actually.

And Cora, Jesus Christ, he blocked her number early. The night that he left after she tried calling him about twenty times. And by the time that he even thought to unblock it, she had probably given up on him already.

She raised Nickie by herself. Without him. With Maverick probably standing right there, waiting to swoop in and talk about how Bradley wasn’t ready to be a dad. How he wasn’t good enough or strong enough or prepared enough.

The door opened behind Rooster and Maverick—the son of a bitch—stepped into the ready room. Maverick took a few steps into the ready room, but Bradley didn’t acknowledge him. Not right away. He didn’t deserve acknowledgement after what he did, in Rooster’s opinion.

“They’ll keep Phoenix and Bob in the hospital overnight for observation but they’re going to be okay.”

Bradley nodded, but otherwise refused to acknowledge Maverick. Bradley was concerned that he would knock Maverick’s lights out if he did. His anger with Cora was still there, but it was more hurt than any anything else. Guilt, overwhelming and all-consuming guilt, and pain. He felt a stab in the gut every time that he thought about her, about the struggles that she probably went through without him. 

But with Maverick? That was all rage. Pure, unadulterated rage.

“Rooster?”

Standing up from his chair so quickly that he threw the chair back onto the floor, Rooster spun around, almost rabid. Maverick was sickeningly getting used to receiving death glares from Goose’s son and slowly widened his stance, as if he was expecting Rooster to charge at him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about my son? Huh? You didn’t think that I deserved to know that I had a son!?”

“We tried to reach out to you,” Maverick stated, keeping his voice calm and his gaze steady. “Cora must have sent you a hundred—”

“—I’m not talking about her! I’m talking about you!”

Bradley took a few steps forward and Maverick steeled his expression, ready to take the brunt of Rooster’s wrath. He was more than prepared to take it.

“You used all of your favors with the Navy to pull my fucking Academy papers, but when it came time for you to get in contact with me or track me down to tell me that I had a kid that I didn’t know about, you just said fuck it and didn’t look for me? Didn’t try to get to me through that!?”

“Cora didn’t want me to do that,” Maverick stated calmly.

“That’s bullshit.”

“What’s bullshit is the fact that you blocked her in the first place,” Maverick snapped back, some of his own frustration coming to the surface. “I understand why you were mad at me after the whole Academy papers incident, but why the hell did you ever take it out on Cora?”

“She took your side that night and I wasn’t thinking straight!”

“And what about all the other days since then?” Maverick demanded, causing Rooster’s eyes to flash. “Because there’s been a couple.”

“You son of a bitch,” Rooster cursed, shaking his head at Maverick as he clenched his fists at his sides. “You think that you’re some kind of saint, Maverick?”

“No,” Maverick replied immediately.

“You were barely there for Cora when she was growing up! It wasn’t until my mom got sick that you ever stuck around! So, stop rubbing it in my face that you’re some kind of perfect father!”

“I’m not a perfect father!” Maverick shouted out, letting some of his own emotions show. “I let my teenage daughter get knocked up by some dumbass, selfish kid under my own goddamn roof because I was more focused on my career! I let my daughter suffer and stress and agonize over raising her son by herself for sixteen years when I really should have tracked you down and given you the biggest kick in the ass of your life!”

Maverick paused, glaring daggers at Rooster for the first time in . . . ever, really.

“Do you have any idea what you took from her? I love Nickie. I love my grandson with every last bit of my soul and I would do anything for him. I wouldn’t trade him for the world. But do you know what it was like watching Cora struggle? Watching her have to put off college? Watching her go for days, weeks, months with about two hours of sleep a night? Be degraded? Shunned?”

“Why did you pull my papers?” Rooster demanded, causing Maverick to narrow his eyes again. “If you didn’t pull my papers, if you just let me—”

“—I shouldn’t have pulled your papers,” Maverick interjected, causing Rooster to straighten up. “That was wrong and I regret it.” Tilting his chin up slightly, Maverick narrowed his eyes slightly at Rooster. “Do you have any regrets, Bradley?”

“Not with you,” Rooster stated evenly before grinding his teeth together.

“That’s fine,” Maverick replied calmly with narrowed eyes. “But make it right.”

“I don’t need any help or advice from you, Maverick,” Rooster snapped defensively. “You’re the one who pulled my papers and set this whole chain of—”

“—Stop with the fucking excuses, Bradley!” Maverick interjected, losing his composure. “Your dad knocked your mom up and you know what he did? He married her! Bought her a house! He was there with her in the delivery room! He changed diapers, did feedings, all of that! And you couldn’t even open a single goddamn letter or answer one fucking phone call from Cora!”

“So, what?” Bradley scoffed, shaking it off as his emotions got tucked back into that pocket deep in his chest. “You going to tell me that he’d be disappointed in me, Maverick? That my mom would be disappointed in me? Is that what you’re going to do?”

“No,” Maverick stated, staring up at Bradley. “I don’t need to tell you what you already know.”

“Yeah, well, they trusted you, Mav,” Rooster returned fire, flames burning in his belly and in his eyes. Or were those tears? “And look where it got them.” He straightened up to his full height, towering over Maverick. “I won’t make the same mistake.”

The silence after that exchange was absolutely deafening on both sides as Rooster and Maverick simply glared and each other with hurt and anger and heavy emotions ripe in the air. But then the door to the ready room opened and Warlock broke the tension, calling for Maverick.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Tags: @xoxabs88xox @eternallyvenus @mygyn @kmc1989 @thegoddessc @midnightmagpiemama @badasspizzalover @praline357 @oatmealisweird @a-court-of-roscoe-and-baby @abaker74 @avengersfan25 @yogabigooby @daisydaisygoose @sgt-barnesveins @angelbabyange @percysaidnever @artemissunn

(If I forgot you in the tags, don’t be afraid to ask again because I’m definitely scatterbrained when it comes to that but please have a reference to your age somewhere on your blog (bio, pinned post) or just message me!)

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sam

WC: 2007

Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Warnings: A/B/O, dystopian au, canon elements, non/con, dub/con, incest, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, physical/mental abuse, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, death/murder conviction, show level violence, parental dominance, trafficking, branding

*Additional warnings will be added

Square filled: @spnabobingo -Arranged Matings

A/N: Still working on reigning myself in, keeping each part reader-friendly length, and have no clue how many parts this will end up being.

*This is combined/edited together with part VII

A/N II: a few notes about designations in A/O sub-genders for this story.

Alphas-Dominant (head of the pack/family) Subordinate (obey Dominant) Breeders (rare & highly coveted by the government. Can challenge Dominant for pack/family leadership)

Omegas -Domestic (mostly wiped out by plague, few natural born left) Feral (government-supplied breeders sold commonly called O's) House O’s (3rd generation+ Feral/Dominant breed. Used as servants/sex workers) Pack (rare & highly coveted by the government)

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

Part VI

John walks down the hallway and is met by his eldest's concerned expression, “Dad, what’s wrong? You were gone for a long time.” Looking at the young, almost grown men he’d raised affirms his gut-wrenching decision was correct. “Nothing but the usual bureaucratic BS that needed sorting. Grab the O, we’re leaving.”

John’s nostrils flared at Sam’s ‘they’re not going to let us go yet’ response. “And why n..?” His sharp inquiry was interrupted by the sound of wheels squeaking down the hallway and they all turned to see a male Beta pushing a cart with various metal implements lying on top. “Hi, I’m here to do your O’s branding.” John appeared confused, and Sam piped up again.

“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you. This state mandates to prove ownership bought O’s have a brand burned into them like livestock.” John looks at Dean, demanding an explanation, and repeats what the register told him. 

John turns his attention back to the brander and asks how he would do it. Nervously, he details creating a mark out of the aluminum and applying it on the O. “If you’re not sure what you want, I can sketch an idea. Most people like to incorporate the first letter of their surname.” 

The brander quickly works. “Ignore my freehand. The brand will be clean.” John barely glanced as he held it up and nodded in acquiescence.

“Great. Let me administer the numbing agent; it needs a few minutes to kick in.” He picked up a vial of clear liquid, drew it up and walked towards the O when a deep growl reverberated off the walls making him freeze. Sam, instinctively flanked by Dean, placed themselves between the brander and the unconscious O. “Dean, take your brother out of this building now!” John commands in his Alpha voice, making Dean flinch.

Dean’s instincts tell him to follow Sam’s lead and stay with the O, but his designation forces his wolf to submit to follow their Alphas’ orders and wrestles his agitated brother outside.

“I apologize for my youngest; he’s recently presented and hasn’t yet learned to control his wolf.” The brander accepts, and John watches as the O’s rolled onto her side and injected the numbing agent into several places to deaden the area. Then, with deft precision, he bent the aluminum into shape and lit a propane torch, heating it before asking John, “Could you lay across its thighs? Sometimes, they still feel this. Don't want it moving and messing up the brand.” 

Sam was chewing on his thumb cuticle, the tell-tale sign of his wolf's nervousness getting to him, when it yelped, spotting John emerging through the clinic door carrying the O. Handing her back to Dean, they resumed their previous positions in the car as John drove back to the rental. 

Sam followed Dean down the hallway when their Alpha ordered, “Dean, take her to my room, set up an O sleeping mat, then move your stuff in. I’ll take the couch.” The brothers shared a look before Sam asked why, and John said, “I saw your reaction to her back at the warehouse.” Sam’s eyes flashed and John growled, “Right there is why. That O is here for your brother's use, not yours.  So, until its suppressant implant kicks in, you’re staying well away from it. I have an errand to run,” John picked up his truck's keys and walked towards the door. “Don’t forget to resalt the door.”

Sam spit out, “What’s so damn important you have to go back out at this hour?” John didn’t acknowledge his youngest sass, “Dean, I expect you to ensure your brother doesn’t go near that O.”

“Nothing changes. Heading to the nearest bar to get loaded as usual.” Sam snarled after John left and Dean gave him a look. “Can you stow the attitude for one night?” Sam peered at his brother with chagrin. “Sorry. I’ll leave that bedding for her by the door and pack your bag.” He proceeded towards their bedroom when Dean called out…

“Don’t touch my porn, you freak!”

John parked his truck in the darkest shadow he could find, flipped open a burner phone he’d bought, and dialed the number he’d gotten from Bobby. 

“I’m here.” The voice on the other end instructed him he'd have five minutes to accomplish his task. When he got the all-clear, John got out and began counting down as he entered the building's back door. 

Reaching the doctor's office, he sat at a computer and, following the voice’s instructions, found the pertinent file and opened it. In a blink, the previous information was deleted and replaced. John then clicked print, and as the new pages printed, he found the original physical file and began swapping them. 

Pocketing the originals, he stuck the file back in place and walked out. The voice instructed him to go out to the middle of nowhere, drive over the phone until it was in smithereens, burn it along with paper paperwork, and then hung up.

John destroyed the phone and was ready to flick his Zippo to incinerate the papers, but something told him not to. Instead, he opened his weapons catch and retrieved an unfinished curse box.

***

The sun had barely risen when John let himself into the rental carrying coffee and donuts. He found his sons already up: Dean was cooking breakfast while Sam sat at the kitchen table, slumped over open schoolbooks, catching up on his homework. 

“That smells good,” John says, placing the items on the counter. Dean pulls out a couple of the to-go cups, sipping on one, and hands the other to Sam, who immediately pops the lid off, adds milk and sugar, and asks suspiciously, “You take care of that errand?”

“Yes, I did. I’m going to grab a shower, and then we’re,” John paused, staring directly at Sam, “Going to discuss the ground rules concerning that O.”

Monday

Sam poked his head out of his doorway and, hearing his Alpha’s snoring, snuck down the hallway and let himself into Dean's room to find him kneeling next to the seated O. “Sam! What the hell? If Dad catches you…”

“He’s still passed out,” Sam frowned when the O cringed as Dean smeared the healing agent swapped from the clinic onto her brand. “Almost done, sweetheart,” Dean reassured her; she continued flinching until he finished. “Done. Okay, let’s get you dressed.” 

Dean slid his most worn flannel on her, and the O hissed when the super-soft material touched her raw skin, eliciting a viscous-sounding growl from Sam, causing Dean to shoot a look that said shut up or get out. Chastised, Sam comments, “Jeezus Dean, your clothes swamp her,” instantly regretting the thoughtless remark as a brief flash of shame crosses Dean's features. “Had those jail fines, and what was left barely fueled up my car.” Sam commented back, “My spare jeans should fit better since I’m closer to her size.” Dean rolled his eyes, “Sammy, remember what dad told us. The pamphlet clearly states that we shouldn’t confuse her by mixing-up our scents.”

“Oh, for fucks sake! We practically live on top of each other! She’s been exposed to our mixed-up scents for nearly two days! And who’s the one she’s skittering around? Dad!” Sam pointed towards the door, “He needs to stop trying to brainwash you into believing the bullshit in that pamphlet the clinic gave you. It's ridiculous nonsense! She’s not some dumb animal. You’ve seen it yourself!”

“Sam, just because she knows how to blink once for yes-two for no doesn’t mean she comprehends things like we do!” 

“Wow, could you sound any more like Dad?” Sam shot back loudly when a grunt echoed through the thin walls and they all froze. Dean slowly cracked the bedroom open, whispering, “Shit, that woke Dad up.” He exhaled and relaxed, “Good, he’s going to the kitchen. I’ll distract him ‘cause you need to get ready for school, I gotta drop you off early. Gonna meet with the lawyer before my hearing this morning.” 

“You need to make a good impression on the judge today.” Sam reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out some folded bills. “It’s not much, but it should be enough to get you something more presentable from Goodwill.”

“Thanks, Sammy, but I can’t take that. It’s not your responsibility to take care of me or her; that’s my job, always has been.” Dean reopened the door and almost stumbled upon hearing his brother's words.

“Dean, you’re not taking care of her. You own her.” 

Deans Hearing 

10:07

The judge slammed their gavel down. “John Winchester, if you do not control yourself, I’ll have the bailiff not only put you in restraints but also gag you!” The Alpha ignored the judge and continued arguing with the prosecuting attorney. “What the hell is this about Dean having to claim her?” 

“Your honor, I request a fifteen-minute recess to confer..,” The judge interrupted the public defender. “Councilor, you have five minutes to remind your client’s Alpha that he accepted this plea agreement. And make sure he also understands the consequences of outbursts in my court!” 

John was still fuming when the lawyer slammed the conference room door shut. “Your stupid, domineering Alpha crap is what got Dean into this situation!” Taking several deep breaths, the lawyer began explaining. 

“It’s the standard procedure in this state to include the claiming statute in cases like Deans. However, in ninety-nine percent, the presiding judge will not enforce it and instead accept the branding as the claim. If the prosecutor had pressed for it, I was prepared to show precedent that it wasn’t applicable since you're not a state resident.” They pointed a finger in John’s face, “If the judge doesn’t kick it, you have only yourself to thank!”

John quickly strategized. “What if I do a mea culpa? Say my wolf has been under extreme duress, and I reacted badly to the possibility of being unable to choose Dean's mate?” The lawyer shrugged, “It’s worth a shot because there’s nothing I can do now since you agreed to the plea deal without consulting me first for the record.”

“The court accepts your apology, Alpha Winchester.” The judge sat back. “As per the rules of the claiming statute, I have to consider the factors that led to your son ending up before this court. I have reviewed your family history obtained during the investigation of this case and, to be honest found your parenting skills atrocious.” The judge began reading a file out loud.

“Since the death of your mate, you’ve denied your sons a stable home life, constantly moving; the only paper trail of their existence is from the numerous state schools they’ve attended. Then there’s a multitude of notifications to CYF of suspected abuse, neglect, and exposure to unsavory elements in our society that, unfortunately, has led your eldest sitting before me, awaiting my decision on his future.” The judge stared at both Winchesters briefly before gesturing to Dean to stand. “This court finds that Subordinate Alpha Dean Winchester has complied with all but one of the requirements of his plea agreement within the time frame stated.”

“Because of the previously cited circumstances and, being unmated Alpha going into a rut, resulted in the death of another, I am obligated, per the state of North Dakota law, to ensure the defendant is not in a situation to commit such a heinous act again. Therefore, I order the claiming statute to be carried out immediately.” They bang their gavel and left.

Dean stood there in shock, half listening as John conversed with the lawyer about the logistics(?) of what this forced mating entails. The bailiff gripped his arm and led him out the prisoner entrance, down the short hallway, stopping in front of a door painted with an A/O symbol. When the bailiff opened the door, what Dean saw returned him to reality, and yelled...

“I CAN’T DO THIS!”

Part VII

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx @lyarr24 @flamencodiva @lassie-bird @nancymcl @spnbaby-67 @leigh70

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

WF: @slamminmine @ladysparkles78 @deans-spinster-witch @ilovetaquitosmmmm @strawblueberrys @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @kazsrm67

[dogsayswoof]

Hounds From Hell Chapter 5

Summary: Vulnerability. That's it. That's the whole post.

Word Count: 2.2k Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Hounds from Hell Masterlist)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

You and Wednesday now sit in an awkward position since the altercation at the Rave'n. Her confession of having no feelings for Tyler had calmed your anger but your anxiety heightened at the thought of her having no feelings for anyone, including you.

Sure, she had told you that you weren't a convenience, but that didn't mean anything. It was how she viewed all her friends.

Meanwhile, Wednesday was on the hunt to know more about what happened before the dance but you changed the subject every time she got close to mentioning it. You didn't want to talk about it. You kept that part of you hidden for a reason.

As much as she wanted to pry, she didn't. Her normal bashful and shameless tongue holding back for the sake of your privacy, straying from her natural behaviour.

A week before the championship game, you had a big chemistry test and Wednesday ensured that you were properly prepared to ace it.

She sat patiently waiting for you to enter the classroom, but you never did.

Then you didn't appear at lunch.

And, again missing in English.

She began to get annoyed, her mind unable to focus on the notes at hand when she was plagued by where you could have run off to. 

So, she took it upon herself to march into Weems' office requesting your location.

"I'm afraid I cannot share other student's personal information with you" she said politely, a small smirk present on her face.

"I'm sure you could tell me where I could find her." Wednesday said furthering her irritated state.

"Unfortunately all I can tell you is to stop wasting your time, she is not on campus."

"What? Why?" she asked needing the information more now than ever.

"Family emergency. Now get out of my office." Weems said growing tired of Wednesday's never ending questions.

She and Thing exited the office. He signed to her,

"I know you're worried, I'm sure everything is fine. We'll find her tomorrow." Wednesday tried comforting the hand.

She quickly found your friends who had laid out a blanket on the grass and were lying talking about nonsense. She threw her bag down and sat down crossing her legs.

"Pouting cause your girlfriend isn't here?" asked Ajax throwing a grape at the goth girl in jest.

"She's not my girlfriend and I'm not pouting." she huffed.

"Um yes. Yes you are." Bianca said, Divina and Yoko nodded in agreement.

"George and Benton weren't in class either" said Xavier as he laid looking at the clouds.

Wednesday's heart sank, realizing that this was bigger than taking a spontaneous trip to see your family. Thing must of pieced it together too because he signed frantically.

Her brain was working overtime trying to have some sort of idea what was going on. You had hunted just a few days ago before the Rave'n and it wasn't going to be a full moon tonight.

"Any idea where they went?" asked Ajax and Xavier shrugged.

"Weems said it was a family emergency" Wednesday said and Thing pretended to faint, "don't be so dramatic, I'm sure everything is okay," but Wednesday seemed like she was trying to convince herself more than anyone else.

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

That night Wednesday could barely focus on her writing. She did her best to distract herself but she needed to know where you went, especially with Benton and George.

Enid had gone to god knows where and she had hoped to capitalize, but you complicated things as usual.

Her keys clacked rapidly until it would stop abruptly. Then the sound of the typewriter resetting and the whoosh of a new piece of paper being drawn.

This went on repeat for multiple hours until she heard a crashing sound from her window.

Thing scrambled over to take a look and he signed frantically to Wednesday.

In an instant she was up from her desk and out the little door to the balcony.

There you were on your hands and knees with next to no clothes on, covered in blood that she could only assume wasn't yours, breathing desperately as if you couldn't.

You were having a panic attack maybe?

Your eyes were glowing red, your canines were fully extended, and you hadn't looked up from the bricks you were at the mercy to, gasping for air.

Wednesday took small steps towards you, her hand gently touching your shoulder.

You looked up at her in fear.

She bent down and cupped your cheek.

Your breathing began to calm and your eyes began to dim as you recognized the familiar girl.

She took advantage of this, pulling you gently to your feet and inside her room.

She brought you to the bathroom, still not a word exchanged between you.

Turning on the water, she ushered you into the small shower.

You fell to your knees, boxers and a sport bra still on as the water fell.

Your eyes looked broken, refusing to look her in the eyes, and as the blood began to run away from your skin turning the water red. 

She saw the damage that was hidden before.

A dark purple bruise stained your cheek. Faint hand marks remained around your neck. Your body littered in small cuts and other bruises.

Her heart ached at your pain. A feat that may of brought her joy in any other scenario.

She was not used to feeling this. The feeling of gentleness and wanting to care for somebody else. She was not used to love of this sort.

"Look at me" she said softly and you did without hesitation. Your eyes still a faint red and they would stay that way until death ran its course through your system.

"Come with me" she continued,

You stood up, turning the water off. She handed you a black towel and you dried your body the best you could without wincing. You refused to show her anymore of your pain. You were not her burden.

As you exited her bathroom, you saw one of your hoodies and a pair of your sweatpants folded neatly on her dresser.

"Where did you get those?" you asked, your voice raspy.

"I had Thing get them" she said as if it was common knowledge.

You grabbed them, your movements slow. Wednesday turned around as you did the same. Stripping from the wet garments and pulling on your sweatpants, you hesitated putting on the hoodie.

"Turn around" you whispered and she did.

That's when she noticed the mark freshly burned into your back. In the hope that it wasn't too much, she stepped closer to you and reached out. Her fingers featherlight as she brushed the mark.

Your back muscles flexed and you flinched.

She retracted her hand and you pulled the hoodie on turning around to face her. She could see you were on the edge of breaking down and in a moment of rare weakness, she reached for your hand pulling you to her bed.

You sat down and she stood in front of you. She was so close and it was intoxicating for you. Your eyes met hers and you could see her fondness for you.

"Show me what happened." she said gently and you nodded.

She pressed a hand to your chest and she was taken over by the vision. Your hands wrapping around her to keep her from falling back.

Benton, George, and you were driving to the mansion. You owed Hades a hunt. It was simple. You've hunted for years, one extra hunt this year would have been fine.

You entered the mansion. So far so good. Your father was the only other person there. He looked mad. Annoyed. Use any synonym in the book. It wasn't unusual for him to convey this emotion. He was usually only happy during the ceremonious hunts. Not the impromptu ones for a "dumb highschool dance."

"You better deliver." he growled before taking his drink and his anger somewhere else. 

As you stood awaiting Hades arrival, a demon arrived instead. He held a tray containing a piece of paper. You picked it up and read it, passing it to George and Benton.

It contained nothing but an address and a number. You understood what was being asked of you.

"Let's go" you said gruffly,

Exiting the building the three of you shifted. An auburn wolf, a black wolf, and a white wolf sprinting through the woods towards their target.

You weren't prepared for what it was when you got there.

As the three of you laid in the shadows you took in the sight before you. There was a bonfire, with tens of kids running around. There was a small building nearby and you could hear the laughter.

"An orphanage?" the black wolf said towards you,

You didn't say a word, continuing to observe the scene before you.

"Hades demanded it" you said almost defeated, "You know the punishment Benton"

The three of you leapt from the shadows, like something out of a nightmare.

It was pure carnage and destruction. Life after life taken. Adults, kids, babies. Each kill taking a shred of your humanity.

The three of you slaughtered each and every last orphan there, ripping apart their bodies for the sake of a master. How sick.

When the last one was dead you stood there your fur wet with blood, the shadows of their deaths sought for you as if you were magnetic.

The white wolf, Wednesday could only assume was George, began herding the souls his white fur stained red at the paws and his mouth.

A portal opened and he made sure he rounded each and every last one of them up.

Benton's wolf was ripping apart the corpses, their blood seeping into the ground illuminating slightly as the underworld took it gratefully.

And you walked around consuming the black particles of their death.

Wednesday felt herself be pulled further in time.

This time you were standing before the mansion still in wolf form. Your father and Hades stood at the top of the entranceway. They walked out slowly and Hades snapped causing another demon this time with a branding iron.

"You three have made me so proud, proving your loyalty time after time." he said walking until he stood before you all, "For that, I believe you have earned this."

He snapped again and the demon handed him the iron. He walked to Benton, branding the back of his shoulder. Then to George, repeating the same action. Then to you.

All three of you had let out painful yelps and you could hear George's small whines. 

Hades looked down at your wolf form and rubbed the top of your head.

"You're a good hound. All of you are."

He headed back inside the house but your father stayed. The three of you shifted back, on your knees in the dirt.

"Go inside boys. I need to talk to my daughter." he said puffing a cloud of smoke from his cigar.

They listened going to their rooms to find their clothes. Your father flicked his cigar before coming before you and punching you hard.

"Your brothers didn't yelp like a little bitch when they were given Hades mark" he growled

You said nothing and continued to stay on your knees.

"It's a mark of praise, you stupid girl" he said hitting you again, then again, and again, before grabbing you by the neck.

"You ever embarrass our family like that again, I will kill you." he said his eyes glowing red.

You did nothing but give a nod, as best as you could with his hands around your neck.

He threw you to the ground and went inside grumbling to himself.

Wednesday shot back to reality, seeing that you were holding her carefully waiting for her reaction. She took a few steps back and you felt pain sink into your chest, your arms falling to your side.

She hated you and what you had done. Your 'friendship' with Wednesday was surely over.

Then she threw herself into your body. Her arms wrapped around your neck pulling you close to her and your tears fell.

You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her equally as close. Your head rested on her chest and you could hear her heartbeat, grounding yourself as best as you could.

"I'm so sorry" she murmured into the top of your head.

You squeezed your eyes tighter and buried yourself further. 

She held you for what felt like hours, but was really just a few minutes.

When she felt you pull away and look up at her. She loosened her grip, her hands coming around to rest half on your neck, half on your jaw.

"I should probably head to my dorm" you said and glanced at her clock,

1:34 am. Shit.

"Stay" she whispered and you looked back up at her onyx eyes.

"Okay" you whispered back.

She leaned in and kissed you with the tenderness you had never expected she would have the capacity for.

Her lips were warm and soft. Pleasant against yours as you kissed her back.

Your hand embraced her welcomingly and she traced your jaw with her fingers.

She climbed up and straddled you lap, allowing a certain vulnerability between the two of you.

The kiss never escalated to anything more, it was pure and you knew this was her way of telling you that you'd be okay. And that she had feelings for you. 

She would never be this unguarded with anyone else but you made her feel okay to be that way. You had a key to her locked black heart.

You pulled away watching her eyes flutter open, her lips kiss swollen and chapped. And by god, she was the most beautiful woman you'd ever seen.

You pressed another delicate kiss to her lips, watching her eyes flutter close and open again reacting to your touch.

"Come to bed" you said quietly and she did nothing to object.

She got off your lap and you scooted back, lying down.

As you laid next to each other, you made sure to give her space. She appreciated that, as she would rather not be suffocated in her sleep. Though as you began to close your eyes to succumb to sleep, she reached out finding your hand and intertwining your fingers.

All you could do was smile.

[komohine]

hello oh my gyad you’re my favourite artist EVER. I love the warm tones of your drawings and the way you draw keith and james is so so pretty (you have 100% converted me to be a jaither) like seriously keith is gorgeous and the outfits you draw him in are ethereal. I have many questions ive been brewing for a little bit and you don’t have to answer all of them but feel free idunoo👍👍👍

1. in the college au, does keith have his cheek scar? if so, how did he get it?

2. what is james’ and keith’s favourite thing to do with each other in free time? in every and any au you have

3. how does wearing clothes bode for james in the android au? does every tiny string get caught between the metal or does he just not wear a shirt half the time? or the third more sinister option, fabric just doesn’t catch in the plating at all

4. what colour are keith’s eyes.

5. does james play any sports/instruments like every freakish extracurricular absent parent having kid ever?

6. thoughts on the keith neurodivergent headcannon?

7. would james ever introduce keith to his family? or is he no contact/they wouldn’t care?

8. do you headcanon keith with any galra features? if so, what are they?

9. favourite food and colour headcanons for the both of them?

10. do you think keith would have any piercings?

+ a singular drawing request, soggy keith (thankyu for reading c:)

Hello i love you guys take notes from this anon please ask more questions like this i wish tumblr allowed me to answer a question more than once but PLEASE ASK HUGE QUESTIONS LIKE THIS I LOVE YAPPING ‼️😄 I LOVE YAPPING ‼️😄

Also THANK YOU FOR THE COMPLIMEBTS HEEHEE 🙏 i try my very best to deliver fire content 🫡 which is why i havent posted a finished piece in a while… im cooking… 😈 also its way too late for me rn to get out of bed and draw so i will reblog this with soggy keith… sometime later…

Beware a huge freaking wall of text… but id appreciate it so much if anyone reads and responds to my headcanons and adds on 😄

1) TW: ASSAULT. i was debating this, and i think yes but its much smaller than the one he has in canon. He gets it in roughly the same way, an altercation with kuron (evil shiro, except kuron is just a major asshole who isn’t related to shiro but tries to take his place through manipulation. Keith (and everyone except james actually) fell for it). Keith eventually confronted kuron outside a bar after repeated attempts to get closer with keith during their night out and kuron got pissed and pulled a knife. Fortunately keith is also an mma legend and wiped kurons ass but he got a pretty bad cut on his cheek. James made sure everyone knew about what kuron did (james is hella connected because of his parents wealth and also bcs he was trained for a while to inherit his parents company. Also, James is an incredibly smooth talker and can convince anyone of anything. So kuron pretty much has zero chance at a job in the future cause he got blacklisted from everywhere lol). This is me painting sheith as the weird freaky violently uncomfortable shit it actually is lol 😄

2) canon compliant: literally anything that isn’t high risk and stressful. Cooking, reading, sitting on the couch watching bad horror movies and shouting out plot predictions and then laughing when they’re right. Because theyve had too much drama in their life. They really appreciate the times when they can wind down. Playing fetch with kosmo is also fun, because yk teleporting wolf, so they need to get creative to get kosmo to exercise.

College AU: similar, chill things. But because of james’ absolutely insane schedule and keith’s investigative work about his father’s unusual death, they don’t really get much time together outside of studying together, lunch dates (james always makes time for lunch. Well he tries, but he has notoriously bad scheduling luck so he’ll end up with back to back classes from 8 am to 9 pm, no lunch break, or random 2 hour gaps where he needs to go off campus to a diff location for his next class so he cant acc spend those 2 hours relaxing its just him fighting downtown phoenix traffic), etc. but they’re both pretty outdoorsy, so both him and keith like going camping when they can. Its a nice break for the both of them. Also james made keith run a marathon with him once. Keith barely survived, snd slept for 18 hours after, but it was fun! In return keith dragged james to his mma gym and tried to get him to do a kick (because james is one hell of a sprinter. He has sprinter legs. That should theoretically translate super well into an insanely strong kick) but james was too nervous. every time he stepped in the ring he’d just stand there awkwardly and not move. He did send one of those punching bags flying with a kick though after he worked up the confidence (keith was right!)

Android au: uhhh kind of not applicable i fear. I cannot say why. But sometimes james lets keith clean his gun. When things get rough, he’ll let keith fix him up if there’s anything broken.

3) lowkey the sinister third option. Maybe they have some special super tightly knit fabric that’s impossible to catch on things. But also, the androids are designed pretty well, and are surprisingly devoid of super snaggy edges

4) violet. In human au, black, but im a firm believer of him having dark eyes that shine a dusty violet when the light hits them just right

5) canon compliant: TRUMPET AHHAH HES A TRUMPET PRODIGY no actually it makes me a little mad just how good he probably is at trumpet. Like gorgeous, bright tone. Huge dynamic range and lung capacity. Im so mad. Probably also piano. And fencing. He is also extremely good at sabre fencing. And i was saving this hc for later but wtv ill just repeat it: james was the one who taught keith how to wield a sword because i refuse to believe keith picked up his bayard and it formed into a sword just because. No man, its because james would beg keith to practice fencing with him and keith would finally relent and james would teach him pretty much all he knows. And keith remembered those lessons.

College au: track and field. Specifically, sprinting. James is acc so good at sprinting that he went to the olympics twice and won silver in the 200m the first time, and gold in the 100m the second time (lets pretend youssef flash (usain bolt counterpart) stayed home that year for whatever reason). And also ballroom dancing! Like waltzes and shit. Hes such a loser. And probably piano and trumpet too but they’re not so important lore wise.

6) YEEESSSS i also believe in james being neurodivergent in some way. No neurotypical man likes finance that much (my personal headcanon. Also in college au he does high level 1000 page math workbooks for fun.)

7) canon compliant: i havent thought that much abt james’ family in the canon universe. Tbh theyre probably all dead (hence why he reacted so harshly to hunk in that one scene) by the time he and keith get together officially so there’s not much he can do. He’d take keith to his sisters grave just to tell her the news (his older sister was the only person in his family of like 7 that gave a fuck abt him). During their garrison days, he probably never mentioned keith as a way of protecting him from his family.

College au: yes! He tried! Unfortunately his homophobic republican christian parents did not appreciate it. James really introduced keith as a last olive branch because he was alr so close to cutting them off, but their reactions were so bad he lost his temper in public (never before seen) and stormed out halfway through their planned lunch dragging keith by the wrist. And then he cut them off.

8) me personally no. If im being so fr every time i see galra feature Keith it always comes across as infantilizing in some way? 😭 like “ooo kitty ear keith!” somehow you are infantilizing both asians AND a completely made up race guys. The only real feature is maybe his funny coloured eyes? But galra eyes are yellow so uhhh… but i think internally there’s a lot more galra presentation. Like his heat/sickness tolerance, sleep cycle, endurance, etc.

9) i havent really thought of this, i have colours I personally associate with them but hmmm. (Canon compliant, but probably applies to all of my aus) Keith’s favourite colour? I dont think he would really have one specific one but he might list off some colour combos he thinks looks nice. Like red and black. Hes also not super picky, but he really misses his dad’s halo halo. James is too depressed to have a favourite colour. And he likes anything that is a painful experience while consuming. Like very strong and bitter black coffee, straight everclear, your most acrid cigarettes. Because he hates himself.

10) in my college au he has a snake bite! Only one though, on his right (our left) side. Also he has his lobes pierced. I dont think he’d have anything in canon compliant, just bcs his hair is already pushing the garrison guidelines and i dont think they’d let him pierce anything. Maybe earlobes, but thats it. Same goes for android au.

[nichenarratives]

Hurricane Heller 25

A Niche Narratives Fanfiction

last | first | next

25. Lackadaisy Austerity

Even in his youth, Mordecai was never an athlete, struggling to keep pace with peers and often the last to finish even after those with weak chests. As with most innate insufficiencies, the nine year old tom had refused to accept he wasn't athletic and instead turned to his strengths, studying how to become a fit and healthy young man who could rival an Olympian on the track. The scrawny tom believed he could do it as well; books had yet to fail him, from botany to mathematics, so was certain all he needed was to buckle down and understand, to flourish here too.

Though he was aware of his intellectual differences well before fourth grade, the discrepancy between Mordecai’s attempt to overcome this challenge with applied research, compared to how his teacher and peers responded, would ultimately skew any future interactions with others for the worse. Attempts to discuss his physical limits or potential adaptations to optimise both his own and classmate’s development were met with irritation; his notes stuffed into a desk, he was escorted out by the ear and deposited back into the school yard roughly, a reminder to respect his tutors ringing in the sore appendage.

To wit, he was pushed harder in gym class, until an inescapable physical exhaustion claimed his body and he fell. This was received with amusement by his peers, especially when it was usually followed by a yardstick to the rear and accusations of laziness. For the rest of the year he was at the epicenter of his tutor’s storm, miserably exhausted and never able to improve his physical state. Yet adult Mordecai would look back on those months as an important learning experience, one he subscribed to even neck deep in the Savage Family Corporation.

If he wanted something done right, he should remove the middleman and simply do it himself.

While he hadn't been particularly successful with an extracurricular exercise routine - life seemed to develop an uncanny ability for throwing proverbial spanners in those particular cogs - a discernment of keen proprioceptive capabilities in adolescence allowed Mordecai to ‘hack’ his biological malleability. 

According to the physiology books, proprioception is an awareness of where one’s appendages remain in space without thinking. Realising he’s acutely aware of this sense, preteen Mordecai would consciously engage his entire body’s muscle framework while he undertook mundane tasks like paperwork to enforce an almost ambient regime into his schedule. 

The initial results were as expected; a deep seated exhaustion and a dread of repeating it all tomorrow, which he almost surrendered to on a monthly basis. Every night, he’d collapse into bed, his entire body aching but thankfully too exhausted to be kept awake by pain. He'd sleep fitfully and awaken with residual soreness in his core, both a physical and mental battle of wills to overcome and rise before the day even began, but he persevered regardless.

Until one day he realised the pain was simply gone his mind and body finally in sync as both analysis and reaction became a seamless response to any stimuli. While Mordecai never became the Olympic contender he'd envisaged as a kitten, he gained something more useful; a finely tuned core strength that enabled swift, precise movements within a tiny window of inaccuracy, a margin of error easily rectified with basic calculations.

It still bothers the tuxedo that he can't pinpoint a day his muscles adapted. Applying tension upon waking eventually became automatic, as much a part of the mask he wore to sequester his emotions. This skill is what made him an exacting amateur surgeon for interrogations, a formidable foe with a firearm and a swift, decisive hand in high tension altercations. 

It likely saved his life the night Fiores attempted to murder him also, though as he sprints through the back alleys of Queens in driving rain, path heralded only by the cloud-crested moon, the unanticipated limitations of his biological hacking quickly become apparent. Already fatigued from constant flexion, his core muscles reject the sudden exertion and begin to ache as they drown in an excess of lactic acid, low base energy stores swiftly exhausted.

His legs feel immensely heavy, his chest tightened by an underdeveloped lung capacity, but as a shot whistles past his ear the tuxedo forces himself on through sheer willpower, towards the station he can see a few blocks away. A small part of Mordecai's mind agonises over his missing satchel, but there is no time to return for it; he has no money or papers, just a pen, a pocket watch, and a useless safe code wrapped around a dime in his pocket.

An awkward step on the cobbles and he stumbles. Mordecai gasps and barely prevents a fall onto the glistening streets by grabbing at the nearest wall in desperation, claws digging into the mortar with an unsettling scratch across brick. He pauses only long enough for the moon’s shine to glint off of the barrel of a pistol and pursuer’s eyes before pushing off the wall, ignoring the growing stitch in his side and the burning in his lungs, hellbent on survival.

The station is barely fifty feet away when a thought hits him. I can't purchase a ticket. A revelation that is swiftly accompanied by a trajectory shift towards the unfenced tracks extending from the southern side of the illuminated building. It troubles Mordecai to know riding the train without procuring a ticket is theft - something he refused to indulge even in the depths of poverty - however, he decides imminent mortality is an effective extenuating circumstance to allow it this once as by divine doctoring, a train pulls out of the station when he's a mere twenty feet away. 

With a grunt and a final surge of energy, Mordecai sprints the distance with a burst of speed before he leaps forward, jumping for the nearest carriage as the rear stairs draw level.

Time seems to stop when airborne. Breath caught in his throat and heavy body suddenly weightless, his heartbeat becomes a rapid, dicotical metronome in his ears and throat as hot smoke envelops his body. Suddenly blinded, the tuxedo is forced to have faith in his calculations and physical reflexivity, reaching through the choking gray smog with little more than a muttered prayer to a god abandoned years prior.

When his hand closes on a cold metal railing, time resumes with a sudden explosion of sensation; rain raps heavily on his bare head and chugging engines are thunderous in his ears as he clings to the railing for dear life, soaked loafers slipping on metal steps before finding purchase. Exhausted but relieved, he clutches onto the guide rail and sucks deep breaths into aching lungs, unstable legs threatening to give as he casts his gaze out in search of his pursuers.

Between the darkness, smoke and driving rainfall, viability is poor. Mordecai squints towards the alley he'd fled from as the train begins to pick up speed, pulse still hammering and breaths drawing deep. He can see nothing; lanterns eaten by darkness, smog too thick to dispel. Assuming they can’t see either, the tuxedo finally sags against the guide rail, acutely aware of the patter of rain on his head and the deep thrumming of engines rattling through his teeth.

As the adrenaline surge begins to wane, his body comes alive with aches and pains. Both his throat and lungs burning with exertion, his thighs aching almost as much as his blazing calves, a stitch in his right side flaring with each heavy breath. Whipping winds and unsteady legs mean he dare not release the guide rail lest he simply fall into the tracks, so he remains steadfast as they gain momentum, taking a moment to recover from-

A bullet pings off the train car barely a half inch over his head. Hair waving wildly in crosswinds between carriages and eyes startled wide, Mordecai ducks behind the guide rail with a gasp just before another shot dings off the metal right where his head had been moments before. The tuxedo peers around the edge of the carriage behind his own and squints in the smog, until he sees two dark figures hanging off a guide rail two train cars down, attempting to fire as the rails jostle their aim.

His second adrenaline rush is more like a trickle, a heavy delay between noticing the danger and acting on survival impulses. He jerks back being the train car between them as a third shot pings off the metal guide rail and with the last of his remaining strength, Mordecai wrenches open the rear door and throws himself inside, slamming the door behind him.

The air within the train car is still, the trundling of the train and heavy rainfall muted by thick window panes and thick metallic architecture. A couple of yellowed or green pairs of eyes turn to observe their belated fellow passenger before they return to their books, newspapers or work. None take interest, nor inquire of his arrival mid transit, merely sneaking a covert glance as he stumbles down the middle aisle to an empty pair of seats at the front of the carriage and collapses against the window.

Finally safe, if only for a short period of time with his pursuers just two carriages down, Mordecai allows olive eyes to flutter closed as he can truly catch his breath. He barely feels the usually uncomfortable sensation of soaking clothes on coarse fur or the way his hair sticks to his face, his mind distracted processing the events of the night with the clarity of a man aware of his imminent demise. There's no time to dwell on misfortunes when it's at a premium.

He shuffles through data, from limited inventory to loose ends, until finally, the tuxedo has a course of action to follow. Sitting straighter in his seat, he first pulls a pencil from an inside pocket and digs it into the inner lining of a coat pocket, destroying stitches he'd added the week prior to extract the dime, and paper wrapped around it containing the safe code in his apartment bedroom.

Using a tissue from another pocket, he soaks up the worst of the water from his right knee and folds his right leg over the left. It's only as he begins writing he truly notices his left glasses lense is cracked, but it does not stop him from transcribing his last words.

Mother,

Forgive my unannounced departure. Circumstances relating to my employment have required me to travel on short notice. It may be some time before I am able to correspond again, but you will find savings in my rented room above the dry grocery adequate for living. Give Mrs. Kovitz the name Ezra and she will allow you upstairs. There is a safe hidden in the southeast corner behind the baseboard.

He makes sure to outline the safe code where it had faded slightly from formerly hurried penmanship. He may have sat there for hours procrastinating the end of the hastily scrawled letter were it not for a sudden  and short lived increase in engine noise and driving rain. The rear carriage door opening and closing, a shuffle of fabric as someone silently takes a seat, an additional passenger changing carriages amidst the rainstorm worrying for the pursued tuxedo. Incensed to finish his letter, Mordecai carries on.

Please use some portion of it to relocate to more suitable living space, expeditiously. Purchase somewhere if you are able. The building is poorly ventilated, molded and unhealthful.

-M

Before he can sign his name, a thick drip of red falls to the crumpled page. The tuxedo pauses to stare at it, distracted brain struggling to comprehend what it is and where it might have come from, before a thick warmth oozing down his lip preludes an accompanying second drip of blood joining the first. Mordecai rubs at his snout with the back of a hand and pulling back, is greeted by a smear of red on dark fur. His own body betrays him, coating his only note paper in blood of all things, which he cannot send his mother lest she worry or ask questions of unsavoury people in the city.

“Damnit, damnit.” He rubs his nose roughly on his sleeve, inadvertently smearing the blood across his muzzle, before ripping the bottom of the letter away to remove both his blood and the laments regarding Mother’s current housing. Casting a glance over his shoulder as he crumples the soiled paper in hand, he spots Brady’s sour face immediately beside a man Mordecai recognises as Gabriel’s chauffeur. 

They don't meet his gaze, but Brady smirks for the briefest of moments, hand thumbing something in his pocket. Dark ears folding flat as time speeds past, the non-stop train journey to Missouri rapidly closing in on its, and his, inevitable end.

Fatigued adrenals activate a final time when he turns forward to find an unfamiliar man in a flat cap also observing him over the back of a seat. This man watches him openly, a lit cigarette dangling from thin lips and a brow quirked in a question the young tom cannot decipher. Noticing the three men briefly sucks the air out of the carriage, a suffocating sensation making it nigh impossible to draw breath.

Fear isn't an emotion Mordecai entertained often in recent years. He'd become as adept at masking that weakness of character as any other, sequestering it beneath a stony façade and severe tone most were themselves too intimidated by to query. In the face of death however, a young tuxedo cannot prevent bile churning in his stomach any more than the rapid jittering of his leg, an outlet for the intense anxiety created by knowing his time is running short.

Mordecai inhales and the spell is broken; the man in front turns away and lights a cigarette, the train still trundles along its track, rain beating mutedly against thick panes of glass. With a ragged exhale, he digs in an inside coat pocket for the blank envelope that so recently held a thick wad of cash and presses the folded letter to his mother inside. The sealing glue is bitter on a dry tongue, taste lingering as he scrawls her name and address on the front.

This very envelope previously had once contained a payout, monies accrued through sanctioned abuse, suffering bloodshed at his own hand. 

As a kitten, Mordecai was enraptured by fairytales not for their whimsy and wonder, but the dichotomy of good and evil so frequently portrayed. Black and white, heroes and villains, light and darkness. The concept had made perfect sense; that badness was as inherent to a soul as was blood to a paper cut, to know even as a child whether you were good or evil. It was a comfort in an otherwise difficult childhood to know he was good and that would never change. 

Joining the Savage Corporation had congealed bad and good into various shades of malignant gray. In order to benefit his family he was forced to entertain fixed odds, inflated prices, lying and stealing his way to middle management in an organisation with its very foundations rooted in moral debauchery. The kitten so sure of his integrity had become tainted by shadows and soon, was no better than those who now sought his death.  

All before one final, poorly conceived embezzlement endeavour had left Mordecai staring down the barrel of his own pistol. He grimaces, pencil stilled on the last digit of his family address, his grip on the shaft so tight his hand shakes. It's almost poetic that the former vessel of such funds should deliver his final words home but the prospect that money tainted by moral ambiguity required his untimely demise before Mother could discover and utilise the funds?

In hindsight, that is nothing short of zemblanity, but now is not the time for lamentation. The tuxedo tom tucks his pencil away safely and leaning forward, he speaks softly to the man sitting in the row in front of his own. “Excuse me,” Mordecai begins, then clears his throat softly to attract more attention. Though his eyes never leave his paper, the man’s head turns toward him, which is enough for the desperate tom. “You wouldn't happen to have a postage stamp, would you?”

“Sorry kid, I don't.” The man goes back to his paper without pause, leaving Mordecai to mumble half hearted thanks and lean back in his seat, ears flat to his skull and tail tucked beneath his legs. While the response is polite, it's useless; even if he manages to alight in St Louis and find a post office, he can't afford to buy a stamp with just a dime to his name. 

Resisting the urge to surrender to anxiety he casts his gaze around and spies a finely dressed woman reading, one seat back and across the middle aisle. Suppressing the growing anxiety in his chest as the train speeds towards its destination, Mordecai turns in his seat to try a more direct approach. “Pardon me, uh… perhaps I could impose on you to post a letter? I wouldn't ask a stranger, except that it’s-”

The carriage plunges into darkness as it enters a tunnel, a cavern of semicircular bricks and mortar that couples as an echo chamber, exponentially and rapidly increasing the thrumming of metal wheels on tracks. A clamber of engines and a heavy trundle of bolts and divots of very carriage pulled forthwith all join the cacophony of screeching couplings, rattling window panes and screeching horns that only grows by the second, a locomotive thundering through a wonder of modern architecture with all the disruption that seemingly accompanies industry.

With the accumulation of these sounds, the carriage interior almost becomes intolerable. Yet Mordecai does not notice intense auditory stimuli that would normally cause him great discomfort. Instead, the sight of a man standing in the aisle, a glimmer of something in his hand catching tunnel lighting as it flashes past, has his blood run cold. White fingers tighten on the pivotal envelope still in his grasp as desperation devolves into desolation, for as Close as he came to achieving his objective, this is where it must end.

The figure takes a step closer, the cover of darkness and intermittent flashing of passing lanterns keeping his identity shrouded in mystery. The glinting in the figure’s hand comes closer and the tuxedo flinches, eyes squeezing shut and head turning away. Final breath caught in his throat, he awaits an inevitable oblivion as overt peril draws his overwhelmed mind inwards, to a nauseatingly empty vacuum sans the rapid biological metronome drumming in his ears.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Chest burning with depleting oxygen, his body tense for anticipated pain, it takes until early morning light falls on his face as the train exits the tunnel for the tuxedo to date squint as his executioner. Mordecai is not met by the barrel of a gun however but rather, a visage he will remember for decades to come as a moment his life changed forever; a gray tabby with pure white across his muzzle, a glinting cane under one arm and a newspaper under the other, the pale tips of his fur illuminated like a beacon of hope by the sun’s tender morning rays.

While not a particularly spiritual man, Mordecai is captivated by the imagery even as the tabby takes a seat directly opposite, placing his newspaper down out of sight before resting his cane against a hand. Impeccably dressed; a sharp three piece of better quality than anything Mordecai could dream, fitted leather gloves and manicured whiskers, he's flawless even as he stoops to spark up a cigarette, a habit the tom holds with a deep level of scorn as a wasteful vice.

As if feeling the young tom's gaze upon, the man tilts his head to regard Mordecai in return. Despite his obviously ruffled appearance, this businessman looks upon him without distaste or irritation, but a curious interest. Dark ears turn forward as yellow eyes meet olive across the gangway, a long moment of mutual, silent study before the gentleman turns his gaze to the rolling Missouri fields outside.

Time speeds past and soon, the train is pulling into its final stop in St Louis, Missouri. Palms slick with a nervous sweat, Mordecai watches as the gray tabby stands and disembarks without a second glance, leaving the newspaper on his seat. Mordecai’s only respite is seeing the unfamiliar man in a flat cap at the front of the carriage follow, after briefly meeting his anxious gaze. Not another assassin then, but a concerned third party, or perhaps a bored traveler concocting gossip for his next tiresome meeting.

The relief is short lived, for when the well dressed woman also stands to depart, it leaves him alone with Brady and his chauffeur. The tuxedo feels his nerves fray as they stand, wordlessly reaching into their jackets, cold eyes and wicked smiles telling of their intentions. Breath so heavy yet fruitless, the young tom feels he might faint. He clutches onto the seat in front of him and murmurs a quiet plea to the God he’d lost faith in years prior. 

One last chance, that's all I ask. One more-

It's surely coincidence alone that he notices the glint across the aisle at that moment, a metallic shimmer catching the sun’s still virgin rays. Wide olives settle on the newspaper the gray tabby left behind and finally sees the gift wrapped within; a revolver with an ornate handle, ivory or bone to contrast a brown casing and the sleek sliver of a metallic barrel. A custom piece, one not left behind easily, and a clear direction for a lost kitten to take.

Mordecai dives across the center aisle just as a shot embeds in the seat in front of the one he'd occupied. He crouches between one bench seat and the backrest of the next as he retrieves the revolver, a heavier kind than he's used to. A swift check of the chamber to know precisely how many practice shots he has before he can't afford to miss - four shots, far more than necessary to recalibrate - and he's ready to take this final chance seriously.

With the swift mobility he's come to rely upon, the tuxedo rises, aims and fires at the chauffeur within a second and a half. As expected, his aim isn't sure with an unfamiliar weapon; a shot intended for the chest instead rips through the chauffeur’s left bicep. Mordecai ducks just as Brady curses and takes a shot, the bullet searing a path through air so close to his face, the tuxedo feels the heat of expulsion graze his face before the bullet embeds in the seat behind him.

The proximity doesn't phase Mordecai now he has a tool to wield. He takes a breath and makes a swift stab at ballistic trigonometry. Intersecting axes, angles and calculations overlays the memory of his failed shot behind sharp olive eyes until the basic math completed, Mordecai once again rises, aims according to estimated mathematical adjustments, and fires. This shot lands just shy of his intended mark, striking the chauffeur in the lower right lobe of his heart for a fast, fatal wound.

Blood blossoms on a white shirt as the strong scent of iron fills his nostrils. The man screams in terror, a gun clatters to the floor as shaking hands clutch at a punctured heart, desperate wails swiftly suffocated by blood rising up his esophagus. Brady hesitates, his gun raised but eyes averted to the chauffeur. It's all the time Mordecai needs to reload the chamber, adjust his aim and finish the job.

Only once Brady hits the floor beside his compadre does the world flood back into focus; screams and shouts echo beyond the train car, fluffy of shadows in all directions as panicked passengers scramble to flee the platform. A whistle screeches over the noise as calls for police cut through the chaos, orders for men to surround and search each carriage issued in short order. Mordecai has to get out of here, before he's apprehended holding the murder weapon in a strange city, with no papers or credentials.

Pocketing the ornate revolver, Mordecai skulks low between the seats to the rear exit, diligent as to not step in the rapidly widening pools of crimson around his former pursuers. Unseen from without as chaos unfolds, Mordecai unlatches the door and slips into the masses, joining civilians fleeing the gruesome scene of a double homicide that will make the papers in just a few hours. 

A Shadow in St Louis: Double Murderer Disappears Without Trace from Overnight from NYC!

[nogu-d-reamers]

WELCOME TO PLAYTOWN/POPPY PLAYTOWN- CHARACTER REFERENCE #1.

CATNAP NUITLUNE- DESIGN AND DATA.

Information data:

Name: Catnap NuitLune.

Age: 24

Height: 320 mts/10'4 fts.

Species: Smiling critter creature. Cat (Maine coon cat).

Occupation: private detective.

Genre: male (he, him).

Sexuality: anthro.

Magical usser type: cursed.

Birth place: Gasetúde (Playgrounds).

Birth day: august 8th (not real birthday, it's just a symbolic date).

Personality:

He is usually a reserved, quiet man, little bit sarcastic and to a certain extent withdrawn and in his world. Because of his type of work and the night schedules he manages; It is common to see him asleep during the day anywhere in his work clothes at the Piggy family restaurant or near Kickin's cabin (or in general keeping him company while he rests with one of his friends).Although he usually seems to be a lazy person, and some of his own comments towards himself; He is someone who puts the people he cares about above his own well-being and is loyal to his friends to an absurd degree.

On the other hand, topics such as his family, his past in "beta-unit 1006" or the "prototypism" tend to make him uncomfortable and he will skip the topic immediately or pretends he needs another cigarette (even if he's smoking a new one)..

A funny gag with him is that he usually appears out of nowhere in favor of the situation and scaring everyone at the same time while repeating «it's not my turn, but...»

about his work and daily life.

He is a As mentioned above, he is a private detective who, due to his predilection, works the night shift (which is why he spends the rest of the day half asleep). He works for the detective agency "Mob Inc." Therefore, his way of dressing in civilian clothes at work does not have many differences and he maintains a dark color palette. In that agency he works only with Mr. Mob (founder and chief financial officer) and his "brother" and day shift colleague Boxy Boo.

He ended up getting entangled in the world of detectives due to an altercation in his youth where he tried to steal the wallet of who would be his boss and was given two options: hand him over to the police or work for him and have a formal job.

"Magic" data (and other skills):

like a cursed, it has the standard abilities that they generally have without the need for it to be activated =

- improved brute force.

- hyperdeveloped senses.

-permission and knowledge of handling weapons of his rank.

But, this can be activated when your body is under a very high stress situation or in a situation of extreme danger.

His curse has 3 phases=

Phase 1: activated.

His body begins to secrete and expel poppy smoke (a reminder that poppies are an inhibitor of magic, and for beings like witches it is a lethal poison) through the respiratory tract and his character, due to the pain it causes, becomes aggressive and alert. ; If panic does not take over, he can deactivate it voluntarily.

Phase 2: controlled/stable form.

It's the shape they wanted to achieve when they experimented with it in the first place.

His body begins to adapt to the poppy gas and has a "mild growth spurt"; The gas also goes from being just a sleeping pill to a tool to generate illusions in its favor and can generate the gas or poppy substance in a more solid way in its claws or fangs. His attitude also changes, becoming more sinic and playful; like a hunter who enjoys torturing his prey.

He can be reasoned with to a certain degree and if he realizes that he has hurt someone important to him he can revert to his activated form.

If he spends too much time in that way...he can get out of control.

Phase 3: uncontrolled/ unstable form.

It is what went wrong and made him consider a failure.

If he spends too much time in his controlled form the Poppy Smoke itself "takes over" Catnap's body, giving him the grotesque appearance of a skeletal cat surrounded by smoke; the only trace of his actual body being his eyes and mouth injected with poppy gas.

You can't reason with him...

You can't fight him...

You can only do two things = run away and pray that his energy runs out quickly so that he returns to his base form.

Medical notes:

-He is under strict medical treatment so that one day his curse cannot affect him.

-Even though he is stable, due to his physical modification, his body feels the need for the poppy substance; So as contradictory as it may sound, you are allowed to smoke a certain limited amount of cigarettes solely made from these flowers while investigating an alternative for his case; His trademark is "the hour of joy."

-Bobby is his designated therapist.

other random data:

favorite food: niçoise salad «un delice~♪».

Favorite dessert: beignets «i love desserts, mais;the beignets are my biggest weakness».

hated food: militar cookies «...bad memories...».

smell: lavender + poppy.

strength: loyalty, insight, thirst for research.

weakness:self-deprecation.

favorite physical appearance: star-freckles «everyone loves the étoiles, Right?».

hated physical appearance:«that stupid mark».

person you respect most: kickin «I owe a lot to that stupid coq»

person you don't want as an enemy: Bobby «She's scary when I'm not on time for treatment... and boy, nothing scares moi».

hobby:sleeping and gossip.

Some crush?: ... «Mr. Witcher».