#that's near the top of my list of hopes for the series

[zhouxiangs]

PORSCHE TANATHORN as Sol in MY STAND-IN (2024) | Episode 2

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Dirty Laundry

Summary: Life with two toddlers has taken a toll on your sex life for the past few weeks, but after a surprisingly calm morning, you and Javi find a creative solution to solve your problem.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also, who am I to say?) vaginal fingering, paise kink, a breeding kink so dangerous that you may get pregnant just from reading, creampie, cum play, a loud washer and dryer, no actual laundry accomplished, domestic girl dad Javi, you'll always be famous

A/N: idk who unlocked my cell while I was ovulating, but once again I have escaped, and once again, we're makin' babies. I think I've convinced myself I don't know how to write anything else, and for that, I am genuinely sorry. If wanting to give Javier Peña a football team worth of kids is a crime, then lock me up and throw away the goddamn key 🤠

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

For as much as you loved your daughters, it was safe to say that for the past two weeks, your pair of rambunctious toddlers had been doing very little for your sex life. 

Your 4 year old Lucy had been going through a phase of having nightmares every night, and somehow ending up in you and Javi’s bed no matter what you tried. That, combined with trying to potty train your 2 year old, Elliot, (who was nowhere close to being the breeze her older sister it was when it came to the matter), on top of preschool, work, and life in general, you and Javi had barely gotten so much as a kiss in, let alone some quality time together. 

It had been your hope to start trying for baby number three, but after 2 months of negative pregnancy tests and another month of complete chaos, despite your best intentions, “trying” had very much taken a backseat in your mental to-do list.  

But this morning when you woke up, it was almost as if a wave of calm had washed over your house to reset the state of disarray you had been in the past few weeks- Both girls had slept through the night in their own beds, had woken up in good spirits, Elliot asked to use the bathroom multiple times, and both had been happy to play in the living room together quietly as you worked on catching up on some much needed laundry. 

So calm, in fact, that Javi was almost worried when he came downstairs for work to hear near silence, apart from the occasional giggles from the girls as they arranged their Fisher Price Little People in their Play Barn and the washer running in the background. 

“Hi Daddy!” Lucy cooed, toddling over to her dad, wrapping her arms around his waist as Elliot quickly followed behind, perching on his leg like a koala. 

“Buenos días, niñas. (Good morning, girls).” Javi grinned, squatting down to kiss the wild, sleepy curls of his daughters’ heads, still slightly confused by the tranquil state of the house. “Where’s Momma?” 

“Washing stinky socks.” Lucy giggled, pinching her nose and scrunching her face, pretending to have smelled something bad. 

“Yeah, stinky socks.” Elliot echoed, sticking out her tongue. 

“Oh yeah? Is it because my pollitas (little chickens) have stinky, smelly feet?” Javi teased, wrapping his arms around the girls, pulling them close to his chest as he tickled their sides, the three erupting in laughter and giggles. 

“What’s goin’ on out here, huh?” You grinned, stepping out of the laundry room with your arms playfully crossed against your chest to see your husband and daughters in a tickle tackle pile on the living room floor. 

“Daddy said we have stinky feet! Daddy’s got stinky feet, not me and Elliot.” Lucy protested. 

“I think you and Daddy both have stinky feet, Lucy Lu, and your dirty laundry proves it.” You smiled, watching Javi give one last big kiss to each of the girls before pushing up off the floor with a grunt, making his way over to you. “Good morning, Mr. Stinky Feet.” 

“Hey, c’mon now. I can’t have you all gangin’ up on me.” Javi pouted through his smirk, wrapping his arm around your waist as his lips softly met yours, his words sweet and low as they danced against your skin. “Good morning, Hermosa.” 

His kiss lingered just long enough to send butterflies swirling through your stomach, biting down on your lip to try and keep your heart beating any faster than it already was. You stood there for another moment, eyes locking with his as the grip around your waist tightened just subtly enough to hint his mind was in the same place as yours. 

You were finding a way to finally have sex this morning. 

You could feel the arousal already beginning to pool in your core, swallowing hard as Javi tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at you while his hand slid further down your waist towards your ass, trying to devise a plan for the two of you to be alone long enough to do what you had both been so desperately craving these past few weeks. 

As you turned your head back over your shoulder in search of ideas, a devilish grin spread across your face, looking back to Javi to gently tug on the maroon tie dangling from his neck, twisting the end through your fingers. 

“I think I really need help with the laundry before you leave for work.” You mewled, leaning in to press another kiss to his plush lips, followed by another on his cheek and neck, Javi letting a soft groan rumble in his chest. 

“Oh Fuck, baby. What do we do about the girls?” He asked quietly, trying his best to keep his composure as the dark brown of his eyes grew hungrier with want. 

“Snack and a movie? There’s already a baby monitor out in the living room, and if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, it should buy us enough time.” You nodded in reassurance of your own idea, already growing antsy with anticipation. 

“God, I love you.” Javi smirked, giving you one more kiss and a firm squeeze of your ass before breaking away towards the kitchen so you could execute your plan. 

“Hey girls?” you called, making your way towards the living room where they were back to playing, “Daddy needs to help Mommy with some, um- laundry. So if we put on “The Little Mermaid”, can you show us what big girls you are and let you watch the movie all by yourselves?” You asked, doing your best to play up your request. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” Elliot squealed, clapping and stomping her feet. “Wittle Mermaid!” 

“Okay, go get your blankets and sit on the couch and Daddy’s gonna bring you a snack to watch the movie with.” 

“Yay! Movie time, movie time!” Lucy shrieked as the girls ran to go grab their things, plopping themselves on to the respective corners of the couch. While you searched for the VHS in the entertainment center, Javi returned from the kitchen with two much bigger than needed bowls of Teddy Grahams, turning on the TV as you pushed the tape into the receiver and pressed play. 

With the bright blue Disney logo appearing across the screen and your daughters both happily snuggled with their snacks on the sofa, you and Javi gave each other the silent nod of approval, slowly backing away towards the laundry room while the girls sat in content and entranced silence. 

After one last peek, you carefully closed and locked the laundry room door behind you, quickly followed by turning on both the washing machine and the dryer, trying to do yourself any favors you could by drowning out any suspicious sounds.  

“Good?” Javi asked once more for reassurance, feeling his slacks get tighter and tighter around his crotch by the second as he waited for your response. 

Without a single word, your lips were crashing into his, a messy dance of tongues and teeth ensuing between you as your bodies bumped against the laundry room counter, limbs tangled together in a frantic race to remove clothes. 

“Fuck, I missed you. Missed this.” Javi groaned, helping you slide your top over your head and unclip your bra as he nipped at your neck, pushing your back against the dryer and caging your body under him. 

“I know, baby, me t-too.” You whimpered, reaching out to undo Javi’s belt buckle, shoving his pants down to his thighs, followed by his boxers, freeing his cock as it slapped against the dark hairs on the happy trail of his stomach. “Missed having your big dick inside me.” 

“Fuck.” Javi swore under his breath as you reached out to stroke him, swiping your thumb over his weeping tip to rub the precum up and down his shaft as he shoved your the waistband of your pants and underwear down your hips just far enough to let them fall to the floor around your ankles. 

As much as you both desperately wanted to take your time, worshiping every inch of each other’s bodies until you had nothing left to give, you knew time was not on your side. After a few more strokes, you pulled back, letting Javi snake his hand against your body to slide between your legs, the slightest graze of his fingertips already making you shutter with need. 

At this point, even after the few weeks it had been without Javi inside you, you were wet enough that you could have taken him without any warm up, your core dripping with your arousal to the point it was smearing the inside of your thighs with its shiny coating. But even with your cunt soaking wet and time working against you, Javi couldn’t help but drag his fingers through your folds, curling to push up into your tight hole and prod against your g-spot. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re so wet. This all for me, Momma? Missed me fillin’ you up with my cock? Missed me fucking you full of my cum, huh baby?” Javi growled, his words shooting straight to your cunt, making you clamp down tighter around his fingers and your clit throb with intensity.  

It had been a minute since baby making had been at the forefront of your mind, but his question set off something animalistic in the both of you, knowing that right now could give you a chance at baby number three that you had been wishing for. 

“Y-yes, Javi, fuck- want you to fill me up, baby. Want you to fill me up until you fuck a baby into me.” 

It was then that Javi couldn’t have been more thankful that you had turned on the washer and dryer to try and drown out your noise, because the groan he let escape from his parted lips was much louder than he intended. 

But then again, there were few things in this world that turned him on more than you begging him to knock you up, so what did he expect? 

Scooping his arms under your thighs, Javi hoisted you on top of the dryer, your ass hitting the cold, vibrating metal with a thud as your lips collided again with desperate ferocity, muffled moans escaping from your mouths. 

“Dirty fuckin’ girl. Want me to knock you up again, Momma? Give you another baby?” Javi smirked, reaching to line his cock up with your entrance, swiping his tip through your folds to collect your slick and coat it along his length before he pushed inside you, sinking deeper and deeper until he bottomed out, hips flush with yours. 

Words couldn’t describe how much you had missed the sweet stretch and sting of Javi’s fullness, each inch of him feeling better than the last, sobbing out as his tip kissed your cervix, all inhibitions of self-composure completely tossed out the window. Still sunk deep in your cunt, Javi’s hand shot over your mouth, stifling your cries in his palm. 

“Shhhhhh, I know, Osita. You gotta keep quiet though, baby.” 

You nodded frantically in compliance, Javi’s hand dropping to grip around your waist as you tried to catch your breath. “M-move, Javi, please.” Your whimpering request borderlining pathetic with how badly you needed him. 

“You promise you’re gonna be a good girl and keep quiet?” 

“Mhmmmm. I promise, baby, please.” 

With that, Javi’s hips began to snap, dragging his cock in and out of you at a dangerous pace, coating the walls with the sounds of the wet sounds of your cunt and slapping skin, muffled by the washer and dryer. 

“Oh my God, Javi. Fuck. Fuck, you feel so good.” You whined, locking your legs behind the small of Javi’s back, keeping him as close to you as possible as he fucked in and out of you. You draped your arms around his shoulders, fingers burying themselves in the dark curls at the nape of his neck. 

The closeness had the hairs at the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against your clit, adding to the tension beginning to build at the base of your spine, both of you knowing it wouldn’t take long to get where you needed to go after weeks without being able to have each other like this. 

Javi could feel it too, his balls beginning to tense with each pump, using every ounce of self control to keep from preemptively spilling into you, his hands digging into the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, holding on to you like his life depended on it. 

“Jesus, Fuck- Fuck, I missed this tight little pussy so much. Gonna cum so deep inside you. So deep it’s gotta fucking take. God, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re pregnant. I swear I’ll give you as many babies as you want, Hermosa.” Javi babbled, biting down on his lip as he pounded into you, reaching one of his hands down to circle at your wet, puffy clit, aching to be relieved from all the built up tension. 

At this point, you were so drunk on pleasure that you could barely remember your own name, feeling your orgasm begin to build through every inch of your body in a way that had you seeing stars, digging your fingernails into Javi’s shoulders and burying your face in the crook of his neck to keep from crying out his name, forcing yourself to whisper incoherent sweet nothings against his skin. 

“P-please, Javi. F-fill me up. Oh shit- Fuck, baby, I’m so close.” 

Javi’s thrusts became sloppier and more erratic, fingers rubbing your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to coax your orgasm out of you before he followed suit, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow in intense concentration. 

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over me. Soak my fucking cock before I fuck you full of me and knock you up. C’mon, Momma.” 

Suddenly, your orgasm crashed through you, lighting your body up like a goddamn Christmas tree, every inch of your body radiating with bliss as you clamped down around Javi’s cock, biting down on his shoulder as you came to try and stifle your cries. 

Javi was only moments behind you, letting out a low grunt with the final sutter of his hips as he came, coating your walls with his warm spend, fucking it into with every ounce he had left until he had milked himself dry. 

Your bodies collapsed into each other, rising and falling in sync with heavy breaths like you had just finished the last mile of a marathon and collapsed at the finish line, damp and sticky with your sweat. 

As much as Javi didn’t want to pull out, he could feel his cock beginning to soften and the mixture of your spend leaking from your hole. Refusing to let a drop go to waste, he pulled out of you, a groan rumbling low in his chest as he wrapped his hand around his length, dragging his tip up through your folds and collecting the cum that had been dripping out. Taking the wet mess he had gathered with his cock, he pushed himself back into you, slowly thrusting in and out of you, a devilish smirk spreading across his face at the absolutely obscene sound coming from between your legs. 

“Promise me,” Javi gulped between pants, finally pulling out of you again, “Promise we never go this long without having sex again. Holy Fuck.” 

“Promise.” You couldn’t help but giggle in agreement, coming down from your blissed out high. “God, that was the longest two weeks ever. Don’t know why we didn’t think of this sooner.” 

“Because we’ve been sleep deprived and exhausted, and our little monstros (monsters) have been giving us a run for our money.” Javi chuckled, reaching behind you to grab a towel from the cabinet above the dryer, quickly rinsing it in the sink before wiping you up and helping you find all of your clothes. 

“Are we crazy for wanting another one?” You asked, looking down at your stomach, thinking about the ramifications of what you had just done. 

“Maybe. But you drive me so fucking crazy, we may end up with 10 before you know it.” 

“Javi! Dear lord, we are not having 10 kids, you psycho.” You laughed, playfully slapping your husband on the shoulder. 

“Stop being so hot and I’ll stop knockin’ you up.” Javi smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as you rolled your eyes at him knowing damn well you’d have a whole army of his kids if he really wanted. 

“You’re ridiculous, I hope you know that. Alright, you need to get your ass to work and I need to feed the gremlins before I drop Lucy off at preschool. Let’s go, cowboy.” You grinned, playfully smacking Javi on the ass, giving him a quick kiss as you made your way towards the door. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Osita. I gotta remember to call my dad on the way into work.” 

“Call your dad? Why?” 

“To see if Abuelo can take the girls this weekend so you and I can catch up on a lot of laundry.” 

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

@purpleprincess75

[jinxthequeergirl]

The Ol Switcharoo (pt2)

Stan pines x reader /ford pines x reader

Summary: Your family vacation lasted longer than expected. When you return home to Stanford, you realize quickly something wrong.

Warning: NONE

Hey! Just some housekeeping before you read on

☆Thanks for all the love ya'll it means bunches

☆this part is shorter do to me wanting to pace this better, but I hope yall enjoy none the less!

☆a few of ya'll asked to be tagged so I'm starting a tag list if you'd like to be included don't hesitate to ask

☆additionally I did have a Playlist for this specific series and if ya'll would like me to post the songs for it also lemme know

Enjoy!

~~~~~☆~~~~~

"STANLEY HELP!"

Stan felt himself freeze up, his heart race and mind go blank, why couldn't he think? Why couldn't he move?

He watched in horror as his brother floated up backwards through the air into the gaping hole in space and time.

"Do something!"

"What...what do i do!?" He asked meekly, looking around for something to help.he watched as parts of his brother slowly disappeared, and as he reached into his coat pocket and tossed something at him. "Hide my research...CALLL Y/N ANYTHING-"

Stan shielded his eyes as a bright white light filled the room and knocked him back onto the floor. The room was suddenly quiet.

"Ford!?...Ford! Come back!" He wasted no time to get back up and bang on the machine, hoping it would start back up like an old appliance. "Please!"

He raced to the lever a few feet away, desperately pulling and yanking at it, but it didn't budge.

"Stanford!?...Ford!? Are you home yet!?" The small coo of an unfamiliar voice snapped Stan from his nightmare.

"Hello!?" The voice echoed out again. He quickly got up, reaching for his only form of security. A baseball bat.

The voice had gone silent, but he could still hear someone moving he took a long pause, then opened the door swinging his bad.

"FORD WAIT! WAIT, IT'S ME! ITS Y/N!!"

Y/n?

He stopped swinging the bat and stared down at you.

"Call y/n! Anything-"

"Y/n?"

"Yes, it's me, Ford! I haven't been gone that long have i?"

He cleared. "No not at all we have some catching up to do."

You could tell there was something ford...well stan (you'd have to get used to the sudden name change) wanted to tell you while you sat across from him. Like he wanted to give you bad news. But he seemed to be thinking of the right way to put it.

"So..stan...what made you want to change from Ford to stan? Did your family have that much of an impact on you?" You tried to joke to lighten the tension that seemed to linger in the air.

"Well...something like that...listen y/n-"

"Are you OK? You seem...different you seem nervous...more nervous then when I left.." You placed your hand over top of his and offered a reasuring smile.

"I..."

stan didn't know you...he had no right to lie to you. But Ford seemed to trust you and judging from the photo on his desk in the basement, how fondly he seemed to write about you in the journal...the scrapped drawings of you in the garbage you meant a whole lot more to him then stan could understand right now, you must have felt the same way about his brother.

He remembered how worried his brother had been in making sure he understood you were absolutely under no circumstances to not touch the journals or anything pertaining to it again.

"My closest friend y/n and I have been working on this project for months now...I should have listened to her but I didn't...I need you to get rid of this journal she can't be near any of this when she returns."

"Did something happen with the portal?...with that...creature? And what happened to your hands!" You said now, pulling both hands into yours to examine them.

Besides, you already seemed so worried. He couldn't be the one to break the news to you. Not now.

Besides, he had a plan.

Sort of.

So he did what he did best.

Lied.

"Well...uh while you were away, I had a little accident. I had to get surgery...yea surgery, and the accident you know was from the portal...so I said, Forget the whole thing! "

He Tried to say it in a way that would convince even himself.

"Stanford, what do you mean? What happened? Are you just going to give up on everything we worked for?"

"I have to, I just need some time."

Neither of you noticed at first that you were holding hands as you spoke. Stan was the first to notice the closeness. It was the first time in what felt like years that anyone had shown him this kind of affection, let alone the kindness you were demonstrating with your concern.

"I don't know what happened while I was away or when you even had time for something to go wrong or why you would even start working again without me!" He noticed the slight annoyance building up and squeezed your hand.

And you took a breath. "But I understand and I won't pretend to know what happened and if you aren't ready to tell me I can respect that...things got a little rocky between us before I left and I'm really just hoping things can go back to the way they used to be with us. If a longer break and time is what you need... then I am 100% behind your decision."

He felt a wave of relief wash over him at your words. Maybe it wasn't your words but the kind-hearted look in your eyes, or maybe it was the way you still held his hands in yours.

You'd be the first two admit two things about your current situation.

One, Nostalgia was a funny thing. You knew when something was off about your bestfriend, the man infront of you was was a changed man, while his story didn't add up he looked shaken and defeated...after all this was the man you trusted with half your life. And you wouldn't lie, you had clung so desperately to the memories of college and spring through winter, it was that glimmer of hope and a mix of Nostalgia for your good times together that made you believe him.

And two, You always knew better then to trust your heart you and Ford would joke about the idea of following your heart and not your brain, how silly a concept it was that the organ that pumped blood through your body had such a pull on your decision making it made your thought process stop.

Yet here you where.

Following your heart.

"How about a few drinks and I can tell you about my trip?" You offered standing and being the first to break the lock between your hands. "And I can tell you about the plans I have for this place!"

"Plans?"

"Sure! I mean, we aren't doing our science junk anymore, so we need to make money somehow, right?"

You set down two glasses.

"Ok?"

You sat down, you listened to him explain how he had already done a few tours displaying whatever you had already had laying around and how people where eating it up.

"Stanford you've never been one for the gimmicky tricks, you've always cared more about the real deal...WE'VE been about the real deal...why lie to people?"

"Trust me y/n do a tour with me tomorrow try to show the people a real life monster and whatchamacallit and put it up against my made up creature."

You laughed. This wasn't what you had expected Stanford pines to spend his break away from work doing. It was out of character for him. But refreshing somehow.

Just like that, the seasons changed, and it was spring again

You learned quickly people didn't like the truth.

Real monsters and ghouls seemed to only upset or bother people so you and stan collaborated a way to make attractions that seemed real enough but also gimmicky enough that tourists would eventually laugh at it.

You learned pretty quickly that you were not only a pretty crafty person but an excellent storyteller.

You and Stanford seemed to almost pick up where you left off bonding and cracking jokes. It was like he was more confident than when you left him, more relaxed and full of life. You two fit right back into place with eachother with out missing a beat.

It's exactly what you'd been missing.

Soon, you were renovating half the house to be a showroom and giftshop, and soon after you were selling and wearing t shirts, you began putting up a sign. By the following summer, you were basically an operational business.

The mystery shack felt more like a brain child of you and Stanford and you cared for it like such.

It was something fun.

Something that didn't seem to be running Stanford down like the science stuff did. You could see a genuine smile on his face as he showed some local kid the corni-corn.

It was silly. You couldn't remember the last time you'd done something silly and adventurous.

It felt good.

"Another day another dollar y/n my dear." Stan said, flipping the open sign to close and placing his little red fez cap on top of your head.

"Soon enough, we'll have people from all over the place coming to get a piece of the mystery shack." He said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, leading you back to the section of the Mystery shack that was still your shared home.

"Yea, we have a real Walt Disney start-up story, don't we stanford." He laughed loudly before suddenly getting serious.

"Listen. I wanted to say thank you for sticking with me through this. It means a lot."

"Of course, stanford." You reached up and planted a small peck on his cheeks. "We've been through everything together. I'm not going to stop now."

You could see stans face flush slightly as you stretched and yawned. "Anyways goodnight stanford."

"Uh yea...goodnight..." You heard him mumble as he touched his cheek where you kissed him.

Things where looking up.

~~~~~☆~~~~~

Tag list!:

@fanficcrow

@slay-thou-pookie

[novaursa]

Where Honor Burns

- Summary: After the tragedy Above the God's Eye, you decided to go to King's Landing, in hope to prevent more bloodshed. Even if it means your death.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwanye Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is younger sister of Rhaenyra and was bonded with Silverwing. These events happen right after The Chains We Break. To read all parts in chronological order visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Also, in this AU Rhaenyra never sized King's Landing.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 017

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs @sachaa-ff

- A/N: you guys liked this so much I've decided to push next part out early again, since I have the entire thing finnished already for some time and I feel unfair to keep it from you, as it's very well recived series. There will be one more part of this posted, then it's done. Enjoy. ❤️

The day dawns with gray skies, heavy with the weight of impending rain, as if the gods themselves mourn what has been lost. You stand at the edge of Dragonstone’s cliffs, fingers tightening around the rough parchment in your hand. The inked words smudge slightly from the salt in the air—or perhaps it is the tears you refuse to shed.

Daemon is dead.

The news is sharp and bitter on your tongue, like ashes. You should feel grief, yet what blooms in your chest is nothing more than an emptiness edged with relief. Daemon’s death severs the last frayed threads binding you to him, a marriage that was doomed from the moment it began. The years of ambition, control, and quiet disdain have left scars deeper than any sword could carve. The day you and Rhaenyra agreed to release Gwayne to Otto—sealed your doom as Daemon’s wife. He never forgave you for that. 

The sound of footsteps draws you from your thoughts. Vaeron approaches, his brow furrowed, his usually confident stride hesitant. He’s grown into a fine young man—strong and determined, the fire of Old Valyria running hot in his veins, a fire that no doubt still confused him, born as he was not of Daemon’s blood but of Gwayne’s. The tension between them had only worsened in recent months, yet Vaeron was still the same boy Daemon had taken under his wing, raising him as his own.

“Mother,” Vaeron’s voice is tight, the pain behind it unmistakable. “Is it true?”

You nod, unable to bring yourself to repeat the words. “Daemon and Aemond both perished above the Gods Eye.”

He inhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, full with the silver of his true heritage. “He was a fool to challenge Aemond alone,” he murmurs, but there is no triumph in his voice, only a deep-seated sorrow. Despite everything, Vaeron still sought Daemon’s approval, still yearned for some semblance of affection from the man who had twisted the role of father into something cruel and cold. 

You reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension beneath his skin. “He made his choice, just as we all have,” you say, your voice soft yet firm. “This war has gone on long enough. Too much blood has been spilled, and more will be if we do nothing.”

Vaeron’s gaze sharpens as he looks at you, the young warrior ready for battle in his eyes, but beneath it lies uncertainty. “What are you planning, Mother?”

You straighten your back, steel in your voice as you declare, “I’m going to King’s Landing.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Vaeron’s eyes widen in shock, a flicker of fear quickly masked by anger. “You can’t! They’ll kill you the moment you set foot near the Red Keep. You’re the one who crippled Aegon at Rook’s Rest! They’ll flay you alive for that alone!”

A bitter smile touches your lips. “Perhaps. But we cannot keep hiding behind dragons and armies, waiting for a decisive blow that may never come. Rhaenyra has the right to the throne, but we cannot burn the realm to the ground for it. Someone must act before there’s nothing left to rule.”

“Mother, please,” Vaeron’s voice breaks with desperation now. “If not for yourself, then for me. You’re all I have left.” 

You feel the sting of tears prickling at the edges of your vision, but you blink them away. You’ve made your choice, and there is no room for doubt. You cup his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm, and see the boy you once cradled as a babe, a child of love born in secret. “I am doing this for you, Vaeron. For you, and for the realm. The bloodshed must end, and if it is my life that brings peace, then so be it.”

He looks at you, eyes shining with unshed tears, his jaw clenched. “You can’t do this alone.”

“No,” you agree, your voice softening. “But I must be the one to start it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The wind howls around you, the sea crashing violently against the rocks below. Vaeron pulls away, shaking his head as if trying to ward off the inevitability of it all. “I’ll go with you,” he finally says, determination hardening in his voice.

You shake your head gently. “No, my son. You’re needed here. If things go wrong, Rhaenyra will need someone she can trust—someone with a clear head. You must protect your family, no matter what happens.”

He clenches his fists, trembling as he battles between wanting to protect you and knowing you’re right. “I hate this,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I hate all of it.”

“So do I,” you reply, your voice breaking. “But sometimes, we must do what is necessary, even if it costs us everything.”

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his brow, and for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to hold him close, the way you did when he was small, and the world was far simpler. When you pull back, his face is set in a mask of determination, so much like yours when you were younger, filled with dreams and desires that have long since turned to ash.

“Stay strong, Vaeron. For our family. For the future.”

With that, you turn and walk back toward the fortress, your steps heavy with the weight of what you must do. Behind you, the wind carries the sound of your son’s quiet sobs, a painful reminder of all that this war has taken and what it will still demand before it is over. 

You do not look back. You cannot afford to.

You have a realm to save.

King’s Landing reeks of decay, the stench of rot clinging to every breath. Gwayne Hightower stands on one of the parapets overlooking the city, the once-proud banners of the Greens fluttering lifelessly in the breeze. His gaze is fixed on the distant horizon, where storm clouds gather ominously, but his thoughts are elsewhere—always elsewhere. No matter how far he tries to distance himself from the past, it haunts him relentlessly, like a ghost that refuses to be exorcised.

It has been months since his return to the capital, and yet every corner, every shadow in this city, reminds him of her. Of Y/N. His beloved, and the sister of the woman the Greens have fought so bitterly to keep from the throne. He grips the stone ledge tightly, knuckles white as he remembers the day he was brought back, humiliated and paraded like a traitor, a stain upon his family’s honor. 

He had expected death. He would have welcomed it if it meant sparing him from the hollow gaze of Ser Criston Cole, who had demanded his execution for treason. The memory of Cole’s cold sneer, his self-righteous fury, still makes Gwayne’s blood simmer. The man had practically salivated at the thought of executing him, of making an example out of the “traitorous” Hightower who had saved Rhaenyra’s sister from the flames at Rook’s Rest. He would never regret that decision. Not for all the power, gold, or prestige in the world. 

But it was not Cole who held Gwayne’s fate. It was his father, Otto, and his sister, the Dowager Queen Alicent, who intervened, silencing Cole’s demands with a forceful refusal. Yet, they had not been merciful. No, they had allowed the rotting head of Silverwing to be mounted for all to see, a cruel display meant to drive a wedge deeper into Gwayne’s heart. Silverwing, Y/N’s dragon, who had died protecting her—left to wither and decay like a forgotten relic. It was an injustice that Gwayne bore like a festering wound, a humiliation barely concealed beneath the mask of duty.

He shuts his eyes, and her face comes to him unbidden—the softness in her eyes that had never wavered, not even in the face of Daemon’s cold disdain, or the harsh realities of war. He remembers the warmth of her hand in his, the way her voice had soothed the fear in his heart, even when the world around them was crumbling. How could he not have saved her that day? How could anyone expect him to do anything less when it was her life at stake?

The rustle of skirts and the subtle scent of lavender and rosemary pulls him from his reverie. Gwayne opens his eyes, finding his sister standing beside him, her expression unreadable. Dowager Queen Alicent still carries herself with the grace of a woman who has shouldered too much, yet refuses to break beneath the weight. Her once fiery determination has dulled into a cold resolve, a woman shaped by grief and loss, and the endless machinations of court.

“Brother,” she greets softly, her voice carrying the echoes of weariness. “It’s been too long since we spoke.”

He offers her a tight nod, forcing the tension from his jaw. “It has, Your Grace.” The formality is deliberate, a barrier between them. Though they share blood, the distance between them has grown insurmountable over the years. 

Alicent’s eyes flicker with something—regret, perhaps?—before she turns her gaze to the city below. “I’ve heard whispers that you’ve been restless of late. The men say you spend too much time brooding alone, staring into the distance as if searching for answers the gods have hidden from us.”

“I am where I am needed, as you and Father commanded,” he replies curtly, unwilling to entertain her probing. He knows what she’s doing. She’s always been good at drawing out what’s hidden beneath the surface, even when he wishes she wouldn’t.

She sighs softly, a sound filled with unspoken words. “You blame us for what was done to Silverwing.”

Gwayne’s grip tightens on the stone again. He doesn’t deny it. “It was a needless cruelty. She was a noble creature who died protecting her rider. Displaying her head like that—it was an insult to the memory of what she represented.”

“An insult, perhaps,” Alicent admits, her tone carefully measured. “But it was necessary. The people needed a symbol, something to remind them of the cost of defiance.”

He scoffs, bitterness curling his lips. “Defiance? Is that what you call saving someone I love?”

The admission slips out before he can stop it, the rawness of his emotions slicing through the air between them. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly, surprise momentarily breaking through her composed mask. But she recovers quickly, her gaze softening as she studies him. “You still think of her.”

“Every day,” Gwayne says quietly, the ache in his chest tightening. “I think of her every godsdamned day, and I regret nothing. You can have me stripped of titles, cast me into the black cells, and I would still choose to save her.”

For a long moment, there is silence between them, broken only by the distant clamor of the city below. Alicent’s eyes are misty as she watches him, her lips parting as if she’s searching for words that won’t come.

Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “Love makes fools of us all, Gwayne. It blinds us to what is prudent, to what is wise. I once knew a man who would have risked everything for love, but time and circumstance have a way of teaching us that such devotion often leads to ruin.”

Gwayne meets her gaze, defiance burning in his eyes. “Then let me be a fool, Sister. I would rather be a fool than a coward who sacrifices what is right for what is safe.”

A flicker of pain crosses Alicent’s face at his words, but she doesn’t flinch. “I pray that the choices you’ve made do not bring you to ruin, Gwayne. We’re all caught in this web of power and bloodshed, each of us trying to hold onto what little we have left.”

Her words linger, heavy with the weight of their shared burdens. Gwayne looks away, his heart still tethered to thoughts of Y/N, of what might have been had the world been kinder, had fate been less cruel.

But the world is what it is—a place of suffering, where even the most noble acts are punished and love is a weakness to be exploited. Yet, even knowing that, he would still choose her. Every time.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now,” Gwayne says after a long pause, his voice thick with resignation. “Daemon and Aemond are dead. The game we’ve all played has grown cold, and soon it will be Rhaenyra or Aegon who claims the last move.”

“Perhaps,” Alicent murmurs, though her eyes are distant, as if she’s looking at something far beyond this moment. “But war has a way of devouring everything in its path. Whatever happens next, we must be ready.”

Gwayne doesn’t reply. His thoughts drift back to Y/N, to her strength and the resolve she must be clinging to now. He wonders where she is, if she’s safe, and if she ever thinks of him the way he thinks of her. 

But such thoughts are a luxury he cannot afford. He is here, bound by duty, trapped in a city where his only solace is the memory of what once was—and the unshakable knowledge that he would do it all over again, consequences be damned.

The clouds overhead break, and the first droplets of rain begin to fall. As the chill seeps into his bones, Gwayne turns away from the edge, leaving the ghosts of what might have been behind, even if they’ll never truly leave him.

The streets of King’s Landing are thick with discord, and the air hums with the whispers of the crowds. The cobblestones are slick with grime and spilled wine as people press closer to watch, their eyes gleaming with morbid curiosity. The moment you arrived at the city gates, there was no ceremony, no dignity—only the iron grip of Ser Criston Cole’s men as they dragged you from your mount, jeering insults trailing in their wake.

“Look at the whore! Just like her sister!”

The words sting like poisoned arrows, yet you hold your head high, refusing to break. The crowd surges, pressing closer, feeding on the spectacle of your humiliation. You’ve been paraded through the streets like a common criminal, Cole’s grip never loosening as he drags you closer to the Red Keep, his eyes alight with vindictive satisfaction. It’s clear he’s been waiting for this moment, to claim victory over the woman —Rhaenyra— who once defied him and the family he serves so devoutly.

He stops abruptly before the gates of the Red Keep, turning to the gathered throng with a sneer curling his lips. “Behold! The dragon’s whore, sister to the pretender queen, come to grovel for mercy she does not deserve!” His voice carries, cold and mocking, inciting the crowd further. They howl their approval, eager for blood—yours or anyone else’s. It makes no difference to them.

But you do not bow your head. You meet Cole’s gaze with icy defiance, refusing to let him see how your heart hammers in your chest. The memories of Silverwing’s rotting head flash in your mind, a stark reminder of the cruelty that awaits you here. But you force yourself to stand tall. You’ve faced worse than this.

You’re brought into the throne room, where Alicent Hightower and her father, Otto, wait. Aegon’s absence is notable, but you know the reason. The rumors speak of his broken body, of his delirious cries as the milk of the poppy steals his sanity away. The once-proud king is now nothing more than a husk, a shadow of the tyrant he once was.

Alicent’s expression is tight with a mixture of weariness and caution, her eyes flicking between you and Cole as if assessing the weight of this confrontation. Otto stands beside her, his face carved from stone, every line etched with ambition and ruthlessness. It’s clear they intend to wring every ounce of leverage from this moment.

“You have a great deal of nerve coming here,” Otto begins, his voice clipped, “knowing the crimes you’ve committed against this family and this realm. You crippled the king, threw the Greens into disarray, and now you slink back like a beggar, expecting what? Mercy? Forgiveness?”

You square your shoulders, refusing to cower. “I came to end the bloodshed. How many more sons, brothers, and fathers must die before you realize that this war has no victors? Only ashes.”

Alicent’s eyes darken, the mention of sons clearly striking a nerve. She opens her mouth to speak, but before she can, the doors burst open, and Gwayne strides in, his face a mask of barely-contained fury.

“Enough of this!” he bellows, his voice reverberating through the chamber. He moves to rush toward you, but Cole steps forward, his hand already on the hilt of his sword, blocking Gwayne’s path.

“Stay back, Ser Gwayne. This is not your concern,” Cole snaps, his disdain for Gwayne evident in every word.

Gwayne’s eyes blaze as he turns his glare on Cole. “Not my concern? You dare speak to me of what concerns me when you’ve dragged the mother of my son through the streets like some common criminal? You’ve no right to degrade her like this!”

Otto’s eyes narrow at his son, but his voice remains calm, almost condescending. “You forget your place, Gwayne. This is not a matter for your heart to decide. The woman stands accused of treason, of crimes against the Crown.”

“I care nothing for your accusations, Father!” Gwayne’s voice cracks with the intensity of his emotions. “I will not stand by while you humiliate the woman I love—while you let her suffer when this war has already taken too much from all of us!”

There is a silence that follows his words, thick with the weight of what he’s just confessed. Alicent’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, her gaze softening with a flicker of sympathy as she studies her brother’s desperate expression. She’s lost so much—Aemond to the skies above the Gods Eye, Daeron at Tumbleton, and Aegon reduced to a broken shell. For a moment, her mask of cold resolve cracks.

“What would you have me do, Gwayne?” she asks quietly, almost pleading. “What resolution is there, when every path leads to more bloodshed?”

Gwayne takes a step forward, his voice gentler now, imploring. “Let me marry her. Let Viserys’ refusal be buried with him. If we end this cycle of vengeance, perhaps—just perhaps—we can stop this madness. Rhaenyra’s forces are strong, but even she tires of the bloodshed. The realm cannot survive more of this conflict.”

Alicent’s lips press into a thin line, uncertainty warring with her long-held beliefs. “Marrying her would be an insult to the Greens, to everything we’ve fought for. How can you ask me to allow such a union?”

“Because you’ve already lost two sons,” Gwayne says, his voice raw with pain. “Daemon is dead, and so is Aemond. Aegon is no longer fit to rule. You know it, Alicent. We’re fighting a war for a crown that no one truly wants anymore—not in the way it once mattered. The people starve, the dragons die, and for what? The Iron Throne is a curse, not a prize. Let there be peace. Let us find some measure of hope before it all crumbles to dust.”

His words hang heavy in the air, each one a plea, not just for your freedom, but for an end to the suffering that has stained this realm. Alicent looks away, tears glistening in her eyes as the truth of his words gnaws at her heart. 

Otto, however, is unmoved. “You would throw away every gain we’ve made for the whims of your heart? This woman’s marriage to Daemon was a slight to our family’s honor from the beginning. To accept her now would be to admit defeat.”

But before Gwayne can respond, Alicent raises a hand, silencing them both. Her voice is quiet, but it carries the full weight of her authority. “No, Father. Perhaps Gwayne is right. How much more can we lose before there is nothing left worth protecting?” Her gaze turns back to you, and for the first time, you see not just a queen, but a mother who has lost almost everything. “If there is a chance to end this, to save what remains of our families, then we must take it.”

Gwayne exhales shakily, relief flooding his features as he steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “Let me marry her, Alicent. Let this be the beginning of something better—something that might actually last.”

Alicent stares at you for a long, agonizing moment, weighing the choice before her. Then, finally, she nods, her voice laced with exhaustion. “Very well. The marriage will be sanctioned. But know this—if this decision leads to more chaos, more ruin, it will be on your head, Gwayne.”

Gwayne bows his head in gratitude, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you, Sister.”

Cole steps back reluctantly, anger simmering in his eyes, but he knows better than to openly defy the queen. As the tension in the room finally begins to ease, Gwayne moves to your side, his fingers brushing against yours, a touch meant to ground you both after everything that has happened.

You meet his gaze, the storm of emotions within you barely held in check. This was not the path you envisioned, nor the life you had dreamed of, but it is the one before you now. And perhaps, in this fragile truce, there is a glimmer of hope—for your son, for Gwayne, and for the future you might yet carve from the ruins of war.

For now, you allow yourself the comfort of his presence, knowing that whatever comes next, you won’t face it alone.

The room is dimly lit, the flickering light of candles casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The scent of roses and herbs wafts through the air as the servants bustle around you, their hands quick but gentle as they prepare your bath. You can barely focus on their movements; your mind is still spinning from the events of the day, from the jeers of the crowd to the cold fury in Otto’s eyes. Your body aches, the cuts and scrapes from being dragged through the streets stinging sharply with every brush of fabric against your skin.

When you finally lower yourself into the steaming water, a hiss escapes your lips as the heat bites into your wounds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out, determined not to show even the smallest sign of weakness. The water slowly works its way into your muscles, easing some of the tension, but your thoughts remain a tangled mess. You think of Vaeron, of what he must be feeling, and of Gwayne—the man who risked everything for you, who still fights for you.

The sound of the door creaking open draws your attention. You glance up, expecting one of the servants, but instead, you see Gwayne. His presence fills the room, his eyes blazing with barely-contained anger. The servants freeze, their hands mid-task, exchanging nervous glances.

“Out,” Gwayne says, his voice low and commanding.

The servants hesitate, torn between obeying their orders and respecting the strict instructions they’ve been given by Otto. But Gwayne steps forward, his gaze hardening. “I said out,” he repeats, more sharply this time.

The authority in his voice leaves no room for argument. The servants bow hastily, gathering their things and scurrying out of the room, leaving you alone with him. The door closes behind them with a resounding thud, and the room suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker.

You watch Gwayne as he strides toward you, his expression softening as he takes in the sight of you in the bath. But there’s still a dark fury simmering beneath the surface, a quiet rage barely held in check. He kneels beside the tub, his eyes raking over your body, lingering on the cuts and bruises that mar your skin. His jaw tightens as he reaches out, his fingertips grazing a particularly nasty scrape on your arm.

“They did this to you,” he murmurs, his voice trembling with barely-suppressed anger. “Cole did this to you.”

You can see the guilt in his eyes, as if he blames himself for not being there, for not stopping it before it happened. You reach out and touch his hand, trying to reassure him, but the moment your skin meets his, something shifts between you. The air grows thick with tension, a tension that has been simmering for far too long.

“Gwayne,” you whisper, but it’s all you manage to say before the words are stolen from your lips by the intensity in his gaze.

Without a word, he leans forward, cupping your face with both hands, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. His touch is soft, almost reverent, but beneath it, you feel the tremor of barely-contained desire, of need and longing that has been held back for far too long. He moves closer, and you feel his breath against your lips, warm and ragged.

“I can’t bear seeing you like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t stand knowing what they did to you, how they hurt you.” His eyes darken, his expression raw. “You deserve so much more. You deserve everything, and all they’ve ever given you is pain.”

His words are laced with a desperation that pulls at something deep within you. You’ve both suffered so much, sacrificed so much, and yet, here you are, still drawn to each other with a pull that’s stronger than duty or fear.

You don’t know who moves first—whether it’s you or him—but suddenly his lips are on yours, and the dam that’s held back your desire for so long shatters. The kiss is not soft or tentative; it’s fierce, fueled by months of longing and years of denied affection. His hands cradle your face, and you respond with equal fervor, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, turning frantic, as if you’re both afraid that if you stop, the world will tear you apart again. You can taste the salt of your own tears mingling with his as he kisses you with a passion that’s almost overwhelming. Your bodies move of their own accord, and before you know it, you’re both reaching for each other with a desperate urgency.

Gwayne pulls back just enough to catch his breath, his eyes searching yours, filled with a hunger that leaves no room for hesitation. “Let me have you,” he breathes, his voice husky. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

You nod, the words caught in your throat, and he rises to his feet, his eyes never leaving yours as he sheds his cloak and begins to unlace his tunic. You watch, your heart pounding, as he strips away the layers, revealing the body you’ve longed for, the one that’s haunted your dreams. There’s no more hesitation, no more fear—only desire, raw and unbridled.

He steps closer, helping you out of the bath, his hands warm against your damp skin. You undress him as he guides you toward the bed, your hands trembling with anticipation. The kiss is reignited the moment you’re close enough, fiercer now, more demanding. There’s no gentleness this time—only a primal need to feel each other, to claim and be claimed.

When he finally presses you down onto the bed, there’s nothing slow or tender about the way he moves into you. It’s not like the times you’ve been together before, where every touch was measured, every caress deliberate. This time, it’s raw, almost rough, driven by months of pent-up desire and longing. He thrusts into you with a desperation that makes you gasp, your body arching beneath him as you cling to him, meeting each of his movements with your own.

It’s frantic, unrelenting—a tangle of limbs and fevered kisses as you both give in completely to the storm that’s been brewing between you. Every thrust is a declaration, every kiss a vow unspoken. There’s no room for words, only the sounds of your shared pleasure, the feel of his body against yours as he takes you with a hunger that has no end.

You’re both lost in it, in the release of everything you’ve held back for so long. The tension, the heartache, the desire—it all spills out in this moment, leaving you breathless, trembling with the intensity of it all. You give yourself over to him completely, letting him take you in every way you were once denied, and he meets you with the same fervor, as if he’s been starving for you.

And then, in the midst of it all, you reach your peak together, a wave of pleasure crashing over you both. The world narrows down to this single, perfect moment—where there is no war, no crowns or thrones—just the two of you, lost in each other.

Afterward, you collapse against him, both of you breathless, your hearts pounding in tandem. Gwayne wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He presses a lingering kiss to your hair, his fingers tracing lazy circles along your back.

“I should never have let you go,” he whispers, his voice filled with regret.

You lift your head, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the world outside seems distant and unimportant. “You didn’t let me go,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over his lips. “We were both trapped by the choices others made for us. But now… now, we have a chance.”

His grip tightens around you, a silent vow in the way he holds you close. “I won’t let them hurt you again,” he promises, his voice low and fierce. “No matter what happens, you’ll never be alone. Not anymore.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself believe in that promise, even if it’s only for this fleeting moment.

[lemonlover1110]

Girl Dad

Dad Series

Kento Nanami

Warnings: Pure Fluff

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Taking care of a baby and a five-year-old isn’t easy, but Kento has it covered. You have a bad cold, the man can’t let you near his daughters. You need to rest and he won’t risk having the girls sick. However, Kento didn’t realize how much of a handful they would be.

Suki herself is enough to fill up Kento’s plate, but having a ten-month-old baby on top of it makes his job even more difficult. Suki loves her little sister, don’t get her wrong, but she will ensure that she’s the favorite daughter even if that includes sabotaging a toddler. Kento knows it, that’s why he keeps his eyes on her.

But Kento can’t keep his eye on Suki at all times, especially when you’re sick. He’s trying to cook a nutritious meal, he can’t hold a baby that loves to touch everything. The easiest solution is to put her in her playpen while he gives Suki something to entertain herself with. It’s usually his phone, giving her a game to play before he begins his other duties.

Sometimes the phone isn’t enough to entertain her. Suki loves to wander around the house, painting on the walls, playing with your decoration, making “potions” with your lotions and perfumes– The list goes on. But sometimes all of that isn’t enough to entertain her.

“Daddy, can I paint your nails?” Suki asks, walking to the kitchen where Kento makes lunch for everyone. Soup for you, something bland for his picky daughters, and then something simple for himself. In other words, his hands are full.

“Later, Suki.” Is all he says, and Suki stomps her little feet, walking back to the living room with her kid nail polish. Her little arms are crossed, and she looks around for something to do, something that will express her anger. She looks down at her nail polish then she hears some cooing from the playpen, and a lightbulb turns on.

Not even five minutes pass, and Kento hears his eldest daughter yelling at the baby. He turns off the stove and walks to the living room to hear Suki yell, “Bad, Chichi! Bad!”

“She’s not a dog, Suki. That’s your baby sister.” Kento corrects her because Suki treats the baby as her dog. Kento walks over to the playpen, where Suki reprimands the baby. Suki’s nail polish is spilled in front of the baby, and before her chubby hands can lay on top of the puddle, Kento picks her up from the playpen. “What happened here?”

“I climbed into the pen to play with her but she grabbed my nail polish and started to throw it around. Like usual.” Suki is a great actress, sticking out her bottom lip and crossing her arms.

“Is that true Chichi?” Kento softens his voice while talking to the clueless, happy baby. She smiles, causing Kento to smile back at her. He kisses her chubby cheek before putting his attention back on Suki. He hates to reprimand her but he can’t let her get away with everything anymore. “I’m not a dumbass, Suki. You can start doing bad things and blame it on her when she’s two or three, right now that won’t work.”

“I’m telling the truth!” She claims, but Kento is hearing none of it. She knows it’s not believable but her daddy usually believes her every word, so she hoped this time around he would believe her again.

“Get out of there, Suki, and stop lying before I put you on timeout again.” Kento can’t believe the words he’s saying. Timeout? Really? He hates it, he’s supposed to support her with everything, not reprimand her.

“Can I go with mommy?”

“She’s sleeping. Now go sit down on the couch and wait for the food.” He’s very serious, she can tell, so she won’t challenge him anymore.

“Can I play with Chichi?” Suki asks as Kento walks back to the kitchen with the baby. He looks at his sweet smiley baby, who reminds him so much of Suki. And to think Suki blames everything on a replica of herself– But he reminds himself that he’s the reason she acts like a little brat.

“Next thing you’ll do is put your mother’s makeup on her, you’ll blame it on the baby and we all get yelled at. I won’t risk it.” He clicks his tongue. 

Kento has to find a way to get Suki to stop blaming everything on the baby, but he has a feeling that’ll take a while.

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike (Part 9)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself. The final instalment in the Lookalike series (well, maybe there's room for a little epilogue as a treat)- I hope you guys have enjoyed the ride! 

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, Alastor X reader, Vox x reader, Alastor x Vox, threesome reader is in Hell for a reason, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Who am I? The question chewed at the edge of Vox’s psyche through his ride back to the tower, and through his day. Yeah, who were you? Who the fuck turned up in Hell looking like a freshly minted Radio Demon? Who were you that Alastor was willing to put his signature red tailcoat on your back? Vox swore to himself as he returned to the covert footage of you. Not for the sex, no. But the audio. Sweet nothings on your lips behind closed doors, your unguarded words intended for Alastor’s ears only.

“Oh? You were an antiquarian?”

“Close. I used to curate a museum.”

Vox grinned to himself. It wasn’t much of a clue to your identity, sure, but he also knew the date of your death pretty much to the day. That narrowed it down a lot. One of Voxtek’s most lucrative activities was keeping track of the dead- through obituaries and missing person reports from the living world. More people than not ended up in Hell, and there was always money to be made tracking down a new arrival. Vox put a search out for museum curators dead or missing in the last month, and, on a hunch, narrowed it to the US.

There were a handful of candidates, but running an eye over the list, there was only one person you could be, realistically speaking. Only one museum that you could have run.

“Welcome, welcome, one and all,” you spoke to yourself under your breath, words buzzing behind your teeth in practiced harmony as you walked, the phrasing coming to you without thinking after years of practice, to help you slide into the transatlantic accent. “To the Louisiana Historical Radio Museum.”

The territory that Kennedy claimed as overlord wasn’t far from the hotel, so you walked it, the smell of burning plastic cooling on the evening air. You had a smile on your lips as you strolled, humming an old jazz standard. Sinners cringed, backing into dark alleys and doorways to avoid being in your path, and you twirled your cane. Your resemblance to Alastor was more a hindrance than a benefit here, in that it curtailed several possible avenues of approach. Difficult to form a friendly connection, or talk your way into someone’s home, when you wore an outfit synonymous with the word monster. But that was probably just as well- you were hungry for a kill, and desperation was a quality that people could smell a mile off. Besides, your new body did afford some advantages, ones you had spent your weeks at the hotel honing.

Stepping into one of the back alleys and letting the shadows shroud your form, you pressed your talons to the wall. Sharp and strong, they found purchase, and you scaled the side of the building within a few seconds, crawling up and onto the roof. That was a feat that you would have struggled to replicate with your human body, but here you were a different creature, all sharp edges and horrid, grinning points.

The first thing Vox did after finding your name was to check for it on the Voxtek systems.

There were certainly a lot of people down here who wanted to find you. Most names popped up with half a dozen requests, tops- usually immediate family, a lover. You had… huh, that was a lot. And over how many years? Vox felt his screen lag slightly as he scanned the names. None of them relations. Older than you, or close in age. Unless you were the world’s greatest Lothario and all these guys were queuing up for a post mortem hook-up, there was only one kind of person who got this kind of ask list before they died.

“Jesus tittyfucking Christ,” said Vox, mostly to himself. What the fuck had Val been thinking, dumping you on his bedroom floor without so much as a background check? No wonder Alastor liked you so much.

Years of practice had taught you that killing was more art than science; that the most thorough of preparations could be derailed in an instant and that opportunities would present themselves, if you just allowed them. The universe opened itself to those who were generous, and if you left yourself flexible to the how, the act itself was often simply a matter of having the guts to do what the moment needed. This didn’t mean that the task before you didn’t fill you with trepidation, however- quite the contrary. Kennedy was bigger than you physically, an overlord when you were not, and you had little understanding of how or why physical capabilities varied from sinner to sinner. Niffty, for example, was deceptively strong despite her small size- you had seen her do things like break the lock on the cabinet behind the bar in search of bugs to kill.

You had overpowered Alastor, briefly, but that was with angelic wire and the element of surprise, Alastor with a wound across his chest. Relying solely on physical superiority wasn’t smart, and neither was picking a situation where Kennedy could fight back.

Alastor clearly thought you were up to the task. He’d given you his red tailcoat to wear, and you could tell how precious it was to him, from the way he fretted over the way it hung, the ragged edges on the tails. He wouldn’t have let you wear it if he thought you would fail. But his confidence in you was no reason to be foolhardy.

You stalked from roof to roof across the overlord’s territory, noting the deployment of the soldiers in Kennedy’s livery. They loitered, undisciplined, at street corners and food stands, harassing passing sinners, but they were out in force.

“Ugh, there you are.” It took you a second to realize the billboard was talking to you, another to realize it had Vox’s face, scowling at you from an ad for Vox brand soda. “Why the fuck don’t you have a phone yet?

“Maybe because I don’t want people knowing where I am at all times? Not that that seems to be working.” You walked to the edge of the roof, gauging the distance with your eyes, and leapt the width of the narrow alleyway to the next building, landing with a bark of laughter, a giddy feeling in your chest. In your previous life, parkour hadn’t been so much a hobby as an occasional necessity, but your new body took to it with aplomb, your feet finding their place with a flex of your new ankles and knees.

“Seems like yesterday that you could barely walk, now look at you.” Vox leered at you from a second billboard as you walked the roof, long shadows and sharp angles. On top of your head your antlers thrummed, branching in the darkness.

You glanced up. “You helped me find my feet. I’m grateful,” you said, and felt your smile grow wider as a blush, an actual, honest-to-god blush bloomed on Vox’s wide, rectangular face before you turned away, leaping a second alley. Oh, you were graceful now.

“Hey! Can you stand still for one fuckin’ second? I wanna talk to you.” Vox was on the billboard on top of this building now, his face taking the place of the chef in an ad for Voxtek brand ovens.

You relented, squatting down by the frame that supported the billboard, checking out the layout of the streets below and hooking your cane across the back of your shoulders. “Can it wait? I have plans tonight.”

“Oh, fuck my life.” Vox shook his head and you watched with interest as the giant chef on the billboard crouched down to the bottom on the frame. “Of course you’re going after fucking Kennedy.” It was curious, how his demeanor had changed since the overlord’s meeting- there, he’d been keen to scare you, telling you at length about Kennedy’s powers and deeds- but now he seemed resigned to your hunt. What had changed? Had he actually talked to Alastor?

Your plan for tonight had been to scope out his living arrangement, maybe a little stalking, but Vox didn’t need to know that. Instead, you asked a question. “Are you going to stop me?”

Vox raised an eyebrow, the virtual plate of venison behind him steaming. “The fuck would I stop you, baby deer? Hell’s most wanted making their spectacular debut?”

Hell’s most wanted? You felt your ears flatten to your skull, a shiver in your gut. What the fuck did Vox know? “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Now, now.” Vox grinned, a glint in his eye. “If you wanna pretend to be Alastor, you’ve gotta smile at least,” he said, and you reached to your face, finding your mouth a single, serious line. You corrected it as Vox continued. “Yeah, there’s a few south americans with a longer list of victims than yours, but I think I’m entitled to some fucking creative license on this, ya know.”

He knew. He had your identity, somehow. And likely the names of the people you had killed who had ended up in Hell. Which would be all of them, if there was any justice in the universe. You breathed out, slow and even, careful to keep your smile in place this time. “Alright. What do you want?”

“Why didn’t you kill me in my sleep?” Vox asked. You thought he was joking at first, but the expression in his eyes told you otherwise. You thought of the nights you’d spent with him, body curled round his, your cheek against the lower edge of his screen. He had been completely unguarded in those moments, and you had been his prisoner.

You gave Vox a puzzled smile. “You were giving me orgasms and food, why the fuck would I kill you?”

“Oh.” If anything, Vox seemed taken aback by your response. Was that more pink and red on his screen? “I, uh- I could do that again.”

“Was that all? You’re not going to threaten me?” You stood, spinning your cane around your wrist. “Like I said, I do have things to do tonight.”

“Now, wait! Wait just one goddamn second, baby deer.” Vox followed you across the billboard as you walked. “I can help.”

That did make you pause. In the mortal world you would have refused without a second thought- an accomplice was a witness and a liability. But here? In Hell, there was no law enforcement save what the overlords dispensed. You would never have asked Vox for a favor, but if he was going to offer his services? For free? Alastor would probably be sniffy about it, but who could blame you for making use of all the resources at your disposal? You looked up at him again. “Can you edit camera footage in real time?”

“Uh, sure.” Vox grinned. “You want me to edit you out of it, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “And you’re doing this gratis, right?” This bit was important- you didn’t want to end up owing your soul for something like this.

“Relax, baby deer, trust me,” said Vox, eyes half-lidded, and his voice might have sounded seductive if you weren’t thinking about bloodshed. “No charge, just helping a friend out.”

It took most sinners years to get to the point where they could allow their bodies to shift beyond human norms. Even then, most people made it as far as some horns, some claws, a bit of size before their mental preconceptions, or whatever most people had, stopped them dead. But here you were, full fucking cryptid, crawling the fucking walls. Yeah, you didn’t have Alastor’s freaky shadow powers, and you were still pretty much the same size as you had been, but it barely mattered in this context, with the dark covering you. You were still a monster with glowing dials for eyes.

Vox might have assumed Alastor had done something to you to make you this way if he hadn’t known your history.

Vox might have remembered to be scared if he wasn’t rock hard in his pants just from watching you.

It was almost a shame that you resembled Alastor so strongly. A newly fledged sinner taking down an overlord would be big news, enough to fill the channels with speculation and talking heads for half a cycle at least, but someone who looked like Alastor doing it was just Radio Demon bites man, an item for a slow news day.

Editing you out of footage in real time wasn’t difficult for Vox. You were eerily good at finding the blind spots on the security feeds as you made your approach to Kennedy’s building, only lingering in exposed sections when the alternative would see you in a sinner’s line of sight. Sometimes you would look up at a camera, a tilt of your grinning head to acknowledge his presence as a viewer.

The whole thing was kind of fun, if Vox was honest with himself, the only thing missing from the whole caper being an earpiece to let him annoy your with commentary. It reminded him of accompanying Alastor on his errands, back in the old days, when Alastor would display his full demonic form and then give a small, backwards glance to Vox, to check he was being properly admired.

You hummed the opening bars of the saints as you scaled the wall of Kennedy’s building, ascending to the penthouse. Security cameras were trained on the outer walls to prevent exactly this sort of egress, but you trusted Vox enough that you paid only minimal attention to them, keeping to the blind spots where you could, crawling in shadows where you couldn’t.

You’d been through longer dry spells than this one in your lifetime. A six month stint here, a year there; all of them spent in a state of tension, a spring wound tightly enough that the metal threatened stress fractures. In the few weeks you’d spent in Hell you’d had sex and entertainment aplenty, that ought to have been enough to take the edge from your need. Why then, did this feel worse? You could feel the anticipation running through you, taste it like blood in your mouth. You wanted violence. You wanted pain. You wanted control.

Perhaps that was why you felt like this, so needy that your fingernails ached, that your teeth grew long and pointed in your grin. When you’d held yourself back before it had been of your own accord, lying low to avoid scrutiny, from the police or from your quarry, but here you had been a prisoner of circumstance, first a literal prisoner and then constrained by your own nascent body. You hauled yourself over the ledge and onto the external sill of the penthouse windows, briefly confronted by the reddish glow of your own eyes in the reflection. The glass was single glazed, not shatterproof, the latches easy enough to manipulate from the outside. You could get inside any time you wanted.

You crept round the penthouse from the outside of the building, looking into each room in turn. A lounge area, a kitchen with a breakfast bar, open plan. A bathroom, a jacuzzi tub pressed up against the window for a questionable view of Pentagram City’s skyline.

Finally, the bedroom. Kennedy, asleep. But the effects strewn around the floor of the room belonged to more than one person. You remained still, listening, and sure enough there was a sob from behind the closed door of the ensuite bathroom. Partner? Whore? Probably the latter, given the man had killed his last three partners. Either way, it didn’t matter- it was still someone who would scream if they saw you.

You paused. You didn’t really want collateral, but having a witness was bad too. Not as bad as it would be topside, but Alastor wanted the killing to reflect on the reputation of the Radio Demon, which was easier if no-one saw.

You sucked your lip, thinking. Fuck it. You were unlikely to get a cleaner opportunity than this, and even if it went completely to shit, you still had avenues of escape available. It wasn’t like there was a police force in Hell, anyway.

With a well-placed percussive strike to the frame, you damaged the latch enough to slide open the window and stepped into the room, tucking your cane under one arm as you dropped to the floor.

Opening the bathroom door brought you face to face with a pig sinner with running mascara. You clamped a hand over their mouth to stop them crying out in surprise, then lifted a dramatic finger to your own smiling lips. They nodded once, in understanding, and you released their face before gesturing to the bedroom door. Go. Now.

They obeyed, an expression of terror in their panda-ringed eyes, and you turned to the bed, your quarry’s sleeping form, a surge of ardor coursing through your body. The fleeing pig sinner was likely to alert someone, but you stopped to soak in the moment anyway, the air in your lungs feeling briefly like fire, your pulse resounding through your tongue and through your loins. Here you were. Here was your true self. Glimpsed in the mirror of the walk-in wardrobe, your antlers looked like the tops of dead trees before a yellow moon, like old bones emerging from the bayou in a season of drought, and your breath was the noise of rain on powerlines, an ominous, crackling hum.

There wasn’t a struggle. Only release, sweet and wet and bloody.

What the fuck was taking you so long? For some reason that Vox didn’t understand, Kennedy had neglected to install cameras in his penthouse suite, and he cycled impatiently through the feeds outside. There was certainly something happening inside, a few of Kennedy’s goons milling around the doors. But no sign of you. Vox waited.

He was fairly sure you weren’t in trouble, but what if you were? You were a new sinner, after all, even if you were a murderer, no souls to your name, and no-one knew how exactly how the strength of someone’s soul was determined.

Finally, he phoned Kennedy’s number.

You looked up from the mess of blood on the bed at the glowing blue rectangle of the phone on the dresser. Vox, the screen read.

Oh, your hands were so slick with blood. It took you a couple tries to activate the touch screen, your fingertips leaving red-brown smears that made the screen trip out.

“Vox!” You felt so good now; it made you want to sing. There was blood on your tongue and on your face. “I got a phone!”

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, you fucking ate him, didn’t you.” Vox’s irritation seeped through the surface of the phone, and he sighed. “Listen carefully, baby deer- you need to get the fuck out of there.”

“What? Why?”

“Because Kennedy’s goons think the Radio Demon is in there. Look, baby, you’re dangerous, I get that. I respect it. But you’re nowhere near Al’s level. You’re not gonna hold your own against twenty guys with machine guns. Get the fuck out of that building.”

Somewhere between the swearing and the threats, you started to feel a little more like your normal self. You glanced back at the bed- the remnants of Kennedy didn’t look like anything other than random, discarded meat- he wasn’t coming back, and hopefully that would be good enough for Alastor. “Got it,” you said, and after a couple of failed bloody finger swipes, managed to hang up on Vox.

Popping Kennedy’s phone into your pocket, you headed out.

The path to the hotel ought to have been clear. It had been, when you had headed out. But on your return you found the final intersection before the hotel populated by gangsters, guns trained in all dimensions. They looked nervous. You caught a whisper on the air. Radio Demon.

Of course. You had been seen.

Of course. They were waiting for you. For Alastor.

You stared at the line of goons guarding the intersection, the hotel just beyond them. You tried to take a step forward, but something stopped you, the rattle of a chain, and a pressure on your ankle. Of course. No bringing trouble to the hotel. That had been one of the conditions of your original contract with Alastor, and it was coming into play now. No going through. And chances were that Kennedy’s people had surrounded the hotel in the hopes of catching Alastor. What were your options? You could stay on the streets for the night, bloodstained and dangerous, and hope that you didn’t get caught in any acid rain.

Or you could take your second option. Gingerly, you reached into your pocket and pulled out Kennedy’s phone. His contacts list was sadly devoid of people you knew, so you phoned Vox again.

“Yeah?” He picked up before you had the phone to your ear, and you grinned at the thought that he was waiting for a call back.

“Can I crash at yours tonight? Some guys have barricaded the road to the hotel.” You paused a beat. “No funny stuff.”

There was, of course, another reason you wanted to see Vox. The list of your quarry who were still in Hell was a temptation and a half. Even now, when you were full and sated, with Kennedy’s blood still drying on your skin, you could feel the appeal of it, the symmetry- to hunt the bad men that you had hunted before.

Vox sighed as he grabbed a pair of tumblers and a bottle of yamazaki single malt from his liquor cabinet. This would be so easy, if only he could hypnotize you. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t- he could feel the give of your mind with each little push- you were strong willed but that was all. He had taken stronger minds than yours. He had taken Alastor, for fuck’s sake, had made his eyes glaze over and his slight body go limp under his influence. He had pushed Alastor’s mind, and he’d told himself it had been worth it, up until the point when Alastor had found his abuse, and those red eyes had turned from hard-earned trust to betrayal.

So no, he wouldn’t hypnotize you, even if you had just walked straight into his personal quarters looking like you just walked out of an abattoir and asked to use his sound system.

He’d been right about his impression of you over the phone- you were euphoric and reckless, probably as a side-effect of eating Pentagram’s newest overlord. VNN already had reporters on the scene and there was barely a scrap of Kennedy left, with at least two witnesses now claiming to have seen the Radio Demon.

You were sat about a foot from the speakers, cross-legged, sit bones on the floor, your right hoof resting on your left knee as you basked in the music. Vox crouched beside you, pressing a tumbler into your hand, and, as he was close, pressed his face to the back of your head and breathed in your scent. Fuck, you even smelled like Alastor now; the same mix of musk, formaldehyde and blood that Vox remembered.

Gently, you grabbed the edge of his screen and moved him away. “Stop that.”

“Why should I stop?” Vox asked, his voice coaxing. “You’re worried Alastor’s gonna be mad?”

“No, I think he’d be upset. And I don’t think you want him to be upset either.” You raised an eyebrow at him, and Vox felt a chill run down his spine. “Do you, Vox?”

Fuck. Vox pulled a face. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Maybe.” Your smile was small, and your ears twitched at some unheard thing. “You’re going to need another glass.”

Vox frowned. “For you?”

Your smile grew wider. “For Alastor.”

“Alastor?” Vox repeated.

“Speak of the devil,” said Alastor, his elocution crisp as he manifested from the shadow. “And he shall appear.”

One of the most basic workings in Vodou, the one that Alastor’s mother had warned him to avoid being trapped by, was the exchange of fluids. If a man consumed the menses of a woman, it was trivially easy for her to control him, track him, whatever she wanted. The same was true with men and their seed, and it behooved any practitioner to be careful who they accepted food from. A mutual consumption was a stronger link still, a little of the practitioner in the target and a little of the target in the practitioner.

Though you were neither male nor female, his own personal blasphemous sacred twin, there had certainly been enough exchange of fluids between you. Alastor could feel the power latent in the link; an ancient, primal sort of magic. It wasn’t the sort of thing he usually dabbled in, and if his microphone had been intact he wouldn’t have even considered it, but in his current state it was a comfort. He tuned out the banal late night chatter at the hotel bar in favor of the link to you, the smile on his face automatic. He felt you as you moved across the city, to your intended location, and then your return path to the hotel.

And then, your failure to return.

“Sir?” Niffty asked, a small hand on his knee. Something must have showed in his eyes, because both Angel and Husk were looking at him too. “Is something wrong?”

Alastor gave a terse smile. “Never better,” he said, rising from his seat. “I have merely remembered an errand I must run.”

And run was the operative word, as yet again the conditions of his deal with you compelled him. He would keep you free of being Vox’s prisoner. He had promised.

He had slid across the city and through the tower, a shadow, depleting precious reserves of power, his compass to you unerring, and his heart had lurched when he had found you in Vox’s personal quarters, sat in front of the sound system. When Vox had knelt to smell your hair, Alastor had felt his antlers creak as they grew, fierce and territorial.

Vox’s voice was wheedling, the same tone that had always worked on him somehow. “You’re worried Alastor’s gonna be mad?”

“No,” came your voice, a touch more forceful than you usually were. “I just think he’d be upset. And I don’t think you want him to be upset either. Do you, Vox?”

“Am I that easy to read?” Vox’s face was pathetic, and Alastor’s heart lurched again, with something like pity this time, or perhaps regret. They had been friends once, great friends.

“Al-” Vox breathed, eyes wide.

Alastor stepped past him, to you. His smile was wan. “Darling, you smell like bloodshed,” he said, proffering a red-taloned hand and helping you to your feet. “We should go.”

“Vox was just pouring us drinks,” you said, not wanting the evening to end particularly. Vox still had your list of victims, and the sound system was just as sublime as you thought it would be.

Vox gave you a grateful look, and waggled his expensive bottle of single malt. Alastor looked between the two of you, and sighed. “I suppose we can stay for a round or two,” he said, spreading his fingers. “But at least put some decent music on.”

That was how you had ended up on the couch in Vox’s private quarters, half sitting on Alastor’s lap, a glass of whiskey in your hand, listening to the musical stylings of Papa Celestin on Vox’s frankly impressive sound system as Alastor, now down to shirtsleeves, told stories about some of the band members- who had played with who and who had cheated at cards. It seemed like every time you had nearly finished your drink Vox was there with the bottle again, not just for you but for Alastor. A few drinks later, the playlist had moved on to Johnny Hodges ballads and Alastor was handsy, his talons tracing lines over your antlers, your neck, your back, and down over your hips.

“And then his brother formed a band with Scrapper Blackwell’s bassist,” said Alastor, fingers pressing over your tail. “Mimzy was dating their percussionist for a while.”

“Wait a damn minute Al, you’ve told me this one before.” Vox was temptingly close on the couch next to you, but he made no overtures, apparently content to watch Alastor run his hands over you. “I thought you said it was the pianist?”

Alastor hummed, one claw hooking its way into your already loosened bow tie and pulling it open. “Maybe it was both. That would explain why the rhythm section was so lively.”

You relaxed into his touch, your earlier violence rendering you satiated and languorous; content to go where he led you. You smiled up at Alastor, baring your neck to him as he undid the top button of your shirt.

Vox made a noise in his throat. “Al? Are you-”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Alastor’s grin was lopsided as his attention flicked to Vox. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, after all.”

To make a point, Alastor dipped his head to kiss you. It was messier than he usually was, Alastor’s breath reeking of alcohol, and his tongue caressed your lips and cheeks, tasting the blood that stained them.

“Fuck,” Alastor breathed, his pupils wide as he broke the kiss. “Darling, you taste like dead overlord.”

“You would know, Al,” Vox shot, and Alastor grinned.

“Vox,” he called, like a man trying to coax a pet dog. “You really should have a taste.”

You sat up and watched with amusement as Vox feigned insouciance, shuffling closer to you on the couch as Alastor held you, one arm possessive around your waist. You wondered for a second if he would take the coward’s way out, and press his tongue to your forehead or your cheek, but Vox, with an expression close to awe, pushed a little of your blood-matted hair back from your cheek, his talontips under your jaw, and kissed you.

Vox’s lips were the tingle of static, his tongue shivering hot as it twined against yours, pressing up against your teeth and your gums, and you groaned into the kiss. Alastor’s grip on your waist tightened, and you felt him grow turgid, cock pressing up against your ass as Vox kissed you.

When Vox broke the kiss his eyes held something akin to despair, fingers trailing on your jaw as Alastor pulled you to him, a fierce, possessive look on his face. You rolled your hips back, grinding against Alastor’s erection through layers of fabric, and enjoyed the shiver he gave; the way his cock grew hard and hot, his face pressing into your neck, points of his teeth grazing your skin with lines of hot sensation that you would probably regret in the morning.

Vox hesitated, wary of Alastor’s jealousy, and you caught him by the collar, pulling him in for a second kiss. His chest pressed against yours, sandwiching you between him and Alastor, Alastor’s tongue tracing hot lines against the sensitive skin of your neck as Vox’s tangled in your mouth, the heartfelt groan that Vox gave resonating through the three of you.

“Thank you,” gasped Vox, his eyes closed, though you weren’t sure if it was directed at you, Alastor, or God. It didn’t matter. You traced the hard lines of his square face with your fingers, feeling Alastor’s hands on your hips, pulling you firmly against him, as if to remind you whose bed you slept in. You turned your head to kiss Alastor, the kiss breathless and full of urgency, his teeth nipping bloody at your lips, and Vox’s hands were at the buttons of your shirt, peeling back the fabric that stuck to your skin with half-dry overlord blood.

Vox’s talented lips kissed over your chest, then your stomach, the static from his screen making your skin prickle as your hairs stood on end.

“You want the television demon to blow you, darling?” Alastor murmured, his lips brushing the fur on your ears, the tips of your antlers, and his words went straight to your cock, stirring you to half-mast. “You want his mouth on you?”

“Yes,” you murmured, and that was all it took for Vox to have your pants off, Alastor releasing your hips for long enough that Vox could maneuver you into a position where Vox could blow you. The upper edge of his rectangular head was level with your diaphragm as he took you in, his tongue gentle as he coaxed you to hardness. The inside of his mouth was warm, his tongue almost buzzing against your cock as he wound it round in a spiral, and you shivered as he did, resisting the urge to grab him by the edges of his face and fuck into him. A whine escaped your throat, low and needy.

Alastor kissed your neck, his eyes curious as he watched Vox take you to the hilt in his mouth. “But where does it go?” he asked, his gaze on the back of Vox’s extremely flat head, red eyes narrowed.

You closed your eyes, still basking in the sensation of Vox’s tongue around your shaft, the soft flesh at the back of his mouth. “The Head Dimension, of course,” you said, and you felt Vox nearly gag with laughter; not an entirely unpleasant feeling, except that he pulled his mouth from your cock almost immediately.

“Jesus, Bambi, don’t make me laugh like that!” Vox gaped at you, wiping a digital tear from his face. “Fuck!”

Alastor tittered, the noise silvery, his narrow chest shaking with mirth as he leaned into your shoulder. “He’s just pissy that he didn’t think of that first,” he said. “Wordplay was never his strong point.”

“I’ll show you my strong point,” muttered Vox, peeling off his own shirt as he did.

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get to that eventually,” said Alastor, and you remembered how his cock had twitched inside you each time he had teased Vox in the armchair. “In the meantime-” he continued, hooking a clawed hand around your hip and pulling you to him once more, turning you to face him in his lap. “We have more important things to deal with.”

“The fuck did you do to their back, Al?” complained Vox, his hands warm on the furrows that Alastor’s claws had carved across your shoulders the night previous, but Alastor ignored him, kissing you lightly as he guided your hand to his fly, the fabric there taut with his arousal. You touched him, through the fabric first and then unfastening his fly and easing him out, a surge of sympathetic lust through your core as you held his cock in your hand, palm curling round his hardness. The noise he gave was a soft one, an exhalation of breath through his nose accompanied by a beat of deeper than appliance pitch humming.

You palmed Alastor’s cock, and his fingers went to your antlers, dancing lightly across the tines, each touch of his a musical note that resonated through your skull, your spine and down to your core, making you tremble, aching with want as you watched Alastor’s antlers expand in turn. Vox didn’t touch them, but you could feel him watching keenly, his own electrical powers a fuzzy interference at the periphery of your senses as you pumped Alastor’s cock with your hand.

“Inside me?” you asked Alastor, not least because having his cock in your palm made you ache with desire, and Alastor nodded, leaning back a little to let you straddle him. You guided him with your hand as you lowered yourself onto him, watching the delicious way he smiled as you did so; the way he bit his lip, his eyes fluttering half closed.

“Fuck,” Alastor spoke the word like a prayer rather than a curse as you sank onto him, Vox’s hands on your shoulders, then your waist, Alastor spreading his knees to let Vox between them.

“You look so fucking pretty like that,” said Vox, his voice full of gravel as he reached around you, hand finding your cock and folding around it, but his eyes were on Alastor, as well as you, as he spoke.

Vox’s grip was as firm as it had been when he had crawled into bed with you on your first night in Hell, and no less effective, pumping in time as you rode Alastor, your thighs working to lift and lower you. At first it seemed like Alastor would be content to be ridden, his face flushed and his hips staying in place as he made soft groans of appreciation, but when he kissed you and a squeeze of Vox’s hand made you whimper against his lips, Alastor’s hand joined Vox’s around your cock, talons curling around the back of Vox’s hand and forcing him to tighten his grip.

There was a moment of electricity then, Vox’s breath stilling in his throat, his bare chest pressed flush against your back.

“What’s the matter?” Alastor asked Vox, his expression sly and teasing as he forced Vox’s hand to grip you, started it moving again at a steady, sublime cadence. “You’ve never objected to a guiding hand before.”

Vox’s audio glitched before he spoke, accompanied by a myclonic jerk that you felt through his chest against your back, his hand involuntary squeezing around your shaft. “A-Alastor,” he stuttered, his audio still clipping, for all the world as if their hands were clasped around Vox’s cock rather than yours. “Oh, god.”

Alastor smirked against your neck, pretending careless superiority, but he couldn’t hide the pleasant twitch of arousal his cock gave inside your cunt when Vox moaned his name. Vox was right, though; Alastor did look beautiful, color on his cheeks that could have been the drink or arousal or both, his lips parted, as he panted through his jagged teeth, still smiling, always smiling, as his hair fell in strands across his face, his antlers handsomely tall.

When had you become so fond of him, you wondered, as he guided Vox’s hand in a pattern that had you aching for release, a pulse through your core as precum beaded at your tip. You stilled your hips as the sensation of their hands together on your cock threatened to overwhelm you, sinking down fully onto Alastor’s cock and pressing your face into his shirt with a whimper.

“What’s this?” Alastor turned his teasing smile on you now, rather than Vox. “So close already?” He nipped at the edge of your ear, not hard enough to do damage, but enough that you could feel the fine points of his teeth, and you gasped. “You know, of course, that it won’t save you? That we will keep going until we’ve had our fill of you?”

“We?” Vox repeated, his voice uncharacteristically quiet and hoarse, and your stomach swooped as you caught the implication too. “That mean what I think it means, Al?”

“My delightful friend here has two holes, after all,” said Alastor, pressing his cheek to your antler. “It seems a waste to use only one of them.”

You half expected Vox to run off and get a toy, but instead he fetched a bottle of lubricant from a compartment under the couch, and kissed his way down your back, over your shoulders and the claw marks that Alastor had made, his screen warm against the small of your back, making the fur on your tail stand on end.

“You’re gonna love this, baby deer,” said Vox, one hand on your back pushing you forward over Alastor. “Trust me,” he added wryly, when you gave a doubtful backwards glance.

“With your tongue?” Alastor’s tone was both scandalized and fascinated as he peered over your shoulder at Vox.

Vox didn’t bother answering him, simply spread your ass apart a little with his hands and set to work. His tongue was like white noise on your skin as he lapped at your entrance, wet and hot as he dragged it over sensitive flesh. You felt exposed; even like this, with Alastor’s cock to the hilt inside your cunt, you felt exposed. You cried out as Vox’s tongue made egress, the narrow tip pushing past your tight ring of muscle and then inside.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your face in Alastor’s collar again, and Alastor must have noticed how Vox’s tongue pressed against your walls, against his cock inside you, because he looked sharply at Vox.

“Keep doing that,” he said, a sharp note of desire in his voice, and you felt Vox’s groan as he pushed his tongue a little further in, the sensation all slickness and pressure as his tongue stroked Alastor’s cock through the thin layer of your flesh.

Alastor found your cock with his hand again, his smile cruel as he caressed your shaft. “You’re going to come, aren’t you, darling? You’re going to spend yourself with Vox’s tongue up your ass.”

It wasn’t fair. You could barely think straight, let alone give any answer other than an obscene, whorish whimper, not with both of them working your insides and Alastor’s knowing hand on your cock. The first time you’d met, he’d shown you how he knew your body better than you did yourself, and that was still true now, the strength of his grip and his tempo nothing other than perfection as he ground his hips up into you, rutting into you and rutting against Vox’s tongue, each movement one of blinding ecstasy, sensation so strong that it seemed to bleed into senses other than touch. You had no chance to catch your breath, no surcease from the assault, and no choice other than to feel yourself fall, your whole body seeming to seize in orgasm, the cry in your throat free of static as your cunt and cock pulsed in time, painting a white line up Alastor’s red shirt and spattering his cheek.

“See? What did I tell you?” Vox’s grin was triumphant as he pulled his tongue from you, his claws caressing your tail. Your body was still sensitive from the aftershocks, and his simple touch brought another one on, an involuntary animal cry in your throat. Vox scoffed and squeezed again, threading his talons through your fur, the sensation alone enough to make your stomach flutter, and through the corner of your eye you saw him take one of the discarded whiskey glasses and drain it, swilling it around his mouth before he swallowed.

“Oh, oh, sweetheart,” Alastor wiped your cum from his cheek and brought his fingers to your mouth, slipping his talons between your lips for you to suck clean. His voice was a croon, his breath hitching with each spasm that wracked you. “You fit me just perfectly, don’t you?”

You hummed around his fingers in response. It was an act of trust, just as much as the sex was- your teeth were every bit as sharp as his- and his fingers felt good in your mouth, like a gift. You closed your eyes, tracing the delicate lines of his fingers with your tongue, and felt as Vox lined himself up behind you, the warm tip of his cock resting first against your tail, then sliding down, the tip leaving a trail of wetness as he lined up with your entrance, the tip brushing against the flesh he had lapped with his tongue a few moments before.

Vox breathed out heavily, talons cradling your hips. “Are you sure about this, Al?”

“I think it’s customary,” said Alastor, a little snippily. “To ask that to the person you are about to fuck.”

“Shit.” You felt the tension in Vox’s body at Alastor’s rebuke. “You, uh, doin’ okay there, baby deer?”

You released Alastor’s fingers from your mouth, and turned your head to Vox, as far as you could twist with Alastor still inside you. Vox leaned in to accommodate, and you caught his lips with yours, hooking your forearm round his screen to keep him close as you kissed him, Alastor pressing his lips to your neck as you did. Taking the kiss as assent, Vox pushed into you, slowly.

Your inebriation and your orgasm helped make you loose, and Vox had been liberal with the lubricant on his tongue, but with Alastor inside you as well the fit was a tight one. Alastor tensed when he felt Vox push his way into your ass, his hips stilling and the soft hiss of static escaping his lips.

“God,” mumbled Vox as he bottomed out, his claws on your hips tight enough to mark you. “Fucking god. Al.”

Alastor didn’t bother with words, but the strangled noise in his throat might as well have been agreement.

Both of their eyes fluttered closed, and you felt a tremble in Vox’s arms. They could feel each other. They could feel each other inside you, both of them together stuffing you to the brim.

“I- I’m gonna move now,” said Vox, a pleading edge to his voice. He swallowed, edge of his screen knocking briefly against your antlers. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you managed, briefly getting yourself to a state where you could form actual words rather than animalistic whimpering. “Just full.”

“If he hurts you,” said Alastor, into your collarbone. “I will eviscerate him.”

“Fuck me.” Vox exhaled again, sounding more like himself. “I have never seen him this fucking protective. Of anyone. But sure thing Al, I'll go gentle.”

True to his word, Vox went slowly as he fucked you, fucked both of you. Post orgasmic and still sensitive, the sensation of it filled your awareness; at the apex you were so full that everything pressed together, Vox’s cock pressing into Alastor’s through your thin divider of flesh, Alastor’s cock pushed almost by default into the sensitive spongy tissue that he would usually need to angle his hips to find. There was no escape, not for you nor for Alastor- Vox’s cock stroking his as much as it was fucking you, and you found yourself crying out in tandem with him, the same sweet noises from both your throats, the sound so close that it made strange beats and harmonies around you. Vox kissed you, sensuous and open mouthed, then Alastor kissed you, fierce and possessive, then Vox again, lapping up the blood that Alastor had drawn from your lips, your head swimming as two sets of claws held you in place.

You grew hard again, your body responding to being pressed between the two of them and fucked, and Vox took your cock in his hand, a victorious growl from his throat.

“You wanna cum round Al’s cock again, don't you, baby deer,” Vox’s voice was thick with desire, his hand firm as he handled your already overstimulated cock. Even a gentle stroke would have been too much, and his manipulation was more than that.

“I can't-” you managed between gasps of air. With both of them in you, you were stuffed to the brim, each roll of Vox’s hips bringing tears to your eyes. “Too much. Please.”

“You want him to feel you twitching around him, though, don't you?” Vox’s voice was coaxing, the hand that wasn't stroking your cock hooking round your waist, the heel of his hand pressing into your stomach, below your navel, pressing everything together inside you. “You want him to feel good, don't you?” said Vox, his breath hot on the back of your neck, and you stared into Alastor's lust-blown eyes, feeling the way Alastor trembled each time Vox ploughed into you, only your inner wall separating them.

“Yes,” you whimpered, but it was Alastor who cried out, drawing blood from his own lip, his hands tight on your hips. Alastor came a second before you did, his seed inside you a wave of heat as your cunt pulsed around him, your cock twitching weakly in Vox’s hand.

“Fuck-” Vox breathed, clinging to you tightly, the edge of his screen digging hard into the tops of your shoulders as the feeling of you and Alastor coming dragged him over the edge, his composure lost, and you made a noise in your throat as you felt him shoot his load in you, into your already overstuffed hole.

For a moment, the two of them inside you filled the entirety of your awareness, the pulsing warmth that filled your stomach, the tight grip that both Alastor and Vox had on you. Then you sank forward onto Alastor’s shoulder, and the grips became slow caresses, claws gentle against your bruised skin. Both of them praising you, neither man quite ready to look the other in the eye. They pulled out of you, and it occurred to you that you needed a shower, but you had barely enough energy left in you to lay back on Vox’s couch, your forearm over your eyes.

The last thing you remembered before you blacked out was Vox pouring another finger of obscenely expensive Japanese whiskey, some Ella Fitzgerald playing as the two of them admired how pretty you looked with their cum leaking out of you.

If this was Hell, then what the fuck went on in Heaven?

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Hello friend! I'm in love with your writing!!! 😍😍😍😍😍

Idk if your requests are still open but I'd like to request something if you don't mind!

I LOVED the hurt/comfort/whump fic you did for Hunter. Could you possibly do something like that for Tech x Reader?

Maybe Tech and the reader are on a mission together or maybe they've crash landed somewhere or something. The reader is badly hurt and Tech has to take care of her and treat her wounds and save her and comfort her in his own special Tech way 😂😍

Oh @arctrooper69 what can I say? I mean ... I think a thank you is just not enough. You have made my day with this request, so I took my time to give it the proper respect it deserves. I hope you like it. If it wasn't exactly what you were looking for I do apologize.

Please note that you are always welcome to send in requests. As this is a special request, it will be stored in my One Shots & Mini Series Master List.

The story got a little away from at 1400+ words, but I hope it's close to what you wanted.

And who doesn't love Tech. I love this adorable nerdy man.

Love oo,

His Promise

Warnings: Snow, injury, blood, explosions, crash, grief, fear, anxiety, hurt, fluff, near death, feelings of being a burden, getting in the way, I think that's it. If I miss any, please let me know.

Please note the explanation of Snow, Tech gives, was taken from the National Snow and Ice Data Centre.

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The wind was picking up, as the snow piled down and was doing everything in its power to keep you and Tech from being rescued. You looked at the snow as it came down in sheets outside the entrance of the cavern he found, mesmerized by its beauty. 

“It’s beautiful and so calming …” you said slowly, your body already weakened from your injury and loss of blood.

“What are you talking about?” Tech did his best not to let the slowness of your breathing or even the breathless way you were speaking affect him. His anxiety was already high, and his fear of losing you was nearing his breaking point. 

“The snow…” you kept watching the soft flakes float down as they gently landed on the ground, piling on top of one another, almost as though they were unable to survive without the comfort of those around them. 

Tech glanced up to see the blizzard which prevented you both from leaving. As he watched the speed of the wind, he calculated it would’ve been nearly impossible for Hunter to bring the ship close to them. As he looked at the used bandages already soaked through with your blood his fear only grew. You needed immediate medical attention, more than he could provide at the moment, or it would mean certain death for you to be out here any longer.

Frankly, he couldn’t stop picturing the way you lunged forward as the ship crashed. He was helpless to watch you, as your body fell forward against the console, as a piece of the console broke off and jabbed you in your abdomen. It all happened too fast and somehow in slow motion. He could still hear your scream piercing his ear as he pulled you off the console.

He tried to stop the bleeding right away, however when he went to look for the med kit, he realized only too late that it had fallen out of the shuttle when the engine and the side compartment blew. All he had left were his emergency bandages and gauze and they weren’t nearly enough. 

At that moment, he couldn’t care less about how beautiful the snow was or how calming the blizzard looked from inside a cavern, that he only had to find because that piece of osik shuttle decided to have a fuel leak, catching on fire. 

Within seconds he had needed to drag you out of the relatively warm and safe shelter you both had, grabbing what supplies he could before the ship blew up. Thankfully, he had been able to send a message to Hunter when the shuttle crashed initially. So it was only a matter of time before the Marauder showed up, but …

His eyes fell back to the bundle of used gauze, his anxiety climbing as he knew you needed more first aid than he could provide at the moment. You needed the Marauder, you needed his med kit that he carefully stocked and kept safe on board the Marauder. At this point in time, he didn’t care about any kriffing snow.

“Snow is an accumulation of packed ice crystals. The condition of the packed crystals determines a variety of attributes, such as colour, temperature and water equivalent. As weather conditions change, the packed ice crystals can change as well, and this affects the characteristics of snow.”

You chuckled at his ability to pull forth information like it was nothing. Unfortunately the chuckle turned to coughing. Only causing you to dribble more blood out of your mouth, you wiped away what you could. He didn’t need to see that, “Tech …” you coughed again, “turn off your brain for two seconds, don’t think and just look. Just watch.”

He pulled the heater closer towards you, “Stop talking and try and warm up.”

“Tech…” you held his hand, “just look.”

His eyes drifted up your body, till he locked eyes with you. They were pleading for him to listen and to just have him appreciate what you found mesmerizing. He tried to follow your advice, focusing on the snow, but all his mind kept drifting back to was this blizzard that was preventing you from getting the medical attention you needed, so desperately. 

He shook his head focusing back on your abdomen, trying to stop the bleeding. Trying his best to keep you with him. 

“Tech,” you gripped his wrist “… stop …”

“No.”

His tone was firm and full of anger, why did he agree to let you come with him? If he used his brain instead of allowing his feelings for you to dictate his actions, you wouldn’t have been here. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt. Why did you always insist on following him? Why didn’t you just stay behind on Pabu? Simply because you wanted to see the galaxy, and he was excited to show it to you? It was his fault you were here. It was his fault you were in danger. It was his fault he … was going to lose you.

“Tech …” you squeezed his wrist. He removed your hand from his wrist, placing it off to the side as he focused on your wound. He didn’t deserve your touch, he didn’t deserve to have you comfort him. It was his fault you both crashed on this force forsaken planet. 

There was nothing you could do as you watched Tech pull away. 

From the moment you met him on Pabu, the way he worked with Phee as he helped rescue the villagers when the rogue wave was rushing towards the island, and the way he helped make everything more ‘efficient,’ you couldn’t help but fall in love with him. You wanted to learn from him, to listen to him go on with regards to anything and everything. Only problem was you never had the courage to actually utter the words you were dying to. Phee told you time and time again, ‘later’ was never a guarantee, and now as you lay on the cold floor of the cavern you were in, bleeding out of your abdomen, you realized how little time there was left. 

  Tears welled up in your eyes, as you realized you needed to unburden yourself. You needed to tell him what had been pressing on your heart before you didn’t have the strength to, it didn’t help that you were feeling weaker with each passing second. Also didn’t help that you could tell he was angry, actually a more accurate description would be infuriated, more than likely at you.

“I’m sorry.” You offered the only apology you could. “I’m sorry I’m such a burden, even now.” You took in a shuddering breath as Tech stopped moving his hands for two seconds as he focused on your face. “I’m sorry for always pestering you to teach me,” you offered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry for not listening,” a tear slid down your cheek, “I’m sorry for putting you in this position. To have to feel responsible for someone like me.” 

He shook his head, his teeth clenched as his anger, grief, fear, and sadness overwhelmed him completely in that moment. He pulled off his helmet and placed it beside him. 

“Stop.” It was his only command.

“Please, I …” you coughed again, trying to not cough on him. “I just want … I need to …”

He cut off your speech as his hand cupped your cheek, “Cyar’ika …” tears welled up in his eyes, “you were … are never a burden.” He couldn’t believe that’s what you thought of him… that’s what you believed he felt for you. He shook his head again as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I have loved every second we have spent together. I made a point to record every moment with you, because they were more precious to me than breathing.”

You held on to his bicep, keeping him close as tears streamed down your cheek, “Tech … I … I don’t want to go… I want … I want to stay here with you…”

“You’re not going anywhere. I just got you …” his tears landed on your cheeks, mixing with your own, “you’ll be okay. I promise.”

“Hold me… please… just hold me until…I can’t feel your arms anymore.”

“I’ll hold you longer than that,” Tech pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he felt your body grow weaker. Your eyes were closed, your body was growing pale. He was so focused on you, he didn’t hear the voices calling out to him, at least not until he felt Hunter’s hand on his shoulder. He didn’t wait, there were no more seconds to lose. He rushed towards the Marauder with you in his arms, he wasn’t going to lose you. He promised. He was going to bring you back.

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Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Shh! Pt. 1

Summary: Y/N and Dean have been overserved...what truths may come from it? Shh! Don't tell.

Pairing/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warnings: None. All fluffy silliness. Little bit of crack. Drunk!Dean and Drunk!Reader. Some mutual pining (sort of).

Word Count: 1,379

A/N: Okay, so I'm trying really hard to catch up with my requests. Thank you all for your patience. This fun request came from a lovely anon:

omgomgomg can you please do the giggly smut space with a drunk!dean and reader?? i love your work sm!

This bingo square was already filled, but I said I'd try to write something fun for them anyway. So, I had lots of fun with the silly antics of these goofballs, hope you enjoy. ❤️

Edit: This little one shot has turned into a two part mini-series.

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“Shh!” Y/N hissed with her finger to her lips as she and Dean stumbled drunkenly through the bunker door. She tried to frown at her best friend and meant to scold him for his noisiness, but he was making a goofy face as he pretended to be tiptoeing towards the stairs and she just ended up giggling loudly.

“Shh!” Dean scolded her. 

“Me shush? You shush!” She said, laughing as she followed him down the stairs. As they neared the bottom, Y/N lost her footing in the grating on the steps and pitched forward. Dean turned to try and steady her, but it was too late and she knocked them both to the ground. 

Dean landed on his back and Y/N landed directly on top of him.

“Oof!” Dean grunted as his fall and Y/N's weight knocked the wind out of him. 

“Oh my god! Dean, I'm so sorry!” Y/N felt terrible, but her drunken mind couldn't stop laughing at the way they'd plummeted to the floor.

When he could breathe again Dean groaned and started laughing too.

“Shh!” He cautioned as he rolled Y/N beneath him. “You're gonna wake up Sam.” He said in a voice that he thought was a whisper. It wasn't.

Y/N nodded and then caught Dean's eye as her giggling subsided. For a moment their gazes connected as their laughter died away slowly, so that they were left pressed close together and staring at each other.

“You know, you're so pretty.” Dean said, his words slightly slurred. “I don't think you know that, you don't know that I think that. You are.”

Y/N shook her head. “No, YOU don't know. I told you so many times, Dean. I told you that time when there was the baseball bat, and then too, where when we were at the drive-in, and…” Y/N frowned and then shook her head. “I told you all of those times. And then more.”

Dean was nodding along with her words as though he knew what she was talking about but then he burst into laughter and Y/N joined him.

“What were we talking about?” He asked as he stood up and pulled Y/N to her feet. They leaned on each other for balance. 

Y/N shook her head. “I don't actually know.” She cackled, and then shushed herself. Dean joined her. 

“Shh!”

“Shh!” 

They were both holding a finger to their lips and giggling like idiots as Sam walked into the war room from the direction of his bedroom. 

“Shhh-ut up. Both of you.” He said, barefooted and scowling. He was wearing pajama bottoms and a dark blue t-shirt and had obviously been sleeping. 

He was also obviously very annoyed. He ran a tired hand over his cheeks. “It's three in the morning, you two. What the hell are you doing coming home at this hour?”

Y/N snorted and then covered her mouth. “Sorry!” She said when Sam's frown landed on her. “You just…my mom said that when I was like fifteen. You sounded like her, for a second.”

“It's the long hair.” Dean said in a stage whisper, making Sam roll his eyes and Y/N nearly fall over laughing. 

“Was your mom a really tall lady?” Dean asked as both of them fell onto each other again, and landed on their asses on the floor - the extreme hilarity taking them both out. 

“Oh, Jesus.” Sam said in sleepy irritation. “I'm going back to bed. Can you both shut up and just pass out on the floor?”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Dean called with salute and Y/N followed suit.

“Drunken idiots.” Sam mumbled lovingly as he padded back down the hallway to his bedroom.

Eventually Dean and Y/N stood each other up and then wandered down the other hallway towards Dean's room. When they got there, Y/N's eyes lit up when she saw Dean's vinyl collection.

“We have to play some Black Sabbath.”

She fumbled pulling the record out of its sleeve and almost dropped it. 

“Hey! Careful!” Dean protested as he took the precious vinyl out of her hands. 

In the end though, it took both of them to get the record on the turntable properly, and then all of their combined coordination to successfully put the needle down without scratching it. But soon Paranoid was blasting through Dean's room, and down the hallways to Sam's as well, where the youngest Winchester growled and slammed his pillow down tight over his ears.

As the song continued, Y/N grabbed Dean's hands and got him to share in a little drunken headbanging along with the wailing guitars, pounding drums and Ozzy’s slightly monotone voice. Eventually though, he let go so he could crash onto his bed. 

Y/N kept dancing, offbeat and slightly awkward. Dean watched her and smiled deeply.

“This is the other time!” He called over the music.

Y/N shook her head and turned down the volume a little. “What?”

“This is the other time.” Dean repeated.

“The other time of what?” Y/N asked, scrunching up her nose and furrowing her brow in that adorable way she had.

“The other time when you're so pretty and I'm telling you, but you're not listening.” Dean sighed, suddenly sad.

Y/N stumbled over to the bed and climbed up beside him. “Why’re you…what's wrong?” 

Dean shook his head. “No, you never listen to me when I'm trying to tell you. You don't get it.” His mouth dipped into a pout and Y/N was instantly contrite.

“Oh, I wanna listen to you. I do listen. You don't listen.”

Dean stared at her for a moment and then nodded resolutely. “We should write it down. Our things, our listening things. So we don't forget. Then we have to listen to both of ourselves.” Dean's eyes were wide, amazed by his incredible idea. 

Y/N nodded and wobbled over for pens and paper from his desk. She brought them back and slumped onto the bed, passing out the writing materials and grabbing two hardcover books from the bedside table. 

“For writing on.” She explained as she handed Dean a book.

“M’kay. Do you wanna go first?” Dean asked. “Cause…ladies? Y’know?”

But Y/N shook her head. “We could both go though.” She pointed at their separate pieces of paper. 

“Oh right!” Dean said as though finally figuring out her ever-so-complicated plan.

Then they both bent their heads to their task, but after only a few minutes, their pens stilled and their heads drooped towards each other and then banged together gently as they both fell into drunken oblivion.

Twenty minutes later Sam barged into Dean's room no longer able to take the screaming Black Sabbath. He immediately noticed that both of his drunken idiots were sound asleep and snoring, and he sighed, giving his head a shake. 

He took the needle off the record and shut off the record player before he walked quietly up to the bed and rolled his eyes indulgently as he saw Y/N with her head on Dean's shoulder and Dean with his head laying on top of her head.

They’re both gonna have such stuff necks in the morning. He thought.

He picked up the papers and books from their laps. He was about to throw the pages away but then he read them. His smile grew wider and wider as he read what they'd each written. 

Neither had actually finished, but they were both saying the same thing:

“Finally.” Sam whispered with an affectionate eye roll. “Friggin’ idiots.”

He took the papers and walked to the kitchen. Grabbing two strong magnets he posted the letters in plain sight where they couldn't be missed, even by two fools with raging hangovers, before he shut off the lights and went back to bed.

__

Part 2

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters:

@lyarr24

@lacilou

@deans-spinster-witch

@globetrotter28

@suckitands33

@alwaystiredandconfused

@evznackles

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@krazykelly

@candy-coated-misery0731

@envyaurora95

@spnwoman

@deans-baby-momma

@luvr4miya

Dean Fics Only:

@roonthelittlespoon920

@slamminmine

@zepskies

@safiyas-world

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom:

@kazsrm67

@slut-for-evans-stan

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@nancymcl

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@waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits:

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@roseblue373

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@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@deangirl96

[darkwaveho]

Mini Burden

Consequences

Summary: Anastasia is a mastermind, but this time what happens when the mastermind is caught?

Warnings: fluff, brief smut, cursing, mentions of murder.

Series masterlist

After a long day Natasha finally gets to relax herself as she walks through the front door. In the past you were the one to be at home greeting her and asking her all about her day but now since you're so busy throwing yourself into the night club, Natasha doesn’t get as much time with you as she’d like. However, she would never complain about coming home and being greeted by her favorite little human on earth. Natasha makes her way into the kitchen and spots her carbon copy sitting at the dining room table. “Hey, monster.” 

“Hi mama.” Anastasia talks with her mouth full of spaghetti. If she didn’t look so adorable right now with sauce smeared on her chubby cheeks Natasha would’ve reprimanded her for the action. For the first time in a while she’s thankful that you’re still at the club tonight. Natasha walks further into the dining room stopping right behind Anastasia’s chair to place a gentle kiss on the side of her forehead. She thinks about wiping her mouth while she’s next to her but decides against it seeing how it will end up looking like that as soon as she leaves beside her. Natasha’s gentle smile slowly fades as she closely examines Anastasia’s plate.

“How come I don’t see any vegetables on that plate?” Anastasia ignores her mother by taking a big sip of her apple juice. Natasha raises a brow at the action, she knows this probably will end with her raising her voice. “Ana, I’m speaking to you.” Natasha takes the apple juice away from her reach. It seems now she had Ana’s full attention. She whines hoping that will make Natasha give her the juice back, she didn’t want to answer the question because she knew that she would get in trouble for it if not by Natasha, then you. “Where are the vegetables? I know for a fact that I left strict instructions for your dinner time routine.” 

“I ate them all,” she smiles innocently and shrugs her shoulders, she tries to reach for the cup but Natasha swiftly moves it away again. “Is that right? So if I wake up uncle Scott then he’ll tell me you ate your vegetables?” Anastasia nods her head confidently. Natasha narrows her eyes at the action and walks into the living room to not so gently shake Scott awake. “Ah!” Scott jumps up from the couch with his hand over his chest. “Jesus! You scared me!”

 “That’ll be the least of your worries depending on what your answer is to my question.” Natasha narrows her eyes at him. As her words truly hold a darker meaning behind them, one that Scott was known to be a witness of.

“What? What question?”

“Did you follow the list of instructions I gave you?” Scott rubs his face as a means to properly wake himself up. “Uh, yeah I did everything besides bedtime obviously.” 

“So you made sure Anastasia had vegetables on her plate?” 

“Yes, boss. I even magically grew them in the backyard while you were gone.”  

“Watch it.” He clears his throat seeing Natasha wasn’t in the mood for jokes right now. “Sorry.” Natasha sighs and waves her hand dismissively. “You can go home now.” Scott doesn’t ask further questions even though he wants to, he grabs his things, says goodbye to Anastasia and leaves. Meanwhile, Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen to find a pouting Anastasia impatiently waiting for apple juice privileges again.

“Alright, monster looks like you weren’t lying this time, here you go.” Natasha smooths down the top part of her hair and places the cup back onto the table. Anastasia happily goes back to eating her food. Natasha walks into the kitchen still very suspicious of her daughter. She looks into the trash bin to see if Ana threw away the vegetables. Nothing in there. Natasha then traveled back to the living room. Near Fanny’s bed no evidence there or any leading Natasha to believe that she pawned her vegetables off for Fanny to eat.

Maybe Anastasia truly did eat her vegetables this time, it’s been a struggle to get her comfortable with different food groups and veggies just so happened to be the biggest issue. Natasha takes her seat at the table and finally starts eating, she’s had a busy schedule with her construction company as well as her mob tie activities taking over today. Natasha’s phone goes off just as she and Anastasia finish eating. She checks her texts from you saying you’ll be home much later. It’s become a habit now, Natasha tries to not let it get to her, but she can only hold it in for so much longer. 

“Well, mommy’s going to be late….again, so let’s get you ready for bed.” Natasha sighs, taking a long swig of her wine and clears the table. “Mommy’s always working late!” Anastasia says while stomping up the stairs, Natasha wasn’t going to discipline her, at least not right now. She’s too tired and honestly Anastasia was right. Natasha finally understands the way you felt long ago when she was the one staying out and coming home early mornings. “I know, sweetie but she promises to call before bed, okay?” Natasha hears a “hmp” slip past the girl's lips she wouldn’t push any further, she doesn’t feel like dealing with a tantrum right now and she’s on thin ice with the gentle parenting method tonight. She lets it slide remembering that it's normal to let children express how they feel. A privilege Natasha didn't have and something she wouldn’t strip her daughter of.

As Natasha walks side by side with Anastasia to her room the only thing running through her mind is you calling her phone to say goodnight. After giving Anastasia a bath and tucking her into bed, she decided to call it quits, opting to turn the light and kiss her forehead in place of your absent promise. It didn't do anything to help the pain that Anastasia was feeling.  “She promised.” her voice wavers, evident that she was starting to release her frustrations and turn them into sadness. There is only so much Natsaha can do, there is only so much she’s equipped to handle. Feeling abandoned is something she has dealt with, but she doesn't know how to comfort others that are dealing with the same emotion. She can only soothe her daughter by rubbing her back and wiping away her tear-stained cheeks.

“I know, baby.” Just as Natasha was about to prepare herself to sleep in the tiny bed, she hears the sound of footsteps. Your footsteps. She sighs when the door creaks open, but it doesn't last long when she realizes that you’re tipsy, you were too busy drinking and whatever else to call your daughter before bedtime? You walk over to the bed with a strong face, but Natasha can see you clearly, even in the dark. You feel guilty, it's written all over your face, sober or not. She remains quiet as you sit down on the edge of the bed. She kisses Anastasia on the cheek, says goodnight and leaves the room without saying a word to you. 

“Are you mad at me?” You sweetly ask as you try to snuggle her cheeks. Anastasia nods her head and deepens her frown. “You didn’t eat dinner with me and mama.” 

“I know.” you sigh defeatedly. “You promised to call before bedtime, and you didn’t.” The tears start to pool in her eyes and you notice the stains on her cheeks, that's when you finally realize that she's been crying. You gently wipe away her tears and bring her closer to you. “Mommy is very sorry, Ana.” You attempt to apologize but it does nothing to soften her face, apologies wont work anymore you’ve broken them one too many times for Anastasia's liking. “How about we have a day just to ourselves? Get ice cream, go shopping and get our nails painted?” 

You feel the small bed shift as Anastasia turns to face you again. She studies you for a moment before she finally speaks. “Can we get glitter on our nails?” You chuckle and nod your head. “Anything you want.” 

“You promise?” instead of just reassuring her with that same word you introduce her to the pinky promise. You hold out your pinky and your thumb as she looks at you curiously for a moment and then she mirrors your same hand gesture. “Pinky promise. I’ll never break a pinky promise, okay?” you lock your pinky with hers finalizing the binding promise as your pinky and thumbs touch. “Okay, mommy.” You pull her close in an embrace and place quick kisses all over her face as she giggles. “Alright, now go to bed, it's past your bedtime.” You stand up after place one last gentle kiss to her forehead and turn the light off before heading to your bedroom. 

Natasha has already done her nightly routine as she’s laying in bed turned on her side facing away from you instead of laying directly in the middle like usual. You sigh softly as you enter the restroom to take a quick shower and do your nightly routine. She’s ignoring you. She wants to start an argument with you, not only missing dinner, or the bedtime call. You’re putting your club over your family priorities. Once you return Natasha is still in the same spot and nearly on the verge of sleep when the bed suddenly shifts and she feels an unexpected weight on top of her. “So, how was your day?” Natasha remains silent as she tries to avoid eye contact with you. You were already sensing her attitude before you got here. You place your fingers underneath her chin and turn her face back to you. 

“Are you mad at me too, baby?” You softly pant against her lips maintaining stern eye contact. She scoffs and turns fully on her side, not concerned with your body falling backwards as she does this in the process. “I’m sorry.” you wait for her to face you again, but you’d be waiting until morning, it's clear she’s angry with you. “You were too damn busy drinking on the job when you're supposed to be home having dinner with your daughter and tucking her in.” you scoff at her response.

“I had one drink, Tash. Besides, it's a bit stressful running a business. You of all people should know that. Remember when roles were reversed, and I was Ana waiting on you to come home or just spend time with me?” You had a point; you were in Anastasia’s shoes in the past and it almost ended this relationship amongst other things.

You still aren't giving up; you won’t allow her to go to sleep angry with you. You’ll try all night if you have to. Natasha feels your hands against her skin. She grumbles at the action and remains still. You snuggle up to her again pressing your front completely against her back. She fights against you holding her as you place small kisses on the side of her face. “Kisses aren’t going to make me stop being mad at you.” You smirk at her response you love how confident and cocky she’s being right now. You also know it’s a lie, Natasha always folds from just a simple touch. It’s just the 'when and where' that determines how quickly she folds for you. You hum in acknowledgment as your fingers ghost around her waist. Your leg hooks over her body keeping her in place.

“Now, tell me about your day.” You say, focusing on her neck as you intend to leave behind marks. “Fisk is driving me fucking insane with his new floor plan for his beach house, Thor forgot to collect the payment from Charles today, and a new recruit was the one that had to remind him.” She sighs frustratedly and she suddenly releases a soft moan after you lick a special spot on her neck.You pull back admiring your work and enjoy the feeling of her relaxed body. “Hm, sounds like hell.” You rub your thumbs gently against her cheeks as she holds both of your wrists in her hands softly repeating the same action as you. You began leaving quick kisses on her face, never settling in the same spot for too long, this was one way to get Natasha to talk about her day without forcing it out of her and starting an argument about the importance of communication. “Did anything else happen today?” You say, between kissing her soft lips and running your tongue against her bottom lip.

 “Ana ate all her vegetables.” You pull back in shock. “Really? You saw her eat them?” Natasha groans internally from the lost touch she probably should’ve waited until after to tell you that.

“Well, no but she didn’t have anything in the trash or in Fanny’s bed this time. Plus Scott made sure to follow the instructions.” You turn your head towards the closed door. “Now I’ll have to get her something special.” Natasha hums as she gets lost in the thought of you straddling her. Her hands grab your waist, giving it a firm squeeze to bring your attention back on her. 

“And what exactly do I get?” Natasha plasters her signature smirk on her lips. You match her smirk and push her chest down so that she’s fully laying against the mattress. Your lips start at her neck again, trailing over to her lips for a brief kiss. You snake your hand underneath her shirt gently rubbing her nipple. You don’t continue with your movements until you’re satisfied with her soft moans. You trail your kisses down her abs and when you finally hook your fingers into her shorts you pull them down granted with the mess that only you could cause her to have, and you’ve barely even touched her yet.

“Let me show you.” You kiss her clit and trail your tongue down her slit, you spread her folds as you flatten your tongue against her warm cunt. “Fuck, did you lock the door?” She pants as she spreads her legs wider for you. Her gaze shifts from the door to the ceiling to you practically shoving your face in her pussy. She’s trying to keep her focus on just you but the burning thought of Anastasia waking up and barging up in here would truly piss her off for the rest of the week. “No, you won’t last long anyway.” Natasha loves the confident energy you're bringing tonight. You both haven't had a lot of free time to spend alone together, so she would be making up for every minute of tonight.

--------

As the days go on things are back to the normal schedule, you come home early more often now. Seeing as your absence was beginning to affect your daughter. “What the hell is that god awful smell?” 

“Ooo mommy you owe mr. piggles money for swearing." Anastasia grins at you from her seat. Now that you and Natasha have introduced the rules of the swear jar it seems to have backfired on the two of you the most. “It's not a curse word, It's in the bible.” 

“We don’t read the bible.” She tilts her head innocently as she moves her spoon through her bowl of cereal. You curse yourself for having a smart child, maybe you should have opted out to put her in public school.  “I know.” you say as you scrunch up your nose still trying to find out where the smell was coming from. 

“So it’s still a curse word mommy.”

 “I know baby, I'll cash app it to him, now eat your breakfast.” You sit your coffee mug down, not even able to enjoy your caffeinated brew with the smell that keeps invading your nose. Everyone else seems to be ignoring it or  you yank Natasha up by the collar of her freshly steamed shirt. “What did I do?” 

“Did you bring your work home and forget about it or something?” You make sure to put a heavy emphasis on ‘work’. Natasha stares at you with confusion. “What? Why the hell would I do that?” You're skeptical of her answer but you've never had to question her on this specific issue before. She's never brought home evidence from work, that would be a rookie mistake and she’s clearly not that. “So, I'm just making shit up? Are you telling me you dont smell that?” Natasha releases a breath, it's too early to deal with your rants but it’s also too early to deal with you in a pissy mood, so she walks around the kitchen distinctly trying to sniff out the smell that caused you to ball up her shirt, that is now wrinkled and creased. “What is that?” Natasha pinches her nose together in disgust the closer she gets to the kitchen sink. 

“See, I'm not crazy.” You point matterfactly in the same direction where Natasha was standing. As Natasha puts her fingers down the drain and pulls her fingers out with green goo coating her fingertips.

“What is that?” 

“Looks like mold, is it mold?” 

“Mold?!” 

“Calm down,y/n!” Natasha looks over her shoulders with annoyance, you literally have killed and made people bleed before, and you’re scared of mold. Sometimes she can’t help but wonder how different things would be, how different you would be if you got the same treatment she did.

“It looks like broccoli, or green beans.” it was actually any and every green vegetable that Anastasia has claimed to have eaten. Sitting in your drain. The veggies have just been sitting in the drain rotting while you and Natasha have been rewarding her. “Ana.” Anastasia hums at the sound of her name but doesnt look up from her bowl of sugary cereal. “Look at me when I am speaking to you.” she nubbles her lip before she finally looks up, trying to turn on her doe eyes and innocent charm. It's not working this time, because this time you are the one to lead the discipline. “Why are there vegetables clogging the sink and stinking up my kitchen?” She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, she not even trying to show an ounce of guilt or remorse for her actions. The fact that she didn't even want to plead her case tells you what type of day it is with her and you wont allow it. You've been a little absent but you’d be damned if you allow her to do things without consequences.

“Go get your allowance and put it in the swear jar.” 

“But– but I didn't swear, mommy.” she looks at you with tears in her eyes hoping you would change your mind on the punishment. She even looks to Natasha over your shoulder in hopes that she would save her. “No, but you lied. Go get your allowance and put it in the swear jar until we get a jar for lying.” she takes a little longer to get up from the table than you'd like. “Go, now.” she jumps down out of her seat and stomps out of the kitchen. You will be firm in your discipline but you will not yell at her. Natasha on the other hand didn’t have a problem playing the bad cop if need be. “I cannot believe this.” Natasha comes up behind you with a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey, relax, I’ll have Scott’s ass over here to fix it, he'll be lucky if I don’t make him eat it since he was supposed to be watching her.”

“I don’t know what scares me more, the fact that she didn’t care to get caught or the fact that she’s lying more casually now.”  

“Well, what scares me more is her knowledge of the garbage disposal now. Let's hope we don't start finding Barbie doll parts in the pipeline next.” Natasha nudges your shoulder to make light of the situation. It does its job getting a small chuckle out of you. “True.” Suddenly she sneaks her hands around your waist and pulls you flush against her. Her lips edge towards your ear and she softly speaks. “Also, I just wanna say you sound so hot when you’re in tough mommy mode.”

“Does punishing our kid turn you on or something?” you look at her with shock but now you would have something new to tease her about. “Only when she deserves it.” Natasha shrugs her shoulders with a playful grin and places a quick kiss on your lips. She would never take joy in punishing her daughter in serious situations. This was not a serious situation but she's not going to say that outloud.

She'll most likely comfort Anastasia later on, when you're busy. Anastasia finally returns to the kitchen with her allowance. She holds a pout and as you hold your hand out for the money Anastasia places the roll of cash into your hand. She starts to walk away but you notice the weight of the cash isn't true to what she actually has in her piggy bank upstairs. “Not so fast, where is the rest of it?” you raise your eyebrow, just to show you mean business.

“But– I won't have enough to buy new squishmallows, mommy.” She puts on her best puppy dog face, but it doesn't work. You move your fingers as a signal for her to give up the money. She huffs her breath and reaches down into her pocket and hands you another wad of cash that was rubber band together. As she starts to walk away Natasha finally chimes in now. “Do you have something you want to say, monster?” She crosses her arms as she sits back in her seat at the table. The intimidation was prominent even if Natasha wasn't trying to. “I’m sorry.” she looks up at the both of you through her thick lashes. You don't believe she’s actually sorry, it's a routine response. Why would she be sorry for getting rid of the nasty vegetables? it's not logical. “Do you want to tell us why you decided to lie and hide your vegetables?” Natasha tilts her head awaiting an answer.

“I don’t like them.” it was a plain and simple answer, nothing more to it. “We understand that, but you need them to grow big and strong, no matter how yucky they might be.” Anastastia holds her head down in disappointment and Natasha is quick to correct it. “Head up, eyes forward. From now on you do not get rewards until you start eating your vegetables, you don't have to eat all of them but hiding them around the house will not happen again, right?” 

“Yes, mama.” she nods her head understanding the agreement no matter how much she wants to throw a tantrum she knows it'll make things worse. She already lost her squishmallow money she does not want to push further. Natasha reaches across the table and pats Anastasia's hand for small comfort. It's to show that you two were not really upset, just disappointed in her actions. “Now finish your breakfast.” Natasha locks eyes with you and nods slightly, you two seemed to have handled it well. Natasha is the one to normally blow a situation up when it comes to discipline Anastasia but today you took her place. Finding common ground was always the main goal but that doesn't mean you always reached it.

Three days had passed since that incident, and since then Anastasia has been on heavy watch when it comes down to her eating dinner and more specifically eating her vegetables. It was a tough task at first but slowly and slowly she started to progress. Much more when she’s reminded of her bankrolls in the swear jar taunting her at every meal of the day. As you tuck Anastasia in her bed, and say goodnight Natasha stays behind, sitting on the edge of the bed smoothing over Anastasia's slicked hair. “You've been doing a very good job with eating your vegetables, me and mommy are very proud of you.” Natasha smiles at the reaction her praises get from her daughter. She never thought she would be able to have this. To be a mother, to be a good mother, and learn from her past childhood experiences to know what not to do. She’s proud of her own progress she’s made with her parenting skills. “Can I have my money back now?’ Natasha laughs at her determination, she’s ambitious if anything. “Sorry, that’s up to mommy.”  

“Aww but I said sorry, and I've been eating the yucky vegetables.” She puts on a pout with a saddened noise. “We know and again, you’re doing a good job, keep it up and you'll have your bankrolls back from the swear jar in no time.” Natasha ends her mature response with a light boop to her daughter’s nose.

“Okay.” They share a warm embrace and a forehead kiss. When Natasha situates Anastasia back into the bed comfortably, she heads for the door but just as before she left out the room completely, she looks over her shoulder and lowers her voice. “Send me a picture of the squishmallow you want.” Anastasia’s eyes practically jump out of her eye socket with joy, she plasters a wide smile on her face that even Natasha can see in the darkness.

“Thank you, mama.” Natasha mirrors her daughter’s smile and places a finger against her lips as a signal to keep quiet. Anastasia nods her head frantically. She repeats the action, trying to contain herself of excitement of adding a new squishy friend to her collection. In the end of all of Anastasia’s punishments Natasha will always find a way to balance things out when she sees progress being made. Natasha will also have to prepare for how she’ll make it up to you for going behind your back but that's a problem for a different day, because tomorrow she will be getting her daughter that squishmallow. 

[tennessoui]

kit's list of obikin fic recs in no particular order

y'all asked and i finally answered.....here's a list of fics i've read and adored this year! note that i've tagged things that i think could squick people (a/b/o dynamics, weird biology, dub con, heavy kink, etc), and i've noted the ratings (explicit, mature, teen), but i have not noted top/bottom (this list contains a pretty even split of both) and i haven’t indicated which are WIPs - take a chance! i've left little paragraphs as to why i liked the fic but i tried to keep spoilers out of them so the story can be a surprise :D

remember to leave a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed the fic :D

Igneous - zimriya Notes: Explicit, A/B/O dynamics, canon compliant, series!

Trying to find this fic so I could reread it was the thing that prompted me to make this list. That’s how amazing this fic is. It tears out your heart strings. It hurts. I love it. It’s soft. It makes me cry. I am never going to recover from this perfect retelling of canon. This hurts just as much as the kenobi show. I owe this author a medical bill and a thank you card. I don’t care if a/b/o isn’t your thing or omega obi-wan isn’t your thing i need you to try reading this fic i really do because it’s just honestly superb and beautiful prose and i think about some of these lines near daily. Ok, fine. Daily.

I’d Never Be Me (Without The Support of Your Loving Arms) by euryrice  Notes: Explicit

i don’t think i’ll ever stop talking or thinking about this fic, it’s up there for me….such a good take on a bond/spy au that I don’t think I’ll ever seriously try at one myself because it’d never be ‘i’d never be me without the support of your loving arms’; it’s just so well thought through. Canon lovingly applied. Kit beautifully moved and hungry for a second part of the series, even though it doesn’t even need a second part and is perfect as a stand alone. Witty banter rating: 10/10

Hooked On You by @whohatessand Notes: Explicit, infidelity, side anidala (padmé is being cheated on)

Dirty bad wrong never felt so good though; Anakin is cheating on his wife with her campaign manager. Anakin is very not satisfied with being a trophy husband, and honestly it’s so valid of him. This is so well-written that Anakin’s frustration with his life, his wife, his duties all feels very real and understandable. Does that excuse the cheating and the spit-as-lube fucking at a donor ball? Nah, but they know it doesn’t. And it ends on a very hopeful obikin note, which is my favorite

The Final Frontier of Pleasure by @jedibongrip Notes: Explicit, bp!Anakin, virginity kink (ish?)

“Just the tip” made into a very hot 2k fic wherein anakin’s definitely not a virgin anymore, but obi-wan’s gonna go along with it if it makes him happy (and means that he gets to keep touching him, god bless); note to say that all of this author’s stuff is very good!

Stars To Fill My Dreams by hidden_humours Notes: Explicit, reverse master/padawan, dark Anakin

Anakin is teetering on going off the walls insane in this fic and I am so here for it. This is just amazing. I love a padawan obi-wan and I especially love this time-travel with a twist (which I won’t spoil!); the summary even says “yeah this anakin isn’t all there” and the author is right!!! 100%!! I love it. I want to poke this Anakin with a stick. I want to push him off his metaphorical cliff of sanity. I want to push Obi-Wan off a cliff just to see what this Anakin would do. What a fic. What a goddamn fic.

Obi-Two by @virahaus Notes: Explicit, Obi-Wan/Anakin/Obi-Wan

Guys, holy shit I am so excited for this WIP you have no idea. Everything about it is delicious so far. The Obi-Wan that gets zapped back in time just before ROTS/Order 66 is living to see twunk Anakin again and he is so soft yet so commanding about it. Ben!Obi-Wan literally kills me in this fic. If there’s never another chapter, I’m begging you to read this anyway, it’s that good.

Vast as the sea, constant as the tide by @moonlightatnoon Notes: Explicit, pirate!anakin, captain!Obi-Wan

So maybe Kit’s attention was captured and held by the sea-themed title…she’s a simple lady. But this fic is absolutely beautiful.  I love the intrigue, the history, the pining of it all. My attention, much like Obi-Wan, was gently captured and held hostage by pirate Anakin and the way he’s like ‘my obi-wan <3 mine <3’ while also being a whole ass pathetic lil mew mew of a pirate. He is so possessive and fearsome and clingy and needy I love this Anakin and how much he needs his Obi-Wan. I love the ending especially! Beautifully done.

Buns of Steel by @ragnarlothcat Notes: Explicit, humor, himbos the both of them 

Put this under Fics That Make Kit Want To Join A Gym. I love the humor here (Rag has such a legendary way with a great turn of phrase and pacing of jokes that just makes the fic fly by) and the ridiculousness of it all. Obi-Wan here is extremely lovably bitchy and I adore it. His dialogue is quite polite, but this is a fic where the narration really makes the characterization pop. Also the amount of lusting after his beautiful aerobics instructor that Obi-Wan does…and how UNFAIR he finds Anakin’s beauty. Just amazing. Cheering for Obi-Wan living his best life and getting the hot aerobics instructor in the end.

My Thoughts I Confess (Verge On Dirty) by @artemisthehuntress Notes: Explicit, horny, horny, horny Obi-Wan

This is, of course, the other fic filed under Fics That Make Kit Want To Join A Gym. I love Anakin in booty shorts. I love Obi-Wan, head empty and no thoughts because his dick is too goddamn hard to see straight. One should not be exercising under such conditions. The humor here is impeccable. Love all of Obi-Wan’s fantasies with the hot guy working out next to him. If you’re a fan of horny-grip Obi-Wan, this is the fic for you! If you’re not as into horny-grip Obi-Wan, I’d say this fic is still worth the read because it’s just written so well.

just like the days we’d burn by @travellingcircus Notes: Explicit, PTSD mentions, heavy

I was always going to rec one of travellingcircus’ fics of course. They are a fantastic writer and I love their fics - especially the long oneshots that consume my entire night when I see that one’s been posted and I get to delve into a new side of obikin I could never imagine. This fic is one of my favorites by them – and maybe one of my favorite modern aus all together. Anakin has a racing career until he has an accident. Then he goes back to his small town and decides to have Obi-Wan instead because first love (I love first love fics especially in modern aus)!! Also Obi-Wan has a motorbike. This is excellent news. He also has helmet hair. I love Anakin in this fic so much. He’s crazy. He’s wounded. He’s obsessed. He’s in love. He’s desperate. And Anakin makes Obi-Wan all these things too. Such a good modern au for these characters. They feel so close to their canon characters, it’s marvelous.

Where Every Mask Cracks by skyl_tales Notes: Explicit, a spin-off of one of their other fics, but can be standalone

Skyl_tales’ fics for me are the very definition of fandom classic. They were the first fics I read and I continue to reread them roughly maybe once every year at least. They’re just all very readable. The writing style is something I have always loved and envied – their fics are approachable and entertaining, no matter how much you know or don’t know about Star War at the time of your reading. Tbh I think this is the fic author who has influenced my writing the most! I love this fic in particular because I do have a soft spot for vaderwan. Old Ben being delightfully torn up over Vader and Vader being delightfully unhinged about his former master…..with a magical fix-it device that restores both of them to their younger, strongest selves (if only to make the fucking easier and the horny insatiable)

Gay Chicken by zimriya Notes: Explicit, enemies to lovers, light daddy kink

Where to begin with this fic!!! I guess I cannot stress enough how much I love humor in fics when done right and this is done so well. Like it is literally so funny and so normal. There is something so beautiful about putting these space monk superheroes into like. Just situations. This fic is about laundry. But also upstairs neighbors. But also lost loves??? I’m always a bit hesitant for fics with a lot of notes/messages, because I can find that hard to read, but this was very, very easy to read, both format-wise and flow of the story wise. I love them both being assholes to each other.  Love them slowly becoming friends through notes under the monikers “501” and “212”. LOVE the twist.

wildest dreams by kidhuzural Notes: Explicit, 5+1 fic

Basically: Baby Anakin wants to get married to Obi-Wan. Teenager padawan Anakin wants to marry Obi-Wan. Clone Wars Anakin wants to marry Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan wants to marry Clone Wars Anakin. I love love love fics that start out with baby padawan Anakin and have him grow up. It places so much emphasis on their master&padawan relationship and how important they were to each other before AOTC or TCW, which I think is the strongest basis for obikin. Also this Anakin is just so cute and Obi-Wan cares for his baby padawan so much!! All in all, this fic is just so sweet. Obsessed.

In Pursuit of Cold Water by @jswander Notes: Mature, Merman!Anakin

Can I have a fic rec list that doesn’t include this fic?? I love this fic. I think I reread it like twenty times while waiting for the last chapter, and it was worth it and gripping and incredible each time. I am fascinated by writers who can worldbuild, and Jo worldbuilds so well in this mermaid AU. I love the descriptions of their fins; the possessiveness, the hurt, the anger, the jadeness, and the naivete of Anakin somehow all existing in the same character and all being so justified. There’s some really heavy moments and also really silly moments (they dress Anakin up as an old lady to avoid detection at one point). I love the development of their relationship and especially the growth of their mental bond. Such a good translation  of their Force bond in canon (and such a clever work-around for a mermaid not speaking English!) Just an amazing fic. So good.

The Devil’s In The Details by @ragnarlothcat Notes: Explicit, demon Anakin, darker!Anakin (because of the demon bit)

Back at it again with my Rag-writing obsession! I’m loving this WIP and how evil and innocent Anakin is. Yeah, he’s a demon haunting Obi-Wan’s new house; yeah, he’s killed like. A ton of people. But he’s so pathetic. So very eager to please. So very attractive. As a reader, you’re like Obi-Wan’s friend, Quinlan, who discovers Obi-Wan sleeping with a literal demon, and you’re like ‘bestie, do you not know? That’s a literal demon?’ and obi-wan is like ‘he is quite polite and does so good on our walks around town’ and you’re like ‘you’re taking him on walks???’ but also you can’t help but root for demon Anakin and poor decision-maker Obi-Wan. Also, once again, I love Rag’s humor and timing of it. The narration Obi-Wan has is so colorful and so fucking funny, I snort all the time. He’s such a bitch. He’s amazing.

By Omission by @posthumousvigor Notes: Explicit, reverse master/padawan au, drunk sex

This writer is very quickly becoming one of my favorites. I love their prose and the way they write Obi-Wan—especially padawan!Obi-Wan with Master Anakin. One of my favorite dynamics for obikin aus, and this writer gives me so much good food. TBH one of my all-time favorite cliches/tropes is one of them getting dressed up out of their Jedi robes to be put in Situations, and I especially love this for Obi-Wan cause Anakin got a whole movie of dressing up for funsies, and this fic delivers. Master Skywalker comes back early from a mission to find his padawan slutting it up in the Lower Levels, and what is a man to do other than snap?? And he snaps so beautifully in this fic. I love it when they’re horny beyond reason for each other.

how to stay by answersinahauntedclub Notes: Explicit, professor/student relationship

I know logically that this fic probably will not update again, but it is so beautiful and I think about it all the time. It is like. The peak of college/university aus in this fandom. Bold statement, I know, but I love this fic and characterization so much that I am stating it. They’re both disasters. They can’t resist each other even if they really, really should. It’s an incredible read and I am fascinated by both this Obi-Wan and this Anakin. Cannot stress enough the lovable disasters that they are. In writing this, I took an hour break and reread it again.

we’re swimming with the sharks (until we drown) by @obiwaned Notes: Teen, fake/pretend relationship

Getting this update notification felt like such a sweet sweet win for me. I loved the premise as soon as I read it and it just keeps getting better. Fake marriage for any reason is always amazing. I also LOVE non-linear timelines and this writer does it so well because you as the reader don’t get lost and confused trying to keep the timeline straight. It’s delectable, it’s straightforward, it’s so easy to devour, and I am obsessed with this fic and even the possibility of more.

Self-Insert by ZenyZootSuit Notes: Teen, crack

God this is so funny in a very crack way. Short and funny and perfect. Darth Vader writes self-insert fanfiction about being with Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Darth Sidious finds out. Imperial secrets are leaked, but I’m sure those were important details he needed to include!! For context! Realism! Absolutely perfect; no notes.

Open Circle by Calyss Note: Explicit, Dark Obi-Wan, dom/sub (under)tones, seduction to the Dark side

This is also one of my annual rereads, and one of my absolute favorite Sith Obi-Wans in the fandom. I love how out of control this sith Obi-Wan is, how very obsessed with just Anakin he is. Sith Obi-Wan really said “he’s mine” and he’s gonna destroy Anakin’s marriage and the whole galaxy to prove it. And also Anakin is not going to say no or resist much at all because that’s his master and he loves him and has weird feelings for him he has not really examined. This is also such an id fic of mine. But no regrets putting it on the list. When I saw it updated in October 2022, I literally cleaned my room and improved my life before I sat down to read it.

How to Save a Galactic Republic Without Really Trying by @sharpest-tongue Notes: Mature, Post Kenobi show

So many amazing fics came out of the Kenobi show but this absolutely has to be one of my favorites. There’s humor, there’s touching moments, there’s Star Wars lingo I didn’t know but that made the whole thing feel very much in-universe (and that I have now incorporated into my Star Wars Wikipedia slash Dictionary for later use, even if it’s all made up). I love a time travel fic, has to be said, and this one delivers perfectly. The Jedi as family in this fic really made me emotional. Extra special shout out to Obi-Wan, raising his padawan again in a do-over, and thinking, ‘i was not this bad as a teenager wtf?? Yeah ok whatever i MAY have fought in TWO WARS at that age but still!!!’ love him. Love his obvious blind spots for anakin and also for himself. Such a good fic!!!

broken bones, thunder drums by @maragny Notes: Teen, hurt/comfort

There is so much to love about this fic and I love it all. Clone War fics are like my bread and butter in this fandom. I love obikin fics that take place in the middle of battle where the reader is confronted with the reality of either Anakin or Obi-Wan fighting – and this fic really starts by throwing you into the action in such a visceral, effective way that I was stressed! I was gripped! It makes Anakin hiding his injury feel not only understandable but also like the only option. Good think Obi-Wan is there to save the day and help Anakin through his pain because he is overprotective and in love with him. Also the first chapter is told from Rex’s point of view, which just. One of my favorite outsider POVs for obikin is Rex.

no news is good news by @rhymenoceros Notes: Mature, crack, relationship reveal, breaking news/news cycle format

This fic is so funny! The tone is perfect for what the writer sets out to do — that is, make the reader feel like they’re caught up in a social media news cycle! There’s talk shows, there’s paparazzi, there’s space reddit, there’s leaked Jedi text conversations….the Jedi screen names are hilarious and easy to tell who is who while still staying true to the joke. Cannot recommend this fic enough. Cute, funny, horny, and with that sweet sweet Palpatine downfall that the best cracky fics always have.

Falling Deep Into You by @dark--whisperings Notes: Explicit, dom/sub tones, so much pining

Any fic that has the tag “Obi-Wan Kenobi is a freak in bed” has my attention and my interest. This writer describes Anakin subbing and Obi-Wan domming so very beautifully that it’s almost a manifesto in 8k. Lots of good sex here, but I really love the opening scene and the push and pull the writer’s given the characters. They want each other so much—Obi-Wan wants so much, but alas! Religious guilt on par with catholicism! Of course the nasty freaky sex fiend in Obi-Wan wins out over the Jedi Master, but I really enjoyed the guilt and the way he gives in and goes to find Anakin because of course he does. And then the ending! A resetting of the chess board so that the game can start over tomorrow. A great fic all in all!

you took my love so tenderly by @billboguspreston & @acrylicsalts-inspo Notes: Explicit, prince/guard dynamic, exhibitionism

I started reading this fic when it was first posted, and I followed it attentively and with baited breath. I love the reverse age dynamic (I know, it’s not for everyone, but I lovelovelove it), and I love that this Obi-Wan is such a spitfire. He knows what he wants and that’s for his silent, restrained, older, handsome bodyguard to snap and fuck him and he WILL brat his way into getting what he wants as is his right. Anakin being both incredibly horny (Anakin horny-gripping the pommel of his sword because Obi-Wan has decided to get off right in front of him to see if he can tempt him into fucking him) is amazing. Obi-Wan being both the aggressor and also the inexperienced one is chef’s fucking kiss and a dynamic I do not see often enough. So worth the read. And there may be more sequels??? Be still my beating heart!

I Wanna Be Owned by @kyberkenobi Notes: Explicit, 5+1 things, light BDSM

Speaking of horny grip lol, I had to think for a bit about which fic from this writer to choose because all of them are very good and very very smutty with all sorts of kinks and dynamics. The writer you go to for mean dom Obi-Wan and if you’re feeling up for discovering a kink you weren’t sure you were into before. There’s plenty of amazing fics on her ao3 (I was also immediately obsessed with the recent alpha/alpha one), but this fic is one of my favorites. I love the style of a 5+1 for a fic, and I am obsessed with casual slut (affectionate) Obi-Wan and Anakin’s blinders of his master slowly being pulled away until he HAS to confront the reason Obi-Wan can untie and hogtie a criminal they caught so damn quickly. It’s indecent. It’s amazing. 

Our Man From Tatooine by kazmir Notes: Explicit, a/b/o dynamics, intersex omegas

This story is such a good, quick, enthralling read. I really can’t say much without spoiling it, but it’s worth the read. Dark Obikin, twists and turns, roleplaying, horny mates being unable to resist the other’s draw….so good….One of those fics I paused to reread while reccing it lol

Acts of Contrition by @marycontraire Notes: A series, ranging from Gen - Explicit

Cheating a little bit to rec you all a series instead because I just reread this fic series and fell in love with it all over again. Literally a fandom classic for me. The world building is amazing, the realism and research really pays off because it creates such a rich world for people to dive into. The Tatooine culture is so rich and interesting, and I love this Anakin especially. It’s a very realistic take on if Anakin had been expelled from the Order for the Tusken massacre. This Anakin is darker and clingier and Obi-Wan is trying to keep himself level and sane and something Anakin can cling to while still being a Jedi in all but name. Every installment of this series is gold and worth reading as quickly as possible just to have this in your mind faster. Also worth a slow read to savor it because unfortunately, you can only read a fic series like this for the first time once.

You can call me baby (you can call me love) by @lilredghost Notes: Explicit, 5 + 1

This fic is so sweet that I honestly forgot it was explicit - even though, yes, it opens with a sex scene lmao! But I love this writer’s explicit fics so much (their ao3 is worth a browse) that I am not disappointed in it being explicit, no sir. Obi-Wan gets upset when Anakin calls him an old man repeatedly and I’ve read this fic so much that when I see repeated use of “old man” in other fics I’m like “! no! His feelings!!!” this fic ALSO has anakin calling obi-wan baby <3  so good so sweet so perfect.

take my hand through the flames by @atornpage Notes: Explicit, vaderwan, seduction to the Dark Side

Oh this may just be the WIP I am most excited to see updated! It’s such a clever and unique concept that I’m on the edge of my seat to see where the writer takes the story next. There are not enough stories where a character falls into a coma and time passes around them, and this is so perfect. I adore fics where baby Anakin is clingy and obsessed with Obi-Wan and everyone around them is like ‘this is not REALLY the Jedi way, guys’, and this fic has SO much of that. I can’t wait to see all the promises of the tags come to fruition and am massively enjoying the ride to get there!

Heal Me, My Darling by @wasureneba Notes: Explicit, sick fic, idiots in love

Who doesn’t love a sick fic?? The tender healing…the care…the rotten work…not to me, not if it’s you, etc etc…this fic is such a good sick fic too, I was here for the entire thing! Anakin is in top whiny form and Obi-Wan is cuddling him left and right! I also love Anakin having a praise kink in this fic – it made me soft and so receptive to the idea again when I was getting tired of seeing it as a default in a ton of fics. But this fic said “Obi-Wan tells Anakin he’s doing good while touching his ass to administer a very important for plot reasons shot and Anakin bursts into flames” and I said “absolutely and understandable, please tell me what happens next.” This is like a perfect sick fic for me. The right balance of sweet and horny. Caring Obi-Wan and whiny because he’s bored! Anakin. God-tier combination.

Νόστος by NFx Notes: Explicit, stockholm syndrome typical of hades & persephone aus

I am always here for a good Hades&Persephone AU and I feel like this is a great one! I especially love AUs that carefully place Star Wars GFFA characters into an established world (like Greek mythology in this case), and take care to match up the side characters of the GFFA with the AU characters they’re being transposed on. I like the pace and narration of this one too, the way the tone feels both readable and still old — the dialogue and narration don’t read like a BBC documentary set in Ancient Greece where everyone just sort of speaks like they’re in a Shakespeare play for some reason, but it’s still sorta oldish/stiffer dialogue that really keeps you in the fic universe without alienating readers. Also, horny. But dark horny. Love a darker Anakin. 

Hunting the Homeward Light by GreenQueenofClubs Notes: Teen

One of my all-time favorites, I think, and if you haven't read it or haven't reread it recently, you need to! There's so much tension build up and detail put in with such an amazing pay off that I could literally read this fic every month and probably find something new to enjoy all over again. I don't even have strong opinions about mace training anakin, but this fic convinced me it could work and work really well. also poor poor obi-wan </3 his emotional support padawan goes missing </3 but then is found :) as a twunk :)

[genericpuff]

So Webtoons is getting sued by a bunch of law firms in class action lawsuit. Saw it on reddit. Apparently they lied to shareholders about revenue which is like one of the worst things I could imagine doing to your shareholders. Then their stock dropped again. Wow....wonder how this is gonna effect readers going forward or how they're gonna be more exploitative in the future. Not saying the down of Webtoons has begun but I wonder if it's gonna be the start of it.

Yep, I've been following this since the initial investigations began.

All that said, we likely won't see anything of this for a while, if anything even comes of it. The reality is that Webtoons... really didn't actually lie about being bad at making money. It's literally outlined in their IPO documentation:

So these lawsuits, at least in my opinion (*I AM NOT A LAWYER NOR AM I ANYONE WHO HAS ANY EXPERIENCE PLACING WALL STREET BETS, TAKE WHAT I HAVE TO SAY WITH MOUNTAINS OF SALT) is less about Webtoons 'lying' to shareholders and more so about them kicking the debt down the road which these lawyers want to try and hold them accountable for. It's not uncommon for startups to seek out private and/or public funding to help them stay out of bankruptcy, but such practice is incredibly shitty because if a company was already near the point of bankruptcy to begin with, what exactly is going to change to ensure that they actually make that money back with an additional net gain for those investors?

So in that sense, either something will come of this, or it won't, nothing's really a guarantee as of now. It's just as common for startups seeking public investments to get sued within their first 1-2 years because a company not returning on their initial investments within 3-6 months is a prime cut for lawyers to drool over. Despite their attempts to be honest about their earnings, the vast majority of Wall Street investors are paranoid little fuckers who invest in whatever's new and exciting with the hopes that it'll turn them a profit quickly and without headache. Unfortunately, Webtoons isn't a company that's known for having huge profit margins, which these investors would have realized if they knew anything about this industry or at the very least, bothered to read the fine print that Webtoons was obligated to lay out for them in their documentation. At best the majority of them saw Webtoons' offering that covered buzzwords like "content generation" and "AI" and went "yes please, I love money!" without realizing that webtoons, as a medium, have some of the highest production expenses to lowest-paying demographics out there and therefore companies like Webtoons aren't going to be a short-term gratification. It's more like waiting it out for the "next big thing" that will make that stock valuable again, a massive gamble that isn't guaranteed to payoff. And that's just the game of Wall Street in general.

That said, it's because of how difficult it is to directly monetize digital comics that Webtoons often has to rely on selling merchandise and IP rights in the hopes they'll land a whale - but even their pre-existing whales like Lore Olympus and Let's Play have either nothing to show for themselves, or have left the platform entirely. Of course, they'll vaguely claim that two of Netflix's highest-performing projects came from their platform, but any peek at an aggregated Top 10 list will prove that that is simply not true, and at best, they're referring to True Beauty's live action adaption, which is simply not even close to breaching that list of all-time top-performers (except probably in Korea but this is Goldman Sachs and their American investors they're trying to convince), All of Us are Dead (see above, same situation as True Beauty), and Heartstopper which is... not even an Originals series. Of course, that didn't stop Webtoons and Tapas from boasting about Heartstopper's Netflix adaption and its success on the platform, but literally none of its success is exclusively owed to either of those platforms, Alice Oseman flies solo and if anything, Heartstopper never would have gotten to the point it's at if it were tied down to a Webtoon Originals contract.

So in a sense, until anything comes of these lawsuits, they're more so just lawyers jumping on their own investment opportunity - the opportunity to get settlements from Webtoons for both their clients and themselves by extension. At best what they feasibly have against Webtoons is the company getting way too high on their own supply without anything to feasibly show in terms of profit for their IP's. Considering how many IP's they sold to television and film production studios back in 2019-2022 when they were at their peak over the lockdowns - a peak that is long in the rearview mirror - they are incredibly behind in actually paying off those promises. Even in a recent meeting they held just the other day with Goldman Sachs, they're quoted as saying: "When Rachel Smythe was a graphic designer in New Zealand, 4 or 5 years ago, and she had a story to tell, we enabled her to not just tell it in one part of the world, but globally. She became a NYT Bestselling author, she is rumored to be releasing soon as a major animated release."

When even the company that hosts Lore Olympus as its prize pig can only say that its long-anticipated TV production that both Rachel and Webtoons have been assuring people on repeat that the show is "still happening" and that what they've seen so far "looks amazing" is simply 'rumored to be releasing soon'... I don't even have the words to describe how embarrassing that is for them. Never mind the fact that Lore Olympus has been over for months and both it and its creator, Rachel, have been falling into the pits of irrelevancy. They don't have any other home-runners to bet on, they're just continuing to bank on Rachel as their own example of someone who "got big" even though it was years ago and that fame is now shrinking with the passage of time, you can even see the performance of the series dipping in its own front-end metrics over time. They are trying so hard to convince people that they're worth investing in when the one thing that actually DID have that kind of allure has now come and gone.

Never mind the fact that again, most Wall Street investors probably don't even participate in webtoon culture so the name "Rachel Smythe" isn't some golden ticket to fortune. Lore Olympus might get a bit more of a reaction, but it's going to be a lot more mixed due to how divisive the series became in the end, and general audiences who are new to Webtoons as a public company (and the medium as a whole) are still not so likely to know what the fuck that means or why it's significant. The best time to pull the "we have Rachel Smythe!" card in the public investing pool was, like many other things Webtoons has fallen behind in, years ago. Now it's clear Webtoons thinks that Rachel is their own personal J.K. Rowling, but they forgot the part where Rachel is creating for an incredibly niche and historically unprofitable medium that is nowhere near as big as what Harry Potter was back in its prime, and - personally speaking - that Rowling and Rachel are both, well... terrible at what they do.

Webtoons also has the added burden of not being a startup company. They're not some grassroots Silicon Valley tech startup run by a bunch of friends "with a dream", they're an extension of an industry that thrives overseas but barely has any infrastructure to support it here. They've been bankrolled for years by an overseeing tech company - Naver - but have consistently failed to get out of the red and so of course, now they're turning to public investments to help them out and subsequently, are passing that debt off to the next highest bidder, which is Wall Street. They had nearly a decade to figure their shit out here in the West and while they had their opportunities to thrive, those opportunities have come and gone, a lot of doors have closed and now this all feels like their own attempts to rip those doors back open again.

There is a LOT to insinuate already that Webtoons - a Korean-hosted platform - wasn't ready to enter the Western market and this fumbling of their public stock image is yet another great example of that. Even outside of Webtoons, other Korean-run platforms like Tapas have relied on private investments to keep them afloat (and still do, Tapas is still operating privately) and have routinely struggled to get a real foothold in the greater Western industry despite how much they hyped themselves up as the "next big thing". They're all playing the same game over and over again expecting better scores even though the playing fields are entirely different than what they've come to expect in Korea, where much of the entertainment industry is built around webtoons, much like how our entertainment industry in the West is built around comic giants like Marvel and DC (and even those giants are faltering as we've been seeing over the past several years).

Anyways. I don't know if this lawsuit is gonna go anywhere, there's a lot to the legal process that could lead to a variety of different outcomes, but at the very least, their plummeting stock value and the lawyers circling them from above is yet another notch on their belt of fuck-ups over the past few years. I know it's easy to say this in hindsight and I'm not the kind of guy to say "I told you so", but considering I've been following along with the bullshit of these major platforms for years and knew as soon as Webtoons was rumored to be going forward with an IPO that it would lead to disaster, I'm pretty confident in saying, "No really, I told you so." And I don't entirely blame the investors for that (except for the ones that clearly didn't read the fine print) - I also blame Webtoons for that, because they are a chronically unprofitable company run by a bunch of clowns who manufactured their own demise by getting in WAY over their heads and clearly don't even have a concept of a plan let alone an actionable one.

And that sucks, because the people who stand to get hurt the most are the ones who were made those empty promises years ago, long before the platform entered Wall Street - and that's the creators who were promised that their livelihoods would be secured and their work would be protected.

I will forever bully and make fun of Webtoons for everything they've done in and to this industry. I hope at the very least those investors learned an expensive lesson, and that the damage these lawsuits have already caused to Webtoons' public image - regardless of whether or not these lawsuits win - empowers others who have been screwed over by them to speak up and make their moves. They are not a monolith. They are a brittle business operating from the trunk of a clown car on their way to becoming a penny-stocks sham.

Fuck Webtoons <3

[chloesolace]

Can i ask for dark! aemond x reader?

she is a lowborn friend of his, she help him on the sreets when aegon took him to the brothel and he ran away, he sees her as a friend and is always visiting her and he starts to fall for her in his own way but his actions started to scare her, he next goal is move her to the palace with him but one day she tells him that she is going to marry and he lose his mind.

Sorry if it's confused, english is not my language

A Prince's Weakness - Aemond Targaryen x Reader

summary: Aemond and you have been friends for years after you had met when he ran from the pleasure house his brother brought him to. You are of low birth, a baker's daughter, yet your growing mutual attraction is hard to ignore. The darkness that sits deep within him begins to scare you, but not even the knowledge of what he is capable of could have prepared you for what he does to the man your family chose for you to marry. This man is not what he seems to be, and Aemond would burn the world before he let anything happen to you.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x lowborn!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: dark!Aemond, Aemond kills for you, possessiveness

a/n: Hope you like what I came up with! This is my first time in months writing a request, it's good to be back <3 I tagged the people who wanted to be put on my Aemond taglist below, before I went on hiatus. If you want to be added to or removed from the list, please comment below.

Taglist: @amethystwonders11 @khaleesihavilliard @nura300 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @aestmilky​ @rainazinha​ @cullenswife​ @flyingmushroomss @titti-maja @multifndom @srevan @poisonous-widow @yummycastiel

Masterlist - Discord Server - Request Info - Taylor Swift Series

The waves were harsh today, traveling on the surface of the water until they collided with the hard stone shore of King’s Landing. Perched on top, you dangled your legs from the edge, watching as the water tried to reach your feet with every new wave that hit the stone, yet it never made contact.

You had wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, though you barely needed it. The harsh winter days have long passed, and warmth was returning to the gentle breeze that blew your hair out of your face. 

Seagulls screeched above your head, flying in circles before they reached the water surface to clean their wings with their beaks. You watched them silently, throwing stones into the water, though not near enough for them to get scared.

“There you are,” a voice said, and you turned to find Aemond smiling down at you. A hood hid his longer silver hair, and his single uncovered eye glistened as he locked it with yours. “I was worried you would not show.”

“Have I ever disappointed you?” You smiled, pushing yourself up as you wiped your dusty hands on the skirt of your dress. Not that it mattered much since it was already covered in flour stains from having worked at your family's bakery earlier that day.

Aemond smiled, raising a hand to touch your cheek gently as he shook his head.

“Not once,” he admitted, and you could feel the color rising to your cheeks. Clearing your throat, you averted your gaze and walked towards the stone stairs to your left.

“We should get going, then. The performance will start soon.” You had suggested going to the theater today since they were performing your favorite play, and he had agreed. In all fairness, you would have most likely forced him to go when he admitted that he had never seen it before. A crime, if he asked you.

“I was hoping we could stay here for a while,” Aemond said, but you did not reply. You stopped in your tracks, turning your head to look at him from the corner of your eyes. You did not want to admit it, but being alone with him was a nerve-wracking event, a mixture of wanting to run to him and being scared to do so at the same time.

When you didn't say anything, he took a step forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. “(y/n).”

You turned to face him fully. The expression on his face was stern, yet the hand on your shoulder was almost soft to the touch.

“Are you avoiding me? Is it because of your cousin?”

You crossed your arms in front of your chest, jaw tightening. His gaze remained fixed on you, even when you dropped yours.

“You had him jailed and threatened him in front of my eyes.” Tears blurred your vision, and you brought some distance between you, trying to blink the blurriness away. 

“Did he not deserve it?” Aemond asked calmly, lowering his arm again. “He laid a hand on you.” His tone was angry, and you flinched. You wished you had had a choice. You wished you could thank him for jailing your cousin; the Gods knew you wanted to. But he was the only male heir of your family, as your parents had never had a boy themselves. The future of the shop was at risk. Justice was a luxury in a world as such, and there were very few things people like you could afford.

“He is my cousin, Aemond. You are a Targaryen. You should know the meaning of blood.” The words burned your tongue even as you said them, but you needed him to understand what he had essentially done to your family.

“He was a vermin,” the prince hissed, turning away for a moment to calm himself. He usually did not let this side of him show in front of you, but you knew he had it in him. That alone was enough. “How much is blood worth when it flows through unworthy veins?”

You met his eye again, seeing his own pain reflected in it. He had told you of his issues with his brother. Gods, you had seen it yourself. After all, it was you he had run into after escaping from the pleasure house his brother had brought him to when you had been younger. It was years ago, yet it felt closer than ever now.

You remembered the fear in his eyes and the shock marking his face. You had asked him what was wrong and who he was, too young to immediately recognize the weight his silver hair carried. Perhaps it was that which had determined your friendship in the following years.

Up until when you saw the darkness in him first. How the fear in his eyes was replaced with something mischievous and cruel whenever you passed the fisherman's shop as his gaze locked on the cleaver while it cut through the fish’s necks, dripping with blood.

It always sent shivers down your spine, and you worried that one day he would lose interest in mere fish.

“Aemond,” you said calmly, hand pressed against your stomach as you suddenly felt sick. “I wished to only tell you this after the theatre, but I believe it shouldn't wait. We cannot continue our meetings.” Your voice shook, but to your surprise, there were no tears in your eyes.

His gaze hardened, and you saw the muscles in his jaw tense. Though there was no aggression in his eye, not even protest.

“I have come with news too, (y/n). My sister requires a new lady's maid. The pay is way better than what your family's shop could ever offer you. And most of all,” he paused, taking a step towards you with his gaze fixed on you. You averted your own. “We could be closer. We'd still have to meet secretly but in the comfort of the palace’s walls.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief as you looked back at him, brows furrowed. “What comfort is there in knowing half of the palace would have my head if they knew-" Your voice broke. You couldn't bear to say it out loud. To even suggest that someone of your birth could capture his attention. The truth was there, readable for all who witnessed it, yet the only observers were the clashing waves, and only death was more certain than the silence of the sea.

“Aemond, I am engaged to be married,” you finally said, taking a step backward. You could no longer look at him; too big was the shame you had no explanation for why you were even feeling it.

The frigidity in his eye returned, and for a moment, you could not have told the difference between the sapphire hidden underneath his eye patch and his real iris.

“To whom?” he asked in a voice so cold, it rivaled the gemstone in his socket.

“I don't see how it is of interest to you.”

“To whom,” he repeated, not even allowing you to fully finish your sentence. You took a deep breath.

“Micah Roth. He is a good man, Aemond. And this marriage could offer me a good life. More than-" Your voice broke again, and you pressed your lips together as he came so close you could feel his breath on your cheeks. His voice dropped to a whisper when he looked down at you.

“More than what?” he asked in a way that indicated he knew the answer. His hands were raised slightly as if he wanted to touch you but couldn't risk it. As if you were slipping through his fingers like sand.

“More than being a prince’s whore.” 

He inhaled sharply, lips pursed as he studied you for a while, longer than you felt comfortable. Then, without warning, he brushed past you and left you standing at the rocky shore while the wind around you dried your tears. 

—

Days had passed since your last meeting with the prince, and he had not left your mind. Even as you baked bread with your father, you made mistakes you had long since learned to avoid. When your father asked what was wrong, you simply said the engagement was on your mind, and in a way, it was not even a lie.

You had never told your family about your friendship with the prince, and when you realized he had started to fall for you, and you for him, you knew it was something they would never find out. It was also for their protection, after all. The less they knew about your entanglement with the royal family, the better.

“Prince Aegon is celebrating his nameday today, (y/n),” said your father as he placed a tray of fresh pastries on the table in front of you. The baker's shop was empty at this time of day since it was still very early, so he felt comfortable speaking freely without having to worry about anyone eavesdropping. “I want you to deliver these pastries. They have been commissioned by Her Majesty The Queen.”

You stopped kneading the dough before you as you looked up at your father, perplexed.

“Me? To the palace?” you asked, wondering if you had heard correctly. To your dismay, your father nodded.

“This is a great honour. If the Queen and her son like our goods, it would mean a lot for your mother and me.”

You nodded slowly, staring at the tray in front of you. The pastries were fresh, and not even the cloth your father had placed over them could stop the steam from rising.

“Okay,” you replied silently, clearing your throat as you wiped the flour from your hands and grabbed the tray. The palace wall was not far from your family's shop; you would not even have to take a carriage.

Your father smiled at you, ruffling your hair. “Straight to the palace and back, (y/n), alright? Festivities always draw criminals to our city like moths to the flame.”

You assured your father you would be back soon and left the shop with the pastries in hand. They smelled sweet, and you already envied the royal taster who would have a bite of each one of them. Of course, it would have been easier to make a palace cook bake them, which was precisely why this situation made you suspicious.

When you reached the palace gate, a guard stopped you, inspecting the tray and listening as you explained that you were expected inside. It seemed to align with what he had been told, so he allowed you to step through.

The palace grounds were filled with servants hurrying across it, stress painted all over their faces. The eldest son’s nameday was a big event, of course, but you had never known just how big. It wasn't like you had ever been exposed to a festivity like this before anyway.

Balancing the tray, you walked through the courtyard, careful not to bump into anyone, which proved to be quite a challenge.

A kitchen boy stepped out of a door to your right and raised his hand towards you, barely visible in the sea of heads around you.

“Here!” he called out to you, and you smiled at him as you reached him, noticing his cheeks covered in flour.

“You're Miss (y/l/n), correct? With the pastries?”

“Yes, that's right,” you replied, ducking your head as the boy led you inside the kitchen; the door was quite low. Inside, a few cooks were preparing food and shouting at their helpers, but the boy paid no attention to them. He was just a boy, you were sure. His features were soft, and his eyes were young.

“Just put them over there, thank you.”

You looked at the table he pointed to and nodded slightly before placing the tray down on it. “Would that be all?” you asked, clasping your hands in front of your abdomen as you looked at the boy.

“No, actually. The prince wants to see you.” You blinked at him. “Prince Aemond,” he clarified.

“Oh,” you said, biting the inner cheek as you nodded again, this time more reluctantly. Of course, he did. “Thank you,” you said, not bothering to ask where he would meet you, as you were well aware of his favorite spot in the palace. He had mentioned it to you many times.

It was a secluded little balcony in the east wing, which barely anyone went to despite it being open even to servants. You tried to remember exactly how he described the way to it, recognizing the statues and pillars you walked by. It was your first time here, so it took you a while to find it, but you blended in well with the servants and the tumultuous hours before the celebration.

When you opened the door to the balcony, you indeed saw Aemond standing there, looking out onto the sea with his back turned towards you. The air had gotten colder now, and the sky was slowly darkening. You wrapped your arms around your body as you approached him, letting the door fall shut behind you.

“Aemond?” you asked carefully, keeping your distance. He tensed when he heard your voice, turning his head slightly to the side.

“You came,” he stated, not able to mask the surprise in his voice.

“I always have,” you said as you joined him at the railing, wrapping your hands around the cold stone. You followed his gaze to the sea, where the waves got larger by the second. There were almost no houses beneath you in this part of King’s Landing; only fields and barns. The dragon pit must have been close too. “Since the very first day after I saw you run from your brother.”

His own grip around the railing tightened and his knuckles turned white. Only when you looked up at him did he do the same, your eyes pleading. You did not know why he had asked you here, and you knew that you shouldn’t have come, but over the years your own heart had come to yearn for him. Perhaps a life in the palace with him would not be so bad after all? You could never marry, but you knew he’d settle it so your parents would be taken care of. You shook your head. No, these thoughts were reckless and dangerous, and so was he. 

“It is one of the reasons why I have come to care about you so dearly, (y/n).” He inched closer, placing himself just behind you as he took hold of the railing again, trapping you between his arms. You could feel his chest in your back, but you dared not turn around to look at him. His breath on the nape of your neck caused the fine hairs there to stand on end, and your breathing shallow. You smelled the mixture of dragon and wood; a scent unique to him which you sometimes smelled on yourself after your meetups. 

“I have found your Micah Roth, you know,” he whispered in your ear, his eyes fixed on the horizon in front of you. “Did you know that he had been married three times already?” 

You swallowed at the realization before you shook your head. It wouldn’t be unusual, Micah was older than you after all, but you believed it was information he should have shared with your family and you. You held on tighter to the balcony, Aemond’s arms so close they almost wrapped around you. 

“All of his former wives have new names now,” he continued, his voice shaking with contained anger. “And all of them ended up in the very pleasure house you met me in front of all those years ago.”

You gasped for air, not wanting to believe what you were hearing, but if it came from Aemond’s lips you knew it must have been true. He had done many things that froze the blood in your veins, but never once had he lied to you. And truth be told, you had wondered how a lowly-born man such as Micah was able to afford all the beautiful things he had gifted your family, or the horses he had taken you out for a ride with. Your parents believed he had been Gods sent because of it. 

When the first tear threatened to fall, Aemond gently touched your cheek, catching it with his fingers. “Don’t worry, (y/n),” he whispered, his gaze rising with expectation. “He will pay for his crimes.” 

As if on cue, his dragon, Vhagar, rose from the ground and past the balcony, nearly brushing her scales against your fingers. You had not noticed her before, and so you jumped back against Aemond, who wrapped one arm around you, holding you tightly. 

A man’s screams could be heard, swallowed by the wind the further away Vhagar flew; it was Micah, bound to Vhagar’s foot and dangling from the dragon’s monstrous body several hundred meters up in the air. Blood must have been rushing to his head, and when you looked closer, before Vhagar was too far away, you saw evidence of torture on his skin; cuts and bruises, and open wounds. 

The dragon kept looking at her master, flying around in circles, yet before the man could pass out, Aemond screamed, “Dracarys!” 

Vhagar raised her foot and spit a cloud of fire onto the man bound to it, whose screams would surely never leave your mind. He was burning alive while the dragon did not move from a fixed spot in the air, using only her wings to fly in place. 

With wide eyes, you looked at the burning figure until it stopped struggling and hung lifelessly from the dragon. Vhagar did not wait for any command as she cut the rope with her other clawed foot and caught the burned corpse in her mouth, swallowing Micah whole. 

You stared, eyes wide as the dragon was dismissed by her master. Aemond still held you, his expression one of hate as you looked at him, almost not daring to, but when he met your eyes, his gaze softened. 

“I will destroy everyone who ever seeks to harm you. That is a promise, (y/n).”

[dreamofjoys]

𝟯𝗞 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧 ; 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗙𝗔𝗘'𝗦 𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗦𝗜𝗡𝗚

Summary: Thrown into a world full of magic, you find yourself surrounded by a bunch of high school boys who knows nothing but to bring trouble and chaos. While you struggle to cope with learning about a brand new world where magic is of essence, something that you lack, you started questioning why was it you who fell into twisted wonderland. Was someone behind this? Was it all just a coincidence that you fell into this world? And most importantly, why you? To find these answers to your questions, you were constantly thrown into near death experiences that did little to nothing to aid in your investigations. Anger, sadness and doubts starts to manifest as you wonder if you will ever be able to find a way back home. However, new friendships were forged, and love has started to blossom inside you like spring. In the end, it was all love that has guided you to where you are now.

— pairing: Malleus draconia x fem reader (soulmate au)

— content info: sfw, might have some sensitive topics here and there but will indicate at the top of the post, diasomnia chapter spoilers

— a/n: To celebrate reaching 3000 followers, I have decided to write a series for my one and only husband, Malleus! Recent chapter updates about Diasomnia has been pretty wholesome and heart breaking. Therefore, I wanted to write something nice for our big boy. Most of my followers are from twisted wonderland, so I hope that this fic reaches out to them. It's been a long time (3 years to be exact) since I have dedicated myself to write a series for a character. It's going to be a long and painful journey for me but I really hope to complete this (despite my busy schedule). To all the Malleus's fans out there who are searching for any crumbs, I hope this is enough for you <3

— update schedule: I aim to update once a week, or maybe twice if I am lucky enough. This series will probably take a long time to complete, and I am forcing myself to write ahead of the schedule cause it's very lengthy. I seek everyone's understanding to not rush me to complete / upload them asap.

— first full chapter will be uploaded on 15 july 2023

— tag list will be opened for this! please comment to indicate your interest

Consolidation of All chapters (will update list as time goes by)

— Prologue ; A fragment of my memory

— Chapter 1 ; Walking upon a dream

— Chapter 2 ; Intruders

— Chapter 3 ;

If your user is tagged here, means you are in the taglist

— @randomfangirl2718 , @mell7 , @windalchemist001 , @mxaaii , @sailorenthusiast , @masquerade-of-misery , @rayroseu , @lychiikuma , @bannuu , @worldussysblog , @jnksgrl , @rincommittedarsin , @nooneknows8976 , @qmabailor

[sailor-aviator]

Fool's Fare: Chapter Three

Fool's Fare: Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Triggers: Language, Excessive alcohol consumption, Talks of the supernatural. Think that's it.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Here is Chapter Three! I hope you all enjoy! I'm hoping to start working out the timeline for the DPU again so I can post an update for Outrun the Devil here soon, but I might update Meet Me at the Sea again before I do. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! 18+ ONLY!! You can also find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I post my updates as well!

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

The town of Port Royal was crowded with men of different ilk the likes of which you had never seen. The Hangman had docked in the early hours of the morning, and once you had finished helping Bob prepare and serve breakfast, you had dragged the young man down the gangway and onto the street, heart hammering away with excitement.

“We can’t be gone too long,” Bob said, grinning at your clear excitement. “We have to be back in time to prepare supper.”

“What’s the point of traveling if we can’t even see the sights?” you scowled, pushing your way through the heavy throng of people around you. A few men gave you dirty looks as you did, but you paid them no mind. Men were rarely able to back up their bark with enough bite, in your experience, but you pressed onward without so much as a second glance at them.

“Pete, we are seeing the sights,” Bob chuckled behind you.

You turned to fix him with a scowl. “We’re seeing, but we aren’t appreciating. How can we when we only have a few hours?”

“I think you’re overestimating how much there is for us to do around here,” he laughed. You paid him no mind as you neared the market of the old pirate hub. Men bargained with each other at several of the different stalls, and groups of women were scattered along the streets looking for paying customers to share their bed for the evening.

“Ahoy, handsome,” a pretty redhead grinned at you as she leaned over the railing of the brothel. “You look like you’ve hardly reached manhood, and I don’t suppose you have much experience under your belt. Can I interest you in some lessons?”

“I, uh,” you stammered, blinking up at her nervously. “No, thank you, miss.”

“Shame,” she smirked, eyes looking behind you. “And what about you, sailor?”

You turned to see Bob looking as red as a tomato as he glanced nervously at you. “No, I’m fine.”

“Well, I’ll be here if either of you change your mind,” she grinned, tossing her long curls back to show off her ample cleavage. “Just ask for Lucy when you come back.”

“We’ll keep that in mind,” you blushed, hurrying to move forward with Bob hot on your tail. The two of you continued on a little farther until a glint of light caught your eye. You walked slowly up to the stall, several men grousing at you as you crossed right in front of their paths, but you paid them no mind. Your eyes were locked on a beautiful necklace that lay on top of a small wooden chest at one of the stalls. The golden chain held a six-pointed star, tiny diamonds encircling a burning opal. You had never seen something so beautiful before.

“I see you’ve found the soul of Polaris.”

You jumped, looking up to see an older man with a salt and pepper beard staring down at you. His accent was foreign, and if you had to guess, you’d say the man was from somewhere in Scotland.

“Is that what this is?” you asked him, looking back down at the jewel.

“Aye,” he continued, folding his arms. “They say a sea witch fell madly in love with a sailor long ago. When the two finally met face to face, the witch proclaimed her love for the man, but what she didn’t know is that the man was disgusted by her form. You see, the sea witch was also a mermaid, a siren of the sea. For while the witch was fair of face, the sailor knew what monster lay beneath the surface. So, he told her that he would only accept her love if she offered him something valuable.”

“And that was the gem?” you asked him, eyes wide. The old man chuckled with a shake of his head.

“No, lad. Wasn’t the gem,” he explained. “Was what the gem holds. There’s nothing more important to a sailor than the north star herself. Every man worth his salt knows that much. No, the gem holds an ancient magic. A magic to calm the sea and guide men to what it is they need most.”

“Which is what?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It’s different for every man.”

“Why are you selling it if it’s so valuable?” Bob chimed in, eyes narrowed at the man.

“Because it showed me that it’s time to pass it along, and I’m nothing if not a man who loves a proper sale,” he grinned. “Are ye interested?”

Before you could answer, Bob grabbed your elbow, pulling you away.

“No, we’re not,” he huffed out. You let out a cry of protest as he dragged you through the crowd. It wasn’t until the merchant faded from view that he finally slowed down, and you jerked your arm out of his hand.

“What was that about?” you griped, glaring up at him. He looked around the crowd wearily before shaking his head.

“Just didn’t like the look of him, is all.”

“Oh, that’s all?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “What if I wanted to buy it?”

“Yeah?” Bob bit out a sharp laugh. “With what money?”

You were silent for a moment, and he nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

“You don’t have to be such an ass, you know,” you muttered, looking away dejectedly. You heard Bob sigh before he placed a hand gently on your shoulder.

“Look,” he began, “I’m sorry. I just don’t like anything having to do with magic or witches or anything of the sort.”

“Why’s that?” you asked him.

Bob didn’t answer you, instead looking somewhere off in the distance before grinning down at you.

“C’mon,” he said, once again pulling you through the crowd. “There’s something I want you to see.”

You allowed him to tug you along, the crowd thinning as the two of you moved closer to the edge of town. Finally, the cobblestone streets gave way to white sands and the stunning blue of the ocean. You felt your breath catch in your throat as you looked out onto the horizon. How you hadn’t noticed it when you departed the ship earlier, you didn’t know, but now your gaze was transfixed by it. This blue was so different from the blue you grew up seeing every day. Where your home’s waters were usually a dark, stormy blue, Port Royal’s water shined like topaz.

“I didn’t know the sea could look like this,” you breathed out.

“I knew you’d like it,” Bob smiled, turning his focus to the water before you. The two of you stood there in silence for a few moments before Bob turned to you once more. “C’mon, we best get back to the ship.”

“What’s all the commotion up there?” you asked Bob, hearing the stampede of footsteps above you on the main deck. Bob glanced up, a smile crawling onto his face.

“Sounds like they’re back aboard,” he grinned, rushing towards the door.

“Who is ‘they?’” you called after him, but he was already gone. You sighed, eyeing the ingredients for dinner before making your way after him. A crowd had gathered by the gangway, and you stopped at the edge where Bradley stood.

“What’s going on?” you asked him.

He shrugged. “Guess we’re here to pick up two other crew members from what I’ve gathered.”

You hummed, craning your neck to try and peer over the horde of men. You managed to catch a glimpse of two figures on the other side of the crowd; one man and one woman.

“Natasha!” You heard Bob cry. You saw the head of sandy hair bounce up to the woman who smiled at him. “How was it? How did it go?”

“Bob!” Natasha hollered as she pulled the young man in for a tight hug. “It’s good to see you. It was great!” She gestured to the man beside her. “You should have seen Mickey haggling with that old codfish! Thought we might get away without payin’ a cent there for a second. And then just when we had him, the codger backed out.”

She grimaced at the memory. “Couldn’t for the life of us figure out why he would back out at the last second. Just as we were headed back here though, he stopped us and offered another deal, one too good to pass up.”

“And so you took the deal.”

Everyone turned to see Jake, having just come from his quarters, at the edge of the crowd. He strutted towards the pair with a cocky smirk.

“You bet your ass we took that deal,” grinned the man, Mickey, as the captain approached. “We were leaving with it one way or another.”

“Lucky for the old man, he came to his senses,” smirked Natasha, arms crossing in front of her. Jake hummed as he stopped in front of them.

“And where is our little treasure?” he asked them. Mickey rifled through his pockets before pulling something out. The chain dropped to reveal a six-pointed star with tiny diamonds surrounding a burning opal. You gasped as Mickey handed the necklace over to Jake, who quickly pocketed it. He turned back to the rest of the crew.

“Alright, you lot. Show’s over. Get back to work! We set sail in an hour.”

The crew clambered to prepare the ship for launch, but you continued to stare at the small group on the other side of the ship.

“I’m going to freshen up in my quarters,” Natasha told the two with a smile, already making her way to where the cabins were housed. You gaped before looking over at Bradley.

“Bradley,” you hissed at him. Bradley swallowed thickly.

“She’s a woman.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s got a cabin on the ship.”

“Yeah.”

“She’s a member of the crew.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

Before you could say more, Bob had come bounding up to you. “Are you ready to get back to cooking?”

You shot one last glare at Bradley, who looked everywhere but back at you. That idiot.

“Yeah,” you grumbled, turning to head back into the hull. “I’m ready.”

“Why is that woman a member of the crew?” you asked Bob as you scrubbed at the pot in your hands. “I thought woman weren’t allowed on ships?”

“On most ships, yes,” he told you as he finished dishing out portions for the crew. “But Jake doesn’t really care who is crew is made up of as long as they carry their own weight and don’t cause any problems.”

You hummed. “So anyone can just join, huh?”

“I suppose,” he mused. “Jake doesn’t let anyone join the crew unless he thinks their worthy and have something to offer. A lot of men were skeptical when Nat first joined, but she quickly made a name for herself as the Phoenix.”

“The Phoenix?” you questioned, pausing your scrubbing to look at him. He nodded with wide, excited eyes.

“Yeah! Whenever we come upon a ship to plunder, she does this thing where she’ll light the ends of her coat on fire. It smolders, giving her this terrifying look like she just rose out of the flames. That’s why, ya know…”

“The Phoenix,” you finished for him, turning back to your work. “Do you all have nicknames like that?”

“Some of us, sure,” he replied. “But our names work just fine. Now help me pass these out to the crew.”

You moved to help him and the two of you began taking the dishes out to where the crew had gathered around the massive tables.

“Cabin boy!”

You turned to see Natasha waving at you with a mug of ale.

“Come join us,” she grinned. You glanced at Bob who nodded.

“Go, I can get the rest,” he smiled. You nodded back at him and made your way over to where Natasha sat with Reuben and Mickey.

“Take a seat, cabin boy,” Natasha grinned, taking a sip of her ale. You did as she commanded, eyes darting between the three sailors as they stared at you.

“Is it true?” she asked you with a raised eyebrow.

“Is what true?”

“That your dad is Maverick Mitchell!” Mickey grinned, leaning in closer to you. A large figure slid in beside Reuben.

“What are we talking about?” Bradley asked, glancing between you and the other three.

“We were just starting to ask the cabin boy here about his father, Rooster” Reuben told him, taking a bite of his food. Bradley’s mouth set in a firm line as the three turned their attention back to you.

“What was he like?” Mickey asked you, practically bouncing in his seat. You shrugged noncommittally as you took a bite off your own plate.

“I don’t really know what you're expecting me to say.”

“Well, was he just as daring as the stories say? Did he take you out on his trips? Did you help him plunder? Did he ever find the treasure he was looking for?”

“Alright,” Natasha groaned, setting a calming hand down on his shoulder to stop him. Bob chose that moment to join the lot of you, sliding in next to her on the opposite side of the table. “Settle down, fanboy.”

“I can’t help it!” He hollered. “It’s not every day you meet the kid of one of the greatest pirates known to man.”

You stilled, seeing Bradley tense up on the other side of Reuben.

“What?” You whispered, eyes wide as you stared at Mickey who stared at you uncertainly.

“Pete Mitchell was your father,” Mickey said slowly, glancing around the table. “Right?”

“Yes, he was,” you said firmly.

“Pete Mitchell, better known as Maverick,” Reuben rattled off, “was a world renowned pirate of the highest order. His very name struck fear into the hearts of many a ship’s captain and crew. He was respected both far and wide by civilians and sailors alike.”

“Until one day he just disappeared,” Natasha added, studying you curiously. “Said his life’s mission was to find the greatest treasure the world could offer, and he plundered and stole for decades before dropping off the face of the earth.”

You felt like you were going to be sick. You didn’t know this man they were talking about. You knew the man who told you stories before bed, who showed you the proper ways to tie different knots, who always treated you kindly and had a smile at the ready for you, who never once raised his voice in anger at you or your mother. The man they were talking about was a stranger.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest cup to you, Natasha’s, and downed it. The ale did little to ease your comfort, and you grabbed Reuben’s next and did the same.

“Woah there, cabin boy,” Reuben called out as you reached for Mickey’s. “Slow down there.”

You didn’t want to slow down. You wanted to forget. You downed Mickey’s cup and searched for more. The men to your right had watched the scene unfold, and one of them let out a low chuckle before pushing his cup towards you.

“There ya go, cabin boy!” He laughed. “Drink up!”

You happily obliged him, downing the nearly full mug in only a couple of gulps. You stood, head already beginning to feel both light and heavy all at the same time. You had never had more than one cup of ale before, but you weren’t worried about that fact in that moment. You stumbled on your feet as you made to move towards the barrel that had been opened for that night’s dinner.

“No,” Bradley said from behind you, having gotten up when you did. “You’ve had enough.”

You whirled around to face him, nearly falling on your face in the process. “I’ll decide when I’ve had enough,” you hissed up at him, trying and failing to push past him as he gripped your arms.

“That’s enough,” he growled down at you, but you continued to push at him until he gave you a gentle shake. “I know you’re upset, but this is not how you should be handling it.”

You stared up at him, studying him. Why was he being so calm about this revelation that had just been dropped into your lap?

“You knew,” you breathed, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me.”

Bradley stiffened, hands tightening ever so slightly on your shoulders. He looked defeated as he let out a sigh. “He didn’t want you to know.”

“Bastard!” you screamed at him, your struggle renewing with a vengeance.

“What’s going on here?”

All of you stopped and turned. Javy stood at the end of the stairs, eyes scanning the room and the scene before him. He frowned when he saw the state you were in.

“Cabin boy,” he said slowly, eyes always studying you. “Go get some air.”

You took a breath before pushing at Bradley who stumbled back half a step. You staggered toward the stairs, hearing Javy address the crew. You didn’t hear what he said, too focused on making it up to the main deck.

The air had grown cool as the sun began to set, and you staggered towards the edge of the boat. You grasped onto one of the ropes, feeling your resolve start to break. The tears started to fall and you let out a shaky sob into the wind.

“Rough night, cabin boy?”

You turned, vision hazy from the ale, to see Jake standing a few feet away from you.

“What do you care?” You muttered, frowning at him. He let out a low chuckle before walking over to lean against the side of the ship next to you. The two of you stared at one another for a few moments, but said nothing.

“He was a pirate,” you whispered, almost inaudibly, the tears still flowing down your cheek. Jake nodded.

“Aye,” he said. “He was.”

“But he was a good man,” you frowned, more of a question than a statement. Jake cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Can’t a man be both?”

You shrugged, head starting to feel even heavier. “I suppose so.”

Jake let out another chuckle, leaning into you a little more. “You suppose so?” he teased.

“Yeah,” you nodded sleepily. “S’pose so.”

Jake reached up to cup your cheek as he watched you. “How much did you have to drink down there tonight, Guppy?”

“D’unno,” you muttered, subconsciously nuzzling into the palm of his hand. “More than I’ve ever ha’ before.”

The two of you stood in silence for a moment before your eyes shot open, staring at him. What did he just call you?

Jake watched you with a knowing smirk as you struggled to form a coherent thought through the alcohol induced haze.

“You catchin’ up there alright, Guppy?” he asked you, a grin breaking out over his face.

“How long have you-?”

“Since you walked up to the ship behind Rooster, sweet girl. You think I’d just forget a pretty face like yours?” he laughed as you scowled up at him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you snapped.

He shrugged. “Figured things would be much more interesting this way. Besides, you looked so cute thinkin’ you had fooled me into thinkin’ you were a boy. Wanted to see how long you’d play into it.”

“So why bother saying anything?” You grumbled. His grin dropped as he stared at you with a stern expression.

“Cause you went and did a stupid thing like gettin’ too drunk. Now I gotta worry ‘bout you ‘round some of these men.”

“You don’t trust your own men?” You asked him, eyebrow raised. He chuckled lowly, placing a large, warm hand to the small of your back.

“While I believe they aren’t stupid enough to try anything with me or your brother on board the ship, I’d sleep much better tonight havin’ not taken the chance.”

“Wait,” you said, his words catching up with you. “They know?”

Jake laughed at that. “Darlin’, everyone knew the moment you set foot on the ship. That brother of yours needs to work on his disguises.”

You scowled up at him as he helped you towards the cabins. He beamed down at you, eyes twinkling, and you could have sworn you saw a blue mist twirl in his pupils as he stared down at you.

“C’mon. You can bunk with Natasha from here on out.”

[markhoffmans-certified-slut]

Ghostface | Pt.1

Pairing: Ghostface x female!reader

Prompt/summary: Being home alone was supposed to be the highlight of your week, but instead of a relaxing night off from work with the house to yourself, you’re tormented by a mysterious masked figure. Thinking that you were going to find yourself dead, you did what the man said in hopes of ending up alive. Instead you find yourself in a whirlwind of emotions with the man that claims he knows you. 

Word count: 4.2K

Warnings/contents: Smut: Fingering and oral, unprotected sex. Strong language. 

Notes: Unrealistic, just how I like my smut. Is this boring or have I proofread and changed things too many times that now I hate it?

You can read part 2 here!

<>~<>~<>

The actress on the television screamed loudly, waking you from your light slumber. With a yawn, you stretched your arms out above your head and barely made the effort to peek open your eyes. The room was completely dark other than the light from the television. The original Halloween movies had been on your ‘to-watch list’ for quite some time now, and you decided to take your first day off in a few weeks to finally sit down, relax, and watch them. 

Unfortunately, working so many consecutive hours had made you so exhausted that you fell asleep near the beginning of the movie. 

With a sleepy groan, you sat up and looked at the mess that was on the coffee table in front of you. An opened, half-empty can of soda sat beside empty take-out containers of leftover food from the other night. You stood, grabbing the trash and bringing it to the empty garbage can in the kitchen and headed for the sink to wash your hands in cold water, hoping that it may wake you up. 

That was how that worked, right?

Your phone started to ring on the kitchen counter; you had left it there earlier in the night, knowing that nothing was going to distract you from the movie series. You assumed that it was simply your mother, calling in to check on the house and yourself. It was only 9 o’clock at night and you knew that she was worried about you. Despite being a fully grown adult yourself, this was the first time that you had ever been alone for so long. 

However, it was hard to enjoy your week alone in the house when she was always calling. 

By time that you dried your hands and made it to the counter, the call had ended. An unknown number popped up on your screen, along with a few messages from your friend about this guy that she was interested in. You leaned against the counter, clicking her messages and going to reply to her ramblings: “The way his hair smells is heavenly, (y/n)” was the last text you had received. 

You chuckled and quickly typed out a response: “Why do you even know that?” 

Before you could even turn your phone off, bubbles on her end of the chat thread popped up: “We’re studying together tonight, remember?” (You hadn’t) “I need you! Where have you been??” 

You replied quick: “Asleep. Work has been draining me. I say just go for it.” You watched the bubbles in a trance, but before her message came through you were cut out of your thoughts by the sight of your own face when the screen darkened as another call came in. Your eyes darted to the top of the screen, expecting to see your mothers contact photo, but instead you frowned. 

“No called ID?” You asked aloud, though you assumed that it would stop in a second; you had been getting a lot of spam calls recently and that was often how they came through to you and then left a voicemail about your crippling debt— that you didn’t have. When the call didn’t stop after a few rings, you decided to answer it, knowing they’d leave you a voicemail anyways; maybe telling them to fuck off would get you off their list for being rude at whatever time it was there. “What?” You spoke plainly, assuming that a computer like voice of some overworked and underpaid person was going to be on the other end of the line. 

Instead, you were met with a distorted male voice that you had never heard before. 

“Hello, (y/n).” You frowned again, wondering if one of your friends was trying to play a prank on you; it was the most logical thought you could come up with at the moment. 

“Who is this?” 

“I’ll give you three guesses.” You paused for a moment, wracking your brain for one of your friends that would want to do this at 9 o’clock at night on your only night off in weeks. 

“Randy?” 

“No.” 

“Stu?” 

“Nope.” 

“Tatum? Sidney?” The sound of them tutting their tongue on the other end cut you off. 

“I said you get three guesses.” 

“And I was wrong on all of them, I obviously don’t even know you. So are you going to tell me who you are or what?” You asked irritably. You didn’t want to play any of their games tonight. 

“I was going to, but now you’ve broken the rules.” 

“Alright, well I’m gonna hang up then. Call me back when you decide to lose the voice.” You went to bring your phone away from your ear before the voice spoke again, this time in a softer, smoother tone. 

“Hey— wait. Don’t hang up.” You sighed and walked towards the sofa again. “What are you doing all alone tonight?” You were going to answer before you hesitated, even stopping your movement. 

How did he know you were alone? It had to be someone you were close to. It couldn’t be your friend— she was with that guy. Nothing would keep her from him. Mustering your bravest tone, you spoke again. 

“I’ll tell you when you tell me who the fuck you are.” Again, the stranger tutted their tongue. 

“Someone sure doesn’t have any manners.” Your phone buzzed against your face from the messages that your friend was sending you, but you were far too distracted to think about replying right now. “Shouldn’t you be nicer to people that you don’t know?” When you were quiet, the stranger spoke again. “Let’s play a game.” 

“What is this— Saw?” You scoffed. “I’m not going to wake up in some death trap am I? I’d like to keep my skull in-tact, not ripped apart by some skull-crusher-doodad-two-hundred-fifty-three.” A chuckle emitted from the stranger— it made your arm break out in goosebumps. 

Who was this prick?

“I want you to answer a few simple questions. If you win, you get a prize. If I win, I do.” 

“What’s my prize?” 

“You’ll find out if you win.” Before you could speak, the stranger cut you off. “Question one: who was Dr. Lawrence locked in the bathroom with in the first Saw movie.” With a sigh, you decided to play along. What was the worst that happened? It was probably just some fifteen year old kid and his friends doing prank calls to whoever answered. 

“Adam.” 

“Very good.” The stranger praised you. “Who created Pet Cemetery?” 

“Stephen King,” you answered as if the person on the other line should have given you something harder. “How many questions is there going to be?” 

“Almost there.” He spoke. “When did the original Halloween come out?” You glanced towards the movie case that was sitting on the television stand; how would he know if you cheated? 

Instead, you trusted your memory. 

“1978…?” Things were quiet for a moment; did you get it wrong? You were about to reach for the case when the stranger spoke up again. 

“You sure know your movies.” 

“They were easy questions.” 

“Bonus round: where am I?” He spoke, ignoring you. 

You scoffed. 

“Let me think— your house?” Your eyes rolled, but he spoke again— this time in a tone that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You weren’t sure why, but you suddenly got an intense feeling of pure dread that only the horror of the unknown could duplicate. 

“No. Try again.” 

“A creepy alleyway?” 

“Closer than that.” You swallowed hard and peeked out of the door to your backyard. It was pitch black and the reflection from the television was the only thing you could see. “Warmer.” Your breath audibly hitched in your throat. 

“Where the fuck are you?” 

“Closer than that.” Wordlessly, your mouth dry and cottony, you stood and crept towards the backdoor. You flipped the light on and looked around. “I said that I was closer than that.” You were afraid to turn your back on the window, but the sudden fear that he was right behind you crept up your spine; you eyed your reflection in the window and tried seeing behind you in case he popped out of nowhere. 

“What is this? Good luck guessing exactly what I’m doing to try and freak me out?” The person on the other end of the line didn’t respond, but you knew that he was still there. You clenched your jaw and turned, looking around your perfectly quiet house. Your eyes locked onto the pantry that was in the kitchen. 

There was no way that he was in here, right? You would have known. 

But your nap. You were asleep for the good half of two hours. He could have snuck into your house without you even knowing. 

But wouldn’t you be able to hear him clearly if he was in the house let alone in the pantry? 

Still, worry itched at the back of your throat as you took a few tentative steps towards the walk-in pantry. You had to know. 

Your hands were clammy as you reached for the handle and quickly slammed it open. A breath left you when there was nothing there but a few bags of cereal, chips, and dry foods in there. Your body started to relax before a devious chuckle made your entire being stiffen once again. 

“Try again.” 

“If you’re in my fucking house I’m going to kill you.” You spoke, knowing that the only thing you really had to defend yourself was all the way upstairs by your bed. A metal baseball bat that you had always dreamed of slamming into someones kneecaps. 

But he wouldn’t know you were defenseless, would he? 

“How will I give you your prize if you kill me?” The strangers voice was patronizing. 

“What if I don’t want what you have to give me?” 

“You don’t get to choose.” Things were quiet for a moment before you spoke again. 

“Are you in a closet?” 

“No.” 

“Under a bed?” 

“No.” Your eyes landed on the basement door; it was mostly for storage, but it was unfinished and it had always scared you. Ever since you were little you’d hated going down there. 

“Are you in the basement?” 

“No.” 

“You wouldn’t tell me if I guessed right, would you?” Your voice was low, almost breathless now. 

“No.” 

“I don’t want to play your games anymore.” 

“You don’t get that choice either.” 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“You failed that game before; do you really want to again?” 

“I’m gonna call the cops.” 

“They won’t be here by the time I get to you.” 

“What do you want?” You asked, trying not to sound desperate as your voice strained. 

“You.” His words were simple and completely unhelpful. 

“Me? To what? Be dead? Strung up like a Halloween prop?” The stranger hummed for a moment as if he was thinking. 

“Close enough.” 

“Why don’t you just come out and kill me already? You know nobody else is home.” 

“I know everyone is gone for the week.” Was all he said. 

“Do I know you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then what’s to stop me from going to the cops when I find out exactly who you are— because I will find out.” 

“If you do that, I’ll have to kill you— and I don’t want to do that. I always have my eyes on you, (y/n). Always.” The floorboards in the other room by the front door creaked, and you couldn’t help but feel as if that was on purpose. You swallowed the lump in your throat, grasping one hand against the flat wall and creeping towards the hallway. Nobody was in there. 

“Would you just come out? Please? I’d like to think that I deserve to see you if you’re going to kill me.” 

“Not tonight. If you behave, maybe never.” 

“There’s nothing I can do anyways. You know I don’t have anything to hurt you with and you’re clearly ready for anything I could possibly do. Just come out.” Things were silent for a moment, so you spoke again. “Please? I… I guess I’m ready for my prize. I won, right?” You looked around the room when floorboards creaked again, but you were alone. Things were deadly quiet in the house. “Hello?” You had previously heard quiet breathing on the other end of the line: now, there was nothing. 

You pulled your phone back from your face and sighed when you saw it light up to the text messages from your friend. Your legs were frozen to the ground as you shoved your phone into your pocket. You faced a doorway, but your back was to another. 

Somehow, speaking to the man made everything less scary. At least you would have had a better chance to know when he was getting closer. Now you were left in dead silence, only hearing the wind howling outside. 

Terror like you had never felt before made your nipples harden when the floorboards behind you creaked. Your breath was quick to pick up in heaves as you slightly turned your head to the side. You knew that he was behind you now, but you couldn’t move. Your hands shook as you forced your eyes shut, squeezing them tightly, waiting for something— anything— to happen. 

But nothing did. The suspense was eating away at your skin. 

With one quick, bold movement, you turned and moved to the side to press your back against the wall by the staircase. You were hoping that there would be nothing there like before, but instead you were faced with a tall, masked figure in a Halloween costume you had seen in the store earlier this month. He stood only a few feet away from you with a knife glistening in his gloved hand. 

“Fuck… shit… fuck…” You mumbled beneath your breath. “This is some kind of a prank, isn’t it?” Your heart jumped when the figure took a slow step towards you. “What are you going to do to me?” You asked, angry with yourself for how fearful your voice sounded. You knew that it was just what the man wanted. “If my prize is getting gutted, I don’t want it.” As you spoke, the knife seemed to disappear up the sleeve of the costume he wore as he took another step closer to you. “I swear to fucking—“ 

“You shouldn’t swear.” The man cut you off, sounding the exact same in person as he had over the phone. Smooth and sensual, terrifying and mysterious. The man took another step towards you, only stopping when he was so close that you could hear his breathing behind the mask. “Don’t you want your prize?” Your hands were quickly grabbed by his hand, and when you struggled, his impossible grasp only got tighter as he yanked you close against him. You closed your eyes and turned your head as the mouth of the plastic mask bumped against your cheek. “Why are you so scared, (y/n)? I thought that you weren’t ever afraid.” His voice was low. When you were quiet, the man yanked at you again. “I asked you a question.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You asked shakily. “If you’re going to kill me then would you just do it?” You finally looked at the man, eyes searching where his were behind the mask but finding nothing. 

“I told you— I’m not going to kill you.” You let out a quiet sigh— in relief? Because you had been so afraid you forgot how to breathe? You didn’t know, but your entire body was still stiff. “Go upstairs.” The man said as he took a step back. 

Finally, your feet moved. You hoped that the man would leave if you did what he said. He changed his grasp on your wrist and guided you up the stairs. You were surprised that you didn’t feel the sharp point of a knife against your back. 

The only prize that you wanted was to wake up safe in your home in front of the television and this man being gone from your life forever. 

You wondered how he knew your room so well as he nudged you in the direction of your bedroom. Was it a lucky guess or had he been watching you for longer than you could have ever known? 

When you stepped inside, the light was flipped on, the door shut, and shortly afterwards you were shoved onto your bed. Everything looked normal in your room— it was clear that however long he had been in your house, he hadn’t touched a single thing— or he’d done everything right to keep things looking the same. But why would he care about that if it was just you anyways? 

You looked at the man and clenched your jaw. 

“I don’t think I want what you have to give me anymore.” The man didn’t speak, instead he pulled his gloves off and let them fall onto the end of the bed. You moved back on your bed until your back pressed against the headboard when he pressed a knee onto the end of your bed. The man pretended as if he hadn’t heard you— or maybe he simply didn’t care at all that you had spoke— and reached forward with two pairs of handcuffs in his grasp. 

It was cold as he clamped it around your wrists and then to the bars on the headboard. You looked almost pleadingly at the man as he leaned back. 

“I won’t say anything if you just leave. I promise.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He spoke, pulling a thick piece of black cloth from inside of the robe he wore. He leaned back in as you gave a shaky breath and blocked your eyes, tying the soft fabric in a tight knot behind your head. 

You didn’t think that this could get worse, but being deprived of your vision was the cherry on top. 

Cold metal pressed gently to your collarbone, sliding slowly across your skin and making you shiver. You knew exactly what it was and gulped as the knife lowered your shirt to expose your cleavage— or what was there with you not wearing a bra to hold your breasts up. Within a quick instant, the knife pulled away and your shirt was ripped in the middle. It was shoved to the side, exposing your bare breasts; the fan overhead was quick to harden your nipples which earned a devious chuckle from the man who easily lifted your hips and slid your pajama pants and underwear off. 

You squirmed against the man who was quick to press the knife to your throat. 

“Watch it or I’ll tie your legs down, too.” His hands grasped at your hips— shockingly warm and strong enough to leave a bruise as he lifted you up and rested the back of your knees over him. You squeezed your eyes shut so tight that it hurt, expecting the man to slam his dick inside of you. Instead, you gave a shock gasp when a warm tongue slid along your entrance. The mans tongue moved to press to your clit as two of his fingers pressed to your entrance. “You seem like you might be enjoying this.” He spoke as he was easily able to shove a finger inside of you. “Maybe you’re just as slutty as I imagined you were— getting turned on by a stranger fucking you.” 

You had to admit, it was hard to keep quiet. Despite your fear, the mans finger was pressing just right inside if you and it had been a long time since someone had given you head— especially the amazing way that he was as his tongue swirled around your clit. You panted quietly and squirmed, unable to stop yourself as you gave out a low whimper. 

A second finger pushed inside of you, teasing your insides with slow rubs as he sucked on your clit. You gave another soft moan, your toes curling as the man started to pump his fingers inside of you. You bit down on your lip, trying not to be too loud and express the pleasure that he was unfortunately making you feel— but it wasn’t working. It would have been impossible for the man not to notice your excitement as you squirmed against him— this time not being told to hold still like before. 

Gently, unnoticeably to you, the man grinded himself against your bed. 

This was something that he had wanted— craved— for so long. 

Every little whimper, whine and moan that left you made his cock twitch as he fingered you, hitting spots that made you want to scream out in euphoria. You’d never been able to keep very quiet in bed, but this time you were given more reasons not to; most men you had sex with were mediocre, but even this was making you nearly unravel. 

“Ooh— fuck,” you moaned out, broken with pleasure. Right afterwards, everything stopped. The man moved his fingers from inside of you, his mouth left you, and the bed shifted. The tickle of the costume that he wore tickled you as he leaned over you and pressed two wet fingers to your bottom lip. 

Obediently, you opened your mouth and let him shove his fingers into your mouth. You sucked on his fingers, unable to see the quick lick of his lips as he watched you and reached to grope at your breast. 

Nothing was said as the man pulled his fingers out of your mouth and moved. You heard the sound of a zipper as the bed creaked. You couldn’t help the twitching ache inside of you— certainly not when the strangers warm cockhead slid teasingly against your clit. You gave a shiver and a soft whimper, shifting on the bed as the head of his cock pushed inside of you. 

Once he was slightly inside, he grasped at your thighs tight and lifted them around his waist, moving closer to you as he started to push himself inside of you. The stranger didn’t start slow— instead he was working inside of you as if he had been fucking you all night long. He teased you with rough thrusts, shoving himself all of the way inside of you before pulling back out and fucking your entrance with the tip of his cock. 

By now you weren’t trying to contain the moans that were spilling out of your mouth. Occasionally the stranger would give soft grunts that you could barely hear against your own desperate sounding moans. 

Your nipples tingled as he shoved all of himself inside of you again. This time, he stayed close, choosing not to tease you like before. Instead, he let you give into the pleasure that you were feeling— and clearly returning. The man grunted and breathed heavily as you clenched around him. His constant thrusts edged you towards an orgasm— one that nearly had you screaming as you came around his cock. 

The man reached down, his fingers rubbing your clit— quickly— something that made you squirt around his cock and buck your hips against the man as overstimulation hit you. He didn’t stop this time either, grasping your hip tight with his free hand and continuing to thrust inside of you fast and hard. You moaned out desperately as his thrusts slowly became less methodical and started to become sloppy, but you gave a final loud scream when he thrusted inside of you one more time in a way that made your stomach churn. 

He gave three more gentle, slow thrusts inside of you before he left you. 

The man set your shaky legs down on the bed and moved to stand up. Nobody had ever cum inside of you before, and yet you knew exactly what the sensation felt like right now. The sound of a zipper hit your ears again, and soon after your hands were released from the handcuffs. Before he moved back, he leaned close— his face bare as his breath hit your cheek. 

“Don’t move.” You nodded and waited, listening to his soft footsteps receding from the bed. The room suddenly went quiet. 

You took a moment to catch your breath, hesitating for a few minutes before reaching up to pull the blindfold off of your eyes and down your neck. The room was empty, dead silent as if you had imagined everything. The only thing that let you know it was real was the wet spot beneath you on the bed and the ache deep inside of you. 

Your window was left open, blowing in warm summer air and making the light curtains flow in the breeze as you shakily stood. Looking out of the window, you hoped to catch one final glimpse of the man. 

But there was nothing. Only the fabric swaying slightly in the wind.

You closed the window, locking it and double checking after you shut your curtains, before you moved and sat on the end of your bed, still naked with a ripped shirt barely covering you. With a sigh, you pushed your hair back and looked around the empty room again. With one final, airy sigh, you spoke aloud to yourself. 

“What the fuck.” 

[late-to-the-party-81]

Birthday Gifts

AN: So Alpha Nomad Steve won the birthday ficlet poll. Enjoy the fluff, which also means that this set of stories is officially a series now. Find Need You Now and Surprise, Surprise here.

Beta’d at speed by @indyluckycharlie

Dividers by @firefly-graphics and banner by me

Master list

Series Master list

Summary: It’s Steve’s birthday and you have the perfect gift all ready

Relationship: Alpha! Nomad Steve and Omega! Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

CW: Breeding Kink, Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Lots of kissing, Non-graphic descriptions of pregnancy, labour and delivery.

28th June

“Steve, I’m as big as a house!”

Your Alpha wrapped his arms around you from behind and nuzzled into your neck and the slightly scarred flesh to be found there.

“A sexy house.”

You playfully slapped his arm and let out an equally playful cry.

“Hey! I’m not gonna disagree with you. That would be dangerous to my health.”

You couldn’t help it. You giggled. Which had probably been his intention.

“Big, strong Captain America, scared of a pregnant Omega?”

He rubbed his bearded face against your neck again, inhaling your scent.

“Only because you’re my Omega.”  

You turned in his arms, your large baby bump - a bump that you now knew did hold twins - getting in your way. Luckily Steve knew what you wanted and ducked his head down to kiss you.

Although you had a few weeks until your due date, the fact that you were carrying twins meant they were probably going to show up sooner, rather than later. But it was Steve’s birthday in a week, and you hoped they’d wait until afterwards - you’d hate to miss his birthday by being in hospital.

Once the shock of being reunited and the reveal of your pregnancy had worn off, Steve had revelled in your situation. His Alpha hindbrain preened at the fact that his Omega was pregnant, and if he’d had voracious appetites before, your rounding belly just made him insatiable. 

When you were too tired to do anything, he just asked you to lie naked in front of him and he’d jack off, praising you, looking at you, covering your bump with his spend, before cleaning you up, and kissing you until you fell asleep in his arms.

However, when you did have the energy, he liked to perch you on top of him, so you could control the depth and speed. His broad hands held your hips, helping you move - grind - until you came. There’d still be the praises though, the electric gaze, and the aftercare.

Steve deepened the kiss, and then suddenly he lifted you up into his arms. You squeaked and clung onto him, and he let out a low growl in response that went straight to your core. You were glad you weren’t feeling tired today.

July 1st

Your hands held onto the headboard, curling your fingers into the wood as you swivelled your hips.

“Alpha!” You whined as you neared your peak.

“I know, ‘Mega. You can do it, baby. Look so beautiful when you cum. I’ll be right there with you.”

Steve’s right hand dropped from your hip and his thumb delved between your folds, searching out your slick bud and rubbing tight circles over it. The tension in your body snapped like a rubber band and you threw your head back, keening as you trembled above him. His hips thrust up gently under you and you could feel his engorged knot brushing your entrance, and you wished you could take him deep enough to feel it inside you. He groaned with you as you rode out the waves of pleasure, filling you to the brim with his cum. 

As you drew in ragged breaths, your arms shook under the exertion of holding yourself up. Sensing your weariness, Steve helped manoeuvre you so you were lying on your side on the bed. He pressed a kiss to your sweaty brow before darting to the bathroom and coming back with a wet washcloth. He wiped down your face and chest, before gently cleaning you between your legs.

You smiled up at him.

“I must look a complete mess.”

He dropped another kiss on you, this time to your lips and shook his head.

“Nope. I meant what I said - you look beautiful. I don’t think I could want you more, and then I remember that once the babies are here you’ll be a certified MILF.”

You grabbed your pillow and threw it at him, but he easily avoided it.

“Perv!”

He dropped down, facing you, tangling your legs together and dropping an arm over your thickened waist.

“Only for you, Omega. Only for you.”

He kissed you again, deeply this time, and stroked your hair until you fell asleep.

July 4th

You groaned, and rolled over, an outstretched hand reaching for your phone to check the time. The screen lit up, bathing your face in its glow and mocking you with its answer.

1:17

You let out another groan and shifted, trying to get comfortable. It was Steve’s birthday today and you were determined it was going to be a good one. If only this damn backache would calm down. You closed your eyes and willed your body to relax, which is of course when the twins decided to start up a kicking war with each other, with you caught in the crossfire.

You rubbed your palm over your bump, trying to calm them.

“Quit it, you two.” You kept your voice low, but having an Alpha with enhanced senses means that it didn’t matter how quiet you were. A hair covered arm, corded with muscle came over your bump and pulled you close to the human furnace connected to it.

“They causing you problems, ‘mega?” His voice was roughened from sleep as he pressed his lips to your mating scar.

“Just waltzing around in there.” You suddenly winced and rubbed your hand over your belly again. “Okay, that was a little hard. I’ll be having words with them when they come out. Let’s try and go back to sleep, so we can enjoy your birthday later on.”

You turned your head over your shoulder to give Steve a brief kiss, and then snuggled back against him, pulling the comforter up and hoping the heat from his body would soothe your back ache.

You woke up a few hours later as the sun started to rise, golden rays finding the gap between the curtains of Steve’s - your - compound apartment. Your back was still killing you and the twins were obviously headbutting your bladder. You were glad that your last scan showed both were head down, but sometimes you couldn’t make it 10 minutes between toilet visits. 

You carefully pulled yourself from bed, noting that the time was only 4:33. At some point Steve had rolled away from you, and the comforter was tangled around his legs. The early morning sun lit up the hairs on his body with a golden sheen and you smiled to yourself, before waddling off to the bathroom at the insistence of your unborn children. By the time you’d finished and washed up, despite still being tired, you were too awake to go back to bed.

You slowly made your way from the bedroom to the small living room cum kitchen of Steve’s compound apartment. You got yourself a glass of water and took two tylenol, hoping to ease your backache. You then moved towards the TV, snagging the throw from the back of the sofa and rolling your birthing ball out from the wall with your foot. Settling down on the bouncy rubber, the throw draped around your shoulders, you switched on the TV, making sure the volume was down low, and started to channel hop. There was bound to be some kind of mind-numbing rubbish on that you could while away the hours with. Then you’d have a nice nap.

At 7am you were resigned to the fact that you weren’t getting a nap, and you had a sinking feeling that all your plans for today were getting put on hold. 

Normally, Steve would have been up an hour ago, to get in his morning run, but he’d agreed to forego the alarm this morning, accepting your suggestion that he have a lie in. Theoretically you should still be there with him, ready to help him out when awoke, but it appeared that the universe, and your twins, had other plans.

You were walking laps of your living room and trying not to accept the fact that your backache and slight twinges had morphed into the early stages of labour when a painful tightening of your womb caused you to moan out loud. Before the sensation had even fully passed, Steve was by your side, an arm around your back and the other holding your hand. There was a look of panic on his sleepy face.

“Are you okay, baby? What’s going on?”

You raised an eyebrow and swayed from side to side, the movement helping to ease your discomfort.

“Steven Grant Rogers, I’m 35 weeks pregnant with twins. What do you think is happening?”

He looked at you and you looked at him, watching as the realisation hit him. The panic on his face didn’t lessen any. In fact, it seemed to get more intense.

“They’re coming? Now? We need to get you to the med facility!” He dropped your hand and ran back to the bedroom, still talking. You rolled your eyes and restarted your perambulations.

“We need your bag, and the pups’ bag. And my bag. I need to call Buck. And Sam. And Tony…”

He reappeared, hopping on one foot as he tried to pull his sweatpants up the other leg.

“Should I carry you? Or do you want to walk? Maybe we could do both? Oh, and you have to remember to breathe, and…”

“Steve. Alpha. Please shut up.” 

He came to a grinding halt, watching you as you walked around him.

“It’s not that time yet, Steve. I spoke to the doctor about this last week. I need to wait until the contractions are regularly 2-3 minutes apart or until my waters break, whichever happens first. We’ve probably got hours to go yet. Now, relax, will you? Make your phone calls and get the bags near the door, but as the med facility is only on the other side of the compound, I don’t think we need to worry about getting there.”

Steve shook himself from his panicked stupor and moved back to your side, taking your hand and joining you in your circuit of the room.

“How are you so calm, Omega?”

You stopped and tugged on his hand to make him bend down so you could press your lips to his.

“Because I’m built for this, and because I will have the best Alpha by my side, supporting me. And let’s face it, if I’m squeezing your hands later, I’m not going to hurt you.”

The mental image made him laugh and he kissed you back.

“Bring it on, baby. Do your worst.”

20:05

“I’m never letting you and your knot near me ever again, Rogers! Aaaahhhh!”

You were on your hands and knees on the bed in the medical facility. One of Steve’s hands was trapped under yours - you weren’t letting him go anywhere! - and you were swaying back and forth as another contraction washed through you. 

There was a midwife - Penny, a calming Beta - standing at the end of the bed, keeping an eye on proceedings, although to your mind she’d spent longer placating Steve’s fears than helping you through labour.

“I’m sorry, Omega. But you’re doing so well. And it will all be worth it when the pups are here. It won’t be long now.” He turned and looked behind you, towards Penny. “Will it?”

“No, in fact, Twin A is almost ready to be here, their head is starting to crown.” You turned your own head to look at her and she smiled at you.  “So with this next contraction I want you to push as hard as you can, okay. And Mr Rogers, I need you to hold up that water bottle so Mama can take sips when she wants.”

It was a good thing your mate was a military man, because he didn’t hesitate, and just did what had been asked of him. You didn’t have long to appreciate it, however, as your next contraction hit.

“Here we go,” Penny said, brightly. “Give me a nice big push…

“What time is it, Steve?” You were exhausted, your eyes heavy and your blinks getting longer and longer. Your Alpha turned away from the window, where he was watching the fireworks explode across the sky. In his arms was a wrapped bundle with a scrunched up nose. An almost matching bundle was in the bassinet next to you. 

Sarah and Joseph, after Steve’s parents.

“Just after 10pm. You should get some rest, Omega mine. I can’t believe how well you did. You made it look easy.”

You gave out a little snort.

“I can assure you, it wasn’t. And I’ll get some rest in a moment. But I need you to come here.” You held out your hand, beckoning him over. With baby Sarah in his arms, he perched on the edge of your bed, the biggest smile you’d ever seen on his face. You pushed yourself up and pulled him into a kiss.

“Happy Birthday, Steve. I hope you liked your presents.”

“The best presents I could ever wish for, Omega. Thank you.”

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