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holly-the-trash-writer · 2 years ago

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Guilt

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Y/n lies unconscious in a hospital bed while Spencer drowns in guilt. You had felt that Spencer was cheating on you with Maeve and were going to stay with someone else before you got shot. Finding this out causes Spencer to snap and lash out at one of his closest friends.

Part 2

Word Count: 2,866

A/N: This has been a WIP for years! It was apart of a series with my own OC but I decided to change it to a Reader fic. The amount of WIPs I have is ridiculous!!!!!

Spencer sat at Y/n's hospital bed in silence. Tears were continuously streaming down his face, his breaths were shaky and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your unmoving face.

There was a tube coming out of your mouth to help your breathing. So many different wires were coming out of your body and attached to multiple beeping machines.

He was holding your right hand in both of his, your skin wasn’t freezing cold but it was colder than he prefers it to be.

You had only came out of surgery half an hour ago but they won’t know if it was successful until you wake up. Which could be between the next few seconds and never.

Never was something Spencer was trying his hardest not to think about.

There was so much he needed to tell you. So many things he had to say.

The last time you were together you had fought. You told him that he’s been speaking to Maeve too much and that he's been ignoring you. Spending more time with this woman.

Spencer had told you that you were being ridiculous and then you had to go on a case and Spencer never got the chance to talk anymore about it.

You had been furious at him and now Spencer was angry at himself as well.

He had called you ridiculous for coming to him about your feelings. This resulted in you refusing to be his partner in the field. Which led to you going with Morgan. Which ended in you getting shot.

This is when Spencer’s brain began connecting things that didn’t match up.

If he had listened to you he could’ve gotten you out of harm’s way.

Not speaking to Maeve meant you wouldn’t have fought and you never would’ve been shot.

He was supposed to protect you.

It should be him lying there. Not his sweet girl.

There was a knock on the door and Spencer barely reacted as Garcia and Emily came in.

“Hey, how is she doin’?” Emily asked softly.

Spencer turned his head a little towards them, “She... uh.” His voice cracked and he cleared it before trying again, “They said everything went well but we won’t know the damage until she wakes up.”

Garcia's eyes watered as she stared at your body. “When will she wake up?”

Spencer's eyes filled with tears, a sad smile forming as he squeezed your hand, “When she’s ready.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out to see that it was Maeve.

Again.

Along with the twenty missed calls from Maeve.

He rubbed his eyes before pressing answer, “Spencer Reid.”

“Oh my God. Spencer, I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Are you alright?”

This statement didn’t sit well in his stomach.

If you miss an appointment with your doctor, they don’t leave twenty missed calls on your phone.

They wait for you to reschedule.

He glanced at the other two women who were trying their best not to listen in. Although Garcia was looking particularly peeved about something.

Then he glanced down at you and any words he was going to say to Maeve turned to ash in his mouth. He felt sick.

Now he understood what you meant.

“Now, isn’t a good time. I’ll call you next week.” He didn’t wait for a response before he ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

Garcia shifted uncomfortably, “Was... was that her?”

“Who?” Spencer’s brain wasn’t even functioning at 20%. He couldn’t think things through clearly.

“Doctor Maeve.” Garcia mocked.

Spencer frowned, “Yes. Why?”

Emily gave Penelope a pointed look.

A look that did not go unnoticed by Spencer, “What? What is it?”

Emily put her hands up in a calming gesture, as if trying to approach a cornered animal. “Spencer. You must understand, we don’t mean to pry but Y/n spoke to Morgan and he didn’t know what to do so he told Garcia, who told me.”

Spencer rubbed his eyes for the fourth time in ten minutes, he did not have the energy for this, “Told you what? What are you talking about?” Spencer was getting agitated now. Why can’t they just tell him? He hated not getting to the point.

“Well, Y/n came to Morgan two weeks ago and was quite upset.”

Spencer frowned as he looked at you again. Two weeks ago? You didn’t seem upset two weeks ago.

“She had some concerns about this doctor that you’ve been speaking to.” Emily explained.

Garcia huffed, “She told Derek that she had suspicions that you were cheating on her.” She spoke with daggers in her eyes.

Spencer froze.

What?!

He stiffened in his seat as he stared at his unconscious fiancé in shock.

You thought he was cheating on you?

You might never wake up again and your last thoughts of him would be the fight and thoughts of his, supposed, adultery.

How?! How could you think that he could even look at anyone that wasn’t you?

“I. Would. Never.” He punctuated every damn word so they got his point, trying to blink away the fresh batch of tears that filled his eyes.

“She planned to stay with Morgan and Savannah for a couple of days-" Garcia told him.

Spencer tore his eyes away from the bed to gawk at Garcia, “She what?”

Emily placed her hand on Garcia’s arm and spoke next, “Yesterday, Derek had... overheard one of your conversations with the doctor and he spoke to Y/n about it. So, she decided she would go and stay with him for a few days to sort out her head before coming to you about it.”

Spencer was furious. Not only did you think he was cheating on you, half of the team now suspected him of it too and no one even had the decency to ask him. And what was this phone call that was so damning that Derek had to run and tell his fiancé? Why didn’t Derek just ask him instead of almost ruining his relationship without him even knowing about it!

Spencer was shaking with rage. He stood abruptly from his chair and turned to the girls, pointing to Y/n’s bed he ordered out, “Stay with her.” before he stormed outside to head to the waiting room.

He saw red. He couldn’t think of anything except for the anger he felt.

Quickly turning the corner he saw the rest of the team sitting and talking as if nothing was wrong.

J.J noticed him first and stood up, Hotch, Rossi and Morgan following suit.

“Spence, any news?” she asked gently.

Spencer didn’t even hear her; never slowed his pace either. As soon as Morgan was within arm’s reach he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white and swung as hard as he could.

His fist made connection with Morgan’s cheek and from the shock of Spencer’s actions it knocked Morgan off kilter. Morgan stumbled and placed his hand to his cheek.

The punch clearly did more harm to Spencer than Morgan, but he didn’t care. The pain in his hand was welcomed. It cut through the hurt that was clutched around his heart.

The others cried out in shock as they tried to digest what just happened.

“What the hell, kid?!” Morgan yelled at him.

“’What the hell’ is right!” Spencer growled back as he stepped up to the other man and pushed his shoulders, “Sneaking behind my back? Telling my fiancé that I had some secret affair because of some phone call you didn’t hear the entirety of!”

Spencer was seething, the rest of the team gaping at him never having seen him so furious before, “You could’ve just asked! But no, the whole team had to get involved. And now I hear she was planning on living with you for a few days?!” Spencer clenched his possibly broken fist again. “She’s in a coma and may never wake up again and her last thoughts of me will be the thought that I was getting with someone else.”

Spencer inhaled sharply as his rage at Morgan turned to rage at himself.

“Spencer!” J.J shouted, “Stop!”

His sharp inhales quickly turned to hyperventilation, his brain was in overdrive, a million thoughts and memories were spinning around his head and he just wanted it to stop.

So he stopped it the only way he knew how.

Instead of hitting Morgan, Spencer turned at the last second and hit the wall.

He fell to his knees and cried as he hit the wall again and again and again and again.

Blood smeared across the white wall as he broke the skin on the knuckles. The physical pain overrode his senses and he chased the feeling.

That was until Hotch grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away from the wall causing Spencer to lose his balance and fall back into Hotch's arms which quickly locked around him.

“Stop! Get off of me! Hotch, let go!” Spencer squirmed as he tried to fight against his boss. His back was pressed tightly against Hotch’s chest, his legs bent in front of him and he kept slapping at Hotch’s arms to let go.

Hotch just shushed him and held him tighter. Completely understanding his anger. He’s been there and the best thing for Spencer is to calm down enough so he can go back and sit with Y/n instead of giving in to his anger and doing something else that he will regret.

Once Spencer figured out that he wasn’t going anywhere the fight drained out of him and he stopped slapping at the arms circled around him.

While Spencer was hunched over Hotch gave the rest of the team a nod to clear the area and give the two some space.

Hotch pulled one Spencer’s shoulders to shift his position so that Spencer curled into his chest.

Once Hotch placed a comforting hand over Spencer’s head a sob broke past his lips and the entire dam broke. Spencer cried his heart out.

He could barely breathe, inhaling only made him choke on his sobs and made him feel worse.

“What if I never get to speak to her again?” he whispered between sobs. “Never get to tell her that she’s the only one for me.”

“Spencer you need to breathe.” Hotch told him gently, “You need to calm down. Breathe with me.”

Spencer felt Hotch’s chest rising and falling against him. He closed his eyes and tried to follow his boss’ actions.

After a moment, Spencer was finally able to take a deep breath. The oxygen flooded his brain and the fog cleared. His entire body shivered before he came to his senses.

Blinking hard he realised he was curled into Hotch’s chest, cocooned in his arms.

He shouldn’t be here.

He was sitting on the hospital floor instead of in with Y/n. He slowly sat up and Hotch let his arms fall from around him.

“You alright?”

Spencer wiped his left hand over his face, “Fine. Fine. Yeah. I need to uh, I need to go to Y/n.”

He put his right hand behind him to support his weight, but an agonising pain shot through his hand and he fell onto his elbow with a grunt.

“Here, let me see.” Hotch knelt over him and held out his hand.

Spencer shook his head and used his other hand to support his weight as he got off the floor, dusting himself off as best he could, “I’m fine.” He held his right arm close to him as he stood up straight.

He looked around and noticed that J.J, Rossi and Morgan are nowhere to be seen… which is probably for the best.

The shame of what he’s done washed over him like a bucket of ice water. He just punched his best friend in front of his team then proceeded to have a break down in his boss’ arms.

“Spencer.” Hotch called out. “You’re not fine, let me see your hand.”

Spencer shook his head and walked out of the waiting room without saying anything.

Stopping just outside Y/n’s room he looked in the window, you hadn’t moved a muscle.

Emily was sat by your bedside holding your hand.

The pain of the possibility of losing her was too much for him. His only relief was the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes were already puffy and sore, and he felt dehydrated. He sighed as he raised his left hand to wipe the tears away, cursing himself for his behaviour.

“Spencer.” Hotch stood at his side, “You need to get your hand looked at, and I’m sure the nurse wouldn’t mind doing it by Y/n’s bedside.” He knew Spencer probably doesn’t want his hand looked at for at least three reasons; he doesn’t want to leave Y/n’s side for much longer, he feels embarrassed or shameful or he feels the need to punish himself.

He agreed as long as he can stay beside Y/n, “Okay.” He opened the door and the bleeps of the machine’s filled his ears.

That was your heartbeat.

He lowered himself into the chair at your right side and raised his left hand to hold hers. His right hand was tucked into his chest. The throbbing was excruciating but he welcomed it.

He pointedly avoided Emily’s worried expression before she smiled at him and left the room without word.

A nurse came bustling into the room a few moments later with a tray of equipment, clearly fetched by Hotch. She stood next to him and Spencer raised his hand to let her do what she needed to do. Hissing as she cleaned the cuts on his knuckles.

The nurse didn’t mind his silence and talked calmly to him as she worked, “You did quite the number on your hand.” She wiped away the blood and inspected his fingers, “You’ve definitely broken a few knuckles, I’m going to wrap your fingers in a splint and then bandage you up, okay?”

Spencer nodded, “Okay.” He said quietly.

She taped his middle and ring finger together and then bandaged his entire hand down to his wrist. “Now, keep this on for the next two weeks and then come back in so we can give you an x-ray and review the damage.”

Spencer nodded, “Thank you.”

The nurse left and Spencer was alone with Y/n once more. He stared at his right hand that was now resting on the bed.

How could he do this? Throw a tantrum while the love of his life lies in bed fighting for her life.

He leaned forward to rest his arms on the bed.

“Hi.” His voice shook, and he cleared his throat. He hasn’t been this nervous to talk to you since you first met. “You always told me that I needed to talk more, but I- I have no words for what I’ve done. I’ve done something terrible. Actually, I’ve done a few terrible things.” The tears formed once more, and his head pounded from the pressure. “I may never get the chance to say this to you but I am so, so, sorry. I made you feel that you weren’t special to me anymore, that I don’t love you which is the furthest thing from the truth.”

Spencer played with a strand of your hair that was laying on your shoulder.

“How could I ever be with someone else? No one could ever, ever take your place in my heart.”

He gently lifted your hand in both of his, his head felt heavy, so he bent over and placed his forehead on the back of her hand. “I love you more than anything in this world. When you wake up I’m going to spend every second of the rest of my life making it up to you. And I know you wouldn’t want to miss that. So, please wake up. Please.”

He had been talking when it happened so he never heard it.

You weren’t breathing in the same rhythm as before.

When he finally noticed, he frowned as he looked you over. He slowly got to his feet as he scanned the machines. Right before his eyes some of the numbers began to climb as others started to fall.

Spencer scrambled past the chair and ripped open the door to your room, “Doctor! I need a doctor here now!” He yelled out before running back to your side, “Y/n, sweetheart if you can hear me; don’t give up. Please.”

Two doctors and a nurse sprinted into the room.

“Sir, sir!” The nurse grabbed Spencer’s shoulder, “We need you to leave.”

Spencer shook his head frantically, trying to keep up with everything that the doctors were saying to each other, “I can’t.” he whispered to himself.

“Sir! Please!” The nurse pushed at Spencer’s shoulders until he was outside the room and the door was shut in his face.

The rest of the team had heard the commotion and had run to the room as well.

Rossi placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder as the entire team watched the doctors place paddles on your chest and shock you.

Again.

And again.

#spencer x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds

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fatuismooches · 8 months ago

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Self-indulgent Omega fic to help turn my writing brain back on, inspired by this brainrot. He is referred to as 24 in here as fragile reader hasn't named the segments yet. You two aren't the closest yet, but a chance encounter with the segment begins to change that. (I will respond to asks... eventually).

After a few centuries-long coma, when you woke up, the hardest thing to process wasn't that fact. It wasn't the fact your lover, who now went by "Dottore" instead of "Zandik" was now a powerful Harbinger. It wasn't the fact you had to deal with this illness for who knows how long (actually, this was quite hard to process, but you tried your best not to dwell on it.) Rather, it was the fact that Dottore now had copies of himself running around. And if you were to properly adjust to your new life, you absolutely had to make room for them. But that was easier said than done.

They were all Zandik, but at the same time, they felt like strangers to you. They were familiarly enigmatic as you had remembered the original one, but you weren't sure if you were good enough to puzzle each of them out all over again... However, pursuing Zandik as a student meant that you certainly were a persistent soul, so you would try!

One of Dottore's segments that you were trying to crack was named 24 (he hadn't bothered to give them names for some reason). 24 was tall and imposing, authoritative even among the segments, despite their tendency to bicker with one another. He was also different from the other segments in a way, but you couldn't put your finger on what exactly it was, for some reason. Needless to say, intriguing (just like all the others). Unfortunately, your attempts to move this relationship forward weren't going the smoothest. You found that even building up your courage for numerous minutes still resulted in a dry throat and awkward moments of the segment looking at you expectantly.

However, that would change one night.

Sleepless nights were frequent when you were a student, but they seemed to have followed you even all this time later. At least, instead of studying and dealing with assignments, you were left to stare at the ceiling in peace or pull out a nice book to read until you became sleepy again. But this time, no option satisfied you. You wanted company. And so you set off to find Dottore. The walk was always nice, but it seemed like you were more tired than you thought, as you eventually realized you were definitely not going the right way in the maze of a building, evident from the recognizable doors of one of the main labs.

Well, you were already here, and you didn't want to walk all the way back. You should just enter and loop your way back around somehow. Judging from the silence on the other side, there was most likely no one else there either, which was good for you! And so you pushed the doors open, intent on entering until you saw him.

24.

He sat there unmasked, screwdriver in hand, carefully tweaking himself, a few other tools to the side as well. Wait, a screwdriver to his face? You squinted a bit more and that's when you realized he... had no face? Well, kind of, he had a mouth and squishy cheeks, but the upper half was replaced by mechanics instead. A gleaming red gem in the middle along with blue wires made up 24's face in replacement for actual eyes, You had no clue that this was what he really looked like.

You were a mix of shock and awe. It was surprising but you supposed you should have expected the segments, who weren't human, to have some features like this. And didn't Prime say 24 was the most recently made segment? More recent, more advanced, you guessed. But you also had a feeling you really shouldn't have walked in on this, so you should leave while you still could. Maybe 24 didn't notice you yet-

"It's awfully past your bedtime, isn't it, [Name]?" 24 hummed, continuing whatever modification he was doing calmly, not the slightest bothered by your intrusion, or by the fact you saw his face. You wanted to retort with something, but your usual attitude with Zandik seemed to die down around this individual that you had yet to become fully comfortable with.

"I could not sleep. So I took a walk." You glanced away from 24, then back at him. "What... what are you doing?" You asked, curiosity overtaking your nervousness.

"Simply performing some routine maintenance. I will be finished soon, and then-"

"Can I see?" The sudden, rather eager question from you, made 24 pause. You had always been quiet and a bit jumpy around him, so this sudden change in attitude had him interested. On the contrary, he thought that seeing this inhuman face of his would make you keep your distance more, but it attracted you? Not what the segment predicted, but he found himself enjoying the surprises you brought with you.

You, on the other hand, were reminded of the old days of helping Zandik put together and apart various contraptions. It was a mixture of 24's display and also the star in the middle, which reminded you of all the Ruin Guards you'd dissected in the Akademiya. It was quite fun. You wanted to see more. Hopefully, this could be a splendid opportunity to satiate your inner researcher and also get closer to the segment.

"Of course, if that is what you'd like." You walked up to him, steps full of caution yet fascination. The way his fingers maneuvered effortlessly with precision at something that appeared delicate - it was very cool, to you at least.

"You don't need a mirror or anything?"

"No, I know my body more than well enough."

"Do you have any sensation up there?"

"Yes, I can feel my own fingers when they brush against it."

"Can I touch you?" Though 24 had entertained your barrage of questions, it was this request that made him pause his work and stare at you. The red star that glimmered intensely at you suddenly made your nervousness go all the way up again.

"I'm sor-"

"Very well," 24 interrupted you, placing his hands on his lap, now looking at you expectantly. You held back a sigh of relief as you stepped even closer to him, giving his upper mechanical face an experimental tap. He didn't react outwardly, but you could tell he felt that. Gulping, you tried again, this time gliding your finger over the blue lines imprinted on the black background. And then the red star in the middle, you gave into the urge to press down on it like a button. Still, 24 seemed to be unbothered. Darn, you had hoped he was ticklish there or something.

Regardless, the area was pretty hard, compared to the softness of his cheeks, which you unconsciously slid another finger down to calculate the exact difference. Until a hand grasped your own, not too tight or too light, firm enough to make you jump.

"[Name], would you care to explain your reasons for such prodding?" Oops. 24 didn't seem very amused.

"I have no intentions, I am just interested in feeling you." As soon as the words came out, you realized how they sounded and rushed to clarify yourself. "Because I've never seen anything like this before! The technology is just interesting to me! As a scholar and all! You understand, right?" But alas, from the now growing smirk on his face, you had already lost.

"Is that so? I shall allow you to continue then, if that is what you wish. I would never block a fellow scholar's pursuit of knowledge," he grinned, pointy teeth grazing his lip as he let go of your hand. Ugh, he was definitely making fun of you.

"And, if you truly desire to obtain satisfactory results, you should come closer, no?" At that moment, the segment suddenly pulled you toward him so that you fell into his lap, legs draped over him and chests nearly pressed against each other. It was rather intimate - the only other lap you've been on was Prime Dottore's. But although your heart was beating quicker than normal, you liked how it felt...

"Better?"

"Yes," your lone word came out quiet, an attempt to hide your flustered state. But you quickly moved on, not wanting to endure further teasing. "S-So, how do you see? Since you have no... you know." 24 chuckled, relishing in the state he and he only reduced you to. But he decided to spare you this one time. He didn't want to drive you too far away now, did he, now that he finally had the chance to be alone with you.

"I have a Kamera installed inside."

"A... Kamera?" The unfamiliar word felt strange on your tongue. You never heard of such a thing.

"It is a device that takes photographs. A photograph is..." 24 pondered, trying to come up with the simplest definition for someone who hadn't had knowledge of the developments of the past four hundred years yet. "It is something that captures a moment of time in physical form." You furrowed your eyebrows at that. It sort of made sense, but it also didn't. How could time be permanent? From the expression on your face, 24 could tell you most definitely wanted to see a Kamera.

"I shall show you it-" you brightened up, "in the morning," and then deflated. "You have delayed far too long, and no one will let you sleep in." You pouted at this finality.

"But what if I want to stay with you?"

"I will accompany you back to your room, and wait until you fall asleep. Is that satisfactory?" You nodded, and then you were lifted into the air as 24 began to carry you effortlessly, making his way to dreary corridors.

And so you began to reflect in the segment's arms, which had gone from never touching you to holding you so intimately. You were surprised to see this side of the segment - you never thought he could act this way. But you suppose, if Dottore cares for you, then the rest of them really do as well.

"We should talk more," you said, just as he slipped you right back into bed. "It would be fun, I think." You don't know why you felt the need to provide a reason, perhaps because he was undoubtedly extremely busy and had better things to do than chat with you all day. And ugh - "fun"? That was such a stupid reason. Why would 24 care about fun? But he seemed to find your request attractive anyway.

"I have harbored the same sentiment for a while. I await our future conversations with great anticipation, [Name]." With a light feeling in your heart, greatly proud of yourself for your progress with the segment, the sleepiness began to settle in once more. The last thing you saw before you fell asleep was the red glow emitting from 24.

From the day he came into this world as 24, to the day you named him to live and die as Omega, he will love you.

#smooches talks #fragile reader <3 #dottore love notes <3 #dottore x reader #did u guys know i love omega...#i also have a lil cute idea of comforting him after the other segments stress him out #sniffs... i miss him... i miss the silly pookie...#i also have a lil hc that reader calls him 'mega but i should keep the delusions to myself huh #divider by cafekitsune #i wrote this in like one sitting which is pretty impressive for me #(i get distracted and unmotivated quickly)#why am i actually kinda proud of this...

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anjelicawrites · 4 months ago

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Can I please request a Aemond x reader x Aegon fic, where after the brothel scene in ep3, reader (who is Aegon’s wife) tries to repair the brother’s relationship with her pussy. Reader starts off the dominant one as she forces them to make up and gradually it switches and she becomes the one being dominated by them as they start to work together. Include whatever kinks or anything else you want, the main thing is that the brothers are as into each other as they are into reader. Thank you! 🧡

Hi nonnie! Thank you for sending this my way! I'm not sure if I managed to fulfill it perfectly but the muse grabbed my hand and took me down this road, I hope you'll enjoy this!

Warnings: angst, B&C has happened, loss of a child, reference of B&C threatening reader with rape, incest, a quick reference to Lucerys's death, a quick reference to the brothel scene, a quick reference to Jahaera's trauma after B&C, brothers fighting, guilt, mourning, reference to Aegon being unfaithful, Aegon's drunkenness, fear of death on the birthing bed, kissing, oral (f receiving), titty sucking, mommy kink, breastfeeding kink, p in v sex, anal sex, threesome, a bit of manipulation. A/N: reader is AFAB, when needed they/them pronouns used. Reader is referred to as "Wife".

You know it's late, the whole Red Keep asleep around you, yet you can't. You toss and turn in your bed, tired and wired up, your body begging for slumber, yet your brain still running, incapable of setting down.

A loud bang makes you jump with a scream locked behind your teeth. Your first instinct would be to hide under the covers like you used to do when you were a wee child, but that stopped being an option and everyone knows why.

You grab the heavier candlestick you can find and, with a beating heart, you pad to the day room that connects your chambers to the ones of your King husband; the source of the loud noises is there, barely muffled by the thick walls and the tapestries.

You can't hear anything over the mad beating of your heart and the whoosh of blood in your ears. There should be more security after the accident, you're safe, no harm shall befall you, nor your remaining children, then why is your hand shaking when you grab the knob?

With a mad scream you open the heavy door, ready to smash the head of whomever is here to attack you family again, and barely miss Aegon's head.

You can't stop the momentum and topple forward, Aemond's hands grabbing you the only reason you don't fall on the floor. Hastily you shrug his hold off your body and try to stand to regain your dignity, the candlestick held firmly against your heaving chest.

You're not sure of the expression you're wearing, but the smile on Aegon's face dies as soon as he meets your hardened stare.

He can barely stand, his hair an unkempt mop now, when they were nicely styled earlier in the night and Aemond, even though he looks prim and proper, has a strange light in his lonely eye, which doesn't meet yours as soon as you look at him.

"Why are you still awake, Wife?"

You can hear how hard Aegon tries not to slur his words, and that drives you even madder.

"I could ask you the same question, Lord Husband, but I already know the answer."

You advance towards the brothers and see Aegon trying to square his shoulders.

"The whole court knows where you've taken your Kingsguard to sully their sacred oath. You smell of alcohol, Lord Husband. I suppose a brothel is the best place where you can mourn, isn't it?"

Any remaining drunkenness leaves his body at your words, before he can answer, you turn towards your brother in law.

"The same goes for you Aemond, you reek of cheap perfume. At least you're sober, not that it changes anything." You spat, noticing how his whole composure hardens at your accusation.

"You should mind your words, Wife. You're talking to your king."

Your hands tighten around the candlestick at his words, the rage and the unspeakable pain simmering in your belly ever since that night seem to grow into a wildfire: all you've kept locked pushing to explode and destroy everything in its wake.

"My king? My king? Where was my king when those men came to my children's bedroom? My king was playing pretend on the throne with his imbecile friends, that's where he was, my king! Where was he when they cut his head off and threatened me with rape? Where was he when I mourned my child?"

You feel tears and bile well up, but you're not done, you rage is not satisfied, yet.

"I tell you where he was. Whoring around with his friends, promoting them to Kingsguards, destroying his father's scale model! That's where he was!"

You see the color drain from Aegon's face, he looks green as he takes a step behind, grabbing a chair to keep himself on his feet.

"And what about you, Aemond? Where was the man who swore to protect me and my children with his life? The good brother, the one I could trust when my husband failed me? In a brothel. You should have been here, keeping us safe!"

Aemond is different than Aegon, he doesn't show how he feels, yet you know you've hurt him, you can see in the way he stiffens up, his whole body turning into stone, and that's not enough, he's not suffering enough for his slights.

"My boy is dead, my Jahaerys is dead!" You shout. "Jahaera will only feel the coldness of his grave, not the gentle hold of his hand. Do you know, dear king, that she keeps saying that she's cold all the time? That she begs me to bundle her up more? You'd know if you had visited her at least once. And Maelor, my poor Maelor, now he has a target on his back, and no one to protect him."

You can feel wetness flow down your cheeks, on the inside you're hollow now, a void thing that can barely breath, strangled by pain, blinded by tears. Strength leaves your hand, forcing you to let go of the candlestick, the dull thud of it on the carpeted floor evades your ears, all you can hear is the mad sound of your temples beating a mad tattoo.

You don't care about the consequences of your words, what Aegon, what the king would do to you, you just want to be left alone to cry all the tears you haven't already wept.

Blindly you turn and head for your chambers, your hand slips on the doorknob and you don't even notice: you just want to lay on your bed, alone, and mourn.

"Wife..."

Aegon's hold is light on your upper arm, gently he turns you to look at him, all he receives are your fist banging on his chest, and your screams of pain.

"I wish I have never married you! I wished your whole family had perished with Old Valyria! I hate you so much Aegon! It should have been you! It should have been Aemond, not Jahaerys!"

You don't see his pained expression, he keeps you tight against his chest, letting you cry and scratch at his skin.

He knows he's been a lousy husband and a barely decent father. He's the mockery of a king and no good at taking care of the ones he loves; he can't give you Jahaerys back, if he could he would take his place immediately. To bore all your pain and anger is the meager offering he can give you.

"I wished that had happened. It would have saved you all this grief."

Aemond's words cut through your desperate crying. You were so focused on yourself you didn't notice he has followed you and Aegon in your bedchambers.

With light feet he approaches you, impossibly tall and does the unimaginable: he falls on his knees in front of you, head bent, like a penitent at the Sept's altar.

"I have deserted my post, forgotten my promise..."

He can't finish his sentence, Aegon's voice cutting through.

"All to suck on a whore's breasts."

You push Aegon's body away, only to take a few step backwards to distance yourself from both brothers.

You adjust the shawl you're wearing over your nightgown and assess the two of them with an hardened stare.

"Can't you see, Aegon? Even now you can't help but drive a hedge between you and Aemond, a hedge in our side! We need to be more united than ever, least Rhaenyra comes to kill us all, the way she did Jahaerys. Don't you understand that?"

"I didn't go for myself!" Your husband tries to justify his actions. "The young squire needed to know the ways of life before battle."

At that Aemond scoffs and stands up to his full height.

"What are you moaning about? You had your fun back in the day!"

"You didn't even ask if I had any!"

You look at the brothers fighting, again and again. There's a looming threat at Dragonstone, a very real one, that's already damaged the family once, and they're still at each other's throat.

"You might as well save Rhaenyra's time and open the city to her. That would save us the war and, maybe, she'll kill us all swiftly."

Your words cut through their fight, both brothers staring at you, confused.

"The more you work against one another, the easier it will be for her and the Rogue Prince to come and wipe us like an overused candle. You two need to work together, for our sake, for our children's sake!"

"We know how to work together!" Aegon answers, subconsciously looking around for a cup of wine

"Right now you two wouldn't know how to draw a circle using a glass, let alone conduct an army."

"We will never put our differences in the way of winning this war"

You stare at Aemond, trying to assess his words, the weight of trust you can put in them.

"Will you? Show me, then, how you two can work together."

Again the brothers look at you funnily.

"Come on, show me how you can be a team. I don't think you two are capable."

"I... I don't see how."

If the situation weren't this loaded you'd laugh at the dumbfounded expression on your husband's face: he's truly at loss here, and even his smart brother is grasping at straws.

Later, you'll tell yourself grief clouded your judgement. Praying at the Sept with the Queen Dowager you'd repeat that over and over again, right now you perfectly know what you're doing as you throw your shawl on the floor, closely followed by your nightgown.

In the pale candlelight you're naked, soft curves born out of two pregnancies in full display, your heart is hammering in your chest: Aegon hadn't seen you like this even since you two conceived Maelor, and he's always been your one and only, no other man had witnessed your body fully.

You're not willowy as you used to be, you're still breastfeeding therefore your breasts are larger, heavier. Having carried twins has left you with stretch marks on your thighs and bosom, you husband deserting your bed has put a huge dent in the way you look at yourself in the mirror. Yet you carry on, with a voice that desperately hides your anxiety: you have made your move, now it's up to them, and you can't go back.

"Seduce me. The bed is a good battlefield as any other."

You're not sure of their reaction. Aegon has preferred whores ever since Maelor was in utero, and you don't know if you have ever catch Aemond's interest. This can, potentially, go wrong in so many ways, but you're desperate, and desperate people make desperate decisions.

You can see the way both swallow, the pink raising on Aemond's cheeks, how Aegon's hand shakes as he takes yours: you know he desperately needs to drink, how scared he is. For all his boosting, you husband is still a young man, insecure even after whoring himself around Flea Bottom.

Aemond's lips are soft on the meat of your shoulder, he barely kisses you, as if afraid the Gods might strike him for his indiscretion; Aegon's eyes land on your breasts, his hands cup them with a sigh, and you wonder why he hasn't called for you, if he looks like he's missed their familiar weight.

You want to let yourself go in their warmth, feel their touch, so different, on your skin, yet they keep bickering. In between kisses and caresses, they never stop: they're with you in body, in spirit, they're still fighting at the brothel.

"This isn't working." You say, defeated, after they stopped kissing your skin to argue about what to do. "Nothing can truly help you work together."

Head bent you evade their dual embrace and try to locate your nightgown.

"Please close the door on your way out."

You don't see the glance they share, you can't know how the challenge you now pose tickles the blood of the dragon flowing in their veins.

Aegon's hands curl around your upper arms, his hold is firm but gentle: he doesn't want to hurt you, but now he wants to show you what he's capable of doing.

"Not yet, sweet Wife, not yet."

"Let go of me, Aegon."

Swift and silent, Aemond is kneeling at your feet again, this time not like a penitent, but like a crouched animal, ready to pounce.

"You don't challenge a dragon and then decide when to stop, sweet Wife."

"I'm not joking Aegon."

"Nor are we." Aemond's voice is soft, and final. "Say the word and this stops, but you wanted to see us work towards a shared goal. Let us show you we can."

You let yourself be lost in Aemond's lonely gaze. The purple hue of his eye is shifting in the candlelight, their shadows doing nothing to hide his hunger: you'd never imagined he'd look at you this way.

You let out a small gasp when Aegon rests his chin on your shoulder, pouting, like a child.

"Let us, sweet Wife."

You know you aren't capable of deny them when his large palms cup your breasts again. Gently he massages them, moaning at the weight and warmth, his nimble fingers pinch your nipples, so sensitive ever since your pregnancy, forcing a long whine out of your lips.

You grab Aemond's head one handed, the other clenches on Aegon's side as your hips cant faster and faster, following your husband's pinching of your nipples: you're so needy you might come like this, untouched and pressed between their bodies.

"What do we have here?"

Your husband's voice is huskier now that milk has stained his fingers. Ashamed you try to hide your face, but he doesn't let you; with a dark smile he smears the milk on both your lips and your pearl. In the distance you hear Aemond groan with want.

"I'm sorry." You try to say. "There's always so much."

"Don't be. I always wondered what it tastes like."

It's like a dam has broken, when his lips land on yours, hungry and possessive, your mouth is already slack to welcome his tongue with a snuffed moan of want, that morphs into a whine when Aemond's hands grab your hips to smother his face in your center, his long tongue seeking the sweet taste of milk in your cunt.

They both kiss you like they own you. Aegon's tongue playful against yours, Aemond's is sloppy against your pearl, where he writes his love poem to you; his hands don't block your movements, he helps you ride his face, moaning at your taste, foreign and sweet, the vibration traveling your body like lightning, your high so close, so close, the pleasure of Aegon's fingers on your breasts spurring you on. There! There! You're almost there!

You whine, pathetically when Aemond removes his face, wet with spit and your essence, he angles it to look at Aegon, who squeezes your breasts again, until more milk spills and he can drench his hands with it, to use it to paint your cunt, mixing it with your honey, until you're on edge again, ready to explode, only then Aemond attacks you again, sloppy and fast he licks you, seeking that taste as Aegon kisses you with his hands still on your breasts, he massages the soft globes rhythmically, following his brother's hungry pace, driving your body into a frenzy.

Your hips move desperately following Aemond's tongue on your pearl, puffy and pulsating with every stroke, your knees wobble with pleasure, Aegon's mouth swallows all your screams, as pleasure grows and grows yet again in your belly, until it explodes behind your closed eyes.

You're woozy, you're legs are trembling and it's the brother's dual hold that keeps you up on your feet: it has been so long since you felt such undiluted pleasure that your body feels drunk with it.

"Undress, now!"

You try to bark your order but you hear how slurred your voice is.

"You're in no position to give orders."

Aegon's voice is playful, which makes your blood boil again. On trembling feet you turn around and grab the lapels of his half opened jerkin.

"Take your clothes off one another, Husband, now!"

You feel Aemond's hands on your hips, his lips on the base of your spine leave a soft kiss.

"Hae ao jaelagon. As you wish." He murmurs.

On trembling legs you walk to your bed and lie there, with your head on the fluffy pillows.

The brothers stand at the end of the massive frame, they look unsure and excited at the same time; to spur them on your spread your legs, offering the sight of your drenched cunt to them.

"I always have to do the work myself."

You wish your voice was stronger, not needy and broken as it comes out, that doesn't stop you from letting your fingers wander down your body until they reach your wet center. You moan when your pads find your pearl, swollen and drenched, and start massaging it slowly.

"I'm so close already." You whimper. "You two better hurry up, if I reach my end before you're done, you will not be allowed in my bed, aah!"

You try to keep your eyes open to observe the men, who look at you, pleasuring yourself, transfixed.

There's always been this undercurrent between them, energy that even them couldn't truly decipher, you want to see if you were right, if there's something there that goes beyond their brotherly bond.

Aemond is the first to act. With his good eye on you he hastily removes his brother's jerkin and attacks the knots keeping his shirt closed. Aegon seems to awake from his reverie when he feels his clothes being roughly removed from his body, his own hands are fast and hungry as he disrobes his younger brother, his lower lip bitten raw the more he discovers Aemond's alabaster skin; he moans when he sees his erection spring free from the confinement of his leather breeches, his mind imagining how it would feel to submit to the intrusion, to let his brother own his body in such a way.

For a second you don't exist, the room, King's Landing, the budding war, all forgotten when the brothers are naked in front of one another. Aemond's eye softens as it observes Aegon's pink skin, his pebbled nipples and cock, thick and ready: he hasn't been alone in his forbidden needs, it seems, not when Aegon takes a step towards him, only to go to his tip toes to brush his reddened lips on Aemond's.

The dam breaks, Aemond's control and inhibitions annihilated by his brother's taste; hungry he grabs Aegon's face to push it backwards, open his mouth and conquer it with his tongue, following the phantom taste of your sweet milk and Aegon's own, mingled.

Aemond doesn't realize he's pushed his brother's body against one of the columnar foot post of the canopied frame, he whines when Aegon's hand finds their weeping erections to jerk them fast, hungry, their lips disconnecting, only for Aegon to bite Aemond's sweaty shoulder, until the latter whines in pleasure.

"Like what... oh Gods! You see, Wife?"

Aegon is so close, not even in his wildest dreams this could have ever happen: Aemond's cock warm and hard like steel against his, his hips kicking against the wet hold, your sobs of pleasure and your eyes, full of lust and approval for the sight they are offering you.

"Yes! Yes!" You're delirious in your own need, another orgasm so close your cunt hurts with the need to be filled to the brim. "Come for me! Now!"

You try to time your pleasure with theirs, needing to come with them, but your body has a different plan, the knot in your belly breaks and you come, arching your back, screaming and they follow you, Aegon with a shout, Aemond with a long moan, pained when Aegon's hold doesn't release his softening cock. He has to push his brother away, loathing how cold he feels now, his trembling legs abandoning him to fall on the plush mattress, beckoned to you by your wet fingers.

He groans when your taste hits his tongue again, ravenous he licks your finger and moans when you push them inside his hungry mouth as far as they can go.

"Not fair. I wanted a taste!"

Your husband whines; rolling your eyes you spread your legs for him again.

"Come and lick me clean then."

The bed bounces under Aegon's weight, he enthusiastically dives in your center, tongue and mouth so ravenous he has to push your hips to the bed, or you'll break his nose.

You moan, torso arching again, you're so sensitive now, after two orgasms, and your husband knows how to devour you, all the little tricks he needs to drive you high again, ready to explode for him.

Aemond's head finds refuge on your shoulder, hungry he looks at his brother pleasuring you and fleetingly wonders why he seeks whores when he has you, warm and enticing, ready to pleasure him. He doesn't even realize his hand has traveled on one of your breasts, his palm is squeezing the soft globe gently, unsure of how hard he can go, until droplets of milk adorn your nipple, and need takes control again.

"Drink from me, Aemond, come."

Your voice is soft and laced with desire, yet he looks at your face to see if he truly can, and all he can see his your open smile.

"Kirimvose. Thank you." He murmurs, before latching on your breast, hungry like he's never been before.

Despite Aegon's ravenous desire, the orgasm crests slowly, following Aemond's soft suckling and his moans at the taste. Blindly you grab both their heads, drunk on the pleasure they're giving you, deaf but to the sound of your own whines of pleasure, until you come again on Aegon's tongue, who moans against your center, the vibrations pure torture against your pearl.

You lay boneless on the bed, staring at the brothers who, now, look at one another, still hungry for your taste and for each other.

Aegon initiates the kiss this time, one hand in Aemond's long hair he smashed their lips together, seeking the sweet taste of your milk, moaning when Aemond's tongue licks his mouth, only to try to subjugate his.

"He likes to have his hole played with." You say, with a smug smile.

Aemond abandons his conquest to let his brother ravage his neck and shoulder again, a dark glint in his eye.

"Iksos bona sīr. Is that so."

His fingers find the squelching mess that's your center to wet them, only to start playing with Aegon's puckered hole, who whines in response, hips kicking against Aemond's; your word, your order and he'll let his younger brother take him for your viewing pleasure, mind turned to shreds by the need to be buried inside of you, and to let Aemond play with his body.

"Not yet, Aemond." He manages to groan. "I need to come in them."

The brothers stare at one another, a silent dialogue pass as you feel the energy in the room shift while you look at their bodies entwined and tiredness seeps in your bones.

Aegon stares at you, hungry and more in control now that Aemond's fingers have stopped playing with his hole. His cock is so hard again, leaking and almost straining for your cunt; he moans when Aemond hugs him from behind, big hands on his chest, head on his shoulder.

"You have neglected the other breast. Go and do your duty." Aegon orders.

Aemond smirks but Aegon can see how feeble his control is; whatever this night has unlocked, it changes everything between you three, something that was needed.

Aegon lays on you, the cradle of your hips home as he slips inside your warmth; he whines when he bottoms out, so hot and perfect you are, the only true scabbard for his sword, no other cunt has ever felt like yours.

"I missed this." He moans as he slowly pushes in and out of you, unsure that you're listening now that your face is the picture of sexual pleasure. "Why didn't..." You arch and curl under and around him, your words lost for a second. "... call for me? Oh Gods!"

Aegon can feel control slip through his fingers as your cunt strangles his cock after a harsh suck on your nipple, he can feel the tendrils of pleasure spreading through his body with every thrust, flashes of white exploding behind his closed eyes.

"Can't risk... can't risk to lose you." He groans and stills when you curl your legs around his hips. "On... Gods! The birthing bed. I can't!"

Tears fall from his eyes when your caress his back and let him hide his face in the curve of your shoulder: you'd never imagine the ghost of the late queen would haunt him this way, he's never said a word about it, you didn't know if he even knew about her destiny.

"I will not die there, I promise you. Look at me, Aegon." Unwilling he faces you again, his eyes are red rimmed and desperate. "I will never leave your side, I swear on our children, Aegon!"

The mention of your remaining heirs has him cry harder and grab his brother's head to push their forehead together; over you Aemond seems taken aback, he tries to dislodge himself and Aegon grabs his hair with a tighter grip.

"I didn't want to make fun of you, I wanted to hurt you, punch you, make you feel a ounce of what I do even since Jahaerys."

Something had happened in the brothel, something you aren't privy of, something that seems to shake Aemond to his very core; for a second the younger man seems to turn into stone, no expression on his handsome face, before an array of emotions play there. You've never seen him this animated, not even when you saw him after Jahaerys's death.

"I do. Every waking moment." Aemond answers with a strangled voice. "I would have killed them, I would have..."

Aemond chokes on his words and hide his face against your shoulder. You can't see the tears but can feel his bigger body quake with them, over you Aegon seems equally distressed, it comes natural to you to whisper to him to find refuge against you.

You're not sure for how long the brothers cry silently in your arms, you're weeping as well, for the pain past and for the grief ahead of you all.

"I make you cry, always." Aegon says against your skin. "It's good tears, my love. Needed."

Both brothers dry your cheeks, their dual touch gentle and soft. You do the same, paying extra attention to the scar on Aemond's face, unsure of how much pain he feels: he might have kick started the war, but a part of your heart, cold and black, can't seem to pity him for Lucerys early end.

Aemond lets you remove his eye patch, he even smiles when he hears your murmuring how beautiful the sapphire is; he has to fight tears again when you kiss the length of his scar, butterfly kisses his numb skin can barely feel. Against his face you beg Aegon to move, to start taking you again; Aemond seals your lips with a deep kiss when his brother's hips start canting, slowly, reaching deeply inside of you, owning your body after deserting it for many, too many moons.

You're delirious with pleasure, you burn with it, your whole body sings with it as your feel your orgasm crest and crest, until you crash, followed by Aegon, who slumps in your arms as his flaccid cock slips out of your hole. You delude yourself with thinking you can feel his seed seep out of your cunt, warm and sticky; brokenly you beg the brothers to use your body as the shrine where they swear loyalty to one another, until Aegon rolls off you to make space for Aemond.

Your brother in law hovers over your body, his weight carried by one arm, the other in Aegon's hair as he starts suckling on your breast with soft moans of pleasure. You can barely make out Aemond's lovely face through your own tears, yet you can see the insecurity there.

"Have me, Aemond. I'm yours to take."

He murmurs something in High Valyrian, before sliding his erection against your overused cunt to wet it with both your honey and Aegon's seed. He groans when he breaches you, your cunt is so warm and perfect, drenched with your need and it sucks him in when he tries to go slow, mindful of how sore you must feel, the pleasure you're giving him drives him mad with the need to stay rooted inside of you for the rest of his days, your muscles massage him, your lovely voice spurs him on to own you, to spill his seed inside of you. He moans when you lock your legs around his hips, stopping him from pulling away and coming on your soft tummy: he's not going to taint you with a bastard, he'll never do such a terrible thing to you.

"It's too early to take, Aemond. Come inside of me." You plea after his cock head finds that spongy part that has your toes curl in pleasure. "Aemond I'm begging you!"

He can't deny you anything, he'll spend his life making up to you in any way possible; his thoughts frazzle and die the closer you're tethering him to his end, the longer your cunt strangles his cock and he knows you're close, because he's right behind you. With a shout you come, your cunt a painful vise around his cock and he follows you, his seed sucked greedily by your hungry hole.

You order them not to clean you, you want to feel their spent on your skin as you drift into slumber.

Aegon is the first to succumb to sleep, he hugs you from behind with his hands cupping your breasts; you're close as well and make a displeased sound when Aemond tries to leave the bed.

"Your handmaidens will discover us." He tells you. "They know they have to knock before entering." You answer, kissing his wrist. "And if you close the canopy they will see nothing. Lay with me, with us, where you belong."

In the dying light of the fire you see that violent array of emotions on his face again, and wonder if he's ever had the warmth of a lover lull him into sleep.

Fast he closes the thick drapes around the bed and lays on the mattress, facing you. He looks so young, younger than his ears with his air down and his cheeks pink. Behind you Aegon snores and you have to choke on a giggle.

"This is the reason why we sleep in separate beds. He's very loud even when asleep." You smile.

Aemond doesn't speak for an heartbeat, then he has to muster all his courage to ask, almost shy

"Were you serious, before."

You take his hand in yours, letting your fingers entwine with his, so long and strong against your dainty ones.

"I am, Aemond. We can't let this family tear itself apart even more than it already did. I need you and Aegon to work together to keep us all safe. Look what the divide did to us." "If I knew, if I had an inkling..." "I know you would have made good to your promise. And you still can. We have so much to lose."

You know you're being manipulative, then again that part of yourself who died with your poor Jahaerys, that part that's so cold and dark, takes control, and you can't find in your heart to feel bad for what you're doing.

"I have a plan. Cole and I have one, no one knows about it." Aemond tells you after a spell of silence. "It's about Rook's Rest. It's a good plan, solid, it will help us on the long run." "Then talk to him about it before the next Council meeting. He will follow you if you give him the chance. He wants to do what is good by all of us, and he can't if he's left alone on the Throne. You two together can win this war and bring the Realm back to its glory! Not the Dowager Queen, nor your grandsire can do that, but you two, the true heirs of the Dragon."

Aemond stares at you, weighting your words against his torn heart, against all the pain Aegon has put him through: none of it matters if you are all dead and Rhaenyra sits on a throne that doesn't belong to her, warming it for her bastards who will lead the Realm into ruins.

"As you wish." He tells you, the hurt child in himself beaming at your smile. "Come now, you need to sleep."

You wake up in their arms, their erections poking at your holes, and it's only natural that Aegon slips inside of you, and begs Aemond to take him as he slowly fucks you again, long strokes against your battered walls. Aegon wails as Aemond pours oil on his hole and fucks him with his long fingers until the King his reduced into a babbling mess, only capable to grunt and keen when Aemond's bulbous cock head breaches his tight hole: it has been so long since he's let you fuck him, but that doesn't matter, not when he's pressed between you two, fucking and being fucked. Tears spill from his eyes when Aemond orders him to spear himself on his cock, he wails as the dual sensation of being sucked in and being open ravage his mind; he ruts like an animal inside of you, who lay there, canting your hips to take all of him, as he tries to bottom out on his brother's cock. He's a rag doll when Aemond takes control again, grabbing his hips to piston inside of him, and you, harsh and hungry. He bites Aegon's shoulder savagely and the latter drools in pain, and need, passing out when pleasure blanks his mind; Aemond doesn't stop fucking him, using his limp body as a proxy to take you, until you come for him, and he follows, slumping on the bed when it hurts to keep going.

By the end of the war, your husband and your brother in law wear the scars from their battles and you kiss them all. You hug Aemond tight when Vhagar seems unable to survive her clash against Daemon and Caraxes, you have a custom walking stick made for Aegon, whose left leg never healed properly after having slain Rhaenyra; most of all, you make sure your bedchamber is the actual Council, where your lovers can discuss the matters of the realm and find a united front against the Court. It's in your chambers that you three discuss the destiny of Aegon III and Viserys II and how those children can be used to unite the factions still reeling after the victory of the Green. Your lovers are not happy with your proposal, you three need to discuss for days before they can accept that those children can't be slain. They are not bastards, their deaths can be used by Rhaenyra's faction to start the war again, but if Aegon III and your beloved Jahaera will marry, it will bring unity to the realm and, if the child in your belly is a girl, her marriage to Viserys II will only straighten the family. You wish there was another way, but there isn't: those children will be raised at court, where they can learn the truth about the Dance, and how to love the family they have left. By the time they'll grow into men, they will be so entwined with you all, that they will not raise a hand against their wives, and the rest of you. With Maelor, they will lead the Realm into prosperity, along with the dragons, who will raise into numbers again, to make sure no one tries to attack you all. And, if the mad prophecy Viserys entrusted Rhaenyra with, babbled by her bastard son on his deathbed proves to be real, you all will need all the strength the Dragons can provide. And that's all it matters.

Ewanverse taglist: @vhagar-balerion-meraxes @zaldritzosrose

#aegon ii targeryen x reader x aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x y/n x aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #amond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen #aegon ii targaryen

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frvnkcastles · 4 months ago

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I was wondering if you could write a fic where reader has abandonment issues and she's scared that frank will one day just get bored of her and leave?

love your work 💙

’TIL THE EARTH STARTS TO CRUMBLE ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You’re wired to always assume everyone will leave you. Frank is determined to change that.

Warnings: Abandonment issues, hurt/comfort, feminine nicknames

Word count: 1.4k

Author’s note: Thank you so much for the support anon! This was easy to write because this is something I also struggle with MAJORLY. I feel you, you’re not alone <3 It really sucks but the right people will stay and reassure you always!!

You didn’t want to be too clingy, you really didn’t. But when you’ve found someone like Frank, you’ve gotta cherish every moment with that person and make sure they won’t leave you, right? That was what you told yourself, anyway, not that you’d actually reveal what was going on inside your head to him directly. To you, it just seemed like opening up about your issues would only give him more reason to walk out on you, it would only push him away, and that was the last thing you wanted.

You had been this way for as long as you could remember. Desperate to be liked and loved, terribly scared of being left alone or rejected. It was all the same with people you dated and people you befriended, the constant checking that everything was alright and you were still doing good. You had learned the hard way it was too much for some people when your ex had done exactly what you had tried to stop him from doing — abandoning you.

So, you tried to tone it down. You tried to reason with yourself. Frank wasn’t going anywhere. He loved you and cared about you, and if anything, he had baggage, too. You appreciated him regardless, and you knew the feeling was mutual. It was just difficult to convey that message to your brain, the damn thing endlessly feeding you lies and doubt about the foundation of your relationship.

It was just a matter of time. It had to be. Just like everyone else, he’d leave you.

You managed to suffer in silence and cry about your fears in private for a while, but in a sick twist of fate, Frank began pulling away. He thoroughly explained to you his latest mission, told you everything he was going to have to do and how he wanted to keep you safe from his enemies. But it was in one ear and out the other. You smiled and nodded, promised you understood, but it didn’t take you long to start freaking out. This was how it started, the drifting apart, the building distance between you until he’d have to cut his losses and cut you off.

He left at night, which meant that most days you got to enjoy his company, only for your time together to be shadowed by the impending anxiety. And the nights you spent alone, your pillow wet with tears as you wondered when he’d stop returning home. When you woke up in his arms in the morning, you felt comforted and reassured and you swore to yourself you wouldn’t repeat the cycle that night, only to end up breaking your own promise.

A week passed with you slowly stopping eating and sleeping, an unhealthy habit that you were able to hide with Frank being gone. But he wasn’t stupid, and eventually, he picked up on it.

”Make sure you eat somethin’ tonight, aight? That sandwich I made ya was still in the fridge”, Frank commented while packing his bag for the night, shuffling around your apartment whereas you were seated on the couch, watching him bounce from one room to the next.

”I’ll try”, you spoke faintly, a yawn interrupting you, and stopping in his tracks, Frank looked over to you and frowned with his whole face.

”You didn’t sleep much last night, either”, he pointed out, hoping that his observation would be enough for you to open up, but you only gave him a half-hearted shrug in response.

”It’s fine”, you whispered, dropping your stare from Frank’s piercing eyes to your hands as you picked on your nails. You felt like you could throw up any second now, and the walls were closing down on you, inviting panic and terror into your soul. This was your least favorite part of the day and it didn’t seem to get any easier with time, but asking Frank to stay seemed so selfish and obsessive.

Figuring that it wouldn’t do any good to push, Frank nodded and finished packing his duffel bag. Once he was finished, he walked over to you for your nightly kiss on the top of your head, his routine of saying good night and goodbye to you.

But tonight, you just couldn’t help but act on your instincs. As he leaned down to kiss you, you closed your eyes and wrapped a fist around the front of his shirt to hold him close and not let him pull away. When he tried, he was stopped by your vice-like grip, and confused, he looked down at you only to find sheer fear twisted on your face.

”Hey, hey, what’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” he asked with concern, crouching down in front of you, his head tilted so he could catch your eyes. ”Talk to me, darlin’. I’m right here”, he reassured you while lifting his hand to caress your cheek, his thumb catching the stray tear that rolled down from the corner of your eye.

”I don’t want you to go. I’m so scared you won’t come back. I know, I know it’s just a matter of time before you get sick of me or bored of me and leave for good. I’m not good enough for you, I’m not interesting enough, I’m not pretty enough—”, you babbled, all the emotions you had been bottling up inside finally bursting out of you.

”Baby, baby, where’s all this comin’ from? I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Hey, look at me”, he was genuinely surprised, but his voice was firm as he took a hold of your jaw and lifted it so that your eyes could meet. Shakily, you opened your eyes, embarrassed to face him but there was not even a hint of judgment or annoyance in the brown depth of his gaze. ”You’re wrong, sweetheart. You’re more than good for me, you’re far more than my miserable ass deserves. And whaddya mean you ain’t interesting? You keep me on my toes all the time. Don’t even get me started on the pretty part, you know I fuckin’ adore you, head to toe”, he raved on, passion behind every word, and you so badly wanted to believe him.

Sniffling, you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. ”I thought that admitting I was scared you’d leave me would just push you away. Or worse, you’d stay with me out of pity”, you admitted quietly, averting your gaze in shame, but Frank was having none of it, and quickly turned your head back to him.

”Oh, sweetheart”, he sighed, pulling you into his embrace, tightly folding his strong arms around you. ”I’m stayin’ with you because I love you. You’re everythin’ to me and I couldn’t do this without you. I’m not tryna belittle your feelings and fears, but I promise, it ain’t gonna come true. I’m stickin’ with you for as long as you’ll have me, I swear on my life, sweet girl”, he vowed while holding you against his chest.

”Do you mean that?” you asked with a wavering voice, ”everyone always leaves me.” Your words broke Frank’s heart, and he wished he could have made you see yourself through his eyes, wished you could have read his mind so that you’d know exactly how he felt about you. He considered himself the luckiest bastard in the world for being able to share a space with you, to kiss you and hold you, and he wasn’t going to walk away from that no matter what.

”Not me. You’ll see. I’m here to stay”, he insisted, pulling back just so he could cradle your head in his large hands and shower your face with quick but sweet kisses, from your forehead to the corner of your eye and from your nose to your jawline.

”Good, ’cause I really love you and it would break me”, you chuckled sadly, unable to fight a smile as Frank peppered your skin with kisses.

”I’m real sorry people haven’t ’preciated you before. But I’mma make sure that head of yours quiets down for a second, yeah? I ain’t gonna let you down”, he confirmed with dedication, and as he gave you a solemn look that was far from joking, you gave in and nodded.

You wanted to believe him, but you both knew it was easier said than done. But Frank wasn’t going to give up — he was going to show you again and again that he was serious about you, that he really was in love with you, and maybe, some day, you would accept that as the simple truth.

#frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle x reader #the punisher #the punisher x reader

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yoongihan · 1 year ago

Text

Vigilant(e) - Rebuttal - MYG (1/3)

pairing: yoongi x femreader

genre: vigilante au, lawyer au, rivals to lovers

word count: 4.3k

rating: M

warnings: language (the f-word mostly), kissing (not quite smut but I feel like they would if they could), violence (not between our leads), a little blood mention, discussion of law and justice, rhapsodizing about the min yoongi,

a/n: i like to lay blame where it is due: so I blame @raplinesmoon for flooding my dash of yoongi in that final concert. I blame @jl-micasea-fics for the prompt that set this in motion. I blame @seokjinger-ale and @hannahbee12719 for telling me I should write yoongi again. i blame Greedy for the appearance of a diner because that's a top tier yoongi fic. i blame yoongi for looking like he does, performing like he does and just in general being what he is. and I blame myself for have no power to withstand any of the above. I have not written for this man in well over a year and if that means the following is a bit rusty, my apologies. i am not a lawyer, just the daughter of one, and the sister of one; I probably misrepresent the jargon and life of a lawyer so many apologies for that. also if there are any typos or mistakes, I'm sorry. i tried my best to find them.

a/n 2: i might have an idea for a part two.

prompt used

Person A: "Why did you save me?" Person B: "Honestly, if I had known it was you beforehand, I probably wouldn't have."

masterlist

series masterlist

Part 1 (of 3) - Rebuttal

—-----

It’s not tunnel-vision (or maybe it is, you’re not sure you know the definition), but when you are in THAT mode, you see only what is necessary. Your brain predicts the possible outcomes and you follow the one with the least damage and best chances of saving the person in trouble.

You don’t really see faces.

Maybe your therapist would have something to analyze if she knew that, but you tend to keep the other part of your life secret from everyone, and that includes your therapist.

Your therapist is probably bored, honestly.

It’s a typical evening in your life. You’ve finished work hours, dealt with depositions, met with a few witnesses, and held your tongue when the District Attorney asks you to do something clearly under his job description, not yours. You don’t have court tomorrow, just more research, so you change into your coveralls, slip a medical-grade mask on, and your favorite blue beanie.

You have a police scanner in your car, but you opt just to carry it with you in your backpack. One earbud in and you just look like a very sketchy person out for a walk, listening to music or the latest podcast.

The police scanner isn’t the greatest of ways to get information. You usually encounter situations by pure happenstance and tonight is no different.

It’s raised voices.

It’s not the worst part of the city that you’re in, but it isn’t exactly the best either. The apartment complex in front of you needs work, but it’s also free of metal bars on first-level windows or barbed wire, so that’s a plus.

You pause when you hear. You take out the earbud and listen a bit longer. Sometimes yelling is just yelling. It doesn’t require an intervention of any kind. Early on in doing this thing that you do at night, you have definitely interrupted interactions that did not need your assistance.

Good thing the mask hides your embarrassment.

You discern mostly one voice, male, that is the loudest. There are other male voices…two more. One is a bit reedy, a little concerned. The other is the lowest register, scratchy, but calm.

“Fuck you!”

Which again, doesn’t mean you should intervene. But the sound you hear after that does.

A punch doesn’t sound like it does in the movies. You saw somewhere that sound effects people tend to use steak to make the sound of flesh being pummeled.

Seems like a waste of meat.

The real thing is muted, and if you weren’t a several-year pro at this, the sound wouldn’t raise alarm.

But there are two in rapid succession and that springs you into action.

It’s down the alley next to the apartment complex, basically the back entrance, you assume.

Three men. And it’s easy to see who is who. The yeller is the one throwing punches. The reedy-voiced one is trying to hold him back. The calm one is the one attempting to avoid the hits, but isn’t retaliating.

You don’t even ask, you just swoop in.

Removing the reedy one is easy. You tug him back with one grab of his arm. He stumbles out of the way.

Which does announce your arrival and stops the instigator from throwing another hit.

“Who the fuck are you?”

You don’t say anything. You don’t have a particularly overt feminine voice, but it does help the whole process if they don’t suspect that you are a female. Usually.

The yeller leaves the man he’s just been attacking and starts to swing at you. It’s easy again. Real fighting is not the beautiful choreography seen on screens. It’s slower, especially if there’s no training involved.

You’ve been trained, but your opponent definitely has not.

You dodge a few of the incoming swipes before landing a solid to his gut. This causes him to keel over, effectively inactive for several seconds. This gives you time to grab him right above his elbow, thumb pushing against that pressure point.

His scream is satisfying, but that’s not something you tell your therapist.

“Hey, hey,” you hear behind you. “Let him go. He’s….just let him go.”

The attacker is begging the same thing, but you listen to the voice behind you. You shove the attacker away, who is immediately helped up by his friend, and with some not-so-creative threats toward you, they hurry off.

“Well.”

You turn around, breathing a little heavily because a fight isn’t always your daily norm. Sometimes it’s just helping someone across the street. Or distracting a would-be assault-er. Sometimes your nights are just long walks with no action at all.

Your tunnel vision now focuses on who you just saved.

Your damsel in distress is several things:

Not a damsel (would have been impressive with such a low voice).

Not especially tall (taller than you, but no one would give this guy a basketball scholarship).

Has long hair (Longer than yours, but you keep yours really short for ease, and this whole night-time-save-people thing you do).

Is going to have a few marks in the morning from where his attacker was successful. (You only notice because it’s a really nice face you’re looking at).

Is Min Yoongi.

“I needed him to agree to come in so I could depose him for a case.” There’s a long sigh. “Not sure he’ll do it now.”

Defense attorney, Min Yoongi. The man on the other side of the courtroom. The one who remains calm in practically any situation. Who smirks when his team is getting the best of the State with his loopholes and questionable interpretations of the law.

Basically, the person your boss hates more than anyone else.

You don’t mean to, but you say his name.

The eyebrows raise. “You know me?”

Quickly you try and keep your voice low (not as low as his, nor as pretty…objectively). “Who doesn’t?”

You’ll give credit. He’s an excellent lawyer and though the media does like to write about him when he wins a case, or loses; he doesn’t seek it out. Not that you can see. While other defense attorneys are often caught out living it up with their ridiculous amounts of money from exorbitant fees, Min Yoongi seems pretty private.

You also know he does pro bono work because you might have researched him once. Or twice.

Once for your boss to find something to discredit him. Twice because you sometimes can’t help yourself finding out more of someone’s story.

Despite the fact that blood is trickling from his eyebrow (the attacker had on a few rings), Yoongi looks very nonplussed as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

You pull your backpack off one shoulder to swing it around and open it. You have a veritable first aid kid in there; along with pepper spray, mace, and various other dissuaders.

You take out a clean tissue and reach for the wound before stilling when he doesn’t even flinch.

“Can I?”

Fuck, you forgot to keep your voice low.

He nods and you dab away the blood carefully.

“You’re Anon, right?”

Your nightly activities are sometimes reported and the press has given you a moniker - Anonymous, or Anon.

It’s better than anything you could have come up with.

“That was hardly a life-threatening altercation,” he continues as you draw away to find a bandage. “Why did you ‘save’ me?” He even uses the finger quotation marks.

It makes you bristle. You can’t help it.

As you apply the bandage over the eyebrow cut, you respond with some annoyance, “Honestly, if I had known it was you beforehand, I probably wouldn't have.”

He laughs. Outright and very loudly before covering his mouth. You back up, closing your bag and righting it on your shoulders again.

“Okay, then. Anon.” He meets your eyes and you look away. Most people you interact with like this don’t look too closely, but you know how smart this man is. You don’t need him to get a good look (thank goodness for crappy streetlights that barely work) at your eyes. “I guess you know me better than most.”

He touches the bandage gingerly before dropping his hand.

“Be careful,” you grumble before starting to retreat because retreat is very very necessary right now.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I probably won’t.”

You look back at him for that comment and he’s doing that smirk again. The one you’ve seen multiple times in the courtroom. That you’ve been on the receiving end of a few times when you’ve taken to questioning the defendant or witness.

“Thanks, though.”

You get the fuck out of there.

—

It’s months later. After winning one case and losing two others (you don’t mind losing cases if you believe that the defendant is innocent, or that the evidence doesn’t add up, but that doesn’t hold water with your boss; a perfect record should be attained always), you are making an appearance at a charity function because someone from the DA’s office should be there and everyone else has excuses before you can come up with one.

So here you are, listening to people with a lot more money than you talk about reforms needed for the city, how citizens should abide by the laws, and more money should be funneled into programs to clean up the streets.

“Or we could just fund programs that actually help those who need it.”

You didn’t see him come up next to you. His voice is quiet enough that the speaker at the podium wouldn’t notice. In fact no one around you seems to care that Min Yoongi has just approached you even though there can’t be anything you two have in common; opposites sides of the legal system obviously.

You just stare at him, a champagne flute in your hand that is only half full because you don’t like champagne but it’s the only thing at this event that seemed acceptable to drink without resorting to just chugging water. He doesn’t smile at you though the corner of his mouth is lifted slightly like he’s amused.

Again, it’s definitely an expression you’ve seen in the courtroom.

One of those losing cases was against Min Yoongi. One of the ones you were sure the defendant was telling the truth. But you can’t say that. Because admitting that failure was the correct judgement would be weakness.

Sometimes you wish you heard someone else’s voice in your head other than your boss’s.

“I don’t think I’m the person to tell that to,” you say, hopefully as softly. “I’m not in charge.”

He stands next to you, facing the stage, almost mirroring your posture; though he has a tumbler of whiskey instead of champagne.

“You’re exactly the person to tell it to,” he says, leaning a little closer so you can hear him clearly.

Min Yoongi is attractive. It’s an objective fact. You’re pretty sure that’s why the press enjoys writing about him because he looks good in his lawyer suits. The hair a little too long to be conventionally professional. The sharp jawline in contrast with round cheeks. The sharp sharp eyes that are so dark against his skin.

Does the journalists know that he smells good too?

That’s new information for you as you have never been this close to him. Minus that night you saved him but there was blood and sweat and general dirty alley scents to mar whatever cologne he prefers.

“I don’t follow,” you reply. “You know where I am in the hierarchy of this city and the DA’s office.”

The speaker at the podium has finished his talk and the hired band starts to play something that feels more jazzy than current. Yoongi turns slightly toward you and you can’t help but meet his gaze.

“I do. You do good work there,” he says as he tucks one hand in the pocket of his suit pants before taking a sip of his drink. “Subscribing to the letter of the law, upholding it and every governmental branch that it includes.”

Does he have to sound so mocking?

“If we don’t put faith in our laws, it’d be chaos.”

“I mean, true…” The beginning of the smirk shows up. “But sometimes, the law is a bit restricting, don’t you think?”

You can feel the flare of your nostrils. “Rules are. That’s the point. Justice needs parameters, and it’s our job to make sure justice is served…properly.”

He grins and it blinds you just a bit.

“Yeah? So, taking matters into your own hands…outside of the police, the courtroom, the local government…that would be wrong?”

Oh fuck. Abort. Abort.

“Of course.” You take a step back. “Nice to see you, Attorney Min, outside the courtroom, but I have to go.”

You turn and flee the scene as best you can in your sensible heels. You’ve been at this function for nearly two hours. That’s enough time to present a good face for the DA’s office. Time to go home and curl up on the couch to watch the most recent episode of the coziest anime.

You’re outside the ballroom, coat attained from coat check, and you’re filling in the information on your phone for an Uber when you feel a hand brush your elbow.

“Let me give you a ride home.”

You shake your head, not looking at him. “I’m good.”

He says your name in his lawyer voice; firm and assertive as though nothing can sway his opinion.

“No thank you.”

“Anon.”

Your head shoots up from staring at your phone before you can tell yourself to ignore it. He doesn’t look amused anymore. He looks lethal.

“If not a ride home, then something to eat.”

“We just…” your voice is shuddery and you hate yourself for it. “There was food in there.” You point to the ballroom.

He snorts. “I mean real food. The diner two blocks over? You know it?”

Of course, you do. It’s your favorite.

But you just nod and he gestures for you both to head that way.

It’s quiet for several minutes, minus the passing cars and people out and about at nine p.m. on a Saturday.

Your brain isn’t quiet. It’s racing. Trying to figure out how to save this. Save your identity. Save the one thing that you do that feels like it makes an impact because your work at the DA’s office can quite often feel like trying to carry sand in a colander - futile.

“Attorney Min.”

“I think you can call me Yoongi.” He doesn’t look at you, but opens the door to let you walk into the diner first. You return the wave of one of the servers who recognizes you before finding a booth and easing yourself in (you’ve never been here with a floor-length dress and heels on before).

He slides in across from you as you’re both greeted with menus and full plastic glasses of water.

The server, Bora who is working here to get through her associate's degree for accounting, asks if you want your regular.

Yoongi looks at you with pure amusement. “Your regular?”

You shrug. “Burger and shake.”

“What kind?”

“Chocolate malt.”

“Sounds good. I’ll have that too.” He hands back the menu to Bora and waits until she’s gone before speaking again. “So.”

You know how smart Min Yoongi is so you don’t try to deny it or evade.

“I won’t do it anymore. You can’t prove it.”

The eyebrows raise. “Prove what?”

You close your eyes, annoyed and frustrated. “You know what.”

You hear movement and open your eyes to see that he’s leaned more across the table.

From this close, you can see a little bit of a scar from where he’d bled that night.

“Do you think I’m gonna blackmail you?”

“Aren’t you? Why else say anything?”

He sits back at regards you with those eyes for several seconds. You take a long sip of your water.

“What’s the end goal?” he asks. “Either you get found out or you get hurt or you get killed.”

You’ve thought of that. You’ve thought about that a lot.

“I know.” You fiddle with the straw. “I thought it’d be just once or twice, but…”

“Doing good is addictive.”

You stare at him, thinking that he seems very sure of this. “Doing good?”

“You think I’m going to say that you shouldn’t do what you’re doing? I mean, yeah, it’s completely risky and the result will probably end in one of those three ways, but you’re doing good things.”

No one knowing about your secret is the right thing for everyone. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t lonely. Getting injured because you didn’t watch the hit coming, suffering through only a few hours of sleep sometimes and having no one to talk about it with…is very lonely.

“Thank you.”

He smiles a little as your shakes are delivered and you ask Bora how classes are. She updates you briefly. If Yoongi wasn’t here, she’d be way more detailed.

“But you’re on a date, so next time,” she says and leaves before you can correct her.

“You know,” Yoongi begins without so much as a response to the ‘date’ comment. “It’s antithetical to your real job. Doing something outside the law.”

It’s fascinating how neither of you has actually spelled out the secret.

“Yeah…I know.”

“I mean…it’s why I didn’t believe it at first. Not you. The assistant DA who challenges every line of questioning I start.”

“Not every one.”

“Okay, 90% then.” He has a warm smile like this. Twinkling eyes when he takes his first sip of the shake. “I’ve never had a shake here before. I’ve been missing out.”

If this was a date, you’d talk about how you’ve tried all the options they have on the menu and how the chocolate malt is by far superior and that it’s always the perfect smoothness and sweetness.

Shouldn’t think of this as a date, though. That’s dangerous.

“I do believe in following the letter of the law…but…”

“But?” His eyes still sparkle but he’s not drinking right now. He’s looking at you.

“It’s made by humans. And we never get it perfect or right. We just sometimes miss the mark.”

“So you became a vigilante.”

Not that you didn’t know that he knew (why else has this night even ended up like this?) but the words are so powerful and you feel frozen.

“I guess.”

He says your name again and you thaw some. “I’m not going to blackmail you. Or say anything.”

That confession takes several seconds to process.

“Why not?”

He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth, but Bora is back with your burgers. Some quick chit-chat chat and then you see Yoongi take a bite and nearly have a transcendent experience.

“Fuck, that’s really good.”

It’s weirdly validating. To have the Min Yoongi think your food choices are good.

He gets back to your question.

“We are on the same side, you know.”

“I think that we’re fundamentally not.”

“We are. I know what it’s like in the courtroom. We are enemies, I seek to represent my client in their best interests and you represent the law. I know.” He glances away for a second. “But it’s justice, right?”

“But you and your team constantly twist the law and–”

“Because sometimes compassion is needed. Grace and mercy. That’s still justice. Just a different side to it.”

It floors you. Not that you haven’t wanted to give someone a second chance, even those you oppose in the courtroom, but you’ve never heard it said like that.

You focus on your food, a bit jumpy from everything. “How did you figure it out?”

“That it was you?” You can hear his confidence and it’s both annoying and really attractive. “Your voice. Your height. The fact that your makeup sometimes doesn’t cover a bruise on your leg.”

Who looks at your legs that much?

You hear him move again and reluctantly look up. He’s watching you carefully.

“Your eyes mostly.”

“My eyes.”

He nods.

“In movies, the eyes show all the time and no one figures it out.”

He scoffs. “Okay, in movies, most people are dumb. Actually, in life, most people are dumb.” He pauses, pressing his lips together before speaking again. “And most people don’t pay attention.”

“You pay attention?”

“You know I do.”

“I know you do because you find every possible weakness in my arguments to pounce upon and destroy.”

He laughs and props his chin on his hand. “Absolutely. But that isn’t all I pay attention to.”

Logically, that follows, but you’re a little nervous to see where this path leads.

“It isn’t?” But you’re curious and you prefer the truth over anything, so you’ll just continue down this trajectory even if it ends in flames.

The laugh fades, but he still looks happy. The chocolate malt is amazing, but you don’t think it’s that happiness-inducing.

“I pay attention to you. Both professionally and…” He straightens and scratches the back of his head, looking for less like Attorney Min and more just…Yoongi. “Less professionally.”

Between your daily job and your nightly job, you don’t have much time for dating. And despite it being 2023, you’ve found that men are still intimidated by a professional woman, especially a lawyer.

So you don’t think about it much.

And yes, you have eyes and have seen Min Yoongi so you know he’s attractive and may or may not have starred in a dream or two, but that’s dreams. You’ve had dreams about the man who lives two doors down from you and he’s sixty-five and not your type.

“Less professionally.” Your brain is so overwhelmed that all you can do is repeat his words.

His smile turns wry. “I wouldn’t mind if this,” He gestures to the table and the diner, “is an actual date.”

He looks a little shy, which is a version of Min Yoongi you’ve never seen. The faint pink in his cheeks, the softer eyes; the fidgety hands.

You’ve had a lot to process tonight and it takes you several seconds to respond.

“I wouldn’t mind either.”

You do let Min Yoongi drive you home. He even walks you up to your third-floor apartment, chatting about getting to see his alma mater’s basketball game in two days, why Marvel movies no longer excite him as much as they did, and what kind of ramen he ate for two weeks straight when studying for the Bar Exam.

“It’s good,” he insists as you slow down in front of your door. “It was. I can’t even look at a package of it anymore without war flashbacks and nausea.”

“My comfort food was pop-tarts. And I still like them for some reason.”

“What flavor?” he asks stopping behind you as you unlock your door.

“Strawberry…or blueberry.”

“What? Not cinnamon or smores? What kind of lawless heathen are you?”

You laugh (not the first time tonight, you should have known that all those smarts of his would make him funny too) and turn back around to see his mock-horrified expression.

“If it’s fruit-flavored it’s better for you, right?”

He rolls his eyes. “Sure.” Then his smile drops a bit as does his gaze to his feet. “So…I guess I’ll see you later?” His head pops up then. “Are you…I guess, patrolling tonight?”

You shake your head. “One, is that a Buffy reference?”

“Yes,” he says without a hint of shame.

How on earth did he get more attractive?

“Two, my feet hurt.”

He winces in sympathy.

“And three, I have to be alert and well, this entire evening has made my brain really really hazy at this point. So it’d be stupid for me to go out like this.”

He nods, taking a step closer to you. “Makes sense. I wouldn’t ask you not to. I have absolutely no right to do so.” He looks up at you (your heels definitely give you a little height) and to add to your night of shocks, the way he looks at you is staggering. “But if you do, or when you do, can you let me know? Like occasionally check in so I know you’re okay.”

It’s a lot, really. To go from thinking someone hates you or is at least unimpressed by you to realizing that you’re cared for, and thought of. Especially when you find you feel the same way.

“I will.” You fiddle with your clutch purse. “It’d be nice to know someone is out there…paying attention.”

“Less professionally,” he repeats.

You chuckle. “Less professionally.”

There’s a pause in conversation, but it’s not quiet. You swear you can hear your heartbeat and the crackle of something in the air.

“I want to kiss you.”

You meet his eyes and try not to melt. “I’m okay with that.”

Kissing Min Yoongi is a bit like your night job. You are hyper-aware (his hands on your waist, fingers digging in when you open your mouth; the sounds of his breaths, one low moan that you feel all over; how he tastes like chocolate malt), a bit nervous (first kisses are normally so awkward, but this…this is probably what inspires poets), and have to be ready to adapt (when he leaves your mouth and nips at your jaw and neck, you almost ask him to come in).

He draws back too soon, but it’s a delight to see the flushed color of his skin, lips swollen from your mouth; his hair, already wavy, now even more tousled.

“Let me know when you aren’t working…either job,” he whispers. “We’ll go out.”

“Or stay in.”

The awareness in his eyes makes your body even more tense, like any second you’ll snap like a broken guitar string. “Or stay in.”

It’s another soft kiss before he lets you go.

“Good night, Attorney Min.”

“Night, Anon.”

Part 2

© yoongihan 2023. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. bts belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

#yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts x you #bts smut #bts fluff #bts x reader #yoongi au #yoongi imagine #my writing #fic: vigilant(e)

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nekrosdolly · 11 months ago

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everything is blue

you're vergil's "something blue."

cw; lingerie mention, established relationship, canon compliant, vergil is a cat, somewhat needy vergil, this is not a full fic just something i thought of earlier, powder blue is such a good color, sex mentioned but not described, i love 40 year olds (vergil is 43)

a/n; dear god the dmc brain rot has started... fear not! i will still be a resident evil account, just with some... extras here and there. btw i finished 3 & 1 in two days... tryhard who? i might make a dante version of this too! this will officially be my vergil divider i think!

blue. that's what reminds you of vergil- blue. deep, navy blue. sometimes a shade of indigo. if you asked him, he'd tell you that associating someone with a color is odd and something he would never do. it's silly, he'd insist, and not something he really cares for.

or so he says.

unbeknownst to you, he's decided that you are light blue. specifically powder blue, not quite baby blue, and not exactly periwinkle- powder blue.

whenever he buys you something, it's always that exact shade. you don't notice until lady points it out to you one day, after you've told her about something vergil has, once again, bought for you (an irresponsible spender, it seems, but he'd give the world for you.)

"that sounds cute," she says, leaning into the old couch cushions behind her back. the entire damned piece of furniture is old, so it's no surprise that she inadvertently sinks into your side.

"yeah, it is." you nod, leaning into her, too.

"what color?"

"blue. like a baby blue, sort of." you say and she hums.

"weird," she comments.

"why is that weird?"

"he always buys you blue stuff. like he's claiming you with a color or something." she shrugs, which moves your shoulder, too.

"huh…" everything vergil has ever gotten you- lingerie, skirts, shirts, little charms for your lanyard, the lanyard itself, bracelets with aquamarine, even some earrings with the same stone. when you ask him what color to get on your nails, he always says the same color- powder blue. you wonder if it's his way of staking a claim. he's never been outright possessive, never told you to your face that you belong to him or that you're his in every single way, inside and out.

truthfully, you'd never thought he was wired that way. maybe it's a demon thing, and part of you wants to assume it is, but it's not like you're dumb. you've dated other men before vergil, much to his dismay, and you know how they can be. maybe, when indulging in sins of the flesh, he's not so different. his touches are never less than gentle, especially when it came to the early stages of your relationship. they were very chaste, then, never below the belt until you told him you were ready. he was gentle, then, too.

he's extra affectionate when you're actually wearing the blue things he gave you- maybe one of the skirts he bought you, or the thigh-highs he nervously gave you to wear, too. even the jewelry has him touchy. like a cat, he'd press himself against your side, one hand on your thigh, thumbing the hem of your skirt somewhat obsessively as you pay attention to your phone instead of him, still holding his arm. his stormy grey eyes would be a little more blue, his pupils dilated some. pouty lips would find your cheek, your temple, your hair, anything to get you to pay attention to him without him needing to ask. maybe your theory was right.

not to mention the one day you wore red to work, he looked like somebody stomped on his heart. to anyone else, the crease between his brows was the same, the pout his lips were always in didn't change, but to you, he was sulking majorly. realistically, he knew he didn't control you, but some darker, inner parts

it's not his fault. ever since you two began dating, he'd had this obsession with seeing you decked out in his color, even though he knew it was silly.

#dmc vergil #devil may cry #devil may cry vergil #vergil devil may cry #vergil dmc #drooling over vergil dmc #dmc brain rot #bunnystalker ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡#bunny's blurbs✧˖ °#dmc fanfiction #vergil x reader #vergil sparda #vergil sparda x reader

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redfurrycat · 5 months ago

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🤠🍺🍽️🐓Chef, Bartender & Waiter Fic Recs🐓🍽️🍺🤠

GIF by @unicornships

Check the Top Gun Masterlist post for the latest updated version. 💕

Ao3 Authors: Coconutcordiale, Dracculaura, Grimjobs, Hangmanbradshaw, Haridwar, MacMonkey, Nixie_DeAngel, ReformedTsundere, Saturn, SunMonTue, Xo_em, Youlookgood.

Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor AU > Mechanic AU > Bakery & Coffee Shop AU

we're not finished here by haridwar {T}

Jake finds out Maverick has a son in the middle of dogfight football.

Overboard by MacMonkey {T}

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Bradley snapped his eyes up the moment he heard the voice, dropping his phone onto the counter in shock. There was no way. Jake Seresin stood before him with a sharp grin, an apron, and an empty glass. “Bradley Bradshaw. As I live and breathe.”

It’s Autumn In New York by xo_em {M}

Everything's Waiting For You (Downtown) When Bradley’s breath catches, in a way it hasn’t in literal years of bartending, he’s a tad shaken.

IWTBY Verse by hangmanbradshaw {E}{_}

muse by youlookgood {T}

Lately, it's like the spark that would keep driving Bradley forward each night, the fire on his fingertips hot and blazing just like the sweet burn of the drink that comes between and after sets, has been snuffed out. He sees his half-steady gig work and instead of a semblance of comfort and that sun-bright thrill, he feels... ...a little empty. Then, "Can I get you another?"

Cuddle Bug in Training by ReformedTsundere {T}

"I'm not dating any psychopaths this time, Nat, promise," Bradley says, trying for lightness but only managing something so tired he's surprised he hadn't yawned the whole way through. Natasha snorts, her arms unfolding, but the look on her face remains painfully unimpressed.

after this I'm never gonna be the same by haridwar {M}

Bradley had always been an intense man. Prison, it seemed, hadn’t done anything to change that.

Bird on a Wire by SunMonTue {E}

Hangster AU Meetcute. Jake tries to make a good impression on one of the servers at a restaurant. Except he turns out to be the head chef. Who in turn tries make a good impression. Their families try and help.

Mercury & Manganese by SunMonTue {T}

An AU MeetUgly (where I failed to meet the assignment as it feels too soft, nice and gentle to really be a MeetUgly? Maybe?). No one is in the Navy. This centres around chefs and restaurants and drinks, but it's all very background. Background established IceMav.

waiting on the other side by Saturn {E}

Mouth agape, Bradley stood there dumbly as his brain tried to calibrate the dissonance of seeing Hangman in a food truck. “You work here?” Bradley asked, incredulity laced into the question. He supposed bumping into Hangman at an airshow wasn’t entirely unlikely, but the sight of the former aviator—pad in hand, ready to take Bradley’s order—was a shock. “Even worse, Rooster,” Hangman said easily, and Bradley tried to avoid flinching at the use of his callsign, “I own the place.” Post-retirement, Bradley is struggling to find his place. He gets help from an unlikely source.

dancing in convertibles by coconutcordiale {M}

“He’s not that great,” Jake mumbles. “You’re only saying that ‘cause he’s your ex,” Charlotte accuses, but it’s without malice. He thinks. “I’m really not.” It’s not a lie, since they never actually dated, but it’s not like he’s going to admit that out loud. + aka the hotel staff au

Neon Lights & Blue Moon Tides by Nixie_DeAngel {T}

Blinking, Jake lifts his gaze to shoot the other man a look of curiosity. He watches as Bradley glances at him before refocusing on his work. Or, Jake puts his foot in his mouth and then manages to save himself from it.

party fowl by dracculaura

under the lights tonight {M}

jake goes to bradley's club for the first time

with just one look {_}

bradley meets the man his friends have spent six months trying to set him up with

whiskey on ice (sunset on vine) by grimjobs {E}

“Just lie then,” Bradley said, easy as that. “What?” Jake asked, incredulous. “Just lie,” Bradley shrugged, “tell your sister you’re dating someone, make it all up. She gets off your back, and you don’t have to suffer the pain and torment of caring about another person. Problem solved.”

#Chef & Bartender & Waiter Recs List #hangster #sereshaw #hangaroo #bradley rooster bradshaw x jake hangman seresin #bradley rooster bradshaw #jake hangman seresin #🐈red🐈furry🐈cat🐈tag🐈

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ivystoryweaver · 10 months ago

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The Only One

Episode 5

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Summary: Date number 2 brings you closer to Poe

Pairing: Poe Dameron x female original character. Fic is written in second person, but the female "you" has a name (It reads basically the same as any other xreader)

Word Count: 1.7k

Content: fluff, no warnings really, Elia is just too hard on herself, not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on "The Only One"...

"I know you, Ells," he said softly, tenderly smiling as you actually looked up at him

"Give me a chance? I'm not so bad after date number four." He winked and you burst out laughing.

There was something so comforting about the way you were always so consistently...you.

Poe once again met you in the hangar for date number 2, smiling to himself as he approached you.

"Poe!" You excitedly called, bouncing on your toes as you tugged at your backpack straps. Twin buns, unlaced boots - same as always.

"Hey, you made it," Poe grinned, pausing before he gave into the urge to greet you with a hug or a kiss on the cheek. Still working on that personal space thing. "Perrha said you had to work late."

"Got done just in time," you confessed.

"Come on," he offered, extending his hand. He respected your boundaries, but if he wanted to date you for real, he had to know exactly where those boundaries were.

You chewed on your lip in concentration, a cute wrinkle appearing between your eyebrows. Slowly loosening your clutch on your backpack strap, you reached out to accept his hand.

His face glowed with warmth and adoration as he wrapped his fingers around yours. "This okay?"

"I think it feels safe right now," you honestly replied, and Poe thought it might be the best description he'd ever heard for holding someone's hand.

"I like when you do that," he playfully smirked over at you, leading you out of the hangar with his hand wrapped securely around yours.

"Do what?"

"Tell me the truth. No games. It's rare," he explained.

You felt him squeeze your joined hands and it made something inside you bloom to life. Poe Dameron wanted to hold your hand. Why, you would never know, but you held on for dear life, resting your cheek against his arm as you walked - the warmth of his skin seeping through his sleeve.

"I know I'm different," you slowly answered. "But you are too. When I'm with you, I feel like there's nothing wrong with me."

Poe stopped short, jarring you out of your semi snuggle. "Elia, there is nothing wrong with you."

Your gaze dropped to your boots as you shifted uncomfortably. "Don't stare at me," you mumbled.

"Sorry," he softly returned, reaching for your hand again. "Come on."

The two of you walked toward your destination in silence - the only change when Poe slid his fingers through yours.

"I can't help staring at you sometimes," he confessed, his thumb caressing yours gently. "Don't get too upset with me, okay?"

"I'm not upset," you defended, bristling as you were so prone to do.

"Be patient with me, Ells," he pleaded. "You're really pretty and it's hard for me to look away sometimes."

A tingling sensation rippled through your body at that confession. Your instinct was to deflect, deny and assume he was mocking you, but Poe had proven his sincerity enough that his actions were starting to override your brain's hard wiring.

You couldn't think of anything to say. Poe Dameron had rendered you speechless. What a gift.

There was also the the fact that he was simply mistaken. Maybe he liked your hair, or you face, for whatever reason. You felt certain you were average looking. But if he ever saw the rest of you, he would never say you were pretty ever again, because you weren't.

There was nothing wrong with not being human - plenty of Resistance fighters weren't. You weren't so shallow as to be solely wrapped up in looking a little different. No, it was a much deeper and darker history than that.

Your lineage was stained with darkness, oppression and aggression. And a source of power having everything to do with what you covered on your back. You simply could not allow yourself to follow in the footsteps of your ancestors. It's why you worked so hard to keep yourself closed off from the powerful energy flow and why you could never let your body full develop.

So you said nothing.

Poe would probably think you didn't like him back if you kept acting...well, like yourself. Lost in your head, and in self-loathing. Maybe you should try harder.

But this thing between you - could it ever go anywhere? Poe probably wanted a normal relationship. Someone he could gaze at - someone he could take to bed. You could never. It's not that you had never, but this was Poe. Not with him. So what was the point in trying?

Still...you weren't foolish enough to let someone like Poe slip away so easily.

"Here we are," he announced, seeming to have forgotten that you never responded to his compliment, even to contradict it.

"What's this?" You questioned, unable to discern anything about the type of establishment you'd wandered to. You'd walked here pretty quickly, so it was fairly close to base.

"This is just where I stashed some supplies," Poe confessed. It was some kind of storage shed. No wonder it looked so unremarkable. Pretty soon, his arms were full of supplies and the two of you started walking again.

"Didn't want to go too far tonight, since I have a solo mission in the morning," he explained. "I made us a picnic."

"How did you get all this food?" You asked Poe, once the two of you settled on a blanket in the safest part of the nearby jungle. "This is more than we usually eat in three days."

"I've been saving up," he shrugged. "Called in some favors. I thought a nice meal would feel good for a change. I think I got all the foods you like - the ones you're always eating."

Your heart burned with affection at the odd little gathering of foods your very picky tastebuds preferred, with the textures that didn't make you gag.

"I do love these, and I'm starving, thank you." Happy to stuff your face with your favorite foods, you reveled in the moments you didn't feel the need to speak. Of course this left you mind free to wander...and worry.

The blanket you shared with Poe was just to sit on, right? And nothing else. Even if you had a human body and had hopes to be with Poe in that way, the second date would still be too soon for you.

Probably best to start a conversation.

"Solo mission, huh?" You began. "What's that about?"

Poe swallowed his bite and slowly nodded. "It's, uh...actually, it's classified. I would tell you if I could."

"Oh." Something important then. "Is it dangerous? Why do you have to go alone?"

"Can't talk about it right now, but...maybe when I get back. I probably wasn't supposed to tell you there even was a mission, but..." He trailed off, reaching for his beverage.

"But what?"

Moonlight reflected in his bright, brown eyes as they found your gaze. "I didn't want you to worry."

A fizzy warmth stirred in the center of you. "I won't worry," you bluntly returned. "You're the best pilot in the Resistance. I've never seen anyone better on missions. Or in training. It should be you going."

The corners of Poe's mouth curled in amusement.

"I will miss you though," you sweetly added. "I hope you come back soon."

A satisfied smile warmed his handsome face. "I'll miss you too. We'll do this again when I get back...okay?" Dark eyebrows shot up hopefully.

"Okay," you agreed.

The rest of your date turned into more of a hangout. Poe tried to ask you a few questions about your past but you were pretty clear in letting him know you weren't going to talk about it. You asked him some more questions about his childhood on Yavin 4 and it brought you to the topic of his favorite little buddy - his orange and white droid BB-8.

"He's been on Castilon for months. I miss him like crazy."

"He must be special if you miss him so much," you commented.

"I think so. Can't wait for you to meet him. I'm picking him up on my way to my mission."

You adored watching Poe as he talked, especially about something important to him. His eyes lit up, his mouth looked so kissable and he always gestured animatedly with his hands.

If only you were normal, you might actually have a real chance with Poe. Maybe someday you could tell him the truth about yourself - your body, your species, your past...

Maybe when the war was over.

Poe walked you back to base, holding your hand. Even though you knew you couldn't be the kind of girlfriend he deserved, you wanted to tell him something before he left on his classified mission. A way for him to understand how important he was becoming to you.

"Thank you for tonight - for our picnic," you told him as you neared base. "I love being with you, Poe. I...I hope you come back soon, and you're safe out there. I'll miss you."

"I love being with you too," he sweetly replied, squeezing your fingers while reaching for your other hand. He gently caressed your fingers, gazing down into your eyes, really wishing he could give you an end-of-date kiss. Or at least a goodbye kiss.

He stared a little too long, however, and the two of you ended up sharing a nervous laugh. "Was this okay tonight? Holding your hands?"

"Yeah, it's okay."

"Good...good," he nodded, exhaling in a rush, his lips curling in a sexy smile. "Really wanna kiss you though." His tongue swiped over his bottom lip as he shifted toward you smoothly.

"Oh," you swallowed, eyes wide and blinking. "Um, I - "

"Or maybe a hug? If that feels safer..." He was trying to offer you a less intimate alternative, but you physically withdrew, folding your arms over your chest. Being held by him was a bad idea. Not until you could explain your...back.

Chewing on your lip in a mild panic, you spontaneously leaned forward, spreading your palms over the solid warmth of his chest and pressing your mouth to his.

Stunned, Poe barely had time to register the feel of your sweet lips before you withdrew, rocking on your heels before yanking hard on your frayed backpack straps.

"Goodnight, Poe," you blurted, already turning to rush away. "Be safe."

Planting his boots firmly to keep from going after you, he tried to say goodbye, but he was Poe Dameron. He had to say something.

"Ells!" He called after you, "You kissed me."

"Bye, Poe!" You repeated, scurrying toward base.

Laughter bubbled up and erupted from his chest as he said goodbye back to you.

He let you go. For now.

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#the only one fic #poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron fanfiction #star wars sequels #star wars fanfiction #star wars fic #oscar isaac fic #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x oc #poe dameron x f!reader #poe dameron x female oc #poe dameron fanfic #sw fic #poe dameron x female reader #poe x elia #oscar isaac characters

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kyliafanfiction · 3 months ago

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Amy's crush on Vicky and her self-loathing over it is such an interesting thing.

Because like, if Vicky had also natively developed a crush on Amy and at some point realized Amy had feelings for her, and then Vicky actually like, went and talked to Amy about it, etc -

Amy's first instinct (under anything resembling her pre-Bonesaw mental state) would of course be a panic attack, right? She'd assume she changed Vicky's brain at some point without anyone realizing it. She might even try to 'fix' Vicky before anyone finds out (especially Vicky or Carol). Assuming she doesn't do that, I'm still not sure she actually like... jumps into this prospect headfirst.

Like, eventually, sure, if Vicky convinces Amy this was genuine and not Amy accidentally mastering her, Amy's probably still convinced she somehow tainted or ruined Vicky, and she's probably still not going to want to act on anything, though I think Vicky could probably soothe her fears and convince her (not in like, an undue pressure way, I'm not saying Vicky would do that) eventually.

But though I've read fics where Amy acts like Vicky being straight or even just 'Vicky sees me as just a sister and wouldn't return my feelings because of that' are the primary obstacles to her and Vicky flying off into the sunset together (though they're obstacles she still doesn't want to use her powers to bypass), I think the biggest obstacle is her own self-loathing, shame and disgust for her feelings.

Which of course, is honestly a bit silly. Like, crushing on your sister isn't necessarily normal, but incest is a very popular porn category. And Vicky is her adopted sister, so that's slight less abnormal - slightly. And like, as far as ill-advised desires and crushes go, crushing on your maybe a few months older sister is like, one of the least bad option. Of course, the fact that Amy has the ability to force the issue thanks to her powers is what makes this abnormal and then that ties in all her power-related issues.

I mean, there's a lot worse things Amy could desire. It's not uncommon in smutty fics for Amy to have like, really off-the-hook body horror kinks and stuff too, which - I can see, but we don't know if she's into that in canon... unless you think the Wretch was a manifestation of Amy having a Shoggoth kink or whatever (I don't, and Ward's implications she does can be safely put away, tyvm). Amy could have a vore kink, or be one of those people who have a lot of crossed wires between sex and violence (to dangerous extents) or whatever.

Of course, telling Amy that 'you could have more unnatural desires, your crush on your sister is pretty milquetoast as far as 'deviant' desires go, just check the dark corners of the internet (or, you know, any random ao3 fic)' doesn't really work. It would be nice if it would, because Amy badly needs some perspective (as I noted during my live reaction to 11h, while Marquis was unquestionably a criminal and a killer, given all the other villains active at the time in the Bay that could have been her mysterious villain parent, Marquis is probably one of the better options. I read one fic where Carol accidentally gave Amy the impression one of the Butchers was her father, for instance), but she's got such a dense and interlocking network of issues that she wouldn't be able to accept that perspective on it's own.

If something else managed to crack the outer layers of her issues, then maybe some perspective could help her at that point, but Amy is so convinced that she is uniquely monstrous and terrible (Thank you, Carol) that pointing out that 'on balance, you're almost normal, relatively speaking' wouldn't get through the armor of her self-loathing and shame.

#Wormblr #Amy Dallon #Victoria Dallon #Guts and Glory #The Dallon-Pelham Torment Nexus #Worm #Musings #Amycourse #related ish anyway

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kim-jongin-s · 20 days ago

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svt fic recs (mostly nc-17; jeongcheol, minwon, verkwan, wonchan + other)

JEONGCHEOL

"is it casual now?". au. oneshot, 1.5k. r.

They had agreed on something with no strings attached four years ago.

"lightning in a bottle". oneshot, 2k. pg-13.

Jeonghan hasn’t said a word since they peeled away from the group, and he doesn’t say anything now. He looks around the waiting room, then cocks an eyebrow at Seungcheol, who is locking the door.

“Aren’t we too old for this?”

"teach me a lesson, get me where it hurts". au. oneshot, 2.5k. nc-17.

“I said we’re not dating.” He frowns sweetly. It’s almost a pout. “I never said anything about this.”

"i don't think i can stop it". oneshot, 3k. nc-17.

Seungcheol sees the Dazed covers and goes a little bit insane. (Jeonghan is along for the ride)

"a summer's harvest". historical!au: farmer!sc, prince!jh. oneshot, 3.6k. nc-17.

seungcheol is a farmer caring for the dry and hot soil of the countryside, not having anything else but his cattle to entertain. something changes when there is a rumour about the crown prince visiting their land one summer.

"why don't you do right?". historical!au: mafia boss!sc, club singer!jh. oneshot, 5k. nc-17.

As Jeonghan begins to sing, a lamp turns on at the rear table and his eyes lock with a dark, heavy-lidded gaze. So this is him, the youngest crime boss in the city; the man with the million dollar smile that closes million dollar deals; the Prince of Diamonds himself, Choi Seungcheol.

"oxygen to a flame". au. oneshot, 5.5k. nc-17.

Jeonghan spends most of his time in the lab, his brain wired to work through analytical experiments; definitely not to make a clay pot in a pottery class with an extremely hot instructor.

"the eye of the wind". historical!au, pirate!au. oneshot, 8.6k. nc-17.

‘My quartermaster tells me you’re worth your keep. That I shouldn’t throw you off my ship.’

It’s a question; he’s waiting for Jeonghan to prove his loyalty. He expects him to beg.

‘I’ve been cleaning your deck in the hot sun for almost a week, Captain. What more would you have me do?’

"sunflower, vol. 6". office!au. oneshot, 9k. pg-13.

Yoon Jeonghan is good at a lot of things. Being oblivious is at the top of that list.

"sour candy". office!au. oneshot, 11k. pg-13.

New hire Seungcheol is a nice guy. The nicest guy in the world, some would say. Somehow, Jeonghan is the only person Seungcheol is capable of hating.

MINWON

"angel baby". au. oneshot, 5k. nc-17.

On some days, Mingyu comes home to a different Wonwoo – softer, more pliant, often dressed in Mingyu’s clothes and nothing else other than a rosy flush and a mellow smile.

"wabi-sabi". omegaverse: beta!ww, alpha!mg. 17 chapters, 73k. nc-17.

Destiny has never favored Jeon Wonwoo, and he knows it never will.

He has come to accept his cruel fate, used to life's tribulations, but Kim Mingyu makes it harder for him to simply give up.

"s.o.s. d'un terrien en détresse". historical!au. 15 chapters, 129k. nc-17.

Wonwoo lives in a village that refuses to see him. One day, Mingyu opens his eyes.

VERKWAN

"down to earth". au: teacher!sk, police officer!vn. oneshot, 9k. nc-17.

No one at HQ has managed to find out just how Officer Chwe keeps such a cool head.

↳ "eyes can't shine". au: teacher!sk, police officer!vn. 3 chapters, 15k. r.

Hansol had known from the start that this arrangement was in no way sustainable. He was simply a weak, weak man.

"summer, the cicadas, and their songs". au. 4 chapters, 104k. nc-17. ♡

For as long as Seungkwan could remember, summer had always meant Hansol. Six months after they break up, they find each other again under a shared roof with their best friends – with the stars, the sun, and the cicadas to help guide them back together.

WONCHAN

"suffocate". college!au: professor!ww, student!dn. oneshot, 2k. nc-17.

Professor Jeon offers up the opportunity for extra credit.

Lee Chan takes it.

"get it (big)". college!au. oneshot, 16.5k. nc-17.

Chan chases after Wonwoo's monster dick and gets more than he bargained for.

OTHER

"twin flame". wonwoo/mingyu/seungkwan/dino. oneshot, 4.6k. nc-17.

Mingyu and Wonwoo didn't know what the night would bring when they invite Seungkwan and Chan over for dinner.

#seventeen #svt #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic recs #svt fanfic #svt ff #svt fic #jeongcheol #minwon #meanie #wonchan #verkwan #solboo #fic rec #minwonboochan #ot4

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mantisgodiveblog · 7 months ago

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Putting Siffrin in the freezer like a queen bee that's not producing enough eggs. Not an AO3 post because it's too short for it. Perhaps if we write more short fics of Siffrin Fucking Dying we can make an anthology.

Does being frozen in time stop you from looping back?

You want to know. You want to test.

"HEY GUYS WHAT'S THAT OVER THERE!" You cry. They turn to look at it, and Isabeau starts talking (huh? are we being distracted?) and you-

Your hand brushes the surface of the tear, and you feel a weird sensation in your stomach-

It's quiet.

For an instant, everything is still. Your teammates' voices grow muffled, quiet. Your breath winks out. The subtle breeze through the halls of the House of Change stops blowing. You stop in place, quietly blinking into the open air. Your heart stops beating.

You're tired.

Slowly, slowly - or perhaps all too quickly, your body grinds to a halt. You can't hear your friends anymore. You can't parse noise from silence, the quickly-fading alarmed chatter of your friends from the dull static that underlies the universe. Normally, it would take some effort to stand like this - to hold your hand outstretched, to keep your head high, to keep yourself standing - but it's as if all of that has simply... fallen out from under you.

The biggest weight that you will ever have to carry is your own body, and you don't have to carry yours anymore.

Your arm is outstretched, and you don't want to pull it back. Fatigue tugs at your body, like a dull weight. You're falling asleep, you think, but it's not any kind of sleep that you've known before. There's a thick blanket between you and your friends, and though you hear the words they speak, you don't quite understand them anymore. It's peaceful, in an odd way, like being in a dream. Like falling asleep, but you're still awake, still dreaming in the waking world, with people you can't quite understand anymore.

It's quiet.

But it's not, really, and you know that. You can hear that. You can hear them, even if you can't understand them. They're talking, and you're slipping deeper into sleep, from a doze to a slumber. The foggy feeling of being just on the edge of consciousness rumbles at the edges of your mind, the same feeling that you get when you're just dropping off, or barely waking up. Cotton-brain, Isabeau calls it. Something soft and cold enveloping you as you drop off to sleep.

A fear tugs at the back of your throat, an absentminded will this last forever?, but you're too tired to really know if you mean it or not. You slip further from consciousness, from the waking world, a sinking pebble watching ripples on the surface, and you don't quite understand why that makes you feel like something-

You fall asleep.

And

(...as if in a dream, Dormont's shape unfurls before you, white-wire shapes that buzz and dance and sing. You can see the first floor of the House from here, though the second and third still tower above you. You can see...)

(FLOOR 1.)

(Being frozen in time seems like a pretty painless way to loop back whenever you please.)

#we speak #in stars and time #not liveblog #writing

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diacetyldemon · 1 year ago

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Touch from the Dark

Rating: E (18+)

Yandere!Sephiroth/Reader

Words: 3,279

Description: Nothing in your life matters besides submission, and Sephiroth wants nothing more than for you to find your true place in life and eternally submit to him. The small piece of your mind that's left won't let it happen, but it's not clear if that small piece will last.

AO3 link

this could be viewed as a sequel to my other fic, but i didn't write it with that in mind. i'll admit, i went a little crazy with this one. there's a lot of abuse, mindbreak, and non-con in this so you've been warned!

You don't have anything now, not even your thoughts.

This realization - this particular thought - isn't exactly a new one. You'd known it for so very long by this point, long after you've lost count of the days or the time or anything because nothing in your life matters anymore except submission. Nothing else matters.

It's something you've come to terms with, but for some odd reason, this time it feels especially brutal. The condemnation to a life of agony with a truly monstrous man was a bitter pill, but you swallowed it, the complete lack of agency. This time, however, the thought cuts like a wire through your brain, a shock to the system unreplicated since your initial capture.

Something deeper unsettles you - it comes to you as a vision of the future. The future feels vague, and fuzzy, almost like a far-away city. All it contains is you, and nothing. You've become nothing, no personality at all, a completely blank slate in the future, no thoughts or ideas or any original action, just an eternal cycle of yes-sir-of-course-sir, casually looping on, never changing, never stopping, never faltering. It makes you feel sick, in a way the whole situation hasn't before, like the disgust and fear and desire are rotting inside you, tainting everything else hour by hour. You try to squeeze the vision, the concept, out of your mind.

The thought came to you at the feet of Sephiroth. He was kicking you in the stomach.

You run your fingers over the deep bruises, flinching at the touch. It's not clear why you keep touching the wounds, but it makes you feel more real. (What is "real"? You don't know anymore.) A particularly tender spot makes a jolt of pain rush through you that’s so sharp you suspect he’s accidentally cracked a rib, and it doesn’t surprise you. It’s happened before.

There’s no point in trying to relax since you know it’s impossible. Since day one in this Godforsaken compound, you couldn’t relax, and that was likely the point. Over time, you’ve learned that if Sephiroth is anything, it’s calculating. Every square inch of the compound - the blankness of the walls, the lack of windows, the lack of clocks, the constant cold - is to help weaken you, break you down into what he wants you to be. His perfect little pet at the perfect little position - at his feet.

For a brief moment, there’s the echo of footsteps and you immediately straighten up, completely at attention. It’s funny, the little ways your brain has been trained to respond perfectly yet unconsciously. It was not an easy shift; at first, there was fight, at first there was soul, but now you’ve become insipid. Maybe that’s what you wanted this whole time. After so much pain and agony after breaking the rules, you realized you needed to wave the white flag, at least in most ways - you still had a little piece of yourself, seldom-seen, but still there.

However, over time, you can’t help like the little bit left is fading. Sometimes, entirely at random, you feel good about your situation. They’re so brief and fleeting yet intractably devastating, the idea that eternal submission is a great deal, that you love Sephiroth and everything he gave you. Yet they keep coming, and each time you get more and more concerned, wanting to punish yourself a thousand times over. You’ve lost your mind - in more ways than one.

Later in the day? Night? Sephiroth comes to you, again, as icy and mysterious as ever. He approaches you in your room, a small blank space with a (surprisingly comfy yet so incredibly cold) bed and not much else. There you sit, dumbly, and he doesn’t say anything; after looking at you for a few stomach-churning moments he reaches a hand up and strokes your hair, rather delicately. Initially, you attempted to avoid his gaze, but you quickly corrected yourself. Such a basic rule couldn’t be violated at this point, or he might actually make you pay the ultimate price. Then again, you’d deserve it.

He still hasn’t said anything, instead traveling his fingers down your jawline, trailing across your neck. After another moment of staring, and then he sits next to you and grabs you in a tangle of limbs to sit on his lap. Pain from your core immediately shoots through you, exceptionally sharp, and all you can do is whimper at the sensation and you notice the self-satisfied expression on his face. After the initial wave of pain, you relax, leaning against his toned chest, trying to breathe deeply enough to help cope with the stinging. He starts stroking your hair, again, and you suddenly feel very, very tired and extremely elated and satisfied. It’s hard to hide the weariness on your face, although you always looked weary so it’s not like much changed.

However, since Sephiroth seemingly knows you better than you know yourself, he seems to be able to tell the difference between actual tiredness and the general exhaustion that plagues your whole being. “Go to sleep”, he says, more a command than any sort of suggestion, but you obey; the tiredness in your body wouldn’t have allowed you to stay up anyway.

In the early phases of sleep, you feel your body being moved, clothes being methodically taken off, but you don’t even respond to it. It’s not even really on your radar anymore, so you simply plunge more deeply into dreamless sleep.

All you can do with your free time is wander the halls of the compound, counting steps and walls and the few pieces of furniture that you were allowed to have. You’ve read the few books here 15 separate times, it seems, so there’s not much else to do with your life. The true purpose of your life was right in front of you but you kept denying it. The cherry on top of the cruelty and sadness of your life was the simple fact that it had become nothing more than a waiting game - waiting for your master Sephiroth to arrive, whenever he did, and inflict whatever he saw fit upon you. It was a gamble, all day every day, and when he arrived this time, you wondered if you were gonna get lucky, but you knew you probably were going to lose.

He walks up behind you, slowly, and places his hands on your shoulders, and you flinch. It felt like you couldn’t compose yourself well, today. Tonight. Seemingly ignoring your mistake and leaning in closer, his voice suddenly seems thinner than usual, like a shadow of a whisper. “You’re almost there.”

“What?” Your voice is so quiet that you wondered if you even said anything.

He grabs your forearm, tightly enough to bruise. “Do not make me repeat myself,” he replies, the darkness immediately back in his tone. Your voice catches in your throat instead of being able to respond, and the punishment is swift; a sharp slap across the face, stinging brutally. In other words, you got what you deserved.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can squeak out. He lets go of you, and you stumble and fall suddenly, seemingly off balance. He begins to walk away, stopping only once to glance at you, in a sickeningly-familiar look of disgust, yet also affection - both affection out of pity, and a genuine, sick, disgusting, amazing love for you. Will you ever be able to return it?

“How pathetic.”

You, being the silly, sad, precious little thing you were, had to push the limits. You made a mistake. It was a serious mistake, and you knew it at the time but at the same time something had possessed you and you couldn’t stop it, it was like a forest fire, wildly out of control, completely consuming until there was nothing left -

“Just what were you thinking?” Sephiroth’s grasp on your hair is so tight, he practically picks you up off the ground. “I do all these things out of love, and this is how you repay me?”

“I - I -”

He drags you by the hair a few feet over, causing you to cry out in pain - he’s strong enough to rip the hair out of your head. He pulls out his sword, endlessly long and sharp, and holds it against your throat, just grazing the edge on your skin. “I thought you knew better than trying to leave me.”

You hiccup with sobs, again. The words won’t even come out of your mouth despite your best efforts, only coming out as an incoherent, sloppy mess of tears. The sword is still at your throat. “Perhaps I should break your legs,” he says, casually. All you can do is whimper in response, trying to plead with your eyes, although you knew it couldn’t outdo the sheer hatred in his.

He pulls the sword away from your throat, but quickly settles for a solid slash against your arm, making you squeal in pain and blood to pour down your arm. You think it’s deep enough for stitches - all the cuts you’ve gotten make you have a solid sense for these things. Redirecting his efforts, he slices through your clothes and gives you plenty of little cuts in the process, and you’re reduced to gasps, trying to get air through your abused lungs.

Wordlessly, he picks you up - all your wounds, and you scream in protest - and slings you over his shoulder like it’s nothing (it is nothing) and you love being nothing. He carries you over to your bed and roughly throws you down on it, making you writhe in pain, blood still leaking from your arm onto your bedsheets, tears freely flowing from your eyes. No sounds are in the room besides your desperate sounds of struggle.

He approaches the head of the bed briefly, wiping away your tears. “Poor thing,” he cooed, condescension dripping from each word. “Too stupid for your own good.” You offer a wheeze in response, and he slaps you so hard you swear you can feel it in your neck.

“I-I’m hic sorry!”

“You’re not,” he snaps back, wrapping his hand around your throat so tightly you begin to struggle for breath. “Don’t worry, darling, you will be.” You cannot wait.

He takes his jacket off, but not his pants (probably to make you feel more vulnerable in the nude), and grabs some ropes, beginning to tie you to the bedposts with ease. It’s hard not to struggle in response to the sheer pain, screaming louder than ever and the material of the rope seems to gnaw right through your skin. Blood is still leaking from your wound.

Admiring his handiwork for a moment, he brushes a strand of hair from your face, in a way that is far too delicate for the situation. “You’re perfect like this,” he murmurs, and you’re positively elated that you’re perfect for him notices the blood on your arm, trickling down all over it and soiling the sheets. He leans down and licks a bit off, making your wound stab you and making you whimper meekly. Before standing back up, he gets close to your ear and gives you a simple instruction.

“Embrace the feeling.”

You’re thinking you might know what he means.

Of course, since this is a punishment that you deserve, he quickly begins running his hands over your body, intentionally putting pressure on your most sensitive wounds, particularly the potentially cracked rib, making you scream and making him smile smugly. “We haven’t even started yet, and you’re screaming already.” The words put the fear of God and a deep excitement in you.

He retreats from your tear-blurred vision for a moment but quickly comes back with a flogger. You’re almost sick at the sight, knowing full well what’s coming already. Sensing the fear in you, he smiles, prideful and disgusting and beautiful. “I’m teaching you your place. I think you know it already”, he adds, and something stirs inside you. It’s not clear what.

He whips you, hard. You can’t help but scream and writhe in agony as he hits you hard enough to leave welts, and it feels like he’s practically ripping your skin apart. Not too long after the beginning, you lose the will to scream and are reduced to pathetic mumbling and sobbing, feeling the pain intensify over and over and over. It’s like he’s trying to kill you with pain alone, and maybe you’re willing to die.

Bordering on unconsciousness, the something inside you that was stirred is still kicking, deep inside you, and you’re almost as worried about what it is as the situation at hand. It’s strangely sick yet soothing, and you’re almost longing for it, even though you don’t know what it is, you seem to want it but also not want it and it’s all too confusing and you just want all of it to be over. But deep down, you don’t.

Suddenly, you are awoken out of your dream-state by another harsh slap to the face. “Pay attention”, he commands, anger clear in his voice, and punctuated with another slap for good measure. There’s a seemingly endless amount of red marks on your stomach on top of your wounds, stinging and making your heart beat faster than ever before, feeling like you may actually die this time, but you don’t want to. And you’re not sure why you don’t.

Staring blankly, you watch him reach down and pull his cock out in all its glory. It’s hard not to stare at his body for a moment - the almighty Sephiroth, so much power, so much strength…

He approaches the head of the bed and grabs a solid fistful of your hair with one hand, using the other to slap his cock against your face a few times. Instinctively, you try to shy away, but the hand in your hair guarantees that won’t happen. It’s another indignity in a series of indignities, and yet, it felt different than anything that he had done before.

“Open,” he commands, and you obey. All hell breaks loose as he immediately slams his cock down your throat, making you gag and tears well up in your eyes. He keeps your head nice and steady as he fucks your throat, seemingly trying to ram himself as deep as he could get. Violently, you gag and sputter, too distracted by the relentless assault on your throat to do anything to give him any sort of satisfaction. Still blocked by the last barrier in your mouth, he growls in frustration.

Pulling his cock out of your mouth and giving you a few more good cock slaps - getting even more spittle and saliva all over your face - he makes a second attempt. “Come on,” he says, voice unusually husky as he plunges into your mouth again. “Take it.”

Relaxing your throat as best as you can, he finally pushes past, causing you to essentially choke on his cock, and he leaves it in so you can thrash about for a few moments before withdrawing. Coughing violently, you writhe in pain, not only in your throat and body but also mentally. You felt as if you could almost reach out and touch it, this invisible thing you wanted oh so badly.

In the moments after his withdrawal, where you caught your breath and fought with your both physical-and-psychic pain, he was looking you up and down, admiring the sad mess you were.

“How disgusting.”

He reaches aside and pulls out a towel, roughly rubbing it against your face, to get most of the mess off of you, but not all of it, and it doesn’t make you feel much better about anything.

“Open,” he commands again, and you immediately comply for him to spit in your mouth. “There,” he says, stroking your hair. “Since you seem to like it so much.” The action didn’t sicken you as much as your immediate compliance did. The immediate compliance didn’t sicken you as much as the brief jolt of pleasure that came with obedience. What was happening to you?

In the back of your mind, you knew Sephiroth could feel the internal battle inside of you, but he gleefully let it rage on in favor of untying your legs, stroking them a couple of times, a strangely tender action in a moment like this.

“You’re right there,” he says huskily as his hands go up and down your legs. “All you need to do is embrace it.” Without much else preamble, he rams his cock inside of you, causing your eyes to roll back at the white-hot sensation of pain, mixed with pleasure. It was so much, everything everywhere all at one moment, and it makes you disgusted, but you love it. The combination seemed so strangely intoxicating, in a way you couldn’t put your finger on but all you knew is it made you feel good.

“So wet for me already,” he chuckles, running his hands across your body, triggering quiet protests from your wounds. As soon as he starts moving, his pace is fast and ruthless, slamming into you so hard that the pain in your wounds scream out and you’re reduced to mumbling as he scrapes the edges of your cunt. The lewd, wet sounds fill the room, but everything seems so strangely out of focus…

A jolt of pleasure goes up your spine as he reaches down to rub your clit, making you feel even more overwhelmed yet deeply satisfied as if you’ve sated some deep need. There’s a sudden wave of euphoria flowing over you, and you realize Sephiroth is doing you a favor, giving you the greatest gift of all - the position at his feet.

After that single thought, you cum, clamping down on him, genuine moans of pleasure leaving your throat for the first time in forever. He doesn’t slow down, ramming into you for another solid, sweaty minute while overstimulation begins to kick in and make you squirm before cumming inside you, completely flooding your cunt.

He pulls out, watching cum ooze out of your abused hole with complete satisfaction. You lay in front of him, completely exposed, twitching and bruised and beaten but satisfied - almost perfection in his eyes. You weren’t perfect, not quite yet, but you had made major strides. It seemed it was all beginning to take, and he couldn’t have been more overjoyed.

However, much like all his internal mechanisms, Sephiroth doesn’t express anything. He stands up and dresses himself, leaving you tied to the bed overnight. Yet before he leaves, he pulls you in for a deep kiss, tongue plunging into your mouth and you replied eagerly, suddenly unable to get enough of him.

Once you’re untied - seemingly in your sleep, since you don’t ever recall seeing him - you’re completely at peace. It dawned on you that what you wanted, what you needed, had been there all along. Once you finally got your strength back to walk (took a couple of days, but you needed the lesson), you strode around the compound still feeling empty, but not for a lack of freedom. It was a lack of Sephiroth. In fact, you had realized you had achieved complete freedom in slavery, nothing else mattering in your world except submission.

Even through all the agony and abuse and pain, your loyalty could never falter. He loved you even when you were a bloody mess on the floor, having to pay the price for your transgressions. He loved you through all your weakness and whininess and insubordination. You weren’t perfect, not yet, but you were determined to be, all for him. You loved Sephiroth.

#final fantasy 7 #final fantasy vii #sephiroth/reader #sephiroth #yandere sephiroth #my writing #yandere #the era of sephirothposting is back

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silawastaken · 3 months ago

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I'm SO sorry and I feel like such a loser for it sometimes but I really do just want to talk about the technical stuff behind the things I write sometimes. Both fanfic wise, poetry wise, and more recently music wise, but I always want to talk about the attention to detail, the foreshadowing, the way things change in the process of writing, the original concept vs the final product.

I really really hate it but my brain really is wired for literature, and there's nothing that can have me talking for as long as asking about the detail behind my fics. The only one you can really ask about without it becoming a nit-pick of all the flaws (which is never attention or compliment seeking, I genuinely don't like most of what I write or make) or talk about foreshadowing aspects without major spoilers is the (not so) perfect pair as it's complete and well thought out (in my opinion).

The music I'm working on currently, when the lyrics are written out they read as a love letter, which is intentional!!! but also you could ask about the specific ties that each lyric has– for example in 'Prophecies of the Morning Sun' the lyric "a single witness as heaven comes down" the implication is that (as the song is written as if from my perspective) my lover is heaven, and I (or, whoever was listening to the song) was the only witness to their arrival, or the only person to see them as they are.

And then, in the final verse "facing you to see heaven in your eyes" is supposed to tie back to the idea that in my (or, again, whoever was listening's) eyes, my lover is heaven to me. IT'S ALL INTENTIONAL (or maybe not, but it all connects in the end regardless).

Anyway I'm sorry, slight word dump over, I just really wish I had more opportunities to properly talk over what I do. I would love to write a long ass essay dissecting the (not so) perfect pair bit by bit but also. There is no audience for that lmao.

As the gold bleeds into grey is where I'm going insane over this specifically, as there is always some detail which I am trying to point out without having to explicitly state it, but I feel the need to make sure people know what I'm doing. Especially with the most recent chapter (chapter ten – spoilers) where Chuuya is leading Dazai through Yokohama while it's busy, and he doesn't want to show his concern that Dazai was still following by looking back to check on him, but he does so anyway because he loves him.

This is a reference to Orpheus and Eurydice, which is why the chapter is titled 'Orpheus and denial', because in this Chuuya is supposed to represent Orpheus, but he also refuses to admit he still loves Dazai (whether to himself or to Dazai is up for interpretation– he's complex enough that even I don't know) and it was driving me insane that I couldn't explicitly state 'Hey! This is a reference!' because that's not what I want to do!!!! Ugh. Sorry. Soooo not worth this but I am constantly thinking about it lmao.

I'm always adding little details like that, I'm always referencing canon and making decisions about certain numbers to use for things (such as their room being number 15 on floor 3. They met at 15 in canon, and knew each other for three years before the split at eighteen. There's also another reason for it involving 15 and 3 years which would be Spoiling It but there's another reason behind that choice too).

If you ask me, I can tell you what characters who are never even mentioned in the main story of tnspp were doing at different points in the story. My au's are SOOOO carefully thought out most of the time.

Anyway. Yap actually over this time. Sorry I should really talk less lmao

#silas yaps #bsd #ao3 fanfic #soukoku fanfiction #soukoku #bsd fanfic #tnspp #atgbig

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leonsmamacita · 1 year ago

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"Drunk on Lust"

a/n: hello! so this is my first ever fic written/posted in public, mostly bc im shy nd i get intimidated a bunch jsjsjjs but! that changes today! anyways i dont wanna make this too long, so tldr; just lmk if i did good nd if there is any suggestions u wanna give, feel free to! idk how tumblr rlly works so sorry if tags/cw is off

word count: 2.1k(???) (yes i do hate myself)

disclaimer: just bc i write it dont mean i condone these actions irl! this is purely for entertainment purposes ONLY; practice safe sex + drink responsibly <3

MDNI; +18 ONLY

cw: a tad of angst, alcohol abuse ( reader is forced to consume alcohol ), mentions of vomit, heavy degrading, mention of breeding, overstimulation, edging, p in v, no comfort/no aftercare, manipulation, mentions of guilt-tripping, BDSM ( temperature play, spanking, sadism ), mentions of lactation, he comes inside, empty sex ( fwb ), no use of y/n; not proof read!

song below is the main inspo for this fic if u are interested to give a listen to!

————————————————————————

"Great, just what I fucking needed."

Waking up with a splitting headache along with a burning migraine from a hangover was a feeling Leon found himself all too familiar with as of late; breath reeks of cheap booze and remnants of whatever he had for dinner. In a daze, he sat up and found himself in more pain than usual. Although only in his prime (around the 30's), his body feels as though it had gone through decades.

Phone now in hand, he checks his inbox and sees an unread message sent by the one person who can take away not only the physical pain, but the emotional kind as well— his own personal carrier for his emotional baggage. A snort leaves his nose as he reads the message; you always aimed to please, telling yourself constantly that you are only doing this to help a friend out. A "friend", how cute. So pretty, so young, and yet so naive.

On his way to your place, he spaces out for a moment or two. He would always find himself in this suffocating mog of black, a place his fucked up brain traps him in against his will. A never ending spiral that he keeps getting swept up in— no matter how many times he tries to regain control, it always ends up out of his hands due to the cruel will of fate. That was, until he met you.

As corny as it was, you were the light at the end of this dark tunnel he trapped himself in. Unhealthy habits; he would do them all, and no one would bat an eye. You were the only one who truly cared, who truly worried— he could not let you go. He looses himself to you each and every time, much more than he does to alcohol. When he admitted this to you, you were more than willing to offer yourself to him in any way he sees fit. It doesn't matter if he was mildly intoxicated or black out drunk, you would always welcome him in with open arms. And open legs.

"Hey, you."

Your voice snapped him out of his daydream. How did he not manage to crash on his way here? Perhaps it was his body usually going on autopilot during those moments. His mind was already wired into what turns to take, what lane to switch to on the highway, and what apartment complex building you reside at. As long as it leads to you.

Not wanting to waste another second, his lips crashed into yours. You already smelled the alcohol, sweat and vomit on him, it was only more intense as you tasted it on your tongue. No matter, you agreed to this anyways. You want this as much as he does— he conditioned you to do so. Fumbling with the leather of his jacket, he slips it off and tosses it to the side, doing the same with your sleep-shirt. Your nipples stiffen at the draft of cold air fanned against your areolas, moaning at how sensitive they grew out to be after Leon forced you to get those piercings.

His gaze falls on the ends of the silver bars, tempted to suck them harshly enough you were sure enough to lactate— even though you couldn't. But, he has to be patient, you had only gotten them three months ago. No worries, he will have his way with your tits soon enough. His rough thumb pads gently trace down the side of your hips to your love handles, holding onto them as he hoists you up into his arms. Sitting you down on the kitchen counter, he nips at your neck as he desperately tugged down your pajama shorts along with your undergarments.

Without hesitation, he opens his flyer to take out his painfully hard cock— the tip crying of pre as he taps it against your clit, sending a jolt of raw pleasure to shoot straight to your core and all throughout your lower abdomen. With his free hand, he takes out his hip flask and looks at you with that familiar glint of lust in his eyes.

"Open up."

A beat too slow passes; before you could register what he is planning to do, he scissors you open with his fingers and shoves the opening of the flask past your lips, forcing you to take him and to drink whatever cheap booze was inside the flask all at once. It was overwhelming, too much, and yet it was creating the perfect storm between you two— enough to make both of you moan at the sensation.

The cold counter meets the flesh of ass, sticking to it just slightly as your slick runs down your thighs and around the girth of his fat, long fingers. Dragging you onto him, using you as if you were a living sex doll; no regards for your pleasure whatsoever. Feeling a bit dazed, possibly from the alcohol he forced you to take, you whimper. It only intensifies at the fat of his calloused fingers kissing the opening of your g-spot, causing that delicious burning sensation you can't get enough of— you were sure you were going to be aching by the time he is done with you, and he is just getting started. Feeling your walls flutter around him, he quickly pulls out, leaving you whining as you clench around nothing.

He coos at you softly, making those empty promises of making you cum— he never lives up to it however. It's not like he can't, he could. But, he likes to be an asshole and rip away the pleasure from you, costing you an explosive orgasm that leaves you crying as the feeling quickly coils back painfully into your core; denying you pleasure is an all-time favorite for Leon, even if he ends up blue-balling himself as well. Makes coming inside you all worth it.

Grabbing the bottle of liquor you took a shot of earlier to hype yourself up before Leon came over, he smirked darkly at you, drinking in every detail of your pathetic self trembling at the denied pleasure. An eerie silence falls between them, before it was interrupted with a loud gasp falling from your lips and a low hum leaving Leon's.

"What, can't handle it? C'mon, you're a big girl," he teased, disregarding your pleas and the crescent-shaped cuts you leave on his biceps as you clawed away at him, trying to get him to pull the cold glass bottle away from your clit. Rubbing the icy glass against your clit some more, he holds the edge of it and pushes the hood that protects it back, exposing your clit some more. "So pretty; you're enjoying this, aren't you?"

Leon then rubs the length of the bottle against your exposed clit, making you writhe against him, pressing your body further back against the cold counter. Either way, you were trapped between his heavy body and the counter, forced to give into the aching pleasure being given to you. You just have to take it.

Finally, he takes the bottle away from your aching pussy, making you sigh in relief— and yet, you were again slightly denied an impending orgasm. Were you seriously going to cum from that? God, Leon was ruining you. Before you could dive deeper into the relief, your lips meet in an open mouth kiss, and you could taste the booze he forces into your mouth. Not wanting to choke, you are forced to swallow the alcohol quickly, already feeling lightheaded. You weren't drunk, not yet at least, but you were at least woozy enough for Leon to hoist you over his shoulder and take you to your bedroom.

You aren't sure when he started rutting against your crying pussy with his fat tip, but nonetheless the sensation makes you arch your back, bringing your chest up against his broad pecs. A snort leaves his mouth at your reaction, making you whine at how mean he is being to you.

"Actin' like a bitch in heat," he blows his hot breath against your ear lobe, leaning in and licking the shell of your ear, making you mewl. "Gonna have to fuck you s'good; i'll make you drunk on my fat dick instead." With that, he splits you open and completely bottoms out deep inside you. Fuck, fuck, fuck, too much. Your mouth agape, that dumbfounded look on your face— it only pushed him to snap his hips against yours, balls slapping against your cheeks, making obscure and downright pornographic sounds echo around the room.

Switching positions, he maintains himself lodged inside you as he flips you on your stomach, putting you in a prone-bone position. Wrapping his arm around your neck, he cuts off your airway just right. The mixture of alcohol and the lack of oxygen makes your head spin, making you have this fucked-out look on your face as Leon continues to ravage your pussy from behind. Low grunts and growls are heard from him; he was close, and you were too.

"Yeah? You like that? Drunk on my booze and on my cock," he laughs at you, mocking you as you can only let out a sinful symphony of moans. "Such a slut, letting me fuck you into your own mattress, fuck," he keeps choking you out, squeezing your neck as your cheek meets his bicep, having no choice but to bite down on the meat of his muscle in order to muffle your moans. "What's the matter? Don't want your neighbors to hear you getting slutted out? Letting the perverted alcoholic have his way with you? Is that it? Huh?"

His breath hot and heavy, words contained malice and pure lust, with no respect for you whatsoever that even Lilith would look at the both of you in disgust— further damning you two to the second circle of Hell.

As much as you hated him for talking down on you this way, the way he is battering your insides and plunging deep inside your guts has your body saying otherwise. A sour feeling creeps up on your stomach— either it was the urge to throw up since you were quite literally drunk and being dragged back and forth on some dick, or it was the urge to let go and cum. Either or, it was making you even more dizzy, becoming too much to handle.

"Aw, am I being too mean to you, sweetheart?" Leon said in his snarky, condescending tone, laughing at you as tears streamed down your face, proving this to be too much even for you. And yet, despite this, he continued to fuck you stupid. "You allowing me to bully this dick inside you, so what's wrong with a few mean words?" A drunken chortle escapes his chest as he slight heaves. "Hold on just a lil longer, nngh, fuck, take it," A loud smack is heard as his handprint marked the fat of your ass, and more is heard as he continues to spank and fuck you at a ruthless and unforgiving pace. "Shit.. if this tight little pussy keeps sucking me in like that, m'gonna have to plug 'er full of my cum and make her tighten up to hold my kids inside your womb."

Skin slapping against skin, slick mixing with pre, it all became too much. Letting out one last cry, you come so hard you could've sworn you could see stars as your eyes roll to the back of your head. Leon only laughs at this, slightly wincing at the grip your walls have on him. This doesn't deter him however, as he continues to thrust into you much deeper, balls slapping against your pussy lips as he grinds his hips flush against your ass. Clit chaffing against the bedsheets, he overstimulates you over the edge, causing you to hiccup in between sobs.

Hearing you sob was what pushed him to the peak of his climax; what an asshole, getting off of the idea of making a sweet soul like you who only wanted to help a piece of shit like him cry. His thick and heavy cum floods your womb, holding your hips in a bruising grip as the last ropes of his load spurts inside you, finishing with a guttural moan. Leaving his softening dick inside you, he lightly taps the red and hot flesh of your lower back. "Still with me?"

—

"Jesus, my head.."

You wake up the next day, hungover and sore as shit. You feel as though you got ran over by a tow truck carrying trucks. Lifting the blanket off of your body, you notice the small puddle of slick and cum on your bed sheets, letting out a scoff of annoyance.

Lugging yourself out of bed, you take a quick shower to freshen up and to get started with your day— even though it was nearly three at the afternoon. Your phone in hand, you see a new message in your inbox. It was from Leon.

Leon [10:52 AM]: "You up yet?"

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