#turns out i DID have enough money for the book of bill

[pinkpunkdotpng]

artist rendition of what my mom just walked in on

[antiwhores]

Your co-workers like to bully you.

Atleast thats what Bakugou suspected. He had to make an educated guess after your gloomy, closed off behavior everyday after work.

Bakugou works as a pro hero, no one gets to bully him in his work environment. But you work a humble job at a library about a mile or so away. He told you that you didn’t need to work the job since he brought more than enough money to the table to support you and him. But you insisted on working a job to “help” the both of you out. He accepted your money after a long debate with the conditions that you only pay for the phone bills.

You seemed to like your job though. In the early weeks of getting it he remembers you practically bouncing at the walls when you came home. You’d be bussing to talk about the newest work drama, the new book you read, a customer, etc.

He got into the habit of sitting down in the living room when he was home and waiting for you to come to him and sit on his lap. Then you’d tell him of your clearly exaggerated adventures of the day while he played with your hair.

But recently those nights were followed by not the usual fun answers, but dry answers to questions he asked to try to promote a stream of words from you.

He started to really get suspicious when you downright said no to him when he asked you to tell him about his day.

So he did what he did best and stuck his nose into your business.

He knew he couldn’t figure it out by himself without getting caught so he hired someone to figure it out for him.

A full on spy. A man that he met in the work field that owed him a favor after he saved his life.

“Is this really what you wanna cash out your favor on?” The man questioned.

Bakugou scoffed, “Just fuckin’ do it and stop questioning me.”

After two days the man reported back to Bakugou. Apparently, a group of coworkers had been harassing you. Talking shit, snarky comments, stealing your lunches, hiding your paperwork, etc.

Bakugou was fucking furious.

He stomped down to your work place, hero suit still on, and demanded to see the higher ups. They tried to stop him but he wouldn’t let up. No way some piece of shit workers were gonna bully his girl. He wouldn’t allow it!

To his luck, the district director was in a meeting with all the other higher ups. He busted into the meeting room, furious as ever. They were startled, dropping their pens and gasping.

After the shock went away, the noticed who this brash man was.

“Dynamight, sir, how can we help you?” The director spoke carefully. She recognized how Bakugou had a higher status than her. He could get them all fired by a phone call.

“Your shitty employees have been fucking with one of your hardest workers. I had my men come in and investigate and…”

He went into detail on what they’ve been doing to not just you, but other employees in the building. He degraded their department, saying that its a disgraceful work environment.

After he was done, his face was still red with anger. But he wasn’t the only one red. The district director was practically a tomato.

“I am so embarrassed and disappointed hearing this. They will be fired immediately. I am really sorry, Dynamight. I will make sure that they won’t be able to work at any other library in this district.”

He scoffed, turning around to head for the door. “Make it any other library in Japan.”

“Yes sir.” He said as Bakugou slammed the door behind him.

You came home happy that night and for the first time in a while, you told him about your (exaggerated) day.

[werepuppy-steve]

if i ain't got you

steddie | wc: 1,425 | cw: none | songfic | ao3

have some hurt/comfort, cj style. happy thanksgiving even though it's already 1am my time <3

The kitchen is so thick with tension you could cut right through it like butter. Eddie’s washing the dishes and Steve’s putting away the leftovers from dinner. They haven’t spoken a word to each other the entire night, not since that afternoon when they were screaming at each other.

Other people would say that they don’t remember what or who started the argument in the first place, but Steve knows exactly what happened. All because he let his dumb mouth get ahead of his brain. And it’s not like he hasn’t tried to apologize—he tried the second the words left his mouth and then five more times after that but Eddie wasn’t having any of it.

Which is fine, he’s allowed to stew in his hurt feelings for as long as he likes, but Steve is worried that this might be the first time they go to bed with one of them still mad, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that.

He shuts the fridge and turns around to lean against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, letting out a quiet sigh. Eddie’s back is turned to him so he can only see the movement of his shoulders as he scrubs the dishes harder than he ought to.

He’s still pissed, then.

Steve lets out a quiet sigh. He’s the one that started this whole mess so he’s got to be the one to fix it. He needs to come up with something to get Eddie to at least look at him.

He stands there for a few more minutes as he thinks but then the light bulb in his brain flicks on and he leaves the kitchen.

Eddie’s probably washed this bowl three times already but he doesn’t care. He’s still worked up from his and Steve’s fight earlier, he could drop the bowl and it could shatter in the soapy water and he wouldn’t even blink an eye.

How dare he, Eddie thinks bitterly, rinsing the soap off and placing the bowl in the dish drainer a little harshly. How dare he think he has the right to even insinuate.

All he wanted was to spend the extra little bit he’d had left over from his paycheck on some new mini’s he’d seen down at the bookstore and a couple of books that had been on his list for ages. He made sure to put back enough to cover his half of their rent and bills. He was careful.

But Steve still had to go and open his stupid rich boy mouth.

Eddie feels the familiar prickle of white hot anger on the back of his neck and he takes a deep breath to calm himself. It’s not his fault that he grew up poor. Wayne did what he could to support the both of them on his single paycheck every month, but that money only went so far. There wasn’t enough to spare to open an account with the bank, so they just went without.

Unlike the Harrington’s, who apparently had accounts open across multiple cities and even a couple overseas.

Steve’s father had drilled the importance of wealth management into him from an early age and made him use his first allowance to open a savings account at the age of ten. His boyfriend had a goddamn retirement account by the time he was eighteen.

So when Steve goes and assumes that Eddie doesn’t know how to handle money just because he wants to splurge for once and buy something he enjoys, Eddie thinks that his anger is a little more than justified.

Eddie’s eyes sting with oncoming tears and he blinks them away with a shake of his head. He doesn’t need to cry right now.

As he reaches for another dirty plate, music suddenly fills the kitchen from the Bluetooth speakers on the counter, soft piano trilling and the melodic humming with an R&B beat.

He freezes when arms slowly circle his waist from behind and Steve rests his chin on his shoulder.

Some people live for the fortune

Some people live just for the fame

“Dance with me,” Steve murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie suppresses a shiver and the instinct to lean back into him. “I don’t-”

“Eddie.”

Another kiss, this time under his ear. Fingers gently trace along his arm.

Some people think

That the physical things

Define what’s within

Eddie’s walls crumble like sawdust when Steve laces his fingers between his own soapy ones. He lets Steve pull him away from the sink and they slowly sway in the middle of their kitchen. He can see straight into the living room, where they’ve already set their Christmas tree up in the corner by the window, fully decorated even though it’s still November. They’ve got a hodgepodge of decorations and knick knacks already set on various shelves and tables with Christmas lights strung in almost every doorway.

As they dance in a slow spin, their cheeks pressed together, Eddie thinks back to how much fun they had setting all of it up. How Steve held the mistletoe above his head every chance he got just to be able to kiss him. All of his remaining anger slowly melts away and he’s left with the overwhelming feeling of how much he loves this man.

Some people want diamond rings

Some just want everything

But everything means nothing

If I ain't got you, yeah

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and he sounds like he means it. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, when I said you should be more responsible. You were right. It’s your money and you’re the only one who gets a say in how you spend it.”

Eddie sighs and tightens his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, too. I got defensive, but I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did. I should’ve listened to you when you tried apologizing the first time.”

Some people search for a fountain

Promises forever young

Some people need three dozen roses

And that's the only way to prove you love them

Eddie pulls back a little and looks at Steve for the first time in what feels like ages and is flooded with emotions that make his chest tighten when he sees the soft smile on his boyfriend’s face and the love in his eyes.

Eddie cups his cheek and leans in to press a soft kiss to his equally soft lips before resting his head on Steve’s shoulder with a soft sigh.

Some people want it all

But I don't want nothing at all

If it ain't you, baby

If I ain't got you, baby

“Are we really slow dancing to Alicia Keys?” he asks after a moment. Steve shakes with silent laughter and Eddie gently smacks him in the shoulder. “It’s a serious question, Stevie. I need to know if it’s a contender for our wedding playlist.”

It’s Steve’s turn to freeze now and Eddie can’t hold back his giddy smile when he pushes him back by the shoulders and gives him a wide-eyed look.

“Wedding playlist?”

“Well, I was planning to wait until Christmas to pop the question, but. Yeah. I even got a ring.”

Steve gapes at him like a fish before yanking him in for a kiss by the front of his shirt. It’s more teeth than lips because they can’t stop laughing long enough, but they eventually get a hold of themselves when Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s neck again and presses close, thier lips slotting together seamlessly.

“So I take it that’s a yes?” Eddie asks between kisses.

Steve nips at his bottom lip. “Only if you learn to stop kicking your socks off in your sleep and leaving them under the covers at the end of the bed.”

“They twist around my toes, Stevie,” Eddie pouts, trailing kisses along Steve’s jaw. “Makes ‘em feel like pigs in a blanket.”

Steve tilts his head back to give him more room, the music completely forgotten. “Then don’t wear them to bed at all.”

“But then my feet will get cold. Do you want me to put my icicles on your legs, Steven? Would that make you feel better?”

Steve throws his head back for a completely different reason and groans. “You’re going to be even more difficult once we’re married, aren’t you?”

Eddie grins against Steve’s throat. “Absolutely, oh husband of mine.”

Some people want diamond rings

Some just want everything

But everything means nothing

If I ain't got you, you, you

permanent taglist:

@yournowheregirl @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @vecnuthy

@tboybuck @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual

@theheadlessphilosopher @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie

@corrodedcoughin @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero @simplebtromance

@tangerinesteve @stevesjockstrap @steddie-island @spectrum-spectre @pearynice

@worstsequence @devondespresso

[ladykailitha]

Paper Hearts Part 2

I'm loving the response for this. Thank you so much!!!

In this we have a couple of cameos, Steve gets into some trouble and Eddie comes to his rescue.

Pt 1

****

Steve checked with the nurse on Monday, more as a precaution then because his hand was feeling worse. Because Eddie was right. If he didn’t take care of himself no else would.

She signed off on the hand and said that it was doing better, but to still take it easy for a couple more days.

He tried to focus in class, but he was buzzing out of his skin with barely contained excitement.

Finally it was time for lunch and he ducked into library. He pulled out the year book and began jotting down a few names. He decided to stick to just seniors as that would prevent people thinking he was being a creep and of course the add bonus of avoiding a certain Junior’s ire.

Once he got about twenty names compiled he took the list up to the girls manning the paper hearts booth.

“Hey,” he greeted warmly.

“How can I help you?” the blonde haired girl asked.

“These can be anonymous right?” Steve asked chewing on his bottom lip.

The other girl, a cute bubbly red-head in a cheerleader’s uniform smiled up at him. “Sure! Is there a certain lady you would like to buy a red heart for?”

He shook his head. “Um...no. Can I get twenty pink hearts please?”

The two girls shared a shocked glance.

“How many?” the blonde asked.

“Twenty.” Steve pulled out his wallet and handed them two ten dollar bills.

The stunned blonde took the money as the red-head counted out the twenty pink hearts.

“There you go!” she said cheerfully. “Thank you for your donation!”

“I just have one question,” Steve asked. “Why are a couple of juniors manning the booth for senior prom?”

The girls’ jaws dropped in surprise that he recognized them as juniors.

The blonde managed to overcome her shock first. “They were asking for volunteers. We get extra credit.”

Steve nodded. “Thanks, ladies!”

He turned around and nearly collided with Munson.

“Oof!” he cried. “Sorry!”

Munson eyed him warily. “Why so many pink hearts, Harrington?” He crossed his arms and licked his bottom lip slowly.

Steve looked back at the two girls and then back at him. “I don’t have a girlfriend this year and but still have all this money, so I thought that instead of blowing it on junk food and soda to be all sad that night, I do something nice with the money.”

Eddie cocked his head to the side and considered him a moment. “And what would that be?”

Steve blushed and looked down at the paper hearts in his hands. He mumbled something Eddie couldn’t quite catch.

“Say that again?”

“I said I was going to write something nice for the girls not likely to get one,” he hissed, this time loud enough for the other boy to hear, but no one else.

Eddie blinked at him a moment. “Oh. That’s actually really sweet of you.”

Steve’s blush deepened and promptly turned on his heel and dashed away.

The red-head asked, “What was all that about?”

Eddie looked over at Chrissy Cunningham, the girl he had no doubt would be queen of Hawkins high next year with her perfect boyfriend, her bubbly personality, and cheerful nature.

He debated telling her what Steve’s plan was, but he didn’t want to ruin it for the guy.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Which to be fair was true. He didn’t know what that was about. How former king of Hawkins could be so sweet? Because hooboy did that throw a wrench in Eddie’s plans to never ever give into his crush on the guy. If Steve wasn’t the bitchy, annoying jock anymore than that last bastion of defense was going to fall and he would be like every other girl with a pair of eyes at this school.

In love with Steve Harrington.

He opened his wallet and counted how much money he had. He rationed gas and other expenses before he nodded to himself.

He walked over to the booth and asked for a single red heart.

“Ooh...” the blonde girl cooed. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Eddie noticed her for the first as he handed her the money. It was Robin Buckley from band. Eddie had tried it out for a semester hoping to get enough credits to graduate last year. It didn’t work. But he recognized a fellow queer when he saw one.

“Maybe I’m sending it to myself?” he teased.

Chrissy giggled into her hand. “That’s what I would do if I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

Robin blushed a dark pink.

“You’d never have to worry about that,” Eddie said.

She handed him the heart and he thanked her before heading on his way.

****

Steve suddenly felt self-conscious after telling Munson what he was going to to. But he resolved to go through with his plan.

That night he painstakingly wrote each girl’s name and something nice he remembered about them. Once he was finished he used a paper clip to keep them together and put it between the pages of his English workbook for safety.

He finished his homework. Or at least he tried to. After about an hour, the words on the pages started to blur.

It didn’t help that it was chemistry and that just made his head spin. He would have called Dustin, but the kid would have just done it for him after five minutes of trying to explain it to him.

He decided it was time for a break.

Steve stood up and stretched. Below him he could hear the hum of the TV in his father’s den and the prattling of his mother on the phone. He wasn’t sure how they managed it in a house as big as theirs but they always made sure Steve was aware they were home.

He always thought it was a weird control thing they had. They were always gone on trips but when they were home they made sure he knew it.

He changed into a pair of sweats, grabbed a jacket and pulled on his Nikes, having decided that a run would be the perfect thing to wake him up so that he could finish his homework. He stood by the front doors and stretched out his legs, making sure they were warmed up enough.

Steve was finishing the last of his stretches when his mother came out the kitchen.

“And where do you think you’re going, young man?” she hissed.

He looked at her in confusion. He had one leg bent all the way back so that his foot was nearly touching his ass. He was managing his balance by using his free hand to touch the door frame.

“Going for a run?” he said, making the statement more of a question.

“At this time of night?” Mrs. Harrington said sharply.

Steve looked at his watch and then back up at her, again in confusion. It was only a little after five o’clock in the evening.

“I wanted to get it before it too dark to,” he explained.

She looked at her watch and then huffed, storming back into the kitchen.

That was the problem with his mother. You could never tell when she was just going to let it go or fly off the handle.

Steve let out a shuddering breath and then opened the door. He closed it behind him and sighed.

He should have told her he was going for a run, but even with them making noise, he had forgotten that he was supposed to tell them where he was going. Having gotten too used to them not being home.

He let out a shiver as he shook his arms to warm them up. If he had been doing anything other than running he would have worn a warmer coat, but while he was cold now, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be in five minutes.

Steve took off running. Just sprinting down the street to get away from his parents, his responsibilities, his troubles, and his cares. He got to the end of the street and slowed his sprint into a marathon. Going for endurance over speed.

He wasn’t sure how long he ran only that when he stopped for breath he was standing in front of a large sign that read: Forest Hills Trailer Park. He squinted up at it like he was seeing things.

Despite what the haves in Loch Nora thought, the trailer park was a lot closer than they wanted it to be. It was literally on the other side of the forest behind his house. But as he hadn’t taken off through the forest, he was a little surprised to be standing there, hands on his hips and panting for breath.

If he was going to mindlessly go somewhere he thought for sure he would have ended up at the Hendersons.

But, nope.

Steve ran his fingers through his hair. How was he supposed to get home now? He squinted down at his watch trying to make out the time, but full dark had taken a hold on this god forsaken town and he couldn’t make out shit.

He wasn’t even sure he could find the entrance to the forest that would lead him back home. Not that he wanted to go through that part of the woods this late at night. The Department of Energy’s assurances be damned.

“Fuck!”

He heard the vehicle before he saw the headlights. He stepped out of the way and hoped that whoever it was would be willing to give him a lift home.

“Fuck!” he cursed again.

Because it was Munson. Of course it was. This day was really out to get him.

“Harrington!” Munson called out, slowing to stop next to him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Steve buried his head in his hands. He had to take a chance with Munson because he didn’t know if there would even be someone else coming in anytime in the near future.

“Would you believe me if I told you I got lost?” he asked, hands back on his hips.

Munson laughed and threw open his passenger side door. “Get in, dumbass. I have to stop at my place to let my uncle know I’m taking you home.”

Steve nodded and walked in front of the van. Mainly because that’s where the lights where, but also because he didn’t want Munson to drive off without him. If he tried that, he’d have to run Steve over. Which at this point would have been an improvement.

He hopped into the van and closed the door. “Thanks. I’m serious about the getting lost thing though.” He buckled in.

Munson gunned it and then gave him the side eye. “Yeah, how does that work for a Hawkins native?”

“Because I’m not?” Steve said. “I moved here when I was eight. I’m no more a native than you are, man.”

Munson slammed on the breaks, Steve’s hand shooting out in front of him. “Wait, you’re really not a Hawkins native?”

He shook his head. “I swear it.”

Munson started going down the road again. “So you managed to get lost?”

“Yeah, I sometimes run to get out of my head,” he explained. “I somehow I ended up here.” He looked at the road out in front of him. “My parents are probably going to kick my ass when I get home. I left before dinner and there is no way it’s not way passed that now.”

Munson pressed a button on his watch and it lit up. “Yeah, man. It’s almost seven.”

Suddenly every muscle in Steve’s body started screaming in protest.

“Shit,” he muttered and he buried his head in his hands. “I’ve been running for about two hours.”

Munson slammed on his breaks again. “The fuck, Harrington!”

“I know!” Steve cried. “I barely warmed up and I didn’t have any water with me. But I didn’t mean to run that long. I thought I was just going to go around the block a couple of times and then go in for dinner.”

“We’re getting you water and food before I send you home, man,” Munson mutter. “And I don’t want to hear a god damn complaint from you. Do you understand? Even I’m not stupid enough to go for two hours without stopping for breaks and drinking water.”

Steve just nodded. He had already gotten yelled at by Munson about not taking care of himself, he wasn’t about to endure another lecture.

****

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Tag List:

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

2- @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie

3- @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

4- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

5- @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

6- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

7- @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

8- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @swimmingbirdrunningrock

9- @croatoan-like-its-hot @lolawonsstuff @moonshadows-13

[mxchxelschmidt]

Hi! Hope ur doing well!🫶

Could you do something where he’s stressed out and snaps at yn but then he makes up for it?:)

Stressed Mike! Snapping at the reader. This ended up being 100% domestic fluff bullshit and I’m here for it honestly. Hope you enjoy anon! Hope you have a good night.

At this point you two didn’t even remember why the argument started. Well, Mike didn’t, you did. It had been an hour and a half and Abby was hopefully fast asleep in her room instead of pressed up against her door listening to you two bicker not unlike a married couple.

He was stressed about finances and the new clubs that Abby wanted to join and the money it would cost to have her in those clubs. You saw an opportunity to help so you told him that you would take care of it. He didn’t seem to like that option so he was fighting it with everything in him trying to keep you from making the decision to help out.

You two had been living together for some time now. You already helped with bills and rent which had been a weight off of Mike's shoulders so you didn’t understand why he was fighting this so hard.

“Mike, I can help out with this. I want her to be happy just as much as you do, and if getting her into these clubs will make her happy then so be it.” You say settling down on the couch hoping this would put an end to the argument.

He’s not budging though. He’s got that look on his face, that stubborn ass look where you know he isn’t going to give in or give up on his point.

“You’re not understanding. I have to take care of her. She’s my responsibility.” His words feel like venom and you’re not sure why it’s hurting you that he’s talking like this.

“Mike really, it’s not a big deal for me to help out and get her into those clubs, I care about both of you-“

He doesn’t bother listening to your justification and he spits out, “We aren’t a fucking charity case!”

And you feel your blood run cold as soon as the words leave his lip. It feels closer to a punch in the gut and you know he doesn’t mean it but at this moment it’s hard to see the other side. It’s hard to see why he feels the need to be so mean when all you want to do is help.

When you stand up from your place on the couch next to him you feel your blood boil. You didn’t want the conversation to end up like this but Mike crossed a line, one that you would never.

“I don’t see you as a charity case Mike and I don’t see Abby as one either. I hope deep down you truly know that.” If your anger is bad enough you just go calm. This is one of those times. You walk away and go to the kitchen to begin doing the dishes, anything to distract you from what he just said to you. Anything to help you calm down a little bit before you said anything you would regret. You would rather count backwards from ten than allow Mike to feel the way he just made you feel.

So you do the dishes, plain and simple, no passive aggressive loudness. Just doing the dishes normally until you’re done and the kitchen is cleaned up from dinner. You shut the light off in the kitchen and make your way to yours and Mike’s bedroom and you change out of your regular clothes, getting into pajamas. Mike doesn’t look up from his lap as you pass by him in the living room and you want to turn around and say something, anything to him, but you stop yourself. You grab your book off the bedside table and turn the lamp on to read a chapter before bed. You hope Mike is cooled off enough when he comes to bed to not try and continue the argument.

When you finally settle into bed to actually sleep, Mike hasn’t returned from the living room. You don’t make a point to go looking for him and you want him to have all the space he needs. You hope it’s enough to make him rethink what he said.

You want to sleep but it’s hard to when you’re fighting with Mike like this. The only arguments you ever really have are about finances, and you wanting to help out with those finances that are stressing Mike out.

You’re finally asleep by the time Mike comes to bed and you aren’t sleeping soundly, but you are asleep and that’s the best you can do right now.

You don’t hear the alarm clock going off the next morning to wake you up but you feel Abby’s hand on your shoulder gently shaking you awake, “Wake up…. We have something to show you.. You have to wake up…” she says quietly not wanting to completely scare you to death.

You open your eyes and look at her with a smile, “Good morning, hows my favorite girl doing?” You ask and sit up in bed rubbing your eyes as you come back to reality.

She grabs your arm and pulls like a little kid on Christmas morning, “Come on, I want you to see what me and Mike did for you! You have to come to the living room now.”

You laugh and nod, almost forgetting about the argument you and Mike had the night before. You stand up out of bed and let her pull you to the dining room. You round the corner and a beautiful display of paper flowers decorating the room comes into view. They are hung up unevenly on the walls and you can’t help but admire what you believe to be Abby’s handiwork.

On the table you see a candle at the center of two plates stacked with fresh pancakes. Abby takes you to your seat and pulls it out for you like it was rehearsed and you give her your politest, “Thank you, madam.”

She scurries off in the direction of her room and you hear the door shut, presumably with her inside.

Mike soon emerges from the kitchen wearing your apron with a sheepish smile on his face, “Listen, I just want to say I’m really sorry for how I behaved last night. I shouldn’t have been so stubborn and I definitely shouldn’t have been fighting in front of Abby. Most importantly, I shouldn’t have said something so thoughtless and hurtful. I know you don’t think we are a charity case.” He sits down across from you and scoots his chair in so he is facing you straight on.

You give him a nod to continue talking, you’re ready to listen now.

Mike lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues, “You’re family. I love you a lot, and you’re family now. I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive when all you were trying to do was help. I am so sorry.”

You think for a moment and then allow your hand to stretch across the table reaching for his, “Okay. It’s okay Mike.” You take his hand in yours and give it a reassuring squeeze. “I forgive you. I’m also sorry for pushing you on something you were uncomfortable with. It wasn’t my place.”

He shakes his head and looks you in the eyes, “No it is your place, or rather it can be if you want it to be. You’ve been around for so long and I don’t want you to go anywhere, if you want to be apart of Abby’s life in that way then I should be greatful, and I am.” He says sincerely.

You give him a grin and he pulls your hand up to his lips to press a kiss gently to the back of your knuckles.

Moments later you hear Abby’s door open and she scurries through the living room to your side she wraps her arms around you and leans her head into you, “Can I please join art club with Sophia, I told her I would so that we could hang out more,”

Your smile grows even more and you wrap your arm around Abby hugging her close and nodding, “Of course you can Abby we will take care of it for you, won’t we Mike?”

He looks at you from across the table and nods, “Yeah Abby, We will take care of it.” And in that moment you feel at home with this little family you joined. You feel like it’s starting to fall into place.

[tacroyy]

losing my shit about the two times vimes gets slapped by a woman in the guards books (night watch and snuff; spoilers for both below). terry pratchett is completely goddamn brilliant.

both times, it's near enough to the beginning of the plot that vimes is partially convinced he doesn't know what's going on and is still information gathering (so, working a little on autopilot, although thoughts are starting to coalesce). the women he encounters show up after a watershed moment—major transformative plot points on both occasions—and both help him and help move the narrative along with the information they provide. and this is my favorite detail—he's tired both times, too, and just needs to think, because of the amount of new information he's processing.

from night watch:

"I think perhaps I lost my memory when I was attacked," he said. That sounded good, he thought. What he really needed now was somewhere quiet, to think.

"Really? Perhaps I'm the Queen of Hersheba," said Rosie [Palm]. "Just remember, kind sir. I'm not doing this because I'm interested in you, although I'd admit to a macabre fascination about how long you're going to survive. If it hadn't been a cold wet night I'd have left you in the road. I'm a working girl, and I don't need trouble. But you look like a man who can lay his hands on a few dollars, and there will be a bill."

"I'll leave the money on the dressing table," said Vimes.

The slap in the face knocked him against the wall. /end quote

and from snuff:

She [Felicity Beedle] turned to Vimes. "It would seem, commander, that providence has brought you here in time to solve the murder of the goblin girl, who was an excellent pupil. I came up here as soon as I heard, but the goblins are used to undeserved and casual death. I"ll walk with you to the entrance, and then I've got a class to teach."

Vimes tugged at Feeny to make him keep up as they followed Miss Beedle and her charge toward the surface and blessed fresh air. He wondered what had become of the corpse. What did they do with their dead? Bury them, eat them, throw them on the midden? Or was he just not thinking right, a thought which itself had been knocking at his brain for some time. Without thinking, he said, "What else do you teach them, Miss Beedle? To be better citizens?"

The slap caught him on the chin, probably because even in her anger Miss Beedle realized that he still had his steel helmet on. /end quote

vimes makes mistakes. he makes mistakes all the time, and he knows this, and pays attention to them. vimes spends a lot of time thinking about thinking (engaging in productive, internally motivated metacognition well within his zone of proximal development, my master's in teaching insists i say). he thinks about his thinking, and he thinks about other people's thinking through the lens of his own.

in both instances, vimes is coming to realizations about the true nature of things.

in night watch, this would initially seem to be more surface than deep: he's getting to physical grips with exactly when and where (and who) in the past he is; he's learning the ground, mapping, figuring things out—but vimes is also trying to settle himself back in to what he knows, and what society is in these different times, to see if that fits. plotwise, in vimes's present, the seamstresses have a guild, rights, safety, standards, rules, regulations, and even societal respect—although certainly not close to what they deserve, it's much more than what they had before vetinari made their guild a reality. but in the past, where vimes is now, the seamstresses don't have this level of security, and are subject to violence (although it is shown to be societal and legal violence [being arrested for working during their profession's peak, etc] rather than interpersonal or sexual violence [the agony aunts exist and, it is clearly stated, dispense the same justice that they do in the future, specifically to individual clients rather than to larger institutional structures]).

so, when vimes puts down rosie by making a disparaging joke about her profession—oh, you're actually not important to me or to men or to society at all; your labor is not to be respected; i got what i needed from you and will of course pay you, but in the most insulting way possible—he's not only communicating what society thinks, but a moral issue of the novel as well. night watch, after all, is about revolution: who gets to be in power, and who gets to control who gets to be in power? it's frankly revolutionary for pratchett, a mainstream english author, to treat sex workers and sex work as positively as he does (of course, his depictions are not without flaws). he makes it clear that, after all, shouldn't we view sex work as physical labor? isn't it true that anyone who is employed is engaging in physical labor? how is a seamstress really different from a "seamstress"? (it's the power dynamics and misogyny standard to western/european/american/christian society: women and sex must be controlled by the patriarchial majority, kept small and afraid and in chains.) pratchett legitimizes the seamstresses in vimes's present. in vetinari's ankh-morpork, the seamstresses have just as much power as the merchants, the armorers, the assassins—and vimes knows this, but he did grow up in the past he's in now.

in snuff, vimes's approaching anagnorisis is more obviously manifested. brilliantly, pratchett begins vimes's encounter with the goblins by talking about vimes's childhood teacher, mistress slightly, who "taught [him] how not to be afraid" and made him blackboard monitor, "the first time anyone had entrusted him with anything;" vimes thinks he'll put a bag of peppermints on her grave if he gets out of this alive. all positive, and in fact clearly transformative, praise from our hero. but vimes is in a goblin cave, and pratchett has brought up mistress slightly because vimes is remembering his first (educational, not physical) encounter with goblins. this paragraph is worth quoting in full:

"[Mistress Slightly] had one book in her tiny sitting room, and the first time she had given it to young Sam Vimes to read he had got as far as page seven when he froze. The page showed a goblin: the jolly goblin, according to the text. Was it laughing, was it scowling, was it hungry, was it about to bite your head off? Young Sam Vimes hadn't waited to find out and had spent the rest of the morning under a chair. These days he excused himself by remembering that most of the other kids felt the same way. When it came to the innocence of childhood, adults often got it wrong. In any case, she had sat him on her always slightly damp knee after class and made him really look at the goblin. It was made of lots of dots! Tiny dots, if you looked closely. The closer you looked at the goblin the more it wasn't there. Stare it down and it lost all its power to frighten. 'I hear that they are wretched, badly made mortals,' the dame had said sadly. 'Half-finished folk, or so I hear. It's only a blessing this one had something to be jolly about.'"

a near-perfect depiction, unfortunately, of the educational experience. encounter something that scares you and makes you uncomfortable, examine it with the help of a pedagogist, examine it on your own, take it apart so that you are not afraid anymore, and instead understand what it is and how it is made: that's the experience from the first word of the quote all the way until "Stare it down and lost all its power to frighten." and then, a heel-turn: your teacher shows that they completely misunderstood the lesson they were teaching—and that you, the child, understood both parts of the lesson perfectly: you absorbed the critical thinking skills and that this existing societal prejudice is, in fact, totally correct and should not be examined using the skills you just learned.

thus, pratchett has vimes, our hero, our moral center, spout the violent, ingrained, dehumanizing, incitement-to-genocide nonsense of the society in which he has been formed. vimes does this tiredly, without thinking, without making the connection between how things are and how they ought to be, missing the direct relationship of that required moral reevaluation to the case and situation at hand. and pratchett throws that directly back in vimes's face, physically. both times, pratchett says: even if you're tired, even if there's shit going down, even if your worldview is being turned upside down, even if you're in the dead middle of processing everything you've so recently learned, you cannot make the mistake of dehumanization/depersonalization. and you, of all people, have to know that, vimes. not one drop of alcohol passes your lips, not one minute after six goes by without you reading to your son, not one arrestee is subjected to even small or casual police brutality. and not one person—seamstress or goblin—is to be insulted and discriminated against and excluded from deserving to live. to do so, to make that mistake even once, is to face the immediate physical consequences of it from someone deeply and fundamentally in the know. you need the sense smacked into you.

from night watch:

"Consider that a sign of my complete lack of a sense of humor, will you?" said Rosie, shaking some life back into her hand.

"I'm... sorry," said Vimes. "I didn't mean to... I mean... look, thak you for everything. I mean it. But this is not being a good night."

"Yes, I can see that."

"It's worse than you think. Believe me."

"We all have our troubles. Believe me," said Rosie. /end quote.

from snuff:

It was a corker, nonetheless, and out of the corner of his stinging gaze he saw Feeny take a step back. At least the boy had some sense.

"You are the gods' own fool, Commander Vimes! No, I'm not teaching them to be fake humans, I'm teaching them how to be goblins, clever goblins! Do you know that they have only five names for colors? Even trolls have around sixty, and a lot more than that if they find a paint salesman! Does this mean goblins are stupid? No, they have a vast number of names for things that even poets haven't come up with, for things like the colors shift and change, the melting of one hue into another. They have single words for the most complicated of feelings; I know about two hundred of them, I think, and I'm sure there are a lot more! What you may think are grunts and growls and snarls are in fact carrying vast amounts of information! They're like an iceberg, commander: most of them is where you can't see or understand, and I'm teaching Tears of the Mushroom and some of her friends so that they may be able to speak to people like you, who think they are dumb. And do you know what, commander? There isn't much time! They're being slaughtered! It's not called that, of course, but slaughter is how it ends, because they're just dumb nuisances, you see. Why don't you ask Mr. Upshot what happened to the rest of the goblins three years ago, Commander Vimes?"

And with that, Miss Beedle turned on her heel and disappeared down into the darkness of the cave with Tears of the Mushroom bobbing along behind her, leaving Vimes to walk the last few yards out into the glorious light. /end quote.

[after-witch]

Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title:  Love is the Honey [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: You were kidnapped by Chrollo Lucilfer, and truth be told, things aren’t exactly terrible. You don’t have to worry about bills or paying for groceries or appeasing a shitty boss. It’s come at the price of your freedom, but it might be worth it. There’s only one thing you can’t accept, and it’s the one thing Chrollo won’t stop trying. 

word count: 5417

notes:  yandere, kidnapped reader

Outside, the city lights are all whites and reds and greens, twinkling and glistening amidst the darkness of the night sky. But from up here, you hear nothing of the bustling night outside. 

No sounds of half drunk friends giggling with arms linked, traveling from bar to restaurant and back to bar again. No car horns laid upon by impatient drivers, eager to get home after a long day at work. No quarrels, no compliments, no queries about what you’re doing later tonight. 

Nothing at all.

Up here, in this hotel room, there is only you and the quiet hum of the air conditioner--and of course, Chrollo. Better known as your kidnapper, who is (at least for the moment) blissfully quiet. Minus the sounds of turning book pages, but those hardly register. Not when you’re absorbed in your own book, and not when you take a break and stare out the window at the city below.

Far, far below. He tends to book rooms as high as he can get them. You’ve wondered if he does this on purpose, a deterrent, since you can’t hope to escape out the window. Or if he simply prefers to be up and above everyone, literally and figuratively. But maybe you’re overthinking it. 

Maybe the luxurious rooms he prefers to book tend to be on the higher levels. Above all the noise of the city, of the restaurant on the first floor, of the laundry that churns out fresh sheets and towels, washing away dirt and fluids and whatever else someone has left behind in a hotel room. 

Did the workers ever wonder about the people behind those dirty towels, those rumpled sheets? Did a bellboy ever see you, your tired expression, and think, Hm, I wonder if she’s all right? Did the maid who turned over your hotel room see the stacks of books piled up near the window, the blanket and pillow stuffed on the chair, and wonder: But aren’t they a couple? Why would she be sleeping on the chair and not the bed?

Truth be told, there’s only two things that infuriate you about your current situation. One, that Chrollo repeatedly tries to put the moves on you. And two, that he insists on trying to make you sleep with him in the same bed. Keyword being, of course: trying. You’ve yet to give in.

The rest of it? The rest of the life that came with Chrollo, you can accept. It’s almost cathartic. Sure, you don’t have freedom of movement, of choice, of life.

But you have freedom from so much else.

Freedom from having to work day and night just to make enough money to pay your bills, and sometimes you still got behind on them. Freedom from worrying about whether or not the funny sound your sink made was an issue with the plumbing that would drain your savings and rack up more debt. Freedom from your friend’s drama and your mother’s exacting expectations that you could never meet. 

Besides, the lifestyle he forced you into gave you opportunities you’d never have otherwise. You usually stayed in high-end places, fancy hotels and condos; there was the occasional ramshackle safe house, but they were few and far between. They were always just the right temperature with just the right amenities, keeping you safe and comfortable. 

You got to do whatever you wanted, within reason. You could read as many books as you could get your hands on; you could ask for crafts and hobbies, and he typically indulged in. 

You ate good food every night and never wondered where your next meal would come from, or debated skipping meals to save money. You’ve tried dishes that you only read about in books or saw in films about rich people. Sure, some of it you couldn’t pronounce, and there was an air of superiority in the way Chrollo explained them to you. The taste, however, was completely worth the pompous comments.

And Chrollo himself could be tolerable. Sometimes. He was always up for a discussion or debate. You didn’t mind the traps he set, the way he tried to worm his way into your psyche at unsuspecting moments. Because what did that matter, when you knew you weren’t likely to get away from him unless he happened to die. Your life was this now, so who cared, really, if Chrollo wanted to psychoanalyze you because you wanted pizza for breakfast three days in a row? 

Sometimes you wondered what it said about society that you felt genuinely relieved to be kidnapped away from it all. The financial obligations. The social stress. All of it replaced with near constant indulgence in your personal whims and your mind’s lovely but strange ability to relax despite what should have been a high-stress kidnapping scenario. 

But… the damn bed situation. 

That’s one thing Chrollo refuses to do--accommodate your desire to sleep separately in any reasonable way. You’ve given up asking him to request two beds, you’ve even stopped asking if you would call room service and have them bring up a cot for the floor. But it would be nice if he would at least book a room with a sofa, and not simply a chair, which no matter how expensive the room is, is never comfortable enough for sleeping. 

He won’t, though. He’s nothing if not persistent in his romantic pursuit of you, outlined in little touches, the way he likes to lean in close to speak with you, voice hushed and husky and flirtatious. He’s offered to kiss you, flat-out, sometimes. You refused. He continues to offer, continues to touch, continues to want. 

He’s stubborn, in that respect.

But so are you. 

Which is why you don’t put up with it, don’t indulge in it, and ignore it as best you can. 

He may have kidnapped you. He may have taken away your freedom, but he wasn’t going to force you into a relationship. That was the one thing he wouldn’t take from you. 

On that, you stood firm. 

You just hoped the ground would never crack underneath the weight of his expectations.

--

“Dearest,” Chrollo says, and you don’t bother hiding the way you roll your eyes. It’s a pet name for a lover, and you are not a lover.

“Mm,” you respond, non-committal. You keep your eyes laser-focused on the coloring page in front of you. It was something they sold at a gas station gift shop, one of those books with complex lines and fanciful illustrations, aimed at adults with nothing better to do. Which, it so happens, turned out to fit you just fine.

There’s a pause. And then the shift of his clothing as he gets up from the queen sized bed and pulls out the chair across from you. He leans his elbows on the tiny side table, and you’re forced to scoot your book onto your lap to avoid it getting creased. Jerk.

You flit your eyes up to him.

“What’s up?”

At this, he exhales through his nose, almost a snort. Not quite as inelegant,  you suppose.

“You’ve been behaving rather well these past few weeks.” He considers. “Months.” He considers, again, this time tilting his head in what appears to be an exceptionally practiced gesture. “You’ve always behaved well, actually, haven’t you? From the start. From the moment you woke up in my…” He seems to reach for a word. “In my care.” 

You purse your lips. 

You remember the first day well. 

--

You were walking home from work, feet aching, mind thinking of a million obligations you had to get done before the week was out. That’s when you heard footsteps from behind you. 

You immediately froze. The footsteps stopped when you did. Slowly, you turned around, and there was a man standing there. An attractive man with a wrap around his forehead. When he saw your stricken expression, he smiled. 

“I apologize,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

You pressed your lips down. “It’s fine.” Your heart raced, because you weren’t stupid, and strange men coming up to you at night was iffy at best and dangerous at worst. You were going to cross the street and head into the closest diner, just to be safe. Or that’s what you planned to do, before it went sour. 

Before you could do anything, there was a terrible pinch in your neck and you saw his arm pull away just slowly enough to spot the needle in his hand. Everything went hot and blurry and when you woke up, you were in a hotel room bed with silk sheets underneath you and Chrollo Lucilfer standing above you. 

“Good morning,” he said, and smiled. 

--

Had it really been months since you were taken? You don’t exactly keep track of time, unless you’re eager to catch a certain movie on TV or you’re tracking the release date of a new book. You remember when you had to keep track of time for other reasons--making sure you got just enough sleep to avoid collapsing, calculating your work hours so that they would cover the bills, stretching your food budget thin enough to last the month.

Now, all you have to worry about is convincing Chrollo to head out to the bookstore on release date to get you what you want.

“Okay,” you say, after he’s been waiting long enough. “I don’t know why you’re bringing this up.” 

You feel like a teenager being praised by their parents. The praise he gives is unwanted, confusing. You don’t know what to do with it, so you stare down at the book in your lap, and let your mind wander to more fun things. Maybe you should have used a darker green for the leaves--

“I’m curious as to why you’ve behaved this way.” 

You shrug your shoulders without looking up. You’d like to get back to coloring, but if you tell him that, then he really won’t leave you alone. 

“You haven’t tried to escape,” he continues, leaning in closer. There’s mint on his breath. He sometimes crunches them, and the sound irritates you. When you tell him so, he seems to do it more, but you genuinely can’t decide if he does it on purpose to piss you off or if he’s that damn addicted to the little candies and their breath-pleasing effect.

“You don’t try to ask anyone for help. You don’t put up a fuss when we move from place to place.” One of his hands reaches forward and rests on top of yours. When you move to pull away, he interlocks his fingers with yours. His skin is warm and the intimate contact is unpleasant.

It’s this gesture that irritates you, finally, and you tug on his hand. He doesn’t relent and you huff. 

“So what? Do you want me to act like that? Do you want me to start screaming at the hotel concierge, “Help, I’ve been kidnapped!’?”

He chuckles. “There wouldn’t be a point, dear. No one would--”

“I know,” you interrupt. “No one would be able to help me. That’s not the point. I don’t ask anyone for help because it would be pointless. I don’t try to run because it would be pointless.” The edge of the coloring book suddenly becomes very interesting, and you bend the corner back and forth as you talk. “So why not take what’s good here and run with it? Unless you want me to start clawing at you every time you put your fingers near my thigh.” You let yourself grin, however empty it may look. “Actually, that sounds like a good idea.” 

“You don’t fight me,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “But you do have a mouth on you.” His lips twitch, almost an imperceptible annoyed gesture, before his expression smooths back out into familiar calmness. But you saw it, and it makes something in your gut feel tight. He normally doesn’t care if you get snarky, but what if…? 

His grip on your hand relaxes and he lets you pull your fingers away.

“You’re being annoying, and I’m going to color over here.” If your words are a little slower than usual, you can’t blame yourself for feeling nervous. But the half-smile you get in return is familiar territory, and the anxiety in your gut eases up.  

You sigh through your nose and scoot your chair backwards, taking your book to the room’s large windowsill and pulling yourself onto that instead.

“Can we get takeout tonight?” You ask, without looking up. The light by the window is nicer for coloring, you decide, if a little bit more uncomfortable for a long coloring session. 

“We’re going to cook tonight.” Out of the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s watching you, still sitting at the table. He leans his cheek against the palm of his hand. “The grocery delivery came this morning.”

You pout, all worries from the odd conversation gone. What little storm clouds that do show up in your life are, almost always, easily pushed away.  “I really wanted takeout from the place we got the other day. Can’t we do groceries tomorrow?”

”No. I don’t want the meat to spoil.” His voice is firm, and he doesn’t respond to your pouting or the whittling, vaguely cloying tone you’ve taken. 

You let your body sag in defeat. Oh, well. 

It’s one of the few instances in which you know you can’t, and shouldn’t, push him. Chrollo has always been very particular about food. Or food waste, you suppose, is what he’s most particular about. 

You learned your lesson on that months ago, when he insisted you finish the last bite of a meal you’d ordered, admittedly, out of spite. The stomach ache was not worth whatever triumph you imagined you’d get from sticking something in his figurative craw. 

You take up your colored pencils again and start to fill in yet another empty space. 

“Fine,” you mutter, determined not to let it spoil your otherwise relaxing evening. “But go easy on the garlic this time. It makes your breath stink.”

“Duly noted,” he murmurs. And there’s something almost wistful in his tone that catches your chest for a moment. But you push it away. 

Doesn’t matter, nope. What matters is the coloring page in front of you, the relaxing motions of gradually filling in each space with your desired color, the ability to focus on nothing but this activity and not have to worry about anything outside the walls surrounding you. 

You don’t look up.

--

Days blend into weeks blend into the blurry, vague--mostly comfortable--existence that is your life.

Or it used to be comfortable. Lately, very lately, Chrollo has become a bit stranger. It’s almost as if he’s on edge about something, which naturally puts you on edge. If he has something to worry about, then it must be serious, indeed. 

But it’s bothersome. Because not only has he been behaving as if something big is on the horizon, he’s gotten a lot more insistent on his desire for something more with you. Maybe his nervousness is making him less shy about approaching you and your veneer of coolness towards any affectionate gestures.

This morning, when you stepped out of the shower, the chair you’d pushed up against the window, also known as your bed for the past two weeks, was gone. Not moved, but simply gone. You didn’t bother asking him where it went. The cool smile on his face as he pulled his change of clothes from the hotel drawer was answer enough.

Maybe you should have yelled at him. But thoughts of his glances lately, the tentative way he’d begun to talk with you, the gut-roiling fear of something happening, stopped you.

And that’s why you’re here, now, sitting in the same bed as Chrollo Lucilfer despite swearing to yourself that you’d do everything in your power to avoid this moment. 

That’s why you’re enjoying the moment so fully right now, despite his proximity to you. He’s just… sitting, for once. Sitting and reading, or pretending well enough to fool you. Doesn’t matter, as long as he’s not trying to make a move.

But of course, he speaks, and breaks the peace. 

“Are you enjoying the book, love?” 

You turn the page.

“Not your love. But yes.” 

You glance over and see him set his own book down on the side table. No bookmark in sight. You wonder if he was actually reading it or if he was just pretending tonight. You’re not sure which would annoy you more. 

It doesn’t matter, because while you’re considering how you’re going to put off going to sleep for as long as possible, you feel the unmistakable sensation of his hand on your thigh. Your muscles tense immediately, and your brain seems to simultaneously. 

“Perhaps,” he says, shifting closer to you on the bed, “you can take a break from your book.” 

“I’d rather not,” you reply, biting, and try to shift your thigh away. But his tender touch becomes a firm grip on the meat of your thigh. You make a strangled noise and he leans in, voice irritating in your ear.

“You look beautiful tonight.” 

Your book gets set on the bed, half-open, and you swat at his hand. He doesn’t budge.

So you try something else. 

“What’s most beautiful about me?” You glance up at the mirror on the other side of the wall, above the faux fireplace. “The sweatpants that I’ve worn two days in a row, or that piece of broccoli stuck in my teeth from dinner?”  He finally did let you get takeout, after the groceries were used up. “Thanks for that, by the way.” It’s not entirely sarcastic.

“You’re welcome,” he says, voice all silk. You wonder, briefly, if he’s ever entranced anyone with that soft, low tone that should drip charisma but instead makes you want to poke him in the eye. Maybe it would have entranced you, if he didn’t take you forcibly. But you’ve sworn to hold onto the one thing you can keep--your consent--and you’ll be damned if you shrug that off like you have everything else he’s taken.

He brings his other hand up to trace the top of your ear and you flinch.

“Stop.” You sound for all the world like you’re fighting with a sibling who has decided to irritate you deliberately on a very long car ride. “You’re being--” Irritating? Pushy? Creepy? A little of all three? “You’re in my space and I don’t like it,” is what you settle for. 

It takes a few moments. But Chrollo does shift himself away from you, slowly removing his hand from your thigh, resting back in his previous position which was close but not unbearably so.

“You’re quite stubborn.” It’s said in a quiet tone that makes you want to think; it makes you want to wonder why he’s being so much more insistent lately, why he got rid of your chair when it’s something he’s indulged (not without complaints, mind you) for months. 

You pick up your book with an overly dramatic, obvious gesture, hoping it doesn’t look as false as it feels. 

“Well,” you tell him primly, resolving to get through the night with your dignity intact. “So are you.” 

--

To say that you were surprised the rest of the night passed uneventfully would be an understatement. It took you hours to fall asleep, because you were sure--absolutely sure--that Chrollo would take advantage of the nighttime proximity to slide his hands around your waist or kiss your neck or something else unwanted.

But he didn’t. If anything, he was quieter than normal. There were no honey-laden queries before you went to sleep, his usual attempts to drag something personal out of you; all he did was bid you goodnight and rest his eyes. 

It was enough to make your stomach churn. 

And here you are, picking at breakfast. You weren’t in the mood for eggs--because of how restless you felt? You weren’t sure--but that’s what he gave you, and it’s what you were going to eat this morning.

The breakfast table is unusually quiet, almost taking on a veneer of domesticity, until he speaks up. 

“I’m taking you to meet someone today.” You look up, genuinely shocked. He continues, ignoring the wary, uncertain expression on your face. “Several people, in fact.”

The runny yolk clinging to your fork seems suddenly interesting. It makes a little pattern when you scrape the fork against the bottom of your plate, dragging gooey orange with it.

Your voice is thick with sarcasm, a tone you often take with him when the subject gets uncomfortable. 

“Soo… is this a ‘I’m taking you to meet my parents’ type of thing? Because I don't think t hey’ll--”

“No,” he says, interrupting. Something in his clipped tone makes you immediately clam up. There might as well be a red sign above his head, flashing, DANGER, DANGER, DO NOT ENTER. So you drop it.

“Companions,” he continues, more calm and routine now. He begins to butter your toast for you (a gesture he insists upon, and which you hate) as he speaks, and you shove a piece of warm egg white in  your mouth. “The closest ones I’ve had.” He pauses. “Except for you, of course, dearest.” He says this last bit to soothe your ego, as if you were offended--you weren’t.

You eye the toast he drops on your plate and pick it up. Maybe if you eat faster, you can get some reading time in before you go… wherever it is he’s taking you. Thinking about it too much makes you feel a little sick. 

“What’s the occasion, anyway?” The toast is warm and perfectly buttered and delicious. It annoys you, that he knows how to butter your toast so well. It’s such a stupid, small thing--but it’s grating, especially right now, with things so out of sorts. “You don’t normally let other people near me.”

He smiles, and you could swear it’s wistful. “No, not normally. This is different. It’s customary to introduce our companions once they’re… settled.” 

You don’t like how he says the word settled. You don’t like how he says the words companions, either, for that matter. You’re about to tell him as such, when he speaks up, asking a question that raises your alertness even higher. 

“Are you going to be good today?” 

Your lip quirks up, mouth still filled with toast, when you answer. This morning, the sass feels forced. 

“Am I ever bad?”

He hums, and sips his coffee. “That depends on the perspective, doesn’t it?”

You don’t respond, and the two of you eat in silence that doesn’t quite feel companionable. There’s something in the air. Thick and buzzy. You can’t shake off the feeling of dread that’s building inside you, and it doesn't get any better when Chrollo finishes his meal and stands to go clean up the dishes. 

Or when he leans over the table and places his hand on your hand.  His favorite gesture. Your fingers twitch but you resist the urge to smack him away today. It feels like the wrong move right now. 

“Really,” Chrollo says, adding your name with a seriousness that you’ve rarely heard. “Do behave yourself today.”

You swallow the toast and pretend the knot in your stomach is from the eggs.

--

Suddenly, Chrollo seems far more normal than you’ve ever viewed him before. Far more safe. And it’s this newfound perspective that keeps you almost clinging to his side.

You forget the names of the people in front of you as soon as Chrollo introduces them. You hope it doesn’t matter . You’ll probably forget their faces, too, if you don’t see them often enough. But you won’t forget the absolute power that radiates from them, even standing here simply and casually. You feel this with Chrollo, too, but never to this degree. Is it because Chrollo turns himself down for you, or because there’s only one of him? 

After, it’s time to introduce you. Chrollo has the decency to keep holding your hand--you don’t want to be separate from him for once, at this moment--as he nudges you forward just enough. He tells them your name--you wonder if they care, and then doubt it. 

“And it goes without saying,” he continues, some sort of soft pride in his tone, “that they’re my--”

Christ, you’re scared of the people in front of you, and maybe it’s the terror that pushes forward that impulsive, intrusive desire to keep Chrollo from telling his companions that you’re dating or in a relationship or whatever he had in mind. 

“We’re roommates,” you blurt out, loud, obtrusive. “Just roommates.” 

You’re proud of yourself for saying this, as you are every time you manage to keep the only thing you have left intact. Proud and relieved and feeling high from the adrenaline of it all. 

But oh, the way Chrollo grips your hand tighter. Oh, the way the expressions on the people in front of you shift in varying degrees, eyebrows raised, expressions disbelieving. One of them, impossibly huge with a matching mane of hair, snorts out a laugh that he smothers when Chrollo inclines his head just a fraction toward him.

Oh, you have fucked up. You have fucked up in a way that makes your stomach drop, makes your hand begin to tremble, and not just because of Chrollo’s increasingly uncomfortable grip on your hand.

--

The lock clicks behind you and it seems to resound louder than ever before. Was the hotel room always so chilly? Maybe the heat wasn’t working. 

Or maybe it was the fact that Chrollo said not a single word on the ride home, or on the way into the hotel, or in the elevator on the ride up to your room. You thought he might have calmed down on the way home, but no such luck. On the way, you tried to think 

You drop your coat on the bed and resolve to hop in the shower, to get away from him for a bit, to hopefully let things get back to normal. But he says your name, almost too quiet to hear, and you slowly turn to face him.

“Chrollo?” Your throat feels tight and you swallow against it. 

He’s staring down at his hand. At his finger. Then he looks up at you.

You’re about to make an absurd joke about a wedding ring, anything to ease the tension, but the deepened look in his gaze stops you. Deep and dark and almost frenzied. Your heart suddenly feels like it’s leaping. You pissed him off, you really did, and he didn’t have to say a thing for you to know it.

“Roommates.” 

He takes a step toward you. You take a step back. He takes a step forward. And you go back, until you’re against a wall. The shell you’ve made around yourself, carefully laid with quips and smirks and endless distractions, cracks with each of his footsteps.

”Listen,” you say, voice light and wobbling. Maybe you can save this. Maybe. “About tonight, I know I shouldn’t have said--”

“Be quiet,” he says, firm, unrelenting. You shouldn’t push him, and your stomach drops to the floor as he presses himself against you. 

In a moment, he’s not just against you--but kissing you. It’s not a nice kiss, nothing soft or sweet. There’s frenzy in it, desperation, frustration. You don’t know if lips can bruise but if they do, yours surely will. You keep your teeth clenched but it doesn’t stop him, licking and biting at your lips as your stomach flips horribly. 

It’s too much. You don’t want this, not like this, not him, not here--

After far too long, he slowly pulls himself away from you. The dark expression in his eyes has only deepened.

“You’ve really never seen it,” he says, breath warm against your cheek. He sounds as if he’s finally realized something important. And he has.

“What?” You blink, you shake your head, you want to get away. You turn your head away from him, anything to stop seeing that look in his eyes, but his hand grips your chin and turns it back. “I’ve never seen what?”

“The red thread,” he murmurs, the words soft against your lips.

“What are you talking about?” You don’t hide your confusion, voice cracking and airy.

The hand holding your chin relents and he trails his thumb over your sore lips before pulling away entirely.

“The red thread,” he tells you, and instead of anger in his voice there is only a deep indulgence. It scares you far more than the chilly atmosphere in the car ride back. “Why do you think I chose you, hm?” His voice drops lower and the words are too close, too intimate, too much. “We’re soul mates.” 

Your brain scrambles, but not a single snarky word comes to mind. You weren’t… completely oblivious to the concept of soul mates. You knew people who swore they could see a connection between them and someone else. Red threads, sure, and sometimes other things. Names etched on skin. Symbolic tattoos. But you had never seen anything like that on your body.

Was there really a red thread connecting the two of you? It would explain a lot of things. Like why he took you. Like why he put up with you.

“I don’t want to be soul mates.” You don’t mind it, the freedom from all those burdens. You will pay the price of captivity if it means release from all that, but this last thing? Your ability to be yourself, to be separate from him in some way? You won’t give that up. Not willingly. Never. 

He only chuckles, short and dark, at your words. There’s something bitter in it.

“It doesn’t matter what you want.” His hand comes up to caress your cheek again, and the unwanted touch seems to remind you of everything he’s taken from you. You’re starting to feel sick. “The thread that connects us was pre-destined. You could hate me, dislike me, all you want and…”

“I don’t hate you,” you interrupt, blunt, blurting. Intrusive thoughts win out again. 

He raises his eyebrows and his eyes widen and in that, there’s a fraction of vulnerability. Like a tiny fissure. 

“No? Then why do you persist in refusing me?” 

Looking at him is hard, but this time, he lets you turn your head away, dropping his hands to his sides. You’re stuck right in front of him, regardless. It’s the least he could do.

“I don’t like you… like that.” You bite on the inside of your cheek. “I mean, well. You kidnapped me. I don’t think that’s unreasonable to say.” You glance at him, but he doesn’t look angry. Merely interested.

You take a deep breath, and a confessional sigh escapes your throat. “But I can live with this.” You gesture towards the room. “With being kidnapped, I mean. It’s not all bad.” You think about how you no longer rip your hair out from stress or cry yourself to sleep wondering how the bills will be paid this month. “As long as you’re not trying to do… the relationship stuff.” You drag your teeth over your bottom lip.  You can still taste him, insistent and firm.

Tentatively, you let your gaze return to meet his. Behind his eyes, you can practically see the clockwork and cogs moving.

“I see,” he says, slow, thoughtful. “Thank you for the clear explanation.”

“Are you mad?” 

He smiles. It looks like a weight has been taken off his chest, and that scares you. 

“Of course not. Apologies will be in order for your behavior earlier today. But as for the rest? I’m not angered in the slightest.” 

“Why not?”

The hand, the one he claimed held the red thread, catches against your own. His fingers interlock with yours and you feel too numb to pull away this time.

“Simple, dearest.” He pulls his fingers tighter and somehow it feels like your hands will never part again. It’s a ridiculous thought, childish, but it makes your heart quicken anyway. “Since you are so prone to acclimating to your… situation in other respects, I feel confident that you will not always feel so negatively towards a relationship with me.”

You want to protest. You start to, but you can’t find the words–sarcastic or otherwise. 

“After all,” he continues, voice low and smooth and confident now. His other hand returns to your chin, tilting it up as he stares at you, assessing, greedily taking the sight of you in. “I have the rest of our lives together to change your mind.” 

[sehodreams]

sex money feelings die - fourth visit

third visit ↬ fourth visit ↬ fifth visit

WC: 4.1k

TW and Tags (permanent for the story): rich client!Anton x stripper!reader, smut, fluff (?), a touch of angst for the moment, inexperienced reader, fingering, kissing, lots of silly conversations.

Summary: Working at a night club was difficult in many aspects, your sleep schedule was messed up for life, your feet were more used to high heels than sneakers and you had to lie about where you went to work those nights. Still, even with all those cons, you didn't hate your job, you had more than enough to pay your bills, feed your brother and save money for his college. However, what happens when your boss makes you do the one thing you asked to never do.

Without noticing you had started to wait for your Mondays and Fridays.

You were glad that you could quickly see Anton when he said goodbye on Fridays, but Mondays felt more difficult even if the difference was only one day.

Your conversations continued like usual but now instead of finishing with Sungchan abruptly opening the door to get you out he’d knock twice before saying his line behind the door, giving you the time to pull yourself together instead of scaring the shit out of you.

You didn’t ask him why he had changed his method, but you could guess it had something to do with Shotaro, and you didn’t mind that he had ordered to give you more privacy, but what did bother you was what he had told Sungchan to convince him, and what he thought you were doing inside that room.

You were no longer just talking on Mondays, the routine had changed to tell him about random stuff until you had no interesting topic and he, seeing that you didn’t feel like talking anymore, covered your mouth with his until the time was up.

Sometimes you forgot what you were planning to say on purpose.

And, even if you hadn’t made further moves apart from kissing, you couldn’t look at Sungchan in the eyes when you gave him his coffee, your mind repeating you that he no longer saw you like the same good girl.

‘’Angel, all good?’’ He said after two weeks of you avoiding his eyes.

You bit your lip and gripped the thermos on your hand. He was giving it back to you like he always did at the end of your shift. You were naked under your robe, and you were no longer wearing makeup so you couldn’t feign the same confidence you had on stage. ‘’Am I still your angel?’’ you asked.

Sungchan grin came back to his face, and he laughed for almost a minute at your flushed cheeks visible without your foundation covering them. He gave you a soft hug from the side, patting your shoulder and meeting your eyes in the mirror, you not avoiding him this time.

‘’Always.’’

None of the girls mentioned the birthday incident, they already got some ideas but didn’t feel like pressing you, you were the young kid always talking nonstop around the local, but since you didn’t say anything about him, they decided to just wait for you to approach them.

You could feel their eyes following you when on Mondays you walked to the VIP room, all of them now noticing how you had a long private show booked at the same time the same day every week, and you thought about breaking your silence and telling them, but it was a obscure path, you didn’t know how would they react, now you obviously did more money than them and you hadn’t show any signs of change in yourself for them to see it, but Shotaro was fixing the place and buying better alcohol that wasn’t as mixed with water, so you didn’t know how long you would be able to maintain your arrangement with Anton a secret and you free of problems.

‘’The stew isn’t orange anymore, it looks like blood’’ your brother got you out of your thoughts.

You turned off the kitchen and saw that, indeed, the stew had changed colors.

You tasted to see what was wrong with it, but you couldn’t even swallow with the bitter and spicy flavor invading your mouth and knocking back your senses.

‘’Shit, sorry, you’ll have to buy dinner today’’ you sighed.

Your brother nodded, he didn’t like how you made that dish anyways, so he gladly accepted the bill with an open hand.

‘’I have to tell you something before I leave’’ he put it in his pocked while you drank a glass of water to erase the taste. ‘’I earned the scholarship.’’

You spat your drink over the sink.

‘’What?’’ your eyes got wet and your heart started to beat loudly against your ribcage, too shocked to even breath properly.

‘’I won, I’m the best of my year.’’

You denied with your head still not believing his words, and after a long minute of your tears falling down your eyes and you trying to breath properly again, you wrapped him in the tightest hug you could give him.

‘’FREE COLLEGE’’ the two of you started to jump while hugging and you stayed like that, from swinging from one side to the other and circling, until you started to get nauseous of how excited you were and he had to leave for his first class.

You couldn’t wait to get to work and tell everyone, except, when you saw that it wasn’t Monday or Friday, a sense of disappointment filled you.

Anton didn’t know you had a brother, you knew a bit about him, like that he enjoyed going out with his mother when he visited her in the States, or that he had a little brother too, but you had never reciprocated the conversation with information about your family, it wasn’t that you were ashamed or anything, but it was a step you didn’t know you were ready to take, so he tried to keep the deep topics aside to not make you uncomfortable, and even if you had liked to know a bit about his home, you didn’t feel it correct if you couldn’t do the same.

You sighed, you couldn’t think of him like someone you could tell good or bad news, you had to maintain him entertained, nothing more.

Telling your close coworkers was enough, they weren’t your friends, but they were the closest thing as friends you had. After school finished everyone went to follow their own path, and when you tried to mix with them again all the conversations were focused on how college was treating them, if they had a campus crush or if they had bombed an exam, but those were things you couldn’t relate to, and soon you lost all contact with them.

When you arrived you jumped to Sungchan’s arms and he spined you until you had to tap his back so he let you down before your lunch betrayed you. You told the news in high voice and everyone around that knew your name, even one new girl that didn’t know you that much, congratulated you.

You were practically floating from one side to another, and not even in stage you could hide how happy you looked.

‘’Good day?’’ one of your regulars, a doctor, asked when you, on your knees, about to unbutton your nurse uniform, were smiling a lot more than normal.

‘’Great day’’ you confessed.

‘’I’m happy for you sweetheart’’ he answered, caressing the side of your cheek and pushing two bills of a hundred into your bra, ‘’I hope you continue having them.’’

You imagined he was Anton until you finished your dance.

Regulars were always a nice thing to have, of course they had to be the correct kind, you had seen how some of them were dangerous or brought problems with their wives screaming to get their money back, but that was none of your business, and since you were more selective with them now, you always did your best to avoid the bad kind.

Sometimes you let them have a little touch, Shotaro had put an advice that clearly said it was prohibited for them to do it unless the girls allowed it, and you had learned who to let have a taste of your skin after many months hearing the girls.

‘’You don’t need to know they’re married, but you need to know they’re not crazy.’’

‘’And how do you find that out?’’.

‘’We still don’t know, but what we have seen is that most of them are rich.’’

Yes, your regulars had to be pretty much rich if they wanted you to spare them some of your time.

You had your methods to discover their careers and marital status, sometimes you just had to act like you were a cop and ask them for their wallets for them to willingly give you their IDs.

Married, single, divorced.

You never accepted married regulars.

To learn what they did you just tried to remember their names, and if they didn’t want to give you their IDs you just had to whisper some pleads about wanting to make their deepest dreams come true for them to say it.

Sometimes it made you sick how much they fantasized with their coworkers, but you preferred to know that they had stable jobs than to be followed by a creep telling you to give them back their money if you wouldn’t accept his love.

There were special cases in which you could just smell it, all the girls developed that ability after some time. You weren’t sure how, but there was something about the texture of their hands or the smell of their aftershaves that helped you to identify them.

You still remember the first time Anton and his friends arrived, they looked like the typical group of college boys that wanted to experiment a crazy night after exam season, but just with one look all you noticed how they weren’t the normal group. Their confidence while steeping in, the dirty look to the menu or the normal seats, even how they asked for different drinks, ‘’just in case, don’t you have Blue Label or at least Chivas Regal?’’

Shotaro had to sell them the precious untouched Blue Label he had in his office for years, more a decoration than anything else, for them to not leave.

However, now that you noticed, you all knew that Anton was rich, but none of you knew what he did to live.

When Friday came, you were decided to discover it.

You were too ashamed to use the cop method, you felt bit embarrassed to show up with that outfit, certain that he’d laugh at it instead of finding it hot.

The whisper was the only option, but that usually required of you taking off your clothes, and even if he had seen you naked before, since starting your conversations you had never flashed the skin under your bra to him again.

It was impossible to even think another method now that you had him on your side.

He was the one who started all the intimacy, so he had gotten closer like he usually did, a hand over the sofa behind your shoulders and pulling you closer, slightly covering you from the neon lights to only look at him and his rosy lips.

He definitely used a better lip balm than you.

‘’What are you thinking about?’’ he asked seeing that something was wondering inside your mind before he closed the distance. You, without noticing, had started to pull his shirt every time you wanted him to kiss you, and you unconsciously had done it the minute you arrived, but he didn’t notice the same desire in your eyes, it was more like you wanted to call his attention even when you always had it.

‘’Nothing, just that it’s sad that sometimes I forget things I want to tell you about’’ you said, making him smile.

‘’Sometimes I forget them too, I wish I could come and see you every day’’ he replied, pushing your hair behind your ears and pressing his thumb over one of the little black dots on your cheek your foundation couldn’t cover. When you were younger your mother said that moles brought bad luck, but you didn’t have the money to remove them, and now that you had it, you didn’t dare to do it because you remembered how your mother would press them every time she gave you a goodbye hug before she left for work in the weekends.

Now Anton was the one pressing them and you remembered two people when you saw your reflection while you washed your face.

‘’Not even I come here every day’’ you laughed.

His eyebrows went up.

‘’Such a shame, there are days in which I really miss your voice asking me if I had dinner or not.’’

‘’Well, you’re the one who started doing that question.’’

‘’I was just afraid you were going to puke over me again.’’

You laughed and pushed his shoulder.

‘’Please forget that already, I didn’t even do it, and it’s been a life.’’

‘’It feels like yesterday to me, I remember our time together frequently, maybe that’s why I miss you more too.’’

‘’Shut up.’’

Your hand found his like instinct, welcoming his touch with ease.

You saw a different bottle behind him and wondered why he hadn’t opened before you arrived, like he usually did.

‘’Why is the bottle still closed?’’

‘’Oh, I just forgot about it, do you want me to open it?’’ he didn’t pull his eyes away from you for even a second, looking down to your lips instead.

‘’I kind of want to try it.’’ Better said, you wanted to celebrate your good news, and you couldn’t tell him, but you could still do something special with him without talking more than necessary.

‘’I thought your boss didn’t let you drink in work hours.’’

‘’Yeah, that was a lie, I was tired of so many men trying to buy me drinks instead of just letting me work.’’

He nodded, ‘’Yeah, I kind of knew it too, all the other girls love to drink with my friends.’’

The bottle made a pop sound when he got the cork out. It was a wine with a name you couldn’t even read, and you didn’t know much about them but the way he was telling you why it was one of his favorites was enough to make you curious of the taste.

There was only one proper cup for it, Anton said, so you’d have to share it with him.

You weren’t sure if that was the true or he just wanted to drink it with you, but since you weren’t the expert, you just accepted it.

‘’Do you see how dense it is?’’ He asked you and you didn’t notice any difference with other wines, but you didn’t want to interrupt his little moment, so you nodded, ‘’it indicates the flavor, I like this kind, rich that leaves a long rest in the palladate, but if you don’t just tell me and I’ll look for one you like, okay?’’

He continued with a whole ritual you had never seen before, your friends were more into beer and tequila, while your coworkers only had mixed drinks with what was left from the shift.

He swirled and made you sniff it before he placed in front of you take a sip from it, and holding the glass, instead of taking it from his hand, you let him pamper you and give it to you like that.

‘’Well done’’ he said after you played with it in your mouth like he had indicated. His fingers nestled in your chin and his eyes inspected your every movement. ‘’Did you like it?’’ he had so many expectations in his eyes that you decided to smile and humor him a little, and after you nodded, you showed him your tongue for him to see how there was not a single drop left.

You expected him to laugh at what you did, not for him to drop his smile, take a big gulp from the same cup, and press his mouth against yours.

‘’My favorite flavor’’ he whispered before the tip of his tongue brushed your lip, asking for permission. When you opened your mouth for him, he quickly pushed his tongue and played with yours while his free hand maintained the back of your head in place for you to not breath or pull away until he allowed you.

The wine wasn’t too sweet, but it tasted like that when the lingering savor of the drink he had found you.

You didn’t think what you did was a big deal, but soon he was pouring another glass and repeating the same sequence, making you sip it first, to then finish the cup and kiss you again and again.

You don’t know when, but his hands had dragged you to his lap, and with strong touches over your waist while still controlling how close your mouth was to his, he made you rut against him.

A whimper escaped your mouth.

It felt good, too good.

The warmness of his hands over your naked skin brought an electric sensation to the room, like little volts everywhere he touched, pulling you apart from the way his mouth was suffocating you, to then come back with the taste of the drink in his mouth.

Your hips moved on its own at some point, and your panties were getting so wet you couldn’t believe how drenched you were.

Your body was getting hot and your mind dizzy with the alcohol, but your hips instead of stopping searched for more, and the only thing that seemed to appease you enough was the mound inside his pants and the sensation of his zipper pressing your clit.

Minutes later it wasn’t enough anymore, and with his mouth still possessing yours, you couldn’t talk at all, only leaving little whimpers while searching for your own pleasure.

‘’You like how my cock feels?’’ he asked while making you, with both hands, sweep even harder over him, hissing with the force he had used.

You nodded while looking at him with tipsy eyes, more intoxicated with how good it felt to press that special place over him than with the alcohol.

‘’But I want more’’ you murmured.

He stopped your hips. He let his forehead fall on your shoulder and denied.

‘’Fuck, you shouldn’t say it like that, you’ll make me give you everything I have’’ he gulped loudly before he kissed you one more time.

Distracting you with his mouth, his hand found the front of your panties, groaning at how wet you were over them, to then push it inside and feel how you were dripping under them.

‘’Shit, so wet.’’

You accepted him, doing the motion over his hands now and biting your lips to not moan too loud.

He saw how you were containing yourself and decided to kiss you, because if you were going to keep quiet, you’d do it with his lips over yours.

Three of his fingers were swiping up and down your clit, smearing your juices until they got all the front of your panties dirty and the sticky feeling made your legs open even more to him, knees sinking on each side of him over the velvet couch.

Your hands didn’t know in what to hold onto. Your mind was scattered all around and his other hand trailed the way from your neck, which he was eagerly holding, until it found the cup of your bra.

His hand was so big it cupped most of your chest and it felt so good you wanted him to give the same attention to your nipple like he did with your clit.

‘’Should I take it off?’’ you asked him. Not that there wasn’t much you hid, but even if you were wearing just a set of lingerie you felt you were wearing too much. And you wanted to feel him more too, if just his hand felt that good, you couldn’t imagine how his whole body would.

‘’No, I’m sorry, I won’t be able to hold myself if I see more of you.’’ He begged.

You couldn’t understand him, every man in that place wanted you naked and to touch you just like you were asking him, yet he didn’t want to see you like that.

Anton was so different from all the other guys, none of them would focus on you like he did right there, making you forget your question with how he was pushing his fingers inside you now.

His fingers were reaching a place you never touched with your own, and you had left one guy touch you like that, but he didn’t have as much precision as Anton, not even close. He was pushing your walls and then he would make a curling motion that made you whimper of how stimulating it was, touching a spot that made you feel more than good.

You were clenching not much after and he couldn’t stop his fingers from pushing you. He wanted you to make a mess over his hand, a bigger one, one that would keep him company even after you left him alone there and he had to go home with that painful boner.

Inside his pants he felt his cock twitching and his chest calling for you, you would feel so good, he could easily see it, he could feel it.

You were so tight you’d have a bit of trouble taking him, but it was okay, he’d help you get used to his size, that sweet pussy had to be his and only his.

You were shaking over him, your hips moving to find his contact and your eyes fluttering over him, hypnotized with a drunk look.

‘’It’s okay if you cum and make a mess, don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.’’

You shook your head, ‘’I can’t, the other’s will notice.’’

Your cries were so sweet he tried to care about what you wanted, you didn’t want to make a mess, but just feeling how wet you were he knew it was impossible for you to not make it.

‘’Trust me, I’ll find a solution, you just have to cum, I need you to cum or I won’t be able to sleep in peace the next days, I need to see you cumming over my hand, to know I was the one who made you feel this good, please.’’

One hand pressed your chest to him, and you tried to refuse him, but it was so overwhelming your toes were already curling and your hips couldn’t stop. It seemed like your body listened to him more than to you, and you tried to fight it, but it was impossible to win.

Pinching the material of his jacket with your nails, you nodded, giving in.

A gushing sensation came from your insides, warm with a touch of pain but so liberating that black tears fell down your cheeks, your mascara and eyeshadow running in little grey dots. Anton let you hide your face on his neck to moan as loud as you wanted with his shoulder muffling your voice, and after feeling you had enough, your hips jumping away from him to some point, he stopped his fingers from pushing inside you, leaving a long sigh out.

His head fell back to the head couch and seeing the lights of different colors above you two, he felt the dizziness not letting him think straight. However, with the help of your lips thanking him through kisses over his cheek until you left one over his lips, full of fondness, his mind, now full of praises for you that wanted to leave his mouth, functioned a bit better than before.

‘’I don’t think you’ll like my solution’’ he said after you took your breath over his shoulder.

‘’I just don’t want Sungchan to know what happened here’’ you replied between deep breaths.

‘’I know angel, that’s why I hope you don’t get mad at me.’’

You moved apart. He, after caressing your legs and having recollected himself, made you sit next to him, giving you that playful smile when you looked at him with questioning eyes.

‘’What are you going to do Anton Lee?’’

He poured the rest of the bottle over your lap, leaving you, and the couch, sticky with a three hundred dollar wine.

You complained inside your mind. You would have to change for the rest of the night, and even if you quickly washed yourself, you’d still smell like a drink all the girls would interrogate how was, obviously not referring only to the taste of the wine.

You’d have said something out loud to Anton the next time if it wasn’t that, before you left, he had handed you a card, telling you to call him later about the cleaning fees.

‘’You can call Shotaro’’ you said unconvinced.

‘’To be honest I just want to hear your voice through the phone’’ he smiled.

In the back there was something apart from his phone number. Anton Lee, Lee Compositions, music producer, you saw written in bold letters.

At least you knew what he did now.

third visit ↬ fourth visit ↬ fifth visit

[thezombieprostitute]

Bittersweet

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's Sundae Bar:

🍧Cookie Dough: bakery au – cookie dough proves that a bit of baking can make anything better. Your characters now live in a bakery au, whether they work there, or come as customers, they can’t resist the sweet aura.

🍧Birthday Cake: secret admirer – it doesn’t have to be your birthday to have this flavour. And your secret admirer leaves you gifts every day, but just won’t give you the one thing you desperately want: their identity.

🥄Graham Crackers: flashback – a brief trip into the past reveals something important.

Warnings: Coercion, Stalking. Please let me know if I missed any!

There was a time when you really enjoyed going to work. Your bakery wasn't massively successful but it did well enough. The regulars kept you in business and you were able to attract the occasional crowd with seasonal recipes. You loved baking and you loved that you could try new things along with the tried and true. Even with the protection money you had to pay out, you were still able to turn a small profit.

As much as you hated it, you had to admit they did keep things relatively safe. The grocer across the street had gotten robbed and not only had the person been caught, the store owner received all of their money back with a bonus for the employee who'd been working the register. Store owners who get the runaround from their insurance companies just have to tell the right people to get the fixes and payouts they need. So while you hated having additional expenses, at least you knew it wasn't going to waste.

But then you started getting gifts delivered to you at the bakery. Practically every day, for the past few months, you've been getting gifts of all sorts. It was cute and fun at first. A charm bracelet with a bunch of baking based charms, a small bouquet of flowers. But the,n the gifts started getting more and more personal. A book that had been on your wishlist forever but you never told anyone about, a dress in your favorite colors that fit you perfectly. You started dreading stepping into the bakery.

The small box is on your desk and you take a breath to steady your nerves before opening it. Given the packaging it could be a book. Given the way the gifts have been going, it's likely a book of photos of you. You slowly unwrap the gift and you're proven partially correct. It's a framed drawing of you, asleep in your room. It's definitely your room. All the details are painfully correct. Someone was in your home watching you sleep.

As much as you want to drop everything and cry, there is work to be done. You've got bills and employees to pay. On top of that, it's time for the quarterly protection payment. Maybe you can ask the “agent” you regularly meet up with to keep an eye out for the secret admirer. You fill up the manila envelope with the payments and head to the kitchen to get things started.

The routine is comforting. Cookies, small cakes, pastries, you could probably make these in your sleep. It does help when your employees start trickling in and taking over some of the tasks. The shop is running like a well-oiled machine and you're able to forget about the unsettling drawing in your office.

A little before time to open, there's a knock at the front. You recognize the woman, Nat, as the one who collects the payments. You quickly run up and let her in. She seems especially chatty this morning.

“Hey, did you stop wearing that charm bracelet?”

“Oh, yeah,” you reply sadly. “It's actually something I was hoping to talk to you about.” As you step into the office you hand her the envelope with the payment before pointing to the picture. “My secret admirer has gotten more and more creepy, like a stalker. It's really scaring me.”

She looks at the drawing, “they're certainly talented.”

“Oh yes,” you agree quickly, “but that's not the point. That's my room. No one has been in my room for...long enough. There've been other gifts that feel way too personal for a stranger to know. Hell, even friends of mine wouldn't know!”

Tears start forming in your eyes and Nat quickly starts trying to soothe you. “We'll look into this,” she promises. “I'll have answers for you by the end of the week.”

You nod and thank her before she leaves and you get back to work, letting yourself get lost in the rhythm of the day.

“Excuse me, miss?”

You pause on your way to your car and turn towards the source of the voice. You recognize the man, Sam, as another “agent” like Nat. “Can I help you?”

“I've been asked to bring you to The Shield for dinner. We have some answers about your secret admirer.”

“Oh, what, um, what time?”

“Now,” he replies as he motions to his car.

“But I'm not dressed for The Shield. I'm covered in flour from work. I smell--”

“Now,” Sam repeats. His tone leaves no room for argument. Your hands shake as you put your keys in your purse and sit in the passenger seat of Sam's vehicle.

The Shield is a very high-end restaurant that's known to be a favorite of Barnes, the man in charge of the Protection for your neighborhood. You're not sure why he would need to see you in person. Did you overstep when you asked Nat for help? Do they need to start charging you more because of it? Can you afford the increase?

“You'll be okay,” Sam assures. “He just wants to talk to you over dinner.”

“I don't think I can afford the meal.”

He chuckles, “it's on us. He's making you come to dinner with him, the least he can do is pay for your meal.”

You nod your understanding. At least that's something you don't have to worry about.

At the restaurant, Sam leads you past the hostess and straight to, what you can only assume to be, a VIP area. Tables are set inside of nooks, some cordoned off by curtains to promote privacy.

One of the tables is occupied by two very different looking men. One of them is big and tall with long, brown hair and stubble. The other is smaller, with blond hair and looks...familiar. He looks up and smiles as he sees you and you're hit with a memory from over a decade ago.

You were working late shift at Waffle House. Not great, but it paid the bills your scholarship didn't cover. Culinary School was your ticket out of this town and you were going to give it everything you had. And, because of class schedules, the late night shift was your only real option.

On a slow night it was just you and another server managing the floor. Curtis, the cook, was out back for his smoke break. Your one patron came up to pay his bill. He was scrawny, blonde haired, blue eyed, and very polite. Unlike other late night patrons, he wasn't drunk and didn't try flirting with you. He spent most of his meal drawing in his notebook and you noted he was very skilled. He smiled shyly and thanked you.

He went to the till to pay but went pale when his card was declined. “I...I knew I was cutting it close but...I'm so sorry! Let me try to find some cash or something!” He starts frantically pulling out his pockets.

“It's okay, I've got you,” you assure him. “It was just eggs and toast.”

“I don't want your pity,” he mumbles. “I swear I can pay.”

“It's not pity, it's kindness,” you retort. “You were a very nice customer, very respectful. Not used to that this time of night. You even let me look at your artwork. So let me thank you for being nice by being nice in return.”

His cheeks are pink with embarrassment but he steadies himself, “I...I promise I'll pay you back.”

“I'm not worried about it.”

And now that same scrawny, blonde haired, blue eyed man was gesturing for you to sit next to him at the most high-priced restaurant in the city.

“I know it's been a while,” he states calmly. “So I'll understand if you don't recognize me.”

“Eggs and toast,” you whisper, making him smile.

“I still owe you for that meal. And with interest and economic inflation, I think you could order whatever you want from this place and I'll still owe you.” His companion, the big, brown haired man chuckles. “Please, have a seat. We've got some catching up to do.”

You sit down, still feeling in a bit of shock. “What...what are you doing here?”

“Me and Bucky,” he gestures to the brunette, “run this town. We're the ones you've been paying the protection money to.”

“You're Mr. Barnes?”

“That would be me, Doll,” Bucky speaks up. “I have the more intimidating presence people expect, complete with the skills to back that up. Steve here is the brains. The devious bastard figured out how to completely run out the other rackets, making us the only game in town.”

A sudden thought hits you. You look at Steve, “those gifts I've been receiving?”

“Those were me, Angel,” he smiles. “I figured you'd appreciate a glimpse at the nice things I can give you.”

“You...you broke into my apartment...”

“I own the building so it wasn't a break in,” he calmly tells you. “I have my own key.”

You freeze up. How many times has this stranger been in your apartment? How many times did he watch you sleep? And how much power does he have that he can openly admit these things to you without fear of repercussion?

“I warned him that the drawing was a step too far,” Bucky interrupted your thoughts. “But he insisted you'd be flattered.”

“Then we got Nat's report from you,” Steve frowned. “I really didn't think it would scare you.”

“You didn't think it would scare me to have someone draw me in my sleep? Without my knowing?!” You get out of your chair and try to back away. “You've been stalking me. Invading my privacy! I never consented to any of this!”

You try to turn and walk away but you're stopped by Sam. “I promise you,” he warns, “if you leave you will regret it.”

Confused you turn back to Steve and Bucky who are out of their own seats and stalking towards you, looking angry.

“I want to be nice,” Steve tells you. “But I'm sure you can guess, I don't have to be. Neither do my friends. Now please,” he holds out a hand to you. “Please come sit, and have dinner with me.”

You want to run. You want to scream. But this man owns your business. He owns your home. If you try to get away, where could you go? You've invested everything into your bakery and have no savings. You have nowhere else you can live. He owns everything you hold dear.

You take his hand, “I'm...I'm sorry, Steve. It's a lot to take in.”

He smiles while Bucky and Sam relax. “It's okay, Angel,” he covers your hand with his. “We've got all the time to figure this out.”

Partially inspired by @theinheriteddutchess; Tagging @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @fluxxdog; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[cowboythighs]

When Wayne took Eddie in, his biggest worry was that he was going to screw the poor kid up even more than his parents already had. After all, what did he know about taking care of a kid? How would he know what his nephew didn’t know- what Wayne needed to teach him? And how was he going to manage raising a whole little human and provide for them both? But to his surprise, Wayne soon found out that Eddie was shockingly self-sufficient. That he’d had to learn how to cook and clean and do laundry for himself, because his parents were too caught up in themselves and their own issues to take care of him.

Wayne’s momentary relief that he wasn’t starting from ground zero was soon replaced by a level of resentment towards Eddie’s parents. It wasn’t fair that Eddie had been forced to rely on himself so much. It hurt Wayne to see someone so young worrying the way he did about not using too much water; hurt watching Eddie silently going behind Wayne to turn off unused lights because he worried about the bills being too high to pay.

When he figured out Eddie's lemonade stand wasn’t set up to fund a new comic or toy, but rather to try and pay his share for room and board, Wayne took Eddie to the local thrift store and headed straight for the toys section. He was stern when he told Eddie to keep his money, and that they were not leaving until Eddie had an armful of his own toys because Wayne was determined to make sure Eddie had the chance to be a kid.

He watched as Eddie slowly pursued through the selection of toys- inspecting them carefully. When Wayne caught on that Eddie was looking at the price tags he gently admonished him; told him these are used toys; they’re cheap enough and that Eddie didn’t have to worry about money with him.

Eddie tried to argue, insisted that he knows how this goes and appreciates the thought, he really does think it’s nice that Uncle Wayne wants him to have fun stuff to play with, but he knew that just because they have money now it didn’t mean they won’t somehow come up short later, and how he’d much rather have heat than a GI Joe.

Wayne tried to be patient, to not to be as gruff as was his nature as he told Eddie “I may not be your daddy, but you're my boy and I’m gonna take care of you”. Wayne told him it was time to stop fussing and enjoy being a kid. Wayne allowed himself a smile when Eddie relented and picked out a handful of toys.

When they passed the book display as they walked towards the register Wayne stopped. “You like readin’?'' he asks. Eddie looks longingly at the books but only shrugs.

“Don’t know, never had any books to read”. Eddie says it like it doesn’t matter, but his face betrays him.

“They had books in school, didn’t they?” Wayne asked. Eddie just gave another shrug.

“Guess so. I didn't get to go to school very often. Mom and dad were almost always too tired or too sick in the mornings to take me. and we moved around a lot. When we lived close I could walk to school by myself as long as I had clean clothes. If you go to school dirty, teachers get too nosey," Eddie stated like it was common knowledge, “and then they call your parents and you get in trouble and have to move again. But mostly it was too far to walk so I couldn’t go anyways.”

Wayne’s heart felt like it was breaking anew with each detail of casual neglect his nephew had to endure. It wasn’t right for a kid so young to have gone through so much and be so nonchalant about it. Making up his mind he directed Eddie over to the books and told him he can have whatever he wants. There's a slim selection of children’s books to choose from, but it's a place to start.

Wayne watched Eddie's eyes as they kept wandering back to a boxed set with dragons and wizards on the spine. Wayne picked up the set of the Lord of the Rings books without a word and took the set up to the register with Eddie trailing behind. They were far too advanced for a kid his age, especially one as far behind as Eddie, but Wayne decided he would read to him every night. would read aloud the stories of Bilbo and Frodo and Middle Earth and watch Eddie's love for learning grow.

Wayne was proud when time passed and Eddie started leaving dirty dishes in the sink and letting his room get messy. He didn’t mind when Eddie took a long shower or stayed up late writing his own stories. Wasn’t disappointed when he got held back in school, or spent his free time playing games of make believe with his friends. Because he knew better than anyone that Eddie had a rough start in life and had been playing catch up for a long while. And besides, it gave him a chance to be a kid just a little longer, and there was nothing Wayne wanted more than that.

[hugheses]

Get to Know...Luke Hughes | ICEBREAKERS

Matt Loughlin: We’re going to play a little bit of a game of Icebreakers with Luke Hughes, and Luke, we appreciate you allowing us to ask you some of the off-the-wall questions. Ready to have some fun?

Luke Hughes: Yeah, thanks.

ML: All right, we're gonna get to know a little bit more about you. So, who's the most famous person you ever met? And how did you meet him or her?

LH: That's a really tough question. I have no idea off the top of my head, I don't know, I think Sidney Crosby is pretty famous, right? So maybe him.

ML: Sidney Crosby, he fits the bill, that's for sure. If you had to eat a crayon, what color would it be?

LH: Probably wouldn't eat any of them, but probably blue.

ML: What game show do you think you could win?

LH: What's the one where you pick the boxes? And answer a question. It's like 500...

ML: Yeah, Jeopardy, maybe? Is that it?

LH: Yeah, that one.

ML: Especially if you get a daily double, because you could bang that out and pick up pick up a lot of money there. So name one movie that you've seen and you think should have a sequel.

LH: The Other Guys

ML: What's the first thing you thought about when you woke up this morning?

LH: I thought my alarm went off. So, I had to turn that off.

ML: Is a hot dog a sandwich?

LH: No.

ML: Would you rather be a superhero or the world's best chef?

LH: Superhero, easily.

ML: Why is that?

LH: It would be way cooler.

ML: Would you rather compete in the Olympics or direct a movie that was nominated for an Oscar?

LH: Compete in the Olympics.

ML: Kind of figured you’d go with that! What's something that you've always wanted to do but haven't done it yet? And how come?

LH: I haven't been to Paris or Italy, which would be cool. Probably go there.

ML: What's a book that you're currently reading?

LH: Not reading any books right now, but I actually have one I'd like to start, probably should start.

ML: That's alright, fair enough. We'll find out a little later on what it's all about. If you had an extra hour per day, what would you do with it?

LH: Honestly, probably just chill.

ML: Are you a spicy or sweet guy when it comes to food?

LH: Sweet.

ML: What's your favorite pizza topping?

LH: Pepperoni.

ML: What's your favorite type of ice cream?

LH: It changes but probably like, mint chocolate chip or like cookie dough, moose tracks.

ML: Let's not forget those, I’m a big moose tracks guy myself. Alright, so if you had to live in a video game, which one would you choose?

LH: Probably Fortnite, that would be cool. 

ML: If you could be any animal, what would it be?

LH: Maybe like an eagle?

ML: Listen, eagles soar above the world and look down and be aggressive and you know…

LH: You get to fly…

ML: Yeah, exactly. Do you have any secret talents?

LH: Yeah, I'm actually a pretty good pool player.

ML: Alright, and the last one, aside from answering silly Icebreaker questions, do you have a pet peeve?

LH: I have like little ones, but I don't know if they're big enough to say on here, there's nothing really. Yeah, I don't really have anything.

ML: Fair enough. Luke, thanks very much for your time.

LH: Thank you!

[kousagi7hikari]

Soooo…

Bill Cipher in Twisted Wonderland.

It’s probably Ace and Deuce’s fault (it’s always Ace and Deuce’s fault.) and when Bill is summoned, he is HORRIFIED to see that it’s in a human body. Cos ew human body gross. It’s also a tumblr sexyman twink body cos that’s the rules Twst plays by. He’s also aware of his limited range of motion. (“How come I can only make five poses and facial expressions????”)

So Bill sets off to find someone to make a deal with so he can get his real form back and find a way out of this world.

However, not a single one of these teenagers is interested in making a deal.

Most of them don’t trust him (Leona, Jamil, etc.)

Some prefer to do the hard work (Vil)

Some abide by the rules too hard (“The rules of the Queen of Hearts state that any handshake deals may only be performed in the presence of a licensed amphibian!”)

And while some come close (Ruggie, Kalim) they have other folks to talk them out of it.

There’s even a few who won’t even talk to him (Idia)

And some are too goody-goody for Bill to even bother with (Silver, Jack)

And Rook just creeps him out.

Eventually, Bill comes across Grimm, and offers him a deal to make him a great mage, which Grimm almost jumps on, but realizes he might lose his minion (us) so he asks what we think.

>You should go for it Grimm!

>Seems fishy…

“Who are you talking to?”

Because the MC has no sprite, Bill doesn’t see them…

But he sees US.

“Ohhh! I see! This is some kinda mobile game! Probably approved by the mouse huh?”

And he taps on the screen which makes the sparkles when you tap on the screen in Twst appear.

“How INTERESTING. Now that I know you’re there, if you tap the screen at all, I can shake your hand and get outa here!”

If you have autoplay on, he reaches up and turns it off.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, pal! And I’ve got an eternity!”

Thankfully the game keeps moving and the students and Crowly show up to warn us about Bill.

Bill finds this amusing and treats us to an unwinnable fight.

Bill, now in his red form, taunts us some more…

And then we get the flashbacks. Like how the MC gets Disney Movie flashbacks at the beginning of each book.

“Names Bill Cipher!”

“Hiya smart guy!”

“I know lots of things! Lots of things.”

“WELCOME ONE AND ALL!! TO WIERDMAGEDDON!!!!”

“I have some children I need to make into corpses!!”

And then…

“Do a pretty good impression of my brother, don’t I? Switch clothes and no one can tell us apart!”

“You’re a real wise guy, but you made one fatal mistake: YOU MESSED WITH MY FAMILY!”

“No you’re making a mistake!!! I’ll give you anything! Money! Fame! Infinite riches! Your own galaxy! PLEASE!!! WHATS HAPPENING TO ME???”

“STANLEYYYYYYY!!!!”

>Left Hook

Whack!

Bill turns yellow, everyone is shocked.

“Did Yuu just… punch him??”

Luckily, this has bought enough time for some kind of agents (probably from the theraprism) to show up and take Bill away, kicking and screaming.

That night, the MC has a dream (?) where they talk to triangle Bill through the mirror they usually talk to Mickey in.

Bill “thanks” them for getting him arrested AGAIN. But since he’s on our mind, he gives us something to remember him by (and totally not a conduit to come back from/see through):

An SR card for twisted Bill Cipher.

With a promise:

We’ll meet again~!

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What if Harry wasn't rich? Like, say James gave away the Potter fortune to the Order or the Potter's never made their fortune thanks to that hair growth potion. Do you think things would change in canon, or would it be about the same?

Canon I imagine would change in small but mostly inconsequential ways.

The thing about Harry and money is that he has enough of it that he never has to worry about it but he's also a boy growing up who doesn't really think about it or handle it. He's in school most of the time where his expenses are covered, when he needs a thing he pays for the thing, but otherwise he just doesn't handle money that much throughout the series.

But there would be some effect.

Harry's trip to Diagon Alley would be made a bit awkward when they go to buy everything and he... blows all his money on the wand. He then gets to get second hand equipment (or else forgo textbooks and be told he can get them at school) and I imagine is much more :/ now that he's getting beaten up and not new shiny things.

He probably hates Malfoy even more for being rich now that Harry's not rich and Malfoy in turn makes fun of Harry's robes. Similarly, I imagine Harry and Ron bond over being dirt fucking poor.

Harry in Prisoner of Azkaban would have a time where, upon running away from home, he doesn't have the funds to rent a room in the Leaky Cauldron the way he did in canon for the last few weeks of summer. Harry instead has to... stay on... the Knight Bus... We'll just say the Weasleys manage to pick him up before anything happens there.

Harry might be more tempted to keep at least some of the prize money in Goblet of Fire, and that could be the reason he wants to participate in the first place much like Ron, and Ron in turn could be less in a snit as he gets it/Harry's not just doing it for honor and glory presumably but needs the money as much as Ron and "hey if you win can I have some" but would probably ultimately give it to Fred and George out of guilt of what had happened with Cedric.

Harry can't really spend money in Hogsmeade the way he did canonically and is likely quite upset about this and is probably even more pissed about his Cho date because he can't afford Madam Puddifoot's like that.

He still gets the Nimbus 2000 as that was a gift from McGonagall, the Firebolt as well as that was a gift from Sirius.

He probably doesn't take Apparition lessons (12 galleons!) but Ron or Hermione could help cover the bill since the Weasleys are still burning through their lottery money by book six. If he doesn't then Dumbledore probably dies out in the ocean from poisoning as Harry is unable to get the pair of them back to Hogwarts (which would then completely derail Deathly Hallows as well as the end of HBP).

[hahaifolded]

The Siren, the Cook, and the Sister (2)

Sanji x PirateHunter!FemReader (Masterlist) Chapter 2: Remember Me (Previous) (Next) Summary: You reconnect with an old friend much to the dismay of a certain cook. Warnings: WCI Spoilers, Sanji being Sanji

“And your total is 30,500 berries,” said the tavern owner, handing the bill to a shocked Nami. “Let me take these plates real quick, and I’ll be right back.” 

As the tavern owner went to the back, Nami harshly whispered, “What are we going to do? We don’t have enough money for this and the Sunny’s supplies.”

Usopp grabbed the bill from the navigator. “There’s only one thing we can do.” He ripped up the bill, jumped up, and yelled, “RUN!” Everyone else stood up, ready to book it out of the tavern.

However, before they could slip out, the doors swung open once more, revealing a dripping dark figure.

You had returned.

No way these guys were trying to dine and dash, you thought with amusement. Much to the Strawhats dismay, you and a white bag blocked the exit. You didn’t think you would see Robin and the Strawhats after cashing out on your most recent bounty. Maybe it was your lucky day after all.

Before anyone could say anything, the tavern owner returned, shocked to see unpaid customers near an exit. “Were you guys trying to leave without paying?” rightfully accused the woman. The crew turned red, gasping for an answer. 

Realizing this was your chance to really talk to Robin, you decided to help the crew out. You activated your mask and replied, “No, of course not. They just came to greet me.” Your robotic voice caught the tavern owner’s attention. You gently placed your gloved hand over Usopp’s shoulder to hold him in place. He jolted, shivering under your grip.

“Besides, I got their bill.” All of the Strawhat’s eyes widened. You dug into your bag, grabbing the necessary bills plus more to cover the crew’s bill. Pleased by the payment, the tavern owner set off to clean, leaving you with the Strawhats.

“Thanks dude! Really appreciate it” beamed Luffy, patting you on the back, still unaffected by everything. It was evident that the captain was excited to see you again. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of the crew.

Aware of the tension, you smoothed out your cloak, thinking, okay, this is my chance. Play it cool. You cleared your throat and called out Robin’s name, trying to get her attention. She turned, but, before she could respond, a certain gentleman spoke up.

“Really, thank you… but if you don’t mind me asking, why exactly did you pay off our bill?” questioned Sanji. Your question earlier about Robin and now your random act of generosity made the cook uneasy. He couldn’t figure out what were your exact intentions. Any normal pirate hunter wouldn't go through all this effort to catch a bounty.

“It’s the least I can do for an old friend and her crew,” you said, quickly nodding at Robin. You knew that the cook didn’t trust you, a sentiment you completely reciprocated. However, you weren't going to let his uneasiness deter you from talking to Robin.

Wanting to ease the tension in the room, you shifted topics. “Besides, I think I have a couple of berries I can spare at the moment,” you joked, tapping the bag.

Nami’s eyes widened as she recognized the Marine logo on it. Dollar signs replaced her pupils. (Chopper jumped up to study the change.) “Are there really 300 million berries in that bag?” she uttered, reaching for the bag.

“More like 320 million berries, but yes,” you answered. You slowly moved the bag away from the girl, nervous that she was going to bite your hand off. You turned towards Robin once more, working up the nerve to talk to her. But, before you could act on your thoughts, Sanji cleared his throat. It just had to be him, didn't it?

Sanji continued, “again, why we appreciate your generosity, I think we all deserve a further explanation on this so-called 'friendship' between yourself and our dear Robin. So tell us, how do you know her?” You could feel the cook’s trepidation towards you. He looked at you with disdain. That absolutely enraged you. Although you understood his concern, he had absolutely no right in getting in your goal of talking to Robin and Robin only. It really is in their blood to make my life harder.

“Look, Vinsmoke, there’s no we here so why don’t you back—,”

“You referred to me by my…” interrupted Robin. She paused, trying to find the right words that wouldn’t send her to a spiral. “…alias in Baroque Works. Why?”

Your robotic voice answered. “That’s the name you used when we met.”

Zoro, familiar with the organization’s interest in pirate hunters, asked if you were a part of it. “Fuck no,” you growled, “Mr. 0 tried killing my sister.” Sanji and Zoro stepped in front of Robin at your response. 

Realizing their assumption, you carefully continued, “No, it’s not like that. She’s not on my revenge list, trust me.” Fuck, I need to fix this, you thought.

You turned to face the archeologist and rushed out, “Robin, you... you saved my sister’s life and mine while you worked for Baroque Works. I don’t know if you remember that thief you helped escape from Alabasta?” You inched closer to her, and woefully continued, “since then, I’ve been hoping that I could see you again, and somehow re-pay the debt.” Your shoulders slumped down as you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. 

Robin quietly stared at you as various thoughts raced through her mind. A thief and sister? I don’t remember helping anyone during my time in Baroque Works, she questioned, I was way too focused on saving myself. Besides Crocodile made sure I never left his side after the Marine —. The archeologist’s thoughts stopped as she remembered. 

“The slot machine thief… is that you?” she quietly asked as she stepped towards you.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You couldn’t believe that she remembered you. Overwhelmed with emotion, you and Robin rushed to hug one another. 

“I thought she didn’t have any friends before us,” mumbled Usopp. Nami swiftly scolded him with her fist.

Holding you close, the dark haired woman stroked your head. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I always wondered what happened to those kids I put in that ship all those years ago. I assumed the worst, but you’re okay… you’re okay." You snuggled further in her embrace, happy to see your savior again. 

“Wait,” Robin gripped your shoulders and looked directly at your masked face, “where’s your sister?” Sensing her dread, you placed your hands over hers and confirmed, “She’s alive. But, I won’t lie, she’s…” You glanced at the Strawhats. You could tell that Robin trusted her crew, but you weren’t sure if you were comfortable with showing your true self in front of them. You looked back at Robin and continued, “come with me upstairs. I’m renting a room here at the tavern. There I can tell you more about my sister and everything over some wine.”

“NO! THAT IS NOT HAPPENING. NOT UNDER MY WATCH!” Sanji cried. While the cook was happy to see Robin reunite with an old friend, he felt uneasy towards you. He and the crew still didn’t know much about you and it didn't help that you used his family name. For all he knew, you were trying to use your past with Robin to your favor.  I won’t let this man hurt Robin even if they’re old friends. She doesn’t need any more betrayal in her life, he thought, staring you down. 

His watch? Anger bubbled within you. You couldn’t believe the audacity of this man in trying to dictate Robin’s actions. 

“Last time I checked Robin is old enough to make her own decisions so why don’t you back off, Vinsmoke,” you growled. 

Sanji opened his mouth to bite back, but stopped when he felt Robin’s hand gently sit on his shoulder. “I appreciate your concern Sanji, but you don’t need to worry, I trust the Siren.” Robin looked at the rest of the crew and continued, “you can all go back to the Sunny without me. I’ll make sure to be back before we leave tomorrow.”

“No,” interjected Luffy. Everyone stiffened. You even hesitated.

“Oi, Luffy, don’t be like that. Let Robin reconnect with her old friend. If she says she’ll be fine, I’m sure she will be fine,” said Franky. He turned towards you and gave you a thumbs up. I like this guy, you thought.

“I know she’ll be fine!” shared Luffy. He immediately slumped to the ground. “I just don’t want to walk in the rain!” he whined. Everyone eased up. Nami immediately scolded the boy for the confusion.

“Can’t we just rent some rooms here? Oi, tavern lady!” declared Luffy. Nami quickly shut the boy up, reminding him that their current finances didn’t allow for that. Luffy groaned in displeasure. Wanting to impress Robin, you stepped forward. 

“If you all don’t mind, let me rent you some rooms for the night. I have more than enough to cover a couple more rooms. That way…” you nodded towards Sanji, “those of you who are concerned for your friend can stay close and also you all don’t have to walk in the storm.” Before anyone had a chance to refuse, Luffy happily accepted and yelled for the tavern lady. 

Word Count: 1554

Previous - Masterlist - Next

Author's Note: Personally, one of my proudest chapters - really pat myself on the back on this one! I low key wished this was the first chapter but got attached to my previous one so oh well!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Across The Darkened Room {4}

Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader || Modern AU Summary: Aemond keeps his promise and takes care of you in every sense of the word. Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, nudity, sexual themes WC: 2.8k

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five ||

“You should pack an overnight bag,” Aemond said as he held you on his lap, his back resting against the headboard. He idly drew circles over your thighs and his hair tickled your cheek as you tucked your face into the crook of his neck. “I’ll have movers get the rest for you when you choose which place you like.”

“You are too young to be a sugar daddy,” you murmured and his chest bounced with a deep chuckle. 

“I am hardly buying your affection.” He tipped your chin back so you could see the sincerity in his eye as he spoke, “I promised to take care of you, keep you safe, and you agreed to that control.”

“I know, it just must cost a lot.”

Aemond’s head fell back with a laugh and he shook his head apologetically. “It’s the money that makes you uncomfortable. Sweetpea, it means nothing to me.”

You bit your lip and pondered what such a life would be like, never having to worry about paying the bills or how to make a meal stretch as far as possible. It was as if he could see your thoughts playing in realtime and he didn’t like the way your pulse increased suddenly. 

“Why did you come to my club?”

Your panicked thoughts were derailed and you blinked at him as you processed the question. He was patient as you collected yourself and remembered the moments that led to your search for the sanctuary. 

“I’ve been on my own since I was 16. As soon as I could get out of Flea Bottom I did. Since then I have had the pressure to make every decision alone and I second guess myself at every turn. Whatever the consequence, it's on my shoulders alone. The only relief I have is when I give up that control, for me it’s freedom, even if it is only for a few hours.

“About a year ago Mr Greyjoy sent me to The Heights to collect some special books from an estate sale and I overheard a couple of women in the street. They were talking about the Red Keep and something clicked with what they were saying. So, I saved up for months to pay for the membership and here we are. It probably sounds stupid.”

“Not at all,” Aemond assured you. “It makes perfect sense. Now, do you think you are steady enough to shower?”

The small cubicle was cramped with two bodies in it and it was the first time you had made the attempt. Aemond had taken the loofah and lathered it up with your body wash before thoroughly cleaning you from head to toe. The half moons across your backside had stopped bleeding fairly quickly but the hot water and soap cascading down them sparked a fresh sting in them and your eyes fluttered shut when Aemond paid them more attention than the rest of your skin.

All too soon the water turned cold and Aemond wrapped you in a towel, taking care to dry you as thoroughly as he washed you. It was a fascination to watch him move around your room, opening the closet and drawers with confidence as he collected an outfit for you to wear. 

You should have known he would be sensible in his choices given how late the evening was and how quickly the seaside city temperatures dropped overnight. He could have easily ordered you to wear one of the few skimpy leather outfits you reserved for the Red Keep and you would have donned it to please him, but he grabbed a pair of your worn jeans, and a hoodie. He did indulge himself a little as he chose your underwear, finding a lace bra and the matching panties with a purely masculine smile. 

“You should wear more lace,” he said softly as he traced the detailing over your breasts. “I’m going to take you shopping, Sweetpea.”

The urge to fight the offer didn’t swell in you this time, not after your earlier conversation. Instead, you stepped back and gave him a slow turn so he could see the full effect and your confidence grew as his eye darkened with lust, the iris losing ground to his quickly dilating pupil. 

“I don’t start work until after lunch tomorrow,” you said as you faced him again and he reluctantly held a casual shirt out for you. 

“By the time I show you the properties there won’t be any time for shopping,” he said with a frown, almost like he was embarrassed to admit he couldn’t slow time, and you chuckled at the sight.

“How about you save the time and choose for me?”

A deep hum of approval rumbled from his chest before he closed the distance and caught your chin in his hand as his lips brushed over your cheek towards your ear. “That is a very good idea.”

Aemond was driving towards The Heights, one of the richest suburbs in King’s Landing, and the sparkling blue sea was picturesque behind the mansions that lined the streets. You couldn’t resist opening the window and letting the fresh air blow in with the hint of salt on the breeze.

The trunk of the car was full of shopping bags and they also spilled over into the backseats. Aemond had purchased far more than you had been prepared for but his smile as he handed his card over each time was enough to let him lead you to the next store, and then the next. 

He had been thoroughly amused when you had seen the price of a pair of the barely-there lace panties, you had been aghast that anyone would pay the exorbitant cost for what essentially amounted to a single spool of thread. You had quickly put it back on the rack but somehow it had ended up in the shopping bags without you realising and Aemond had smiled wickedly when the cashier scanned it. 

The sound of the indicator pulled you from thoughts of the overladen trunk behind you and you gasped as you saw the property that Aemond was turning the car into. Words failed you as you took in the row of pretty townhouses that overlooked the water.

“Please tell me we are just visiting someone here,” you murmured.

Aemond pressed a button hanging from his keyring and the garage door for the end townhouse began to open. “Welcome home, Sweetpea.”

You were dumbstruck as you stood in the bright open living room that took up most of the second floor. A balcony sat beyond the floor to ceiling glass sliding doors with unimpeded panoramic views of the sea. A lavish kitchen full of appliances and a marble island could not take away from the view of the water and when Aemond opened the sliding door the sound of lapping waves was carried on the breeze.

“This is too much,” you murmured from behind your hands that covered your lips in shock. 

Aemond beckoned you to join him on the deck and he caged you between his body and the balustrade as he nipped your shoulder sharply. “Agree to disagree.”

A thick wall on one side of the balcony gave the illusion of privacy but you knew there was a neighbour after seeing them on the way in. It didn’t stop Aemond from tilting your head so he had free access to your neck that he grazed his teeth over. 

“You should see the master suite,” he suggested as he pressed himself into your lower back and palmed your breasts until you moaned before pulling away, “then I’ll take you to work.”

You suppressed a groan at the thought of having to go to work, especially after he had teased you, but you dutifully followed Aemond up the stairs to the third floor. It was just as you imagined it would be, light and airy with another grand view of the sea. You could easily see yourself sitting in bed with a book and watching the sea on a lazy Sunday morning. 

“Thank you, Aemond,” you whispered as you climbed the large bed and sat against the headboard to soak in the view. 

Aemond fingered the hooks that were skillfully embedded in the headboard and smiled as he soaked in the sight of you bathing in sunlight. “You are very welcome, Sweetpea.”

The alarm on your phone suddenly blared and you couldn't stop the groan that escaped as you turned it off. Patting the bed longingly, you climbed off with a promise you would be back and Aemond chuckled as he took your hand. 

“I could be terrible and suggest you call in sick,” he said as you descended the stairs to the garage. 

You shook your head and slipped into the front seat of the Maybach “I haven’t taken a sick day, ever.”

“Then you are seriously overdue.”

All joking aside, you made it in time to start work, even with the extra distance to travel and you waved goodbye to Aemond when he dropped you off outside the bookstore. Mondays were always quiet so after unpacking some new inventory and sweeping the store front, you took a seat behind the counter and checked your emails on the store’s laptop. 

You immediately dialled Aemond.

“Why have I got an email from my doctor? It says you requested an appointment.” you asked as soon as the call connected.

“You are overdue for your pap smear,” Aemond answered distractedly and you heard a keyboard tapping away in the background. 

“Aemond...” you groaned, “how did you even…you bribed my doctor?”

Aemond sighed and the typing fell silent as he leaned back in his office chair. “Bribery is such a dirty word, Sweetpea, I bought the medical centre.”

A growl of frustration clawed at your throat and you glared at your phone as if he could see it. “That does not make it any better.”

“Would you rather me not take care of your health?” he asked quietly and you felt the question ran deeper than just the words he was saying and you sighed.

“No, just a little heads up would have been nice.” You looked at the email again before shutting the laptop. “I need a refill of my pill too so I would have had to book something soon anyway.”

“Ah, yes, I was hoping we could talk about that. I like to think this relationship is going well and will continue to do so and, well, neither of us are virgins,” he stated and you laughed at the obvious statement, “but, I find condoms a minor inconvenience. It takes a bit of the spontaneity out of sex, in all honesty. If we were both tested and clean, is that something you would be open to?”

The bell above the door tinkled and you looked up to see a customer walking in with a young girl and you waved in greeting. “Mhmm, yes, sir. I can definitely locate that book for you.”

Aemond spoke with amusement thick in his voice, “I’ll book the appointment while you help with your customers.”

The call ended and you slipped your phone into your pocket before walking to the children’s section, after all, Mr Greyjoy didn’t pay you minimum wage to sit around on your phone.

Dr Merins didn’t know who to look at when he spoke to you. Though his words were directed at you, his eyes kept flicking to Aemond as he sat in the chair that your mother had stopped filling when you were about 15 years old. She had deemed you old enough to take yourself to the doctors if you really needed it and she couldn’t afford to take time off from her two jobs. 

Dr Merins pushed his glasses back up his long nose and looked down at the lab results. “Everything has come back clear on the swabs taken last week and you won’t need another Pap Smear for three years. I was a little concerned by your iron levels in the blood test, they still haven’t increased since your last test and they are borderline anaemic.”

Aemond thrummed his fingers along his thigh as he spoke, “What would you suggest for it, doctor?”

The poor doctor looked between the two of you and sighed, giving his attention to Aemond. “She needs to be eating iron rich food, red meats or leafy green vegetables.” He reached over his desk and grabbed one of the many pamphlets for healthy eating, holding it out for Aemond to take. You had the same pamphlet in your old apartment but no matter how hard you had tried to eat better, healthier food was more expensive and your budget didn’t always stretch that far. “Or, I can prescribe an iron supplement.”

Aemond folded the pamphlet up and slipped it into his suit jacket. “That won’t be necessary.”

The doctor nodded and his glasses dipped again, forcing him to push them back up his nose before writing the script for your contraceptive pill and handing it to Aemond as well. “Very well, Mr Targaryen,” he said. “You can pick this up from the pharmacy on your way out.”

“Thank you,” you said as you stood, somehow feeling relieved despite knowing your test results would come back clear. Aemond merely nodded and opened the door for you, leading you back to the reception to pay for the private consultation instead of waiting for you to fill out the papers to claim back the cost. 

The drive home was peaceful as Aemond navigated the streets, patiently waiting in the morning rush hour. The day was still fresh and it was your day off so you had no expectations on how you were going to spend it. Aemond didn’t seem to have any particular set days off from running his businesses, shifting his schedule to fit yours as needed. 

The phone in the car rang and Aegon’s name flashed across the display before Aemond answered with a resigned sigh. “What’s wrong now?”

“Good morning to you too, little brother,” Aegon greeted with a laugh. “I just signed a cheque for our dear mother, do you want to know why?” 

You gave Aemond all the privacy you could by turning your attention out the window but nothing could stop you from hearing the conversation with Aegon. 

Aemond pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “No, but I assume you are going to tell me anyway.”

“It seems her perfect little boy was photographed buying heroin off some street dealers. Really, Aemond, you couldn’t just snort a few lines of coke with the rest of us? We aren’t the riff-raff.”

You shrunk into your seat and Aemond cast his eye over you before placing a reassuring hand on your knee with a squeeze before addressing his brother, “You wasted your money, Aegon, my vice is nothing as pitiful as drugs.”

“I told mother that, but now she’s all worried. She wants you at the family dinner tomorrow night.”

Aegon didn’t seem to enjoy the idea of the dinner from the snarl in his tone and from Aemond’s deep breath he must have felt the same. 

“Fine, but tell mother I am bringing my girlfriend.”

You spun in your seat to face Aemond and found his lips curving into a full smile, pleased by your surprised reaction. You had noticed he no longer used ‘arrangement’ and instead spoke of your ‘relationship’ but you had not let your hopes get too high regarding what that meant. Now your heart beat erratically and a smile split your own face as he called you his girlfriend. 

“Oh, Aem, I can’t wait to meet her,” Aegon laughed, and for a moment you forgot the call was still connected. “See you later, little brother.”

Aegon’s name disappeared from the display as the call ended and you placed your hand on Aemond’s where it rested on your thigh. “So, girlfriend huh?”

“That’s the part of the conversation you want to discuss?” Aemond shot back with a smirk. 

Your eyebrows pinched together as you remembered the reason his brother had called to begin with and grimaced. “I knew talking to Mad Dog was a bad idea. Your mother is going to think I’m a junkie…”

“Relax, Sweetpea, she’s going to love you…once I explain what actually happened,” he said with a laugh. 

“This isn’t funny,” you said as you pressed your palm to your forehead. “I’ve never met anyone's parents before. What do I even say, or wear? Oh god, it's dinner, what if I use the wrong piece of cutlery. Don’t rich people have like ten thousand different forks?”

Aemond laughed heartily as he pulled into your driveway and he was still chuckling when he parked in the garage. “We have three at most, and I will be beside you the entire time so just follow my lead. As for what to wear, I know just the dress.”

Click here for part five.

Taglist: @scxrletwitches , @shelbyteller , @girl-with-an-orange-cat , @crispmarshmallow , @itsemy01 , @boofy1998 , @wondergal2001 , @percyjacksonspeen , @ebaylee422 , @namoreno , @the-jess-life , @undeniableadrenaline , @1950schick , @dothrckis , @julczimozart , @sophiexoxsblog , @liathelioness , @natashaxhellenic , @caramelcandescence , @wooya1224 , @eralen , @thewew

[bucknastysbabe]

♡ 1, 2, 3, 4 I wanna be a whore ♡

Rating: Explicit

Tags: SLUTTY HIMBO CAMBOY AEGON, Aemond can’t stand the little creacher, nerdy reader, pillow humping, oral sex on a toy, f!masturbation, cyber sex, open ending, Aegon’s a little slut for attention and we all know it, Post Nut Clarity, modern setting

A/N: I got horny and inspired from the gc again.

Enjoy: @godrakin @borikenlove @targbarbie @fairysluna @ilikeitbetterangsty @lovelykhaleesiii @sahvlren @xfancyuu

You were friends with Aemond. Study partners who chat and chain smoke more like. The pair of you were in grad school for Psychology. Which you had the idea Aemond chose this profession to figure out what the hell what wrong with his family. But that was none of your business of course.

His brother actually lived in the apartment…but you rarely saw Aegon. Aemond sniffed about his elder, “He’s a degenerate. Stay away lest you end up with a disease.” You thought his brother was cute, in a soft way. Although, Aemond had a point. It was obviously he liked to…go out. Get busy. It made your cheeks blush to think what he did.

Pausing on your research you looked up at Aemond. He was thoroughly annotating a book, pen scratching against the book. You looked around the spacious apartment, thinking. “Aemond.”

“Hm?,” he intoned, eyes not moving from the paper.

“Okay so I know you have a job and everything. Um. What does Aegon do for work?”

The pen stopped. Aemond’s lips quirked up a bit as he turned to you. He asked, “Do you really want to know? The more questions you ask about my darling brother the more you will need to take a shower.”

You scoffed and replied, “I’m not a septa. What is it? He’s an escort for old ladies?”

Aemond sighed, chuckling, “No. The wretch does ‘camming’. Gets on a live feed and acts like a slut for money.” He rolled his eye, “The bills are paid. I don’t dig deeper.”

You laughed airily, cheeks flushing up again. You stated, “You’re lying. Really?”

“When he’s not partying all night with god knows what the little bastard does that shit. Good thing I’m usually gone when it happens,” he shook his long hair, “Enough. I’ll get sick on my book.”

“Yeah, okay.”

You stared at your report for thirty minutes straight thinking about Aegon’s ‘job’. Imagining his pretty body spread out on a bed, moaning and sighing. Your cunt twitched. This was bad. Then your brain spat out the idea of Aegon’s lips wrapped around a dildo and you slammed the laptop shut.

“I need to go home. My cat is probably hungry.”

Aemond glanced up under his hair, smirking haughtily. He hummed, “Uh-huh. Have a good night. Text me about the next meeting, I was thinking we should consider a non-intrusive measures study.” You packed your shit haphazardly, nodding along and babbling, “Yep, sounds good, see ya later Aem.” He laughed again as you shuffled out.

You huffed once in the hallway. This little, fixation, needed to be gone. Aegon was by all means a fuck face from how Aemond explained it and even Daeron agreed when he visited a while back. You’d barely spoken a word to the man but he was pretty, okay?

Clicking the button to the elevator, it opened immediately, you stepping in with your head down— completely out of it. A yelp and very human body collided with your own, sending your drink and phone flying backwards. You stumbled back and apologized profusely, then choking on your spit when Aegon’s lidded eyes met your own.

He smirked, bending down to pick up your phone. Your mouth grew dry at the sight of his painted nails. Aegon rasped, “My bad. Aemond will make anyone run away without looking.” You smiled awkwardly, scooping your drink and replying, “No, of course not! Just been staring at my research all day.”

He eyed you up, violet eyes sparkling. Aegon giggled, “That sounds dreary! What are you going to do now?”

You blushed under his gaze and shrugged. “I- uh- Probably go feed my cat and have some wine and watch tv.” Aegon snickered further, “You’re as bad as Aem. Must be a psychologist thing. I have an idea for you.” Your brows raised up at his provocative tone.

“Aaaah-and what is that Aegon?,” you stuttered while shifting on your feet.

He held his hand out and asked, “Phone?”

Dumbstruck you unlocked the phone and gave it to him, lamely adding, “I’m not much of a party person, if that’s what you’re doing.” He shook his pale waves and hummed nonchalantly, “Just leaving something in your notes, check it later.”

He gave the phone back with a pretty smile, you practically mush under Aegon’s gaze. You stammered, “Ah- okay- s-see you later Aegon. Thanks!” You stepped into the elevator and pressed for ground floor. Aegon stood and chirped as the doors closed on him, “You won’t regret it!”

Immediately swiping open your phone and jamming on the notes app multiple times you read what the blonde had typed out. It was a website and a username, ‘dragonwh0r3’. You had to stifle a laugh at the silly name but you were most definitely tuning in to what Aegon was bringing to the table.

Hours later you were seated on the couch, big ass shirt on and pussy out. The vibrator laid next to your twitching fingers. You had typed in and found Aegon’s account, even paying the fee for the live watch. You’d been fucking wet since the elevator debacle, it was needed. A splurge, Aemond needn’t know. And wouldn’t know.

The feed started, your eyes roving across the the screen, rabbit clicking to make it full screen. Aegon was clad in silky pink shorts and had some sort of Angel outfit on. He looked angelic, especially with the outline of his pretty cock straining the silk. In a soft purr he spoke, “Heyyy babes, missed you all so much. By popular request I’m wearing the outfit ‘twinkfucker78’ sent me, thank you!” He grinned and blew a kiss at the camera.

You were going to fucking blow up. Spontaneous combustion. Nuclear fission. Fuck.

A couple of clinking noises filled the speakers, obviously fans who wanted attention or a request. Aegon’s violet eyes skimmed over the chat, his full lips quirking up teasingly. He ran a hand down his chest and giggled, “Lots of different ideas for tonight. Y’wanna defile the angel huh?” Loads more of coins jingling hit the chat.

Aegon laughed, “That’s a lot of money, hm, I do love having something in my mouth!” He leaned forward toward the camera and breathed, “I’ll have to go get my toys, you guys are something else tonight.” You almost whimpered when he disappeared, but Aegon came back with a rounded pillow with a dildo obscenely sticking out from the end.

He placed it on the bed, tutting, “Going to have to work for it tonight,” he pouted with fat lips, “You guys are mean.” The chat blew up again, more and more feeding in. Aegon stripped out of his silky shorts, exposing his pink cock and bubbly ass. You moaned, reaching for the vibrator. Aegon’s cock was so pretty, thick, and curved.

He straddled the pillow and you shivered realizing what was about to happen. As if Aegon read your mind he rambled, “So, yeah, m’gonna hump this pillow and suck a little. I love having things in and on my mouth, cock, pussy, fingers, whatever.” You watched with wide eyes, trembling with excitement.

Aegon lapped up on the pink cock, taking it time getting it wet, like it was real, hips rutting behind him. You grabbed your phone to take a picture of the credit QR code like a madwoman, Aegon’s slurps and moans echoing in your living room. You gave no fucks dropping 50 and typing haphazardly, “You possibly can’t fuck my pussy that slow. Speed it up, Angel.”

Your face flushed harder, panting, and glad you picked some dumbass username. Aegon was moaning around the head of the cock, watery eyes flickering up to the screen. His lips split around the lurid pink, pulling off with a line of drool. The blonde panted in a high tone, “Mhm, someone’s needy? You want me to fuck your sweet pussy faster? Guys m’so tireddd though, feel like being lazy.”

You didn’t have to drop any money this time, a cacophony of clinking filling the room. Aegon rolled his eyes and began to move faster, plump lips obscenely stretched. He whined softly, eyes fluttering. Fuck, he was gorgeous. Aegon pumped his pretty pale hips harder, gagging around the fake cock, drooling.

Aegon whined, “Fuck, wish this was your cunt, bet it’d be so warm n’ tight hngh!”

You had the vibe on your clit and those purple eyes looked like they were on you, and you only. You cried out and shivered, goosebumps erupting over your skin. You typed again with shaking hands, praying he’d see it, “Slutty boy all you think about is getting your dick wet? Already whining on a pillow lol.”

It probably would get lost in a flurry of comments.

Aegon didn’t lose it apparently. His body drew taught, milky thighs flexing as he moaned gutturally. The blonde had the dildo sliding on his flushed cheeks as he rasped, “One- hah- of you thinks I can’t fuck?” One of your legs was haphazardly thrown to the side at Aegon’s drawl, “Baby, I’d fuck you whining like a bitch and you’d still see stars.”

You seized up and came around the vibrator, howling in pleasure. Legs shaking, eyes watering, absolutely earth shattering orgasm. The thought of this perfect, slutty angel fucking you was too much. You laid back on the couch, watching him messily suck the cock while practically bouncing on the pillow. He whined and squirmed, growing close, popping off the fake cock to whine.

“Oh god, close, gonna cum so hard baby, oh!,” he whimpered shakily, eyes clenching shut as he shook. Aegon leaned back to paint his soft tummy and the pillows with cum, groaning and tossing pretty platinum hair around. The chat roared with more clinking, you an absolute noodle by now.

Aegon shuddered one more time, panting out, “Mmm- fuck guys. See you tomorrow?”

He rolled on his side, wide eyes closer to the screen, lashes wet. Aegon cooed, “Thanks again for making this slutty baby cum and eat some dinner. Love you guys, remember my prices for private vids are linked on my page. Bye!” The blonde blew a kiss and the screen went dark.

You looked up at the ceiling and groaned, “Holy goddamn fucking shit! I just came to Aemond’s brother! The dumb slutty one!”

Post nut clarity was a bitch.

Your phone vibrated. Rifling around you picked it up, seeing an unknown number. Sleepily swiping it open your eyes widened dramatically.

“y don’t u just cum to my room and ill show you how i fuck next time u wanna be boring w aem?”

Well. Aemond would just have to get over it.

“Sure. Can’t wait. Bad grammar though.”