#very inspiring commander. thank you sir

[moraxsthrone]

TITLE — spoiled

PAIRING — dom!sugarbaby!zhongli x sub!sugarmama!f!reader

WC — 4.6k

WARNINGS — nsfw. MDNI. modern au. soft dom/sub dynamic. oral (m. & f. rcv'ing). deepthroat/facefucking. overstim. squirting. creampie.

NOTES — i always said that when (not if) zhongli came home, i would spoil him rotten. i went from having no zhongli to having him at C2 lvl 90 + staff of homa + a 2pc/2pc tenacity/noblesse set, and him being in the top 21% of zl hybrid builds on the NA server, hitting 100k+ dmg...all in less than a month. i've been good to him and he's been soooooo good to me so i wanted to write this as a celebratory, homecoming gift for my long-awaited, highly spoiled geo daddy. thanks to @crystalflygeo for the idea and inspiration! i hope i did it justice! <3

the knock comes so gently you wouldn't have heard it had you not been expecting it.

“come in,” you say, finishing the last piece of paperwork and setting your pen down on your big oak desk.

the heavy door creaks open, zhongli striding in before closing the door behind himself.

“working late again, my lady?” the young man muses with a subtle smile, looking dapper in his favorite armani suit that’s been perfectly tailored to the lean musculature of his frame.

a leaden sigh escapes your lips. “yes, but fortunately i’ve just finished. your timing is impeccable, my dear sir,” you say with a playful lilt while leaning back in your chair. “i presume i’m not the only one since someone else must’ve let you in.”

“your receptionist was just leaving as i arrived.”

“well, now that you’re here, to what do i owe the pleasure?”

“i wanted to thank you again for the handsome topaz cufflinks you procured for me yesterday at that fancy boutique-” he says in his unhurried baritone, fidgeting with one of them. zhongli sounds so commanding without even trying, making your loins stir with want. you’ve taken great pleasure in spoiling him since meeting him a couple months ago, buying him everything he’s had an eye for, as well as a lot of things he hasn’t even asked for…

“i knew you’d appreciate them, what with your exquisite taste…” you interject, admiring the way the dark orange gemstones bring out his eyes. “besides, the color becomes you.”

he smiles back, making him look more boyish. “only someone with a discerning eye for quality and beauty such as yourself would even take me to places that sell such high caliber merchandise.” he walks towards you, leaning against the front of your desk mere inches from where your arm rests. “but i want you to know that i appreciate the little things just as much, if not more so. something as simple as say…” his voice trails for a moment, “...indulging me in afternoon tea means a lot to me.”

“oh? but your company is no small thing, zhongli. i enjoy lavishing you with gifts, of course. but you give me your time and conversation in return, and that is far more valuable to me than any gift i could bestow upon you…”

“you sure?” 

your brow crinkles at his hinting tone. “what do you mean?”

he reaches out with his gloved hand, delicately cupping your jaw as his boyish smile fades. “you’re a very busy lady. your time and attention are in high demand. and yet you decide to give what little of it you have over to me. your time is far more valuable than anything you could possibly buy me, and that’s something for which i could never repay you…”

you raise your eyebrows at him in sincerity. “zhongli. as i’ve already stated, your company is more than enough-”

"my lady," he reaches for your hand and brings your dainty knuckles to his lips. “...if i may?”

your mouth drops open in surprise. though you certainly wouldn’t be opposed to it, you’ve never so much as alluded to the prospect of an intimate relationship with him. you’re beautiful. powerful. but also - as he’s pointed out - very busy, leaving you precious little time for meeting a suitable mate, let alone courting one. so just spending time with zhongli - listening to his captivating stories, admiring his handsome face, hearing his spell-binding voice - has been more than worth any amount of money you could spend on him.

“zhongli, w-what…?” you give into the gentle tug of his hand, standing from your chair to face him. with your hand still in his, he cups your cheek with the other while bringing his lips dangerously close to yours. “zhongli, wait,” you say, catching your breath in your throat before he can take it away. “you don’t owe me anything…”

“perhaps not, my lady,” he says, his thumb stroking your burning cheek. “but i would quite like to give you something anyway.” your eyes search his as he speaks, his gaze so comfortably heavy. “you’re beautiful,” he says, breath fanning across your lips. “you’ve been exceedingly generous to me…and i want to give you what i feel is owed to you…”

“but zhongli,” you try, your voice so small and shaky with desire, “i’ve already said you don’t owe m-”

“forgive my insolence,” he interrupts, not sounding sorry at all, “but allow me to put it this way: i’m going to give you what you deserve.”

his thumb grazes your lower lip, only to trail down the column of your pretty neck as his lips finally and mercifully claim yours. and you give yourself permission to kiss him back. how could you not? of course you’ve never expected anything from him, but you’d be lying if you said you’d never fantasized about kissing him, touching him.

zhongli is incredibly intelligent and knowledgeable, devastatingly handsome, and his voice alone is enough to make your panties wet every time you hear it. in spite of the fact that you’ve been providing for him, it is he who seems to hold some unspoken power over you.

breaking from the kiss, you look up into his amber eyes. “wh-what i deserve?”

without a word he turns you around, your butt now pressing against the edge of your desk.

“by now you must think i’m a weak man…”

you shake your head. “no. i don’t think that at all-”

he places his fingers over your lips. “ah-ah. i wasn’t finished speaking, my lady.”

your eyes widen, filling with lust and desire at his insistent tone. yes. you need this. and he knows it. zhongli isn’t just giving you what you want or deserve; he’s giving you what you need.

“but-”

before you can utter another sound, zhongli spins you around until your hips are pressing against the edge of your desk. you feel his hips press against your bottom, gasping quietly at the unmistakable hard bulge pressing against you.

“zhongli?”

he grinds against you, the force causing the edge of your desk to dig into your hip bones.

“you can feel me, can’t you?” he whispers, his wet lips grazing the edge of your ear. “i’ve wanted you like this all along. does that come as a surprise to you, my lady?”

before you can formulate a response, zhongli’s hands - now naked and warm after having removed his gloves - are running along your bare skin under your pencil skirt until it’s bunched up below your ass cheeks. one of his hands slips between your legs, spreading them apart to slowly make his way up until he feels the moisture between them. 

“it would seem you’ve thought about this before as well,” he deduces, eliciting an affirmative hum from you as a response.

his other hand gently pushes your hair aside to expose the back of your neck and you feel the heat of his breath there as his soft lips ghost over your goosebumped skin.

“you must get so tired of having so much responsibility on you,” he mutters. “wouldn’t it be nice to relinquish control every once in a while?”

his voice alone is enough to easily seduce you. with a small nod, your eyes flutter closed as you fight the chill that wants to run down your spine. “y-yes, zhongli, it’s…” your breath hitches when his thumb brushes your lace-covered clit, “...exhausting sometimes.”

a deep chuckle forms in his throat as he peppers light kisses along the back of your bare neck, pushing the ruffle trim top of your dress off one of your shoulders to expose more of your soft skin.

“then allow me.” grasping the back zipper between his fingers, he pulls it down, taking his precious time undressing you from your collar to your tailbone. “if at any point you want me to stop, just say 'lapis'," he whispers and you agree.

he pushes the sleeves over and off of your arms before unfastening your bra. everything falls to the floor, the expensive material pooling around your feet. having rendered you naked save for your panties and designer heels, he stands back a bit and tells you to turn around and face him. feeling a bit self-conscious, you cover your breasts and bite your lower lip nervously as you follow his order.

“tut-tut.” zhongli shakes his head in mild disapproval. “uncover yourself. i want to see every inch of your gorgeous body.”

you lower your arms, exposing your creamy breasts with pretty, budded nipples and zhongli’s amber eyes seem to glow with arousal. he takes his time looking you up and down, licking his lips, drinking in your form as his hard cock strains against his slacks. 

kissing you as he comes in close again, pulling you in with his hands on your ass to let the clothed head of his cock rub against your panty-clad pussy. you gasp and he grips his own cock through his pants and rubs the head over your hidden clit.

reaching for one of your hands, he places it on his clothed erection, sending a jolt of arousal to your core. “touch me,” he says. "i know you want to."

you nod, giving his girth a tentative squeeze through his expensive slacks. a quiet groan escapes zhongli’s throat as he pushes himself into your hand, watching you with hooded eyes as you palm him. even through the dark virgin wool you can feel that his cock is thick and hot, and you can’t help but clench as you imagine how it would feel to be taken and filled by him.

“get on your knees,” he commands and you obey, putting you at eye level with the wet spot that has formed where his cockhead is pressing against his slacks. “take my cock out.” 

you can hardly believe this is happening. not five minutes ago, you were having an innocent conversation with your platonic sugarbaby. now you’re on your knees, seconds away from freeing his cock and tasting his precum - something you’ve wanted since first laying eyes on him but never thought would become a reality.

your well-manicured hands reach for his belt, unfastening it before opening his pants to free his impressive dick. it’s so pretty - thick and pale with a bulbous tip flushed dark pink and a couple of fat veins running the length of him. you lick your lips and wrap your hand around his silky shaft, so warm and hard. without thinking, you open your mouth to lick his swollen cockhead but he reaches down and stops you with a finger to your chin.

“did you ask for permission to suck my cock?”

his authoritative tone has you soaking through your panties, your own slick coating your inner thighs. “n-no, sir.” zhongli is pleasantly surprised at how effortlessly you’ve stepped into your submissive role. “may i please suck your cock, mister zhongli?” you ask, making his member twitch in your hand.

he gives you a kind, crooked smile. “yes, of course, little one.”

his salty flavor has you clenching around nothing when you drag your tongue from the underside of his cockhead to his slit. you give it a little kiss before swirling your wet muscle around it. “mmm~ you taste so good, mister zhongli…want more.”

“such a greedy slut,” he rasps with a crooked grin. “tell you what - i’ll give you a mouthful of my flavor, but you have to earn it.” he runs his fingers through your hair. “suck my cock well enough and i’ll let you drink as much of my cum as you can handle.”

his words have you eagerly wrapping your lips tightly around him, slowly taking him all the way to the back of your throat to make yourself salivate more. pumping your fist along what you can’t fit in your mouth, pretty soon the room is filled with wet, sucking noises along with the occasional grunt and muffled gag.

with your hand still jerking him, you pull off him with a gasp.

“did i say you could stop?” he rasps, fingers tightening in your hair.

“no, sir.” you barely get the words out before you quickly suck him in again. never before have you enjoyed sucking a cock so much as zhongli’s.

as he watches you bob on him like a cock-hungry whore, zhongli takes off his waistcoat and begins to unbutton the tailored shirt you bought him a couple of weeks ago. he works it off until he’s naked from the waist up. it’s difficult to fully appreciate the sculpt of his perfect body from this angle, but you can make out his chiseled chest and mouth-watering abs, causing you to whimper on his length.

he pets your hair and praises you before resting both his hands on top of your head. he guides your pace slowly at first, working himself deeper, pressing into your throat as he rocks his hips until he’s fucking your mouth. you’re gagging on him, a string of spit and precum hanging from your chin.

“look at me while you’re sucking my dick, little one,” he says, voice still commanding but heavy with lust.

you obey, looking up at him while he admires the way your pretty lips stretch around his wide shaft, traces of your lipstick mixing with your saliva on his skin. it’s hard to see him through the tears that prick at your eyes, but your slick is dripping from your panties onto the floor below. as your fingernails dig slightly into the flesh of his toned thighs, you swear you could cum with his cockhead deep in your throat. 

the way your tears dot your eyelashes makes him suck air through his teeth. “nnfuck~ do you have any idea how pretty you look choking on my cock like this, little one?” zhongli’s hips are rocking steadily, his tight balls touching your chin with every thrust. “such a good fucking girl…are you ready for your reward?”

all you can do is moan, the vibration sending him over the edge. with his fingers tangled in your hair, he presses his patch of black hair against the tip of your nose. fighting to keep his eyes focused on you, zhongli groans loudly, releasing his orgasm down your raw, well-deserved throat.

he pulls out of your mouth, leaving you sputtering and gasping for air. but you’ve loved every second of it. even when he’s forceful, zhongli has a grace about him that’s difficult to describe. but you sense it, you know it when you’re with him like this. “th- *gasp* thank you, m-mister zhongli. thank you f- *cough* for your cum.”

“you did so well, little one,” he groans, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your tear-streaked cheek. collecting some stray semen from your chin, he pushes his thumb between your lips and you suck on it, moaning at the feeling of more of his creamy fluid coating your tongue. “you earned every drop, so don’t waste it.”

your willingness to please, your gratitude, your pliability…they all endear you to him. you may spend your money on him, but he slips into the role of your doting dominant just as seamlessly. he wants to take care of you. to dominate you and reduce you to a babbling mess underneath him, but he wants to care for you and make sure you know you’re safe even more so.

he helps you to your feet before backing you up against your desk. he picks you up, semi-hard cock bouncing with his movements, and sets your ass down on the documents you’d just finished when he came into your office.

“zh-zhongli, the paperwork-”

“my dear, the paperwork should be the least of your concerns right now, but if you must know,” he huffs, pulling your drenched panties down and off your legs, “those documents are as good as ruined…”

before you can protest he curls his hands behind your knees and yanks your ass to the edge of your desk, important forms dragging along beneath you, some fluttering to the floor. now you’re naked, save for your louboutins. zhongli clasps his hands around your ankles and lifts them in the air before bringing his lips to one of them and blazing a long, slow trail along the inside of your leg. 

“but don’t you worry…” he mutters between kisses to your skin, his lust-darkened eyes looking right into yours, “your work will be the last thing on your mind by the time i’m done with you.”

his words, his voice, his gaze…it’s all too much and you shudder under his touch, breathing his name. your hands find his dark brown hair, the long ponytail hanging over his shoulder and tickling your electrified skin as he sucks a bruise into your inner thigh.

zhongli’s hands glide down the length of your legs, spreading them to expose your wet, swollen lips. “your pussy is stunning, my lady. even more beautiful than it smells.” he pushes your knees further back, his softened cock twitching back to life as he watches your folds open for him. he breathes you in, groaning at the pink tip of your hard bud peeking out from between your inner lips. “i’ve been dying to taste you…

“ohhh~” you keen, back arching when you feel the heat of his breath on your neglected sex. “mister zhongli…please~”

“please what?” he grumbles, dark amber eyes peering up at you from between your legs.

“p-please…” you plead, voice meek and submissive, “please lick me…”

without taking his eyes off you, he sticks his tongue out and licks a slow, wide strip over your puffy lips. your hips jolt at the tender sensualilty of his warm, silky muscle touching you where you need him most.

“your flavor…” he moans quietly, “delectable.” he teases his tongue around your hard pearl, swiping slowly between your inner labia to taste more of you. “sweeter and more intoxicating than any wine i’ve had the pleasure of rolling over my tongue…”

already you’re cooing for him and he can’t help but want to hear what other sounds he might be able to pull from you, never mind how much he’s dying to devour you. he swirls his tongue around your tiny, pink erection before wrapping his lips around it and sucking it in against his tongue. immediately your back arches off the desk as you gasp his name, shoving your sex deeper into his mouth. zhongli’s brows furrow as he sucks you in harder with a deep growl. his graceful hands are pushing on the backs of your thighs, pressing you further open to dip his tongue inside your tight hole.

“gahahhh~” you cry out, his nose nudging your throbbing clit as he fucks you with his wet muscle.

he lifts his face from your pussy, glistening with the mixture of your arousal and his spit. you open your eyes but before you can whine in protest, he kisses you, and you moan at the taste of your pussy on his tongue as he presses two expert fingers inside you. you cry into his mouth, the pad of his thumb massaging your clit.

he pulls away, a string of your juices and his saliva connecting your lips. “such a good girl for me,” zhongli pants, drunk on your pussy. he slips his naked shoulders under your thighs, his free hand pushing up over your tummy and ribs to cup your breast and gently squeeze your pebbled nipple. “i think it’s time for another reward, hm?” all you can muster is a pitiful whimper in response as his fingertips find your sweet spot. “but you have to promise to cum for me, little one,” he breathes.

“y-yes, sir…” you all but sing for him, “please, mister zhongli…promise…i promise i'll cum for you~”

a dark smile tugs at his lips as he lowers his mouth to your cunt, sucking your clit into his warm, wet mouth once again. his fingers work you over nicely, tugging vigorously against your g-spot as he rubs his flexed tongue over your hard, pink tip. your orgasm builds slowly, deep in your bones and outward intensely as your fingers curl in his hair and you buck your hips against his face.

“fuck, oh god~” you cry out, only for him to latch on tighter, determined to suck you all the way off and drink down every last drop of your orgasm.

his waiting mouth is filled with your essence as his blunt fingertips dig into the plush of your hips. he drinks you down as best he can as you gush for him, but a fair amount of your liquid escapes his mouth and drips lewdly from his chin. slowly he pulls away, sliding his fingers out of your still-clenching pussy. you’re still too drunk on your high to notice yet, but his cock is in his hand, hard and leaking again. 

“so good…” he drawls, standing and sliding his dark pink cockhead between your wet, slippery folds.

you flinch at the contact. you want it - more than anything - but you’re so sensitive and his swollen tip is driving you mad as it bounces over your poor little clit.

zhongli huffs, his cock momentarily catching on your hole before sliding between your pussy lips again. he knows how overstimmed you must be but he’s too needy to care about that right now. he’s wanted to slip his cock into you for far too long and now that his shaft is sliding between your slippery folds he can’t hold back any longer. 

how many nights and mornings has he thought of you while fucking his own hand until he soiled his sheets with his hot sticky semen? how many afternoons has he returned to his office after enjoying a kettle of tea with you, only to lock his door and pull his cock out of his trousers before jacking off while moaning your name under his breath. too many times he has tried to be quiet while biting his lower lip and whimpering quietly as he filled his own hand with his thick, white cum until it dripped between his fingers onto the wooden floor below.

he leans over you, one hand planted on your desk and the other still guiding his cock, massaging your swollen clit with his thick tip. 

“you’ve been so good to me,” he groans, lust-blown amber eyes looking down at you with fire in them. “you’ve given me everything i’ve wanted and more…” the underside of his hard shaft is gliding noisily between your folds.

“y-you deserve the whole world, zhongli,” you breathe, looking into his eyes. “i adore you…” his eyes soften at your proclamation. he stops moving his hips and kisses you, soft and tender, his tongue rolling slowly around yours before pulling away just enough to look at your beautiful face again, your eyes so full of desire and affection for him. “and i you. please-” he breathes, eyes narrowing and his hips moving again, slowly. “…let me take care of you.” both of your breaths hitch when his cockhead finally presses against your hole and stretches you open.

“nnhh~fuck, zhongli…so good~” you keen, your mouth falling open at the feeling of the soft pop of your pussy as it surrenders to his meaty tip pushing past it, deeper into your wet heat.

“ahh~” he gasps deeply, “y-you…” his head falls to your neck as he works himself in and out, a little deeper each time, “you feel -mmff- perfect~” your warm, soft walls welcome him, yield to him, sucking him in hard as you moan for him.

zhongli's cock is slick and glistening with your need. his hands hold your hips in place as he plunges into you harder, his fingertips dimpling your plush skin. your nose is buried in his hair, breathing in his masculine scent and his deep grunts as he flicks his tongue over your nipple while his naked hips clap against your ass. he rises, yanking your ass to the edge of the desk and holds you there with his hands over your thighs as he drives his length - hard and thick and wet - into your heat. your lover maintains eye contact with you as he puts your ankles on his shoulders, his hands around your hips to hold you in place when he begins thrusting harder.

fueled by your cries of pleasure, zhongli fucks you right. he takes care of you just like he said he would. you can feel the pressure of your everyday obligations lifting from your shoulders with every groan that falls from his lips, every slap of wet skin that fills the walls of your office, every whimper of his name and every growl of yours as he makes you forget that you ever needed to be in charge of anything. zhongli is in control now, pressing his lips to the inside of your ankle while those burning amber eyes stay trained on you. 

you trust him, beyond pleased to finally see this side of him. you had always suspected there was a latent dominant in him, but for him to finally take charge like this - of the situation, of you, of your body - you give it all over to him freely. and you’re rewarded deeply. so relaxed your tits are bouncing, your eyes fluttering and crossing as you feel another orgasm building deep within your core.

zhongli leans forward, holding your legs fast against his chest with one arm while anchoring himself with the other. the pad of his thumb is rubbing your clit, his lips are parted, eyes hooded, his moans mixing with yours as he fucks you so thoroughly and you cry out, “ohh…hnn…ZHONGLI~”, thighs trembling, cumming so hard you spray a little against his taut, sweaty belly, still flexing as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

“oh fuck, so beautiful…” he pants, eyes drawn to the space where your bodies meet, beads of your spend trickling down his abs. your cream coats the base of his cock, glistening in his dark brown patch of hair. he quickly lowers your legs, letting you wrap them around his waist, needing to feel him close as he ruts out the last of himself into you. 

you’re still mindlessly whispering his name against his cheek as his grunts turn into quiet whimpers and his moans become gasps. “nnfuck…get ready to take my cum, little one.” 

you’re fucked out beyond bliss but you manage to breathe out a “yesss…please give me your cum, mister zhongli. need you to fill me up with your hot seed…please, please, please~”

your words send him over the edge, hips plunging hard against you before stilling as his cock throbs inside you to spill the hot, sticky contents of his balls into your readied, welcoming cervix. his thrusts slow and jerk as he fills you completely. 

“want you to take all of me,” he confesses against your cheek, eyes closed and brow furrowed. his hips jerk against you, the last of his sperm spilling from his slit. “want you to have it all. you deserve it.” 

— BONUS ENDING (because i'm a dork and i love zhongli’s quirky sense of humor):

when he’s ready, zhongli pulls his wet, softening cock out and watches with deep satisfaction as his semen leaks from your still-clenching hole to form a thick, creamy puddle on your officially disheveled documents. he laughs under his breath. “looks like this one has my signature now as well.”

zhongli m.list

— please consider reblogging if you're 18+ and enjoyed this. i worked really hard on it. <3

[thir10th]

2x20- Honor among thieves

Summary: Emily is scared to tell her mother about her relationship. This is a one-shot inspired by 2x20 because I love this kind of dynamic. It's a whole episode insert. TW: some suggestive content, fluff, coming out, I really can't think of anything else but let me know if I'm missing something A/N: I love making these, and I've realized there's almost no episode inserts for Emily in a one-shot format and why is that??? i love these sm please people write more like this. English it's not my first language and it's 4am so sorry for any mistakes. Enjoy, any feedback is appreciated, please like and reblog if you like it.

“Excuse me, agent. I need to speak to agent Prentiss and one of her superiors” a commanding voice can be heard from outside the room. You don’t recognize it, so you look at Emily, sitting next to you, her almost horrified face tells you she does know who the woman speaking is. She shoots up from her seat, and looking down you can hear her asking “Mother?” You had never meet Emily’s mom, but you had heard some conversations with her daughter over the phone. You could always tell she wasn’t in a good mood because her mom had called. In a way it reminded you of your own relationship with your mom. Emily and you were open about your relationship, everyone on the team knew and they supported you. Once you had promised to limit the PDA, even Hotch had let you share hotel rooms during cases, and change desks with Spencer so you could be next to each other. However, families were always a different area. You knew how strict Emily’s mom had been with her, and still was. She hadn’t told her about you yet, so to her mother’s eyes, Emily was still single, and hadn’t been in a relationship for a long time now. You didn’t mind it, Emily wasn’t close to her family, or any other relatives. The BAU was like your family, it was her choice after all.

•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•*

Whatever happened inside Hotch’s office convinced him to take the case. You kept an eye on Emily the whole time you were discussing the case. She stays by the poor woman’s side who can’t stop crying over her husband’s chopped off finger, Emily keeps trying to calm her talking to her in Russian. Hotch divides the team, sends Reid, Morgan and Gideon were sent to Baltimore, and you stayed there along with Emily and Hotch.

You knew your girlfriend and her mom weren’t exactly close, what you weren’t expecting was how her presence would affect Emily. You want to comfort her but you can’t do it in front of her mom, so you just keep sneaking to rest your hand on her thigh behind the table, maybe to caress her shoulder when no one is looking, she leans on your touch accepting it. Emily and you both walk up to Hotch when he gets out of his office “Your mother’s got feelers out. She’s confident she can get results” he tells Emily “Well, if anybody can, it’s Ambassador Prentiss” she answers “How is she doing?” Hotch asks referring to the victim’s wife, who is still crying in the chair Emily just left her “How would you be?” She answers JJ finally arrives accompanied by the translator, who she has already briefed, and takes her to talk with the family. “Thank god. I’m really not very good at Russian” Emily tells us, and even Hotch smiles “If it would be all right, I would like to go help my mother” Hotch accepts, but she just stands there, looking at you, almost as if trying to say something she doesn’t dare to say. You know she wants you to come with her, but doesn’t know if you’re ok with it, and won’t ask the question. “Hotch, may I-“ “Yes, go” you don’t even have to finish asking, he accepts and you see Emily’s expression change and relax “Thank you, sir” you say, but he has already turned around and you follow Emily

•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•*

“Hey you” you say with a soft voice, entering the rest room, you were dying for some alone time with your girlfriend and it seemed like that was the only place you would find it “how are you coping?” You ask, as you stepped closer to her. She was standing in the mirror, looking at her reflection grabbing her hair with her hands “I’m great!” She says sarcastically, and made you chuckle, you wrap your arm around her waits, pulling her close to you, leaving a soft kiss on her cheek, she smiles weakly in approval.

"I know this is being hard for you Em" you tell her, running your hand through her back soothingly.

"It´s just... when I'm with my mom... It doesn't matter if it's at work, or at home, I could be anywhere and still feel like I'm 16 again" she lets out, resting her head on your shoulder and pulling you closer. "I can't be who i really am... i mean, we have to hide in the bathroom to even touch" she says referring to the current situation

"Wait, -be who you really are?- Em, you haven't come out?" you ask, feeling a mix of surprise and sadness, telling her mother about her relationship is one thing, but not telling her she was gay at all, it's a completely different business.

"No, I'm sorry.... it never felt like the right time to do it, and you saw her, I mean how am I even supposed to do it? Does this...change anything?" You would obviously never pressure Emily into comin out, you knew very well yourself how hard it could be, and everyone's case is different, even tho this only confirmed your previous worry on not being able to have a relationship of any kind with Emily's mother, you could also feel how frustrating everything was for her, how much she needed this.

"Hey, no, of course it doesn't, how could it? mph?" you tighten your grip around her waist to avoid her letting go, resting your other hand on her cheek, caressing her face with your thumb, she closes her eyes relying on the touch, moving her lips to kiss the palm of your hand, you bring her face close to kiss her. Her lips grazing yours softly, you caress her face with your hand, she touches your face with her hand, pulling you closer, deeper.

The sudden noise of the door opening surprises you, you quickly pull away from each other, you turn around to see her mom just entered the restroom. She mutters a soft "hello" mostly for Emily, more than for you. You try to play it cool as well as you can, finish washing your hands as fast as you can and leave, praying that she hasn't seen anything.

•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•*

You try to keep quiet as you overhear a conversation between Emily and her mom on the other room. Emily seems upset at how her mom is -turning the conversation into an interrogation- as she just said, and you casually walk in which shuts them up suddenly. A call comes in for Ambassador Prentiss and she picks up right after the first tone.

"Gregor! My daughter Em's in the room with me" she greets the man on the other line "Ah! little Emily" he says. you can't contain the smile that forms on your lips, looking at Emily and mouthing the nickname to mess with her, she smiles back, mouthing you to keep it down, but she can't contain the smile that forms on her lips as well. Unfortunately, the man can't give us any new information, so he says goodbye to Emily, and she hangs up the phone in defeat.

"We should head back to the office and let them know" Emily says, and you rush to go with her, her mom makes you stay, she insists she needs to ask you a few questions about the list of names you had called Garcia to run earlier, and you tell Emily you'll meet her outside.

Your whole body tenses as you see the d¡way Emily's mom is looking at you, you can tell she's trying to decipher you, maybe she saw something when she entered the restroom earlier, maybe she'll tell you she wants wyou away from her daughter.

"Agent y/l/n, are you by any chance close to my daughter?" she asks, you can tell she's genuinely curious, it's not a rethorical question, so you try to answer with as much sincerity as you can.

"well, yes, almost since the first time we met, I mean, you could tell we are pretty close" it's the most honest you can be without saying -actually, we spend a lot of time together, mostly in bed-

"and would you say she's happy?" this one takes you by surprise, you can hear the concern in her voice, she's just a worried mother.

"from what i know Emily, and i believe i can say it's a lot, i would say she is very happy, but with all due respect, if you really wanna know maybe you should ask her yourself, just like that" she takes a couple of seconds to look at you, analysing what your answer and yourself, then, dismissing you with a "Thank you" you leave.

"what did she want from you?" she asked, you could read the worry in her eyes

"she wanted to know if we were close, and if you were happy" you tell her straight away. "and what did you tell her?" she asks, confused. "i said we were quite close, and from what i could tell, you were pretty content" she nods, accepting your answer. "She seemed pretty defeated, maybe she isn't infallible after all"

•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`•.¸¸.•*

It didn't take much longer to solve this case. The victim's daughter being involved in the kidnapping came as a surprise to all of you, but as always, you let it go, and finished for the day.

You and Emily went back to her apartment, there were very few nights you spent apart, and this was no other. You were specially happy tonight to have some alone time to spend with one another.

Emily was quick to flop on the couch as soon as you entered the apartment, it made you happy to see her as her usual self in the confort of her apartment.

"I'm so glad this one's over" she breathes out as she struggles to take her shoes off. You headed towards the kitchen to grab something to drink for the both of you, looking at Emily and chuckling at her efforts. "Need a hand with that?" you said suggestively as you grab two wine glasses of the counter.

She gets up the couch and heads your direction "Here you go" you say offering her a glass of red wine. She takes a sip and smiles, turning her head to look at you.

"I'm sorry if i was a bit frisky today" she says "It's ok, you had a rough one, we all do, you were also under a lot of pressure" you added, trying to take it off her mind, and taking another sip of your glass. "Well, I think i know how to make it up for you" she smirks and rises her eyebrows, taking your glass and leaving it along with hers on the counter again, she grabs you by the waist, pulling you closer and kissing you deeply.

You breath out in release, thankful to finally be this close after the stressful day. She grabs you with both her hands, leaving you on the countertop, moving to your neck, leaving wet, soft kisses all over the sensitive skin there, you wrap your arms around her neck and hers find their way underneath your shirt.

You pull your head back, allowing your girlfriend a better access to your neck, which she uses to cover all your neck in kisses, nipping at your skin there which would for sure leave purple marks by tomorrow. You moan when she finds your pulse-point, and run your hands through her body, getting rid of her shirt as fast as you can, going back to kissing her lips.

She starts unbuttoning your shirt, not wanting to waste any second. She pushes you further onto the countertop where she has a better access to your body, you wrap your legs around her waist, running your hands over her back, trying to reach every square inch of skin you can get to.

She's right about to start unbuttoning your pants when a knock on the door surprises the both of you

"Did you order dinner?" You ask her, she shooks her head. She grabs her shirt and rushes to get it on, when you hear the knock again, you start buttoning yours too.

"I'll go check it out" You say, as you get to the door and open it in a hurry. You were ready to make go away whoever was trying to interrupt your night, but instead your mouth just flew open as you saw who was knocking on your girlfriend's door. "Ambasador Prentiss?"

"Hello? Agent y/l/n I thought this was my daughter's adress" she says in confusion, you can't even respond, you've siemply freezed.

"Mom?!" Emily chokes out behind you "What are you even doing here?" she rushes towalk next to you, when you look at her you notice how she hasn't placed her shirt right yet.

"Well, i thought now that I'm here, i could pay my daughter a visit, but I didn't think you had guests, what is she doing here?" she asks, almost ignoring the fact that you're also there, and asking her daughter directly. However, and considering Emily's shocked face, you take it upon yourself to answer.

"I came in because i needed to return a blender i borrowed form Emily last week, i was almost in my way out tho, so don't worry" you say trying to save the situation.

"No, y/n, wait" Emily started, as she took a step closer to you

"Wait, Em, you don't have to" you say, trying to stop her from making a mistake

"I actually do" she says looking at you, her eyes full of fear and excitment reflecting on yours

"Mom, Y/n is, well, she is my grilfriend, we've been daiting over a year now, I'm gay" she grabs your hand, and you hold her tight, trying to clam her down, and showing her your support.

"And I am telling you because I don't want to hide, not anymore" she adds, and you can feel how her hand tights around yours.

"well... i don't know what to say" you both wait for an answer, but it takes a long time for it to come. "I mean, I can't say I'm surprised" she finally says, and Emily can't contain her impatience "how- i mean- what do you mean?"

"Well you really thought you could wonder around all these years without your mother knowing a thing?" nether of you could hide your surprise. "I don't care that your gay, Emily, could i please come in now? I could really use a glass of wine, I hope I'm interrupting something now, of course".

Your girlfriend and you look at each other in awe "No, not at all" you both say at unison, and you can feel yourself blushing when you realize your shirt was still open this whole time.

You let the woman in, and Emily and her move to sit on the couch as you go to the kitchen to serve her another glass of wine, and grab yours.

"Here, Ambassador" you say, offering her a glass

"Oh please, call me Elisabeth" she says to your surprise, accepting the wine. You and Emily smile at each other as you move to sit next to her.

You knew you were in for a long night, just not the kind you had expected.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:

[firelordsfirelady]

XVI. Prisoner Heist

Author: @firelordsfirelady

Imagine: When Y/N—a princess of one of the Water Tribes—is told she’s leaving her tribe, she never expects that she’s to be betrothed to the Fire Lord’s son, nor was she prepared to be exiled the very day she arrived at the Fire Nation. With her life in the hands of her new fiancée, how will life change for the princess? 

Pairing: Zuko x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: arranged marriage, feelings of fear, banishment, mentions of burns/abuse, frustration, violence, betrayal

Word Count: 2054

Destined to be Yin and Yang 

I own no rights to Avatar the Last Airbender or any of the characters/story. 

Author’s Notes

The characters as all aged up so Zuko’s banishment happens when he’s 16 

Keep in mind I am bringing a unique world with inspiration from ATLA in their characters, some of the events that happen, bending, etc. Not many things may align or occur with what happened in the show. It’s intended that way, so I hope you enjoy it regardless.

See Y/N’s inspiration here. 

Destined to be Yin and Yang Soundtrack (YouTube)

With the light of the moon guiding me through the shadows of the city, I snuck my way outside of the palace’s walls where a lonely guard stood on alert. Knocking her out with a rear naked chokehold, I drug the body into a nearby shed before I stripped her of her Earthbender armor and tied her to a wooden post in the room. Putting on the uniform, I quietly made my way back to the unconscious guard’s post before walking towards the front gates. I gave a nod to the guards as I walked past them and into the palace.

Once inside, I walked around while trying my best to look like I was in that location with intention before I arrived downstairs at the holding cells. Another Earthbender guard was talking to an older Earthbender guard as I arrived, but I stuck to the shadows as I listened to their conversation.

“Sir, I was assigned prisoner transfer duty,” Zuko’s innocent voice floated through the air around me and my eyes widened as I realized he had also come up with the same idea to rescue his uncle. “But I’m…late. If my commander finds out--” Zuko’s words were spoken with uncertainty. “I’m already in enough trouble this month….” A small moment of silence passed between the two before the Earthguard spoke.

“The Firebender was taken to the Pit; the other prisoner is still here.” My eyebrows furrowed at the mention of a second prisoner. 

“The other prisoner?” Zuko asked the same question I thought in my head.

“Yeah. The bald kid. He’s with the King right now.” I frowned as I realized the predicament Zuko must’ve felt at this moment, but I hoped he was smart enough to know that he had better luck rescuing his uncle than taking on the whole earth kingdom with no help other than a Waterbender.

“Thank you sir. I will make haste to catch up.”

“Don’t forget that the path through the forest is the fastest route. Take the shortcut through the tunnels ahead to try and catch up.” The Earthbender guard bowed as Zuko did and then left down another hallway. Once the guard was out of sight, I quietly stepped out of the shadows and down the stairs. Zuko turned to look at me, but I knew the dimly lit hallway hid the details of my face just as well as it hid Zuko’s.

“At ease, soldier.” Putting my hands up in mock surrender, I softly spoke the words. The tension in Zuko’s shoulders slightly eased as he realized when I stepped closer that I was a friend. “Come on, we’re late enough for the prisoner transfer as it is.” Zuko nodded as we walked through the tunnel like the Earthbender had said and arrived to a small trail in the woods around the palace.

Once we were a safe enough distance away, Zuko and I tossed the helmets away and started running along the road in hopes to catch up to the convoy. After a few hours, I had to slow down to a stop as Zuko and I reached a split in the road. I was breathing heavily as my lungs tried to compensate for the intense amount of running we had just done, but I was suddenly thankful for all the days I would drive the crew crazy running laps around the deck. Resting my hands on my knees, I watched Zuko walk over to the path on the right and lean down to pick something off of the ground. I straightened up as Zuko did, but I couldn’t see whatever he had picked up.

“This way.” Zuko called back to me over his shoulder before he started off down the right path, and I was not too far behind him. As Zuko and I jogged along the path, I watched the thin sticks of the trees in the forest around us slowly disappear as an early morning fog crept in and permeated the forest. We came to a small clearing where we could see the imprints of wagon wheels in the moisten road of the path.

“They were here recently.” I said as I leaned down and touched the slightly damp spot on the ground. “We are close, Zuko.” I stood up and wiped my hands on my earthbender outfit then looked ahead of us. “We may be able to cut them off if we travel on either side of the trail.” I stripped off the heavy gear that weighed me down, and I let out a relieved sigh as I didn’t realize just how heavy that piece was for me. Looking back to the Firebender, I found him staring at me, and I felt my heart somersault in my chest before I moved to the right side of the trail. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

We heard the convoy before we saw them, and I briefly looked at Zuko as he jumped to set a tree on fire in front of the large bird an Earthbender leading the convoy was riding. Both of the large birds threw their rider off as the tree crashed down to block the convoy’s route before snapping at the humans and running away from them. Throwing a ball to block the back side of the cart in, Zuko jumped and landed in front of the convoy. I followed his lead as I used the back ledge of the cart to jump and kick the guard in the back. I formed a small block of ice at the bottom of my foot as it connected with his cheek, sending him flying back with an audible thud on the side of the road. Landing of my left foot, I spun on my heel and roundhouse kicked one of the guards that tried to run towards me. I shifted to attack the guard again when a blast of fire from behind the Earthbender made the man drop to the ground in front of me.

Looking over, I watched as Zuko approached Iroh’s outstretched hands and used a downward kick of fire to bust the metal chains binding the older Firebender’s wrists. I tried not to think about the heat rushing to my cheeks as I turned my attention to the Earthbenders as they helped on of the men up. I walked forward as Zuko sent a fireblast their way as he leapt over the wagon and flipped to the ground beside me. Iroh joined Zuko’s other side as the three of us looked at the three Earthbenders.

Two of the earth benders pulled two large chunks of rock from the earth and sent them in our direction. Zuko pulled me back as Iroh used one of the chains that had been wrapped around him as a heated whip to break both of the chunks apart. Letting go of me, Zuko used one hand to flip in front of Iroh as he released a spin kick full of fire and knocking down the two Earthbenders. I gathered the water molecules from the fog around us and encased the remaining Earthbender’s upperbody in a case of ice to prevent him from bending the rock from the earth as Iroh flung his chain like a whip. The chain wrapped around the Earthbender’s leg and sent the Earthbender falling to the ground as Iroh pulled the chain quickly. My ice shattered as the guard fell to the ground. Iroh walked towards the Earthbender with a serious look on his face. As the Earthbender scrambled to crawl backwards from the older Firebender, Iroh gathered his chains into his right hand as he stood above the guard.

“Do it.” The guard said through clenched teeth as he accepted his fate. The forest around us fell silent as I held my breath to see what the older Firebender would do. He took some deep breaths as he looked at the younger man on the ground.

“We’ve all seen enough death.” Iroh turned away from the guard and walked towards Zuko and I. Zuko turned to follow Iroh. As I turned to do the same, I saw the guard quickly get up and let out an angry grunt. Without blinking I felt a sharp sting as a large sharp rock pierced my shoulder and let out a sharp cry as I sent ice daggers at the Earthbender. Closing my eyes and gripping the protrusion of the rock implanted in my shoulder, I focused on keeping my breathing even as I pulled the rock out. Biting back a scream of pain, I toss the rock to the ground before placing a hand against the bleeding wound as I faced the two Firebenders.

“We need to go.” Iroh said as he looked around us. “There will be more of them coming.”

“But Y/N--” I waved a dismissive hand at Zuko’s concerned words as I walked between the two of them.

“We need to go, Prince Zuko.” I said while applying slight pressure to my wound. My heart squeezed within my ribcage, and I couldn’t look at the man whose voice held concern for me as I led the walk towards the boat.

Once the sun had almost set behind the horizon, the three of us arrived at the boat we used to get to the shore. Climbing into the boat, I bit my tongue to control the yelp as my wound reopened from the motion. After Iroh and Zuko settled into the boat, I used my waterbending to coax the boat into the water.

“It seems like we are always getting on or off boats.” Iroh lightheartedly said as Zuko rowed away from the coast. I let out a small chuckle at the older man’s words, but the motion of laughter caused a slight grimace on my face. Silence filled the boat briefly as Zuko stopped paddling as he looked up at the sky above us. Looking above us, I could barely make out the dark silhouette of a large flying creature in the darkened sky.

“What is it, Zuko?” Iroh asked as the figure disappeared behind the treeline.

“It’s nothing.” The younger Firebender said without turning back to look at Iroh as he slowly started to paddle again.

“Are you alright?” Iroh asked as he shifted his attention to me. The older Firebender’s face showed his sorrow for my injury. I shrugged, but put most of the effort into the side that wasn’t hurt. Shifting slightly to lean over the side, I rinsed my hands in the water as Zuko slowly padded. Once my hands were clean, I sat up as I maneuvered the water to create a small wave to propel the small canoe along back to the ship. Zuko turned to look at me as he opened his mouth to say something, but he closed his mouth at the shake of my head as I avoided eye contact with him. “It’s faster than you paddling.”

“You’re bleeding again.” Zuko’s soft words caused me to look down at the white undershirt of the Earthbender armor that was red with fresh blood from the small wound in my shoulder.

You’re just a distraction. Zuko’s words echoed in my mind as I sped up the boat a bit and avoided any further eye contact with the eyes staring at me with concern. 

“It’s a mere flesh wound.” Iroh bit back a bark of laughter that helped to offset the rapid pounding within my chest.

Once we arrived back to the ship, I bit the side of my cheek as I climbed the rope ladder first to get back on the boat. Lieutenant Jee helped me up, but accidentally grabbed a tender area of my injured shoulder and I couldn’t hold back the cry of pain. I was quickly released as I held a gentle hand to my shoulder.

“I’m sorry--” I dismissed the Lieutenant’s apology with a wave of my hand.

“It’s okay Lieutenant Jee.” I heard Zuko’s angry steps as I saw the Lieutenant’s face pale at the man approaching. “Calm down, Prince Zuko.” My calm words made him stop behind me. “He couldn’t have known. Show him a bit of mercy, please.”

“I am tired.” I announced without turning around to look at the man with the heated stare, then I left to go to my room.

Tag List @chevysstuffs @puttyly @ginger24880 @night-fall-moon @junieshohoho @0kauy @coolgirl458 @hypnoticbeing @angelruinz @preeyansha @playboygeniusphilanthropist @ssonniiu  @chi-ara @hagridshaircare @stell404 @kyo-kyo1 @herondale-lightworm @simonsbluee @nadlx33333 @nerdisthenewcool @jewelsrules @soggycrout0n @mymomsdisappointment

[kckt88]

The Picture of Aemond Targaryen I

Summary:

The story of a young man who sells his soul for eternal youth and beauty.

Warning(s): Language, Drugs, Sin, Indulgence, Debauchery, Kissing, Smut – Fingering, Oral Sex (M & F Receiving), P in V.

VICTORIAN ERA AEMOND TARGARYEN

INSPIRED BY THE BOOK/MOVIE - THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY

Word Count: 3750

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated.

The fog-shrouded streets of Victorian London welcomed Aemond Targaryen as he arrived in the bustling city, a hopeful yet innocent youth with dreams of a brighter future. With the passing of his grandfather, Otto Hightower, Aemond found himself thrust into a world of opulence and intrigue beyond his wildest imagination.

As he stepped out of the carriage onto the cobbled streets, Aemond's eyes widened with wonder at the sights and sounds of the city. Towering buildings loomed overhead, their grand facades casting long shadows upon the bustling thoroughfares below. Pedestrians bustled past, their attire a dizzying array of colours and styles, each one seemingly more extravagant than the last.

Guided by his grandfather's solicitor, Aemond made his way through the labyrinthine streets until they arrived at the opulent townhouse that would now be his home. The imposing structure stood as a testament to the wealth and power of the Hightower family, its grandeur unmatched by any other in the neighbourhood.

As he stepped through the ornate doorway, Aemond was greeted by the rich scent of polished wood and fine fabrics. The interior was a marvel of Victorian elegance, with intricately carved furnishings and sumptuous tapestries adorning every surface. It was a world far removed from the humble surroundings of his upbringing, and Aemond could scarcely believe that it was now his to inherit.

But amidst the grandeur, there lingered a sense of melancholy – a reminder of the grandfather he had lost, and the weight of responsibility now thrust upon his young shoulders. Otto Hightower had been a pillar of the community, revered by all who knew him, and Aemond was determined to honour his legacy in any way he could.

With a solemn resolve, Aemond set about making the townhouse his own, determined to carve out a place for himself in this new and unfamiliar world. Little did he know the trials and tribulations that awaited him amidst the gaslit streets of Victorian London, where danger and intrigue lurked around every corner. But for now, he allowed himself to bask in the glow of his newfound fortune, hopeful for the adventures that lay ahead.

After performing a mesmerizing piano solo in front of the upper classes of Victorian society, Aemond Targaryen found himself amidst a flurry of praise and admiration. As he basked in the warm glow of applause, a figure approached him, his presence commanding attention amidst the throng of well-dressed attendees.

"Bravo, Mr. Targaryen," the man said with a charming smile, his eyes alight with admiration. "Your performance was truly captivating."

Aemond returned the smile, feeling a flush of pride at the praise. "Thank you, sir," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of modesty. "I am glad you enjoyed it."

The man introduced himself as Criston Cole, a renowned painter whose works adorned the walls of the most esteemed galleries in London. He spoke of beauty and art with a passion that ignited a spark of curiosity within Aemond's soul.

"It would be an honour to capture your likeness on canvas, Mr. Targaryen," Criston said, his tone sincere. "Your beauty is a rare gift, one that should be preserved and admired for all to see."

Aemond hesitated, taken aback by the offer. He had always been told of his striking appearance, but to have it immortalized in paint was a prospect he had never considered.

"I... I am flattered, Mr. Cole," he stammered, his cheeks flushing with colour. "But I fear I am not worthy of such an honour."

Criston shook his head, a glint of determination in his eyes. "Nonsense, my dear boy," he said firmly. "You possess a beauty that transcends mere mortal standards. It would be a crime not to capture it for future generations to behold."

And so, with Criston's persuasive words ringing in his ears, Aemond found himself agreeing to sit for the portrait. Little did he know that this decision would mark the beginning of a journey that would forever change the course of his life, leading him down a path fraught with danger and sin.

In the lavish halls of a grand Victorian mansion, Aemond Targaryen found himself drawn into a conversation with Lord Tyland Lannister, a man whose reputation preceded him as an aristocrat with a hedonistic worldview. Lord Tyland exuded an air of confidence and charm, his every movement a testament to his belief that beauty and sensual fulfilment were the only things worth pursuing in life.

"Aemond Targaryen, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," Lord Tyland greeted with a smooth smile, his gaze appraising as he took in Aemond's striking features.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Lannister," Aemond replied, returning the greeting with a polite nod. Despite his upbringing and the values instilled in him by his grandfather, Aemond couldn't help but feel a flicker of curiosity at the man before him, whose aura of decadence seemed to pull at him like a siren's call.

Lord Tyland's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned in closer, his voice low and seductive. "Tell me, Aemond, do you believe in the pursuit of pleasure above all else? In the beauty of indulgence and the ecstasy of desire?"

Aemond hesitated, unsure of how to respond to such a provocative question. His upbringing had taught him the virtues of duty and honour, but there was something intoxicating about Lord Tyland's words, a tantalizing allure that beckoned him to explore the depths of his own desires.

"I... I suppose I have never given it much thought," Aemond admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "But there is certainly a certain appeal to the idea of... indulging in life's pleasures."

Lord Tyland's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Ah, a man after my own heart," he exclaimed, clapping Aemond on the shoulder with a familiarity that bordered on intimacy. "Come, let us toast to the pursuit of beauty and pleasure, and may we revel in its delights together."

And so, with a sense of trepidation and excitement swirling within him, Aemond found himself drawn into Lord Tyland's world of hedonistic excess, where the boundaries between right and wrong blurred in the intoxicating haze of pleasure and desire. Little did he know the dangers that lurked beneath the surface, waiting to ensnare him in a web of temptation from which there may be no escape.

Seated in the dimly lit studio of Criston Cole, Aemond Targaryen found himself bathed in a soft, ethereal light as the artist worked diligently at his easel. Lord Tyland Lannister stood nearby, his keen eyes observing the scene with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

"My dear Aemond, you truly are a vision of perfection," Lord Tyland remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of awe. "Your beauty is timeless, a masterpiece in its own right."

Aemond offered a modest smile in response, though his thoughts were elsewhere. As he watched Criston deftly apply paint to canvas, a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't shake the feeling that this fleeting moment of youth and beauty was but a fragile illusion, destined to fade with the passage of time.

"Will you not sit for your own portrait, Lord Lannister?" Criston inquired, breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

Lord Tyland chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Alas, my dear Criston, my beauty is but a fleeting thing," he replied with a smirk. "Unlike our dear Aemond here, whose likeness will remain untouched by the ravages of time."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at Lord Tyland's words, a sudden realization dawning upon him. His beauty, though captivating now, was not meant to last. And yet, the thought of growing old and withered filled him with a sense of dread unlike anything he had ever known.

"I... I cannot bear the thought of losing this," Aemond confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "To watch as my beauty fades, as I wither and decay... it is a fate too cruel to imagine."

Lord Tyland's gaze softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Then do not imagine it, my dear boy," he said gently. "For there are other paths one can take, other bargains one can strike to ensure that such a fate never befalls them."

Aemond's eyes widened with realization as Lord Tyland's words sank in. Could it be possible? Could he truly sell his soul in exchange for eternal youth and beauty, allowing the portrait to age and fade in his stead?

Without a second thought, Aemond made his decision. "I will do it," he declared, his voice firm with resolve. "I will sell my soul to ensure that the picture, rather than I, will age and fade."

And as the words left his lips, a shiver ran down Aemond's spine, for he knew that he had made a bargain from which there could be no turning back. But in that moment, as he watched Criston continue to work on his portrait, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, knowing that his beauty would endure for all eternity, even as he himself faded into obscurity.

As the days passed and the portrait of Aemond Targaryen neared completion, a subtle unease began to gnaw at his soul. Each time he entered Criston Cole's studio, his eyes were drawn inexorably to the painting, where he couldn't help but notice a subtle change, a shift in the delicate lines and hues that adorned the canvas.

At first, it was nothing more than a trick of the light, a shadow cast in just the right way to give the illusion of movement. But as Aemond studied the portrait more closely, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The features that had once mirrored his own with uncanny accuracy now seemed to possess a life of their own, a vitality that pulsed beneath the surface like a living thing.

"It's remarkable, isn't it?" Criston remarked, his voice breaking the silence that had settled over the studio. "The way a portrait can capture the essence of its subject, preserving it for all eternity."

Aemond forced a smile, though his heart was heavy with doubt. "Indeed," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "Though I must confess, I find it... unsettling, to see myself so immortalized."

Criston's brow furrowed with concern as he studied Aemond's troubled expression. "Is there something wrong, my dear boy?" he inquired, his tone gentle.

Aemond hesitated, unsure of how to voice the fears that had been gnawing at his soul. "It's just... the portrait," he began, his voice trailing off. "It seems to have changed since its creation. Almost as though... it's alive."

Criston's expression softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Fear not, my dear Aemond," he said reassuringly. "It is only natural for a portrait to evolve over time, as the artist imbues it with the essence of its subject. It is a testament to your own vitality, your own spirit, that the painting should reflect such subtle nuances."

But Aemond could not shake the feeling of dread that had settled over him like a shroud. For in that moment, he realized that the portrait was not merely a reflection of his own beauty, but a mirror into the depths of his soul.

In the glittering world of Victorian London's theatre scene, Aemond Targaryen found himself captivated by the enchanting performance of a stage actress named Alysanne Rivera. Her beauty was radiant, her talent undeniable, and with each graceful movement across the stage, she seemed to cast a spell upon all who beheld her.

After the performance, Aemond found himself lingering near the stage door, unable to tear his eyes away from the ethereal figure that emerged from within. As Alysanne's gaze met his own, a smile played across her lips, and Aemond felt his heart skip a beat in response.

"Mr. Targaryen, what a pleasant surprise," Alysanne greeted with a warmth that sent a shiver down Aemond's spine. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

Aemond nodded eagerly, his voice tinged with admiration. "It was magnificent, Miss Rivera," he replied earnestly. "You are truly a vision of beauty and grace."

Alysanne's cheeks flushed with a becoming blush as she thanked him for his kind words. And as they spoke, Aemond found himself drawn deeper into the enchanting spell of her presence, his fascination growing with each passing moment.

But amidst the newfound connection between Aemond and Alysanne, there lingered a sense of unease – a tension that seemed to simmer just beneath the surface. And as Aemond glanced over his shoulder, he caught sight of Criston Cole watching them from across the room, his expression oddly inscrutable.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Cole?" Aemond inquired, unable to shake the feeling that there was more to his friend's demeanour than met the eye.

Criston's smile was strained as he approached, though his voice remained composed. "Nothing of consequence, my dear Aemond," he replied, though there was a hint of unease in his tone. "I was merely admiring Miss Rivera's performance, much like yourself."

But Aemond could sense that there was more to Criston's reaction than he was letting on. And as he glanced back at Alysanne, a sense of foreboding settled over him like a dark cloud, casting a shadow over the burgeoning connection between them.

Little did Aemond know, the threads of fate were already weaving a tangled web around him, entangling him in a web of desire and jealousy from which there may be no escape. And as he found himself drawn deeper into the enchanting spell of Alysanne Rivera, he could only wonder what dark secrets lay hidden beneath the surface of their newfound romance.

As the nights in Victorian London grew longer and the shadows deeper, Aemond found himself drawn into a world of forbidden pleasures, where the boundaries between reality and fantasy blurred in the intoxicating haze of opium smoke.

Guided by Criston Cole and Lord Tyland Lannister, Aemond ventured into the dark underbelly of the city, where opium dens beckoned with promises of oblivion and ecstasy. The air was thick with the scent of incense and whispered secrets as they descended into the depths of their own desires.

Within the dimly lit confines of the opium den, Aemond felt a sense of liberation wash over him like a tidal wave, casting aside the constraints of society and duty in favour of the euphoria that pulsed through his veins. With each inhale of the drug, he felt himself drifting further and further from reality, lost in a kaleidoscope of colours and sensations.

And as he reclined upon the plush cushions, surrounded by the flickering glow of lanterns and the distant murmur of voices, Aemond surrendered himself to the intoxicating embrace of opium, losing himself in a world of pleasure and sensation beyond his wildest dreams.

But amidst the hedonistic revelry, there lingered a sense of emptiness – a gnawing void that could not be filled by the fleeting euphoria of the drug. And as Aemond gazed into the depths of his own reflection, he could not shake the feeling that he was chasing after something that could never truly be attained, a mirage shimmering on the horizon of his own desires.

Yet still, he returned to the opium dens night after night, unable to resist the pull of their siren song. For in the depths of his soul, Aemond knew that he was searching for something more – something that could only be found in the darkest recesses of his own desires. And until he found it, he would continue to chase after the elusive promise of oblivion, heedless of the consequences that awaited him in the shadows.

In the dimly lit corners of Victorian London's seedy underbelly, Aemond couldn’t stop himself from seeking solace in the arms of prostitutes, their whispered promises of pleasure offering a fleeting escape from the turmoil that churned within his soul.

Despite his growing connection with Alysanne, Aemond found himself drawn to the forbidden allure of the brothels, where desire and temptation lurked around every corner. With each encounter, he lost himself in a whirlwind of carnal ecstasy, the weight of his guilt momentarily forgotten in the throes of passion.

But even as he revealed in the embrace of the women who offered themselves up to him, Aemond could not shake the nagging sense of remorse that gnawed at his conscience. For with each act of indulgence, he felt himself drifting further and further from the purity of his love for Alysanne, his heart torn between duty and desire.

And as the whispers of scandal began to swirl around him, Aemond knew that he was playing a dangerous game – one that could cost him everything he held dear. Yet still, he could not resist the allure of the brothels, the promise of fleeting pleasure outweighing the consequences that loomed on the horizon.

In the dark recesses of his mind, Aemond wrestled with his demons, his soul torn asunder by the conflicting desires that waged war within him. And amidst the chaos of his own making, he wondered if he would ever find redemption for the sins he had committed, or if he was doomed to drown in the depths of his own depravity.

As Aemond stood before the portrait that Criston Cole had painstakingly crafted, he felt a chill run down his spine. The likeness that once captured his youthful beauty now seemed to twist and contort before his very eyes, mirroring the darkness that lurked within his soul.

Gone were the serene features that had adorned the canvas just days before, replaced by a grotesque visage that seemed to mock him with every brushstroke. The lines etched into his skin were deeper now, resembling the scars of his own sins, while his eyes bore a haunted look that sent shivers down Aemond's spine.

His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at the twisted reflection of his own sins, a sense of horror washing over him like a tidal wave. How had the portrait come to reflect the darkness that lurked within him? And what did it mean for his own soul, tainted as it was by the weight of his guilt?

But amidst the fear and confusion, a voice whispered in the depths of Aemond's mind – a voice that spoke of a bargain struck in desperation, a bargain that had unleashed forces beyond his control. And as he gazed into the eyes of his own likeness, he knew that he could no longer deny the truth that lay before him.

For the portrait was not merely a reflection of his own beauty, but a mirror into the depths of his own soul – a soul that had been tainted by the sins he had committed. And as he watched in horror, the painting seemed to shift and change before his very eyes, its twisted visage a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked within him.

With a sense of urgency gnawing at his conscience, Aemond carefully wrapped the cursed portrait in a thick cloth, shielding its twisted visage from the prying eyes of the world. Every brushstroke seemed to mock him with the weight of his own sins, a reminder of the darkness that lurked within his soul.

With trembling hands, Aemond made his way to the attic of his opulent townhouse, the portrait cradled against his chest like a forbidden secret. The air was thick with dust and the musty scent of neglect, but it was here, amidst the shadows and cobwebs, that he would hide the painting away from the world.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Aemond set the portrait down gently upon a dusty table, his heart heavy with the burden of his secret. With a deep breath, he lifted the cloth, revealing the twisted visage that lay beneath.

Pausing momentarily before he covered the portrait once more, shielding it from the light of day. And as he stepped back into the darkness of the attic, he knew that he had sealed away not only the painting, but the secrets that lay buried within his own soul.

But even as he turned to leave, a voice whispered in the depths of his mind – a voice that spoke of the darkness that lurked within him, waiting to be unleashed upon the world once more.

Criston Cole's voice echoed through the halls of Aemond townhouse, his excitement palpable as he spoke of displaying the portrait to the world. "Aemond, my dear friend," he exclaimed, his words tinged with anticipation, "the time has come to unveil your portrait to the public. The world deserves to see your beauty immortalized in paint."

Aemond's heart skipped a beat at the thought, his mind racing with panic as he searched for an excuse to delay the inevitable. "I... I'm afraid that won't be possible, Criston," he stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. "You see, I've put the portrait into storage for safekeeping. I fear that it may not be ready to be displayed just yet."

Criston's brow furrowed with confusion as he studied Aemond's troubled expression. "But why, my dear friend?" he inquired, his tone laced with concern. "Surely the world is ready to behold your beauty in all its glory. Why hide it away when it deserves to be celebrated?"

Aemond's mind raced as he searched for a plausible explanation, his heart pounding in his chest with the weight of his own deception. "It's... it's complicated, Criston," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "There are forces at work that you cannot begin to understand. Trust me when I say that it's for the best."

Criston's expression softened with understanding as he placed a comforting hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Very well, my dear friend," he said gently. "If you believe it to be for the best, then I will respect your wishes. But know that your beauty deserves to be celebrated, no matter the circumstances."

As Criston turned to leave, Aemond felt a sense of relief wash over him like a tidal wave, though it was tinged with the knowledge that his deception could not last forever. For the portrait that lay hidden away in the darkness of the attic was a reflection not only of his own beauty, but of the darkness that lurked within his soul – a darkness that was consuming him with each day that passed.

TBC

[spenglersglasses]

⌛⚙️ What a lovely day..... ⚙️⌛

Listen, lol I had to! Anyways already friends, here is my first and maybe my only venture into the world of Mad Max with a focus on my favorite character, Immortan Joe.

I am really excited to get this too you and as with all my fics I will update as I am able and inspired to make sure I am giving you my all every time.

**This fic will be an AU! Mostly I will try to stay canon but there will be some conflicts and reimaginings. This includes themes as listed in the tags, if any of this doesn't sit well with you, please skip this one!**

TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️Discussion about RAPE/FORCED PREGNANCY/VIOLENCE/VARIOUS DISTRUBING SUBJECTS⚠️

Listen you are reading a fic with Immortan Joe, it should be pretty obvious. but that being said if you are still here, I sincerely hope you all enjoy!

Thank you so much for reading!

*Special shoutout to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for the awesome dividers!

Glimmer in the Wasteland

Many years after the Citadel was conquered and seized by him, the Immortan Joe longs to feel something besides the pain and anguish of the world. Desperate to secure his legacy by siring an heir, he decides that now is the time before it becomes too late. Meanwhile a young woman named Corrine is separated from her group in the Wasteland and captured by the War Boys. When Corrine awakens within the fortress of the Citadel, her world changes when she has an encounter with the deeply feared and infamous warlord.

Chapter 1: God and the Scavenger

Immortan Joe struggles with his inevitable mortality and makes a life changing decision. A young woman, Corrine is separated from her scavenging group in the Wasteland during an attack and is captured by the War Boys.

Also available HERE on AO3.

Will eventually be very NSFW below the cut!!

It had finally happened. A spot—tingling. A pang of pain threatening that a sore would soon be sprouting up along the outer edge of his back. 

It would be the first outward effects of the nuclear fallout Joe would bear. One that no amount of salvaged antiseptics and alcohol washes could stave off. Lesions caused by a cancer too tenacious to be contained as it slowly ate at him from inside. Suddenly he, the Immortan, felt all too mortal.

“It is time.” The People Eater spurred him. Joe, nodding as the War Pups covered him in powder. HIs already pale skin turned ghostly white. Adorned in his pauldrons and chest plate, molded in plexiglass and covered in his former accolades, as he took to his feet. 

His long, ghastly white hair, flowing in the harsh wind as he approached the balcony. Ready to address the wretched below as they waited for the life-giving water. The people of the Citadel, all but decaying in the heat and waste of what was left of the world they all inhabited. Desperate for things, once taken for granted. 

As they stood waiting, the man they called “God”, began rolling his neck side to side. Hoping to release some of the tension in his shoulders. Held there from the weight of his breathing apparatus. His piercing blue eyes staring out into the Citadel under blackened lids. Tired and weary. The rest of his face concealed beneath the grim of his mask. Cold, chrome and equine teeth bordered by hoses for breathing. He looked as frightening as he did mighty, standing before them. 

The whole of the crowd below, cheering as they saw his silhouette appear beside his son, Rictus, and the People Eater. The People Eater leaned over to his commander's side. Holding up the shining microphone as Joe took hold of the aquifer valve levers in his hands. The time of placation, arriving once again. 

“It is through me that you will all find salvation. Through me that you will ascend. Rising above the rot and filth of this life…before moving on to the next…” Joe began. The people below crying out his name, Rictus clapping incessantly. Joe shot him a look, stopping him mid applause. The feebleness of Rictus’s diseased mind, growing more apparent each day.  

“Please sir, go on.” The People Eater nudged. Joe returned his attention to his task. Frustrated and angry that he had to speak at all. 

“...You shall drink of the Aqua Cola and remember who gave you this gift…” Joe continued, pulling the levers and listening to the gears as they twisted and turned. The water cascading down upon the wretched below. 

“That’s right. The Immortan is the redeemer!” the Prime Imperator shouted. Joe’s hold on the people of the Citadel renewed as the vapor from the water found its way upon his face. A cool mist that fed what was left of his own soul.  

Joe closed his eyes to revel in the feel of it on his skin when suddenly, the fury building inside him returned. The moment of solace, short lived as Joe began yanking back hard on the levers. The flow, shutting down as he removed himself from the room without another word. Leaving Rictus, the People Eater, the Prime Imperator, and his son’s Colossus and Scrotus confused.

“You had better go see what is wrong with Dad, Eater.” Colossus suggested from his small, makeshift chair. His diseased and deformed body, struggling to move itself. Swiveling back around to his telescope as he watched the scene below.  

“Of course, sir.” the People Eater replied as he fiddled with the chain that connected his nipples. Smiling and sending a nod to his ruler’s sons as before making his way out to find him. 

The pain was excruciating. Like an explosion that was still going off inside her head. Corrine opened her eyes to find darkness. She began to tremble, the fear—immediately settling in. Where am I? She thought.

Her whole life she had only known struggle. The abrasive grit of the sand and the heat of the unencumbered sun. The place she was now, it was different. The air still and the calm and there were drops of something coming from above her. It was cool and crisp like water across her skin. 

It was jarring. It had been so long since she'd had anything but the sensation of sweat running over her. Her body, more recently than ever before, in a constant state of dehydration and hunger. Life in the Wasteland wasn't easy, especially for a scavenger. 

Her people had been lucky. For years managing to gather enough supplies to keep the true horrors at bay. A hearty people, but kind despite their hard way of life. Corrine was born after the world ended, twisting into desolation and undeserving perdition.

It seemed now her luck had run out. Only flashes, sensations, and fragmented images remained from what had happened. She could remember the days before. Traveling across the endless sands and dirt plains. 

They were out together, the crew she knew as her brethren, scouring a deserted camp for ever dwindling supplies. Their trip, having gone on far longer than expected. Having strayed days away from their home. They had set up a camp for the night, ready to find their way back once the sun returned to the horizon.  

All seemed well until the sound of revving engines came out from the darkness. Her eyes shut open. Corrine quickly got to her feet and exited her tent. Running as fast as she could through the sand. Listening to the others crying out for help, before the sounds of malicious laughter began filling the night air. 

It was the War Boys. Until then they had only been a story. A tale told to the youngest of her colony as a warning not to venture far. A warning she regretted not having heeded.  

Was she being held captive by them? Why was she spared instead of the others? How long was she out? There was nothing else she could remember before things went black. No way to know for sure where she’d been taken. 

She could hear the metal clanking of the chains as she shifted around. The sound, rattling mercilessly in her ears. Her head, now pounding full force as she tried to stand. Feeling the wet, bloody knot that hid within her hair. 

“Ssss...agh.” She groaned as her fingers grazed the spot.  When she felt she had her footing, Corrine began scanning the walls. Feeling the rock beneath her hands as she tries to find a way out of the darkness. She continued until in an instant she was suddenly blinded. 

“Who's there?” 

“Hmph…” groaned someone in the darkness. A man, only barely coming into focus as Corrine felt her heart pounding in her chest. Wanting to flee, the sight of his shotgun barrel held out in front her. His pale, sunken face smiling behind it.

“Yes…yes, you'll do just fine. A gift, a delightful gift.” he said gleefully. In an instant a chill shot through her spine. Horrified at what was to come. 

“Where am I?!” She yelled, tears flowing down over her cheeks. The man disappeared and before she knew it, Corrine was listening to the sound of a metal. Clunking and scraping that rang out with the slam of a door. The War Boy’s ‘delightful gift’ realizing she was once again alone in the darkness. 

Joe paced the floor of his rooms—slowly and methodically. Every step, filled with harsh contemplation. Only noticing briefly that the People Eater had followed him in. 

“Sir? What is it? What are you thinking?” The Eater asked, wondering what could be brewing in his mind. Wondering if the Immortan was concocting a new way of cultivating crops? Maybe a strategy for expanding the War Boys’ lifespans—something more than just the unlucky blood bags they'd culled from the wasteland. The truth however was far more intrinsic, more primal. 

“Leave me.” Joe said, his voice level and his eyes fixed into the space before him. Focused on something abstract, but to him something completely clear.

“Maybe I could be of some help.” The Eater continued.

“I think I'm ready to try again.” the Immortan explained, the Eater’s eyes widening. He knew better than most what was truly important to Joe. One thing that his power and all the guzzolene the world could muster wouldn’t give him—a healthy child. 

“What's that sir?” he asked him still, hoping that it might be something else. 

“You know exactly what.” Joe chided. The hurt and angry present in his eyes. 

“Are you…are you sure sir? We were fortunate enough with Rictus and Scrotus. It’s been years since—”

“I am aware.” Joe growled, turning quickly to face his comrade. The memories of his failures, fresh in his mind. The People Eater did his best to swallow back his reservations, mostly in fear of the thrashing that the disobedience might incite. 

“Immortan, I come with news.” the Prime Imperator said, bursting into the room with a smile spread wide across his face. 

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?!” the Eater yelled. 

“Some of the boys returned last night, riding high and proud. They found a group of foragers out in the wasteland.” he continued, both the Eater and Joe intrigued.

“Anything worth salvaging?” the Eater asked. 

“The men didn’t last long enough to see the rocky formations but the other one they found—” he boasted before pausing for a breath.

“Go on.” Joe told him.

“The other one is a woman—a young woman.” The imperator finished. The People Eater let out a chuckle. 

“Sir…it seems fate may be on your side.” The Eater finished. Immortan Joe's eyes held a glimmer of hope within them as he approached the imperator. Grabbing him by the bandana on his neck. Burning a hole through his eyes with his stare.

You had better not be joking.” Joe growled. His ally, shaking his head and throwing up in hands in protest of the accusation. “Good. Eater, send for Miss Giddy and have her ready the vault. I shall seek an audience with this acquired treasure tomorrow at dawn. "

 “Come up, get up now. Get up. We haven't much time.” said a soft voice. Corrine groaned, rolling over on the ground. In and out of consciousness as the sweet tone of the woman’s voice calmed her. It was similar to her mother's and Corrine was devastated when her eyes opened to find a strange old woman, covered head to toe in inscriptions, and not her mother staring back at her. 

“Time?” She absentmindedly repeated, head still aching from the trauma of the day before.

“Yes…we need to move you to the vault. We must bathe and dress you before he arrives.” The woman explained, helping Corrine to her feet and walking her down a long winding hall. Stopping only once they arrived at a large vault door. So large Corrine had never seen anything like it. 

“What is this?” she asked. The woman, pulling the already unlocked door out before them revealing the beautiful scene within. 

“This is your new home.” she explained, nudging her inside. Corrine was in awe; in all her life she’d never seen a place so beautiful. The ceiling, open to the sky. The sun, beginning to rise in the distance and illuminating the room. Its rays shimmering off the large crystal chandelier that hung from above a piano, just opposite the room. 

There was a small watering pool along the ground. Flowing steadily like a stream. And there were books—lots of them. Oh the knowledge they held, she thought to herself. Would she be able to actually read them? 

Then there was another room. One with beds, real pillows, and clean linens. It was all too much to take in, her eyes beginning to tear. It just didn’t make sense, none of it. 

In such violence she’d been brought to this place, one of beauty and all the comforts she had otherwise been denied. But why? “Got it all fixed up for you my dear. Come, come. Let Miss Giddy help you in.” she beckoned, helping Corrine remove her tattered scraps of clothing. What was left of them, covered in blood and dirt. Then finally into the pool of water. 

“Giddy?” she asked, before gasping as the cool water surrounding her. Kneeling in the water in only her underwear. 

“Yes, little bird. I will be your caretaker. Get you everything you need.” she assured her. The woman easing Corrine’s fears as she washed her hair. Missy Giddy kept mostly quiet, careful to not disclose too much. Corrine knew answers would come in time, but worried she might not care for what those answers may be. 

Once the water ran clear of the grit and soil washed from her hair, Miss Giddy helped Corrine out from the pool. Allowing her to balance with a hand on her shoulder as she tried to dry off. Then getting her dressed in a white muslin ensemble. The fabric, billowy and light on her curvy frame.

Afterward Corrine sat beside the water as Miss Giddy brushed through her hair. It was long, wavy and a bit unruly after having been matted from the blood and sand. Corrine wincing as the brush tugged at the skin surrounding her wound. Miss Giddy did her best to be gentle and thankfully finished without too much of a fuss.

“Thank you.” Corrine said as she pulled her knees to her chest. “Miss Giddy.”

“Yes?”

“What am I?” Corrine began when the door opened, and a man stepped in. He was tall and impressive. Dressed in clothing, the likes of which she had never seen. An intimidating mask concealing the majority of the lower half of his face. His eyes, however, blindingly blue, staring at her.   

“Leave us Miss Giddy.” he commanded, it was clear to Corrine that whoever he was, he was calling the shots. Without hesitation the old woman left, leaving Corrine and the mysterious man alone in the vault. 

“What is your name?” he asked, Corrine feeling her heart pounding with both intrigue and fear. 

“What's it to you?” she asked back, still unsure of what circumstances she had found herself in. Clutching the wrap of the dress within her fists. The nerves, as clear on her as the orange hue of the sky.  

“I am not going to harm you.” he told her, slowly approaching as he grabbed a chair from along the wall and brought it to sit beside her. Corrine frozen in fear, wondering what he might do next. 

“Is that so? What if I don’t want you to know my name.” Corrine asked, careful not to make eye contact. Feeling the breath halting inside her chest with each passing second in his presence. 

“Then what am I to call you?” 

“Uh…It's…It’s Corrine.” she finally told him. Her eyes, unable to help but meet with him. The two of them locked on to one another. Sparking green and crystal blue orbs, fixed on one another—no way of turning back now. The man shifted in the chair, the movement causing Corrine to flinch. 

“Hmph…an unusual name to be sure.” he said, brows piqued. 

“It was my great grandmother's.” Corrine explained. So entranced at the sight of him, at the sound of his deep, thick voice that she wondered if she’d said anything at all. 

“I see. Well, here you shall be given a new name to go with a new life.” he began. The words forcing a knot to swell in Corrine’s throat. “Give me your hand.” 

“I—” Corrine began but could not find the words. The man, reaching out his hand for hers to take. Reluctantly she took it, the man helping her up from her spot on the ground. The two of them standing together, intensely facing one another head on. 

“We shall call you the Fray.” he proclaimed as he felt the roughness of her hands. A sign of her life spent laboring out in the unforgiving wasteland. A wasteland he would save her from. His gaze, softening as he looked at her. 

A soft heart-shaped face, clear skin with no sign of disease. Emerald-colored eyes that were kind and gentle. As his sights continued to travel along her body, he took note of her large breasts and hips. Everything about her suggested she was perfect, full-life, and fertile.

There was more to her, and he could tell. The way she spoke with him, despite her fear. A hint of strength beneath a thinly veiled exterior. An observation that spoke to him, in ways he couldn’t quite comprehend. 

Corrine took in a deep breath; it was more than obvious he was sizing her up for something. This man whose name she didn’t know, though he now knew hers. As she exhaled, she summoned the courage to ask him.

“And what…what is your name?” she inquired. Watching a change in the man’s demeanor. The soft look, growing more sinister as he pulled her towards him. Now only inches from the haunting mask on his face. 

“It's Joe.”

Notes: Aqua Cola- WaterRe Guzzolene- gasoline

[elwenyere]

ooh please tell me something about Fake Imperial Husbands if you'd like? 👀

Thank you so much for the ask, friend!!! I also got a question about Fake Imperial Husbands from the wonderful @smoosey. (Titles are from this WIP game.)

The full working title of this fic is Fake Imperial Husbands of the Infinite Sith Sadness, or FIHOTISS, and it's inspired by/in collaboration with this 'verse created by @frostbitebakery. The fic will be a 5+1, with some twists on a Sith Obi-Wan and Purge Trooper Cody premise. I've shared a few snippets here and there in the past. Here's another small, very drafty piece from the opening scene!

.....

“What are your orders, sir?” CC-2224 requested. Lord Tash was bent over the holomap: non-regulation apparel, Core accent, calluses and microscarring on the hands compatible with military service. CC-2224 waited. Time elapsed: five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen - 

“What would you do in this situation, trooper?” Lord Tash asked. He turned: his eyes were yellow. “What would be your strategy?” 

CC-2224 blinked, stalled.  

Reply type: non-standard. Run analysis. Possible results: question (type: rhetorical) - risk level minimal - wait for elaboration; question (type: leading) - risk level moderate - assure commanding officer of full compliance with standing protocols. 

“I would follow orders, sir.”

Lord Tash scanned CC-2224’s face - length of visual inspection: protracted - and CC-2224 had just registered a twitch in his right masseter muscle - physiological response: irregular; initiate - when the General broke visual contact and turned back to the map.

“Of course,” he said - vocal tone: unreadable - “2224, prepare the men to retreat to the caves.”

.....

Thank you very much for the asks, friends!!!

[jeankirschteinswifey]

Holding Out For A Hero (Fives x Jedi!Reader)

Summary: You’re Master Krell’s current padawan. Never really liking your master, you completely disobey his orders and journey out to Umbara, hoping to find out what the guy has been up to. Along the way, you make a few friends, and maybe help them a bit too ;) (Part 1 of 2)

Warnings: Only slight violence, that's it tho

A/n: this fic is totally inspired by “holding out for a hero” by Bonnie Taylor (yes I love 80s music) it’s been a while since my last fic (and I might start cross posting on ao3 soon under the name chirpybirdie)

2023 a/n: I still have not started an ao3 account. And it truly has been a while. Should I? (Kinda lost my game guys this is not my best fic- I'll get better I swear)

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

“I told you y/n, you are not coming to assist me. Is that clear?!” Krell yelled at you.

*sigh* “yes master.” You reply, defeated.

“Good. Remain here and train with the others.” You leave, heading to your quarters.

He can’t tell me what to do. I’m 19, i’m not even supposed to be a padawan anymore! I should be leading my own troops, have my own clones to lead! You thought. You walk around for a bit, hoping to catch some air. Than, you caught a glimpse of Krell getting ready to leave from the corner of your eye, and next to it, a small ship, usually used by Jedi masters to lead their troops.

Bingo. You thought, and you ran for it, succesfully sneaking past Krell and heading off to Umbara.

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

You land on the planet and see Anakin and your master talking. Realizing you may draw attention to yourself if you remain too long, you climb a tree and get higher ground, seeing the conversation from above.

“Thank you for the air support Master, it was much appreciated. But that’s not why your here is it?” Skywalker says.

“No, General Skywalker, the council has requested you back on Coruscant, effective immediately.”

Huh? But I was just with the council and they never mentioned Skywalker. Maybe it happened after I had left.

“What?? Why?”

“I believe a request was made by the Supreme Chancellor.”

Figures. You think while rolling your eyes.

“Well I cant just leave my men!” Anakin shouts.

“I will be taking over in the interim” Krell responds calmly.

You stopped listening after that, not wanting to even show interest in your master's conversation. Then, you see him. A clone. But he’s a bit different than the rest you’ve seen. He's very confident, he seems to be loyal too, and kinda.... fun? And not to mention his slight facial hair and the fact that he's an arc trooper made you swoon. You come back to reality and realize the troops are heading out and you follow them in the trees, praying you won’t be spotted.

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

“FALL BACK!! FALL BACK NOW!” Rex shouts above the gunfire. Shouts of pain are heard from the troopers, falling one by one.

Holy shit. I really wish I could help but if Krell sees me, he’ll punish me for disobeying orders. You think, still watching from the trees. The gunfire had calmed itself as the men held their fire, trying to come up with another plan.

“Fives. Hardcase. I need you to infiltrate the base and get their ships to destroy these things. Use their own technology against them.” You hear Captain Rex order.

“They won’t see it coming sir!” Hardcase says. Fives nods and they headed out.

I should follow them, maybe try to help them too. You think and follow behind.

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

"Before this I thought Krell was just crazy, but now, I'm beginning to think he just has it out for clones!" You heard the arc trooper say. You jump down from the tree and stand behind them.

"Yeah that's probably true, maybe the reason why I never got to lead some troopers as the commander alongside him" You say, startling the troopers. They quickly turn around and ready their blasters.

“Hold you fire guys. I’m just here to help” You say. You walk forward and show them your saber, proving your their ally. "I'm a jedi. I'm here to help you guys out."

“What the hell is a jedi doing here? The only one that was supposed to be here was Krell.” Fives snarled.

“We’ll for your information arc trooper, I’m his padawan. Trust me, I don’t like him much either.” You reply, glaring back at him.

God damn he looks good. Even when he's angry. You think.

“You heard that?” Fives asks.

“Yeah…I’ve kinda been listening in the trees this whole time because i’m not technically supposed to be here. ” You say.

“And you look older too, are you sure you’re a padawan?” Hardcase asks.

“Hardcase!” Fives yells.

“What!! Just a question!” Then you heard a comm beep. It was yours. And an incoming message from your master.

“Alright guys. Nice to talk to you. But we should probably get going with your plan." You say.

"But how? We were gonna climb the tree but-"Hardcase starts as you close your eyes and take a deep breath, holding your hands out as you do so.

"What are they doi-" Hardcase starts and suddenly stops as he is jabbed in the ribs by Fives.

"Can it Hardcase, it might be some jedi thing" Fives says, but is soon interrupted as he and Hardcase are lifted into the air, thrown over the fence and plop down onto the ground, groaning in pain. You however, leap over and land flat on your feet.

"How was that for a padawan?" You ask the troopers as they are still groaning in pain. You reach your hand out to help them and Fives gets up first, chuckling slightly at the stunt you pulled.

"I'll admit jedi, that was some stunt you just pulled." He starts.

"Y/n. My name is y/n by the way." You reply.

"Alright. Y/n then. Well, if we're introducing ourselves, my name is Fives, not 'arc trooper'." He says, extending his arm for a handshake. You take it, and give a firm shake, looking into his sultry brown eyes as he smiles back at you. Then, you continue on with the mission.

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

Part 2 will be coming shortly!

old taglist: send an ask if wanting to be in new one:

@eyecandyeoz @kratosfan6632466 @m-o-o-n-s-g-o-o-n-s

[whattraintracks]

Behold! The next part of the self-indulgent Castle-inspired Morgadec fic =D

Shoutout to @deedo2313, your tags on part one made my day 🫂

Cops & Robbers Pt 2 - First | Next

[]

By the time Karadec arrives at the bank, it's barricaded and crawling with law enforcement. Looking up at the bank's façade, unsteadiness pools in his stomach. He isn't technically authorised to be here, but. Where else would he be? With a flash of his badge, he slips into the sea of personnel.

The mobile command center is situated at the nexus of police activity. As he weaves toward it, he passes teams of armored officers, spots snipers on every roof, and hears the thrum of a helicopter overhead. Wearing only plain clothes, he feels even more out of place, wholly underdressed and vulnerable. He can't imagine how Théa and Morgane must feel.

He wonders, absently, what ridiculous clothes she's wearing today. He wishes he could see her. Wishes he'd said yes. To needing her, to there being a case. Maybe she wouldn't be trapped somewhere he can't reach her if he had.

He strides into the command center, and it doesn't take long for the RAID commander to notice him. "Who are you?"

"Commandant Karadec, Lille Judicial Police." He reaches for his badge, but the commander's more focused on an array of screens showing live footage around the bank.

"Pleasure to meet you," the man intones, "but I'm going to need you to step outside."

"With all due respect, sir," Karadec steps forward, "my partner is in that bank."

The commander turns abruptly. "We've got a cop in there?"

"She's a consultant," he corrects instinctively. "We were on the phone when the robbers took over the bank. She said there's four of them, dressed up in doctor's scrubs."

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"They're armed with assault weapons. Various accents. The one I spoke with sounded American."

"You spoke with one of them?" He makes out the name Peltier on the commander's uniform. "What was the demeanor like?"

He pauses, remembering the chill he felt when the robber so casually threatened Morgane. "Calm. Very calm."

Peltier nods slowly, then turns back to the video screens. "Thanks for the intel. We'll do everything possible to get your partner out safe."

His stomach lurches. He has nothing left to leverage, but he can't—He needs to be here. To know what's going on, to be doing something. He works his jaw, trying to summon Morgane's endless charisma, her impish ability to worm into anyone's business.

"You missed your cue," Peltier calls over his shoulder. "You want to help your partner? Stay out of the way and let me do my job."

Karadec doesn't slam the door on his way out, but it's a near thing.

Gilles and Daphné are waiting for him by the police barrier, bobbing anxiously and checking for texts every few seconds. Daphné spots him first. "Did they tell you anything?"

"Only that my services aren't wanted," he scowls, and they deflate, concern and despair evident on their faces. He's reminded he's not the only one trying to look out for Morgane. He has a team who will back him up and is as eager to help as he is. They just need someone to direct them.

"Gilles, there's a unit on standby to storm the building; figure out what they know. Daphné, look for other robberies with similar M.O.s."

Reinvigorated, Daphné takes off, typing rapid-fire.

Gilles heads off in the other direction, but hesitates a few steps in. "Do they," he grimaces, "do they know anything about the hostages?"

Karadec exhales slowly. "I don't know."

Gilles nods, eyes scrunching sympathetically. "Good luck."

He nods back, reaching for his phone. If Peltier won't let him in, maybe Céline knows someone he can petition for more clearance.

But before he can even unlock his phone, someone calls out, "Commandant Karadec!" It's an officer from the command center. "Commander Peltier would like a word."

His return to the command center has Peltier's full attention. "You want to tell me what were you thinking?"

"Pardon?"

"As soon as I get our bank robber on the line," Peltier barrels on, "he says, and I quote, 'I will only talk to the Super Cop.'"

Ah.

"Yeah, I thought so." Peltier scans his face. "You wanted in? Well, you're in."

What? Karadec blinks, in shock. Of course, he'd like to be in the know without going over any heads, but "Sir, I don't have any training in hostage negotiations."

"And I don't have time to give you a seminar," Peltier snaps, "so think of it like this: do the opposite of whatever interrogation training tells you. Don't yell, don't bully, don't threaten him in any way. You do everything you can to keep him calm."

The sense of unsteadiness returns. He runs the advice over in his mind, rapidly attempting to weigh the pros and cons. This is his opportunity to do something and stay apprised of the situation inside the bank, but can he pull it off? What if he screws up? How many people could die as a result of his inexperience? He can't believe he rushed into this without a plan. Peltier stares him down, but he needs more time to think.

"Commandant. Are you up for this?"

A flash of red pulls his attention to the video screens. It's her car, illegally parked.

He's done a lot of new things for Morgane and made a lot of poor decisions. What's one more?

He squares his shoulders, facing the commander head-on. "Absolutely."

[hastalavistabyebye]

Holos #3

Ao3 version

The four Marshals of the GAR were having a holo meeting with some of the High Generals, like they had regularly to coordinate the war efforts. Fox had sent his reports to one of the Jedi in advance, he very rarely could attend himself. General Mundi was stuck at the medbay, which meant Bacara was alone, this time. Neyo was only accompanied by General Allie. Ponds and Windu were currently leading a recon with their Lightning.

It was the perfect time to get back at his ori’vod for that last holocall they had with their training batch. It could also serve as a “thank you for not dying or something”. One blast, two clankers and all that. 

Neyo briefly looked down at his comm and sent the proper message, before concentrating back on what Bly was saying (and waiting for Bacara’s reaction). Ideas to fix their problems for coordinating clean-up after a big battle, very interesting. Bacara was giving him the slight frown of judgment. Not important, he still checked his comm. Koon was giving some good insight. 

There it is ! 

Bacara had frozen, just for a second, at the sight of the holovid Neyo sent him. When it finally reached his brain, he started coughing, trying as best he could to hide his reaction. And the slight blush shading his cheeks that was evident even through the holo’s blues. He promptly excused himself under the confused look of the five other people on the call and cut the sound of his comm while getting out of frame. Cody and Bly were exchanging very perplexed looks, while the three Jedi present were showing evident signs of worry. This was completely out of character for the marine. 

Neyo was gloating under his perfect sabacc face. It was an even better reaction than everything he had hoped for. 

Next to him, General Allie discreetly gave him a “what did you do ?” look, devoid of any judgment as always, just by simple curiosity. To which Neyo gave his best expression of “Nothing, sir”. It was a very good one, even for the high Vode standard. One of the best really. That only amused her, but she let the topic drop and started the conversation again. She knew better than to mingle into siblings’ maihem. 

Neyo couldn’t have used that one video better. He was so glad he recorded Bacara’s reaction.

-

[A holocam recording from a trooper’s helmet, shaky from the vod's movements. After a few seconds it stabilized, as if they had stopped running, hidden behind covers, and focused on a trooper with Commander Ponds’ markings. He’s standing on a droid tank, firing down on the clankers around him with one hand while throwing a grenade inside the tank with the other. Without waiting a second, he’s jumping away from the tank, still firing on the B1s to clear his path. He swiftly lands in a roll before getting back on his feet and starts running back into the conflict. An explosion lights up the horizon behind him. 

Out of frame, someone, Commander Neyo, is chuckling. He can be heard shouting “Show off !” before the recording cuts off.]

Inspired by the tags on some of my other ficlets for those two, from @whiskygoldwings (who reminded me that yes, Bacara would very much like Ponds' competency) and @clonemando (who gave me the idea for an inappropriately timed video message. Even if it was about Bacara sending Ponds a hilarious gif of a frog flopping down a hill in the middle of a meeting... Hope you don't mind the creative liberty I took xD)

Because I do in fact absolutely love all of you guys comments on my ficlets and will take inspiration from them (it's a threat). (So yes please don't hesitate to send ideas my way.)

[e-dubbc11]

sending in a prompt for rumlow to inspire you to get to our (writing) side, from the random dialogue prompts: “Is hating me your only personality trait?” or “Come and get your fix.”

My dear Selene, my brain is getting a workout writing for Rumlow and I am enjoying every single second of it.

I went with the prompt “Is hating me your only personality trait?”

Thank you for sending in as many prompts as you did, I know I still have a few left but this was a good one so thank you again, my friend 💙

Coming Clean

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x F! Reader

Warnings: Little bit of angst, a couple of swear words, confession of feelings, fluff

Word Count: 1.4K-ish

Summary: The STRIKE team leader does his daily walk thru every day. Your daily exchanges are just a contest of getting under each others skin.

A/N: In this, Rumlow is an agent of SHIELD, not Hydra. It’s not really important to the story at all really but, maybe it’s pertinent info for some people

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Working inside the main control room at SHIELD wasn’t a difficult job. What was difficult was watching him walk through every day.

As commander of the STRIKE team, Brock Rumlow was feared, strong, skilled, and fucking gorgeous. He had that angry sex appeal going for him.

And what bothered you the most about Brock was the massive crush you had on him.

But the rumor was he was dating a woman who works over in Statistics and although you’d never confirmed that, it made you jealous. It made you so jealous, you couldn’t see straight and made it that much harder to be around him when he would do his walk through because of how much he, sort of, flirted with you.

He’d hover a little too long at your work station at times. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body as he leaned over you and his breath warmed the back of your neck sending shivers down your spine.

Brock didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, you knew how to handle him but he’d try to make you feel like you were doing something wrong even though you weren’t.

You were very good at your job and in charge of a small team of people. Director Fury told you if Brock ever gave you a hard time, just to give it right back to him. He knew you could handle yourself just fine.

Every time the door to the control room opened, you hoped it was him doing his walk through but you never ever let him know that. Keeping your eyes on your screen, you were hopeful that he never saw you blush when he walked in but your face always remained stoic and unwavering. You weren’t going to let him get under your skin no matter how much you wanted him too.

Pausing behind you, Brock would lean forward so he could be as close as possible to you without touching.

“Did you need something, Rumlow?” You would ask with a tense but stern voice.

You felt his breath on the top of your ear as he whispered, “Just makin’ my rounds Ms. Y/l/n. You sure you wanna do that?” He asked with a sly smile on his face while your finger hovered over the control pad.

The blue light glasses you had on, slid down your nose slightly so you pushed them up before answering him. “I think I know my job a little better than you do…sir.”

“Your perfume wrecks my concentration, ya know.” He said.

You felt a slight tingle in your core and hopefully he didn’t notice as you tightly clenched your thighs together.

“Well I’ll remember that for tomorrow when I also won’t give a shit about what bothers YOU, Rumlow. You made your rounds, so how about you leave now because I have work to do.” You said with narrow eyes and your lips pressed together in a straight line.

He inhaled sharply as the scent of your perfume floated past his nose, then exhaled. “Ooh, do I get under your skin, doll? ‘Til tomorrow.” He said softly in your ear followed by a husky chuckle.

And then he was gone.

Variations of this exchange were a daily occurrence. He never dropped in at the same time every day. He showed up at all different times during the day to throw you off, to catch you off guard and he knew that it made you crazy which is what he enjoyed the most.

He thrived on, what he thought was, your disdain for him and Brock always walked out of the control room with a coy smile on his face.

You were convinced he couldn’t really figure you out so that’s why he messed with you so much. Everyone else was somewhat intimidated by him, they moved out of his way if they saw him coming, kept their eyes down, and their mouths shut. But not you and that was the one thing that made HIM crazy.

No one was going to make you feel uncomfortable, especially Brock Rumlow.

On your way back from lunch one day, you felt a hand grab your upper arm and pull you into a supply closet.

“Ow! Brock! What the fuck are you doing?!! Lemme go!” You said with a raised voice. “You’re not funny, lemme outta here NOW.”

He inched closer to you, closing the gap between your bodies so you were sharing the same space. He smelled like wintergreen gum and clean laundry, and his eyes were the color of whiskey in the sunlight.

You had never really noticed that before, you had never been this close to him and it was causing your heart to beat rapidly like it was going to explode from your chest.

He barely let you finish your sentence before snapping at you. “Is hating me your only personality trait?” Brock’s low gravelly voice sent flutters right to your core and your mind started to wander, thinking about him pulling sinful noises from you inside this closet.

“No Rumlow, it’s not. I can be a real bitch sometimes too.” The corners of your mouth turned up slightly to reveal a devilish smile as you gazed up into his eyes.

“WHY do you hate me so much, huh? I can feel it coming off of you, y/n.” He asked, backing you into a corner, up against the wall. “I wanna know, tell me!”

You turned your face away from him and folded your arms across your chest protectively. The smile that stretched across your lips only appeared to keep yourself from tearing up.

“How do you know its hate that I feel and not something else, huh?” You asked with a hitch in your voice.

His expression softened for the briefest of moments.

“You flirt with me, tease me, and try to get under my skin but you’re dating a woman upstairs in Statistics?!! Well it’s not hate, Brock. It’s not, its full blown jealousy.” You said confidently because you didn’t care anymore if he knew how you felt or not.

He gazed down at you with his amber colored eyes and a slight smirk on his face as you looked up at him through your long dark lashes.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Rumlow! If you think you’re just gonna continue to come into the control room and—“

He cut you off.

Without warning, his lips collided with yours. That kiss was filled with so much passion, it was almost painful, sharp with desperation and with a hunger you could barely control.

Clinging to him tightly, you moved your fingers to twist and knot in his wild dark brown hair while his hands rested firmly on your hips and pulling you flush to his body.

His strong calloused hands traveled under your shirt to gently brush the soft skin on your stomach. You wondered for the longest time what this would be like, to have his hands all over you, for his lips to crush against yours, to have his stubble brush against your cheeks, and to taste the wintergreen gum on his tongue.

He pulled away after kissing up and down the hollow of your throat.

“So does this mean you’re NOT dating anyone from Statistics?” You asked sarcastically.

He placed a gentle kiss on your lips before answering. “I’m not dating anyone, doll. There is a person in the Control Room that I really like but she’s kinda mean to me. What she doesn’t know is that it just makes me like her even more.” He said with a sly smile.

You snaked your arms around his neck.

“Ya know, I can’t be sure but I THINK she may like you too.” You said. “Now lemme outta here before Fury fires you for holding me hostage in a supply closet.”

“Hey you’re late comin’ back from lunch too, ya know. He can fire you too.” Brock said with a chuckle.

“He likes me way more than he likes you, Rumlow.” You said.

He reached for the door handle. “You’re probably right, sweetheart. Now before I let you out, will you agree to have dinner with me?”

You leaned in close and gently pressed your lips to his.

“Dinner sounds great.”

Others that may enjoy: @munsonownsmyass @qu1etwolf @redstarsandnightmares @itwasthereaminuteago @gijos @nutmeg17 @randomlittleimp @k-marzolf

If I tagged you and you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again. As always, thank you again for reading!

[deanwanddamons]

Undercover - Chapter One

Summary: Homicide Detective Dean Winchester and Detective Y/F/N Y/L/N go undercover to solve a spate of murders. 

Universe: Detective AU

Pairing: None (yet) 

Chapter Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings: Dark subject matter. Angst.

A/N 1: As always thank you to my beta @winchest09, who helped me with the idea for this story. You are my cheerleader, my bestie and my constant support. I love you. A/N 2: As you may or may not know, I haven’t written anything in an absolute age. I have been struggling with writer's block and life has simply got in the way. But…I started this series a long time ago and a few chapters were just sitting in my docs. So I thought I would post the prologue in the hope that you guys enjoy it, want to read more and it may give me the inspiration to continue with it. I’m happy to say, most of you seemed to enjoy it so here is Chapter One. Please let me know what you think - comment and reblog if possible ❤️ Tag list is open if you wish to be added.

My Masterlist

Undercover Masterlist

3 weeks before Prologue 

Dean walked through the winding streets of Pasadena, Los Angeles, making his way towards the precinct where he would now be working. 

After spending a week in the hospital after ‘the incident’, he had been ordered by his Captain, Rufus Turner, to take some time off work to recuperate from his ordeal. Dean wasn’t happy with this command, and had been very resistant to agree. The police force was his life, and the idea of just sitting at home doing nothing was alien to him. But he knew that Rufus was not the kind of man you could argue with. 

Rufus had been his chief for several years, and Dean knew that he wouldn't back down once he had made up his mind. He had tried to reason with him, explaining the importance of his job as a police officer, but Rufus had already made up his mind.

Flashback

"Look, I know how you feel," the older man had said, his tone firm. "But you need to take some time off. You've been working non-stop for months. You need to recharge your batteries, spend some time with your family, and just relax."

Dean knew that his Captain was right. He had been putting in long hours, working weekends and holidays, and neglecting his personal life. He had missed important family events, and he could feel the strain on his relationships.

"I understand, sir," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "But what am I supposed to do? I can't just sit at home and do nothing."

Rufus smiled. "I'm not asking you to do that. There are plenty of things you can do. You can take a vacation, travel, catch up on some reading, or do something you've always wanted to do but never had time for. The point is to take a break, clear your head, and come back refreshed."

The officer nodded, silently acknowledging the wisdom in the words he had just heard. He knew he needed a break, and he also knew that his Captain had his best interests at heart. He would take some time off, reconnect with his family, and come back ready to serve and protect.

"Thank you, sir," he said, standing up. "I appreciate your concern, and I'll take your advice."

Rufus nodded, pleased. "Good. Now, go enjoy yourself. That's an order."

When he eventually returned to work, the idea of being given a new identity and to move away from Lawrence, Kansas had been posed to him. He had been furious, but had eventually agreed when he realised if he didn’t, his life could be in danger. 

It was going to be strange. A new day, a new station and a new name. 

He pulled the badge from his pocket, the one that was mailed to him by his new superior Captain Bobby Singer. 

Detective Jon Elliot. 

Dean huffed a laugh. He recognised the mixture of names that had been chosen. Jon Bon Jovi and Joe Elliott. He was impressed. Even though he didn’t think he looked anything like a ‘Jon’, the name was something he was going to have to get used to. His life, and many others, were at stake.

Opening the heavy doors of the police station, he walked over to the desk officer. 

“Detective Elliot to see Captain Singer,” he announced. The deputy nodded and picked up the phone. Dean turned around, noticing a few chairs to his left and sat down. 

He looked around the reception area. It was full of people, coming and going, and was much bigger than the station he had worked in back in Lawrence. It consisted of a large communal area with around twenty desks and three offices. One that belonged to him and his partner Benny, one that had belonged to Captain Turner and one that had been used as a store room. There had been very little crime in the area he had originally worked in. 

That was until Michael had come to town. 

He shook the memory from his head, determined to not let himself be distracted today. 

“Detective Elliott?” A burly, thick set, bearded man in his late 50’s was walking towards him, his hand outstretched. 

“Captain Singer.” Dean stood and shook the man's hand. 

“Please. Call me Bobby. There’s no formality here,” he said “Come with me if you will,” he continued, gesturing to a corridor on his left. 

Dean nodded, and side by side the men walked quietly towards an open door. 

Entering the spacious office, Bobby closed the door behind him as Dean took a seat by the large, oak desk. Taking a moment to look around the room, the Detective took a deep breath as he tried to get himself accustomed to the new surroundings. Photo frames filled with smiling faces adorned the wooden space in front of him. He could only assume that it was the family of the older man who he would be reporting into. 

"Dean, I was sorry to hear about Benny," the Captain started, taking his place in his plush office chair opposite him before he steepled his fingers. "Terrible situation."

“Thank you,” Dean acquiesced, taking in the grim expression on Bobby’s grizzled features. He appreciated the concern, but was hoping that he wouldn’t be expected to go into too much detail. He wasn’t sure he felt quite ready enough to discuss what happened in depth with a stranger, even if he did mean well. 

“Losing one of our own is always a deep blow,” the elder man continued, “And for it to be your partner while you were on a case must make it even harder to bear. I have lost a few colleagues…” Bobby’s words trailed off as he realised Dean was fidgeting in his seat, loosening his tie with his right hand, the fingers of his left hand drumming against the wooden arm of the chair. 

“Anyway, I digress,” he went on, mentally kicking himself for making the new Detective feel uncomfortable, “I’m sure you’ll fit right in here. I trust your new accommodation is to your liking?” 

Dean was happy that the subject had been changed. As Bobby had been speaking, he could feel his heart rate begin to raise, his palms getting sweaty. He wondered briefly if the Captain had noticed, and that was why he had stopped talking. If that was the case, Dean knew he needed to get himself in check. He could not perform his duties correctly if he couldn’t bring himself to talk about Benny. Even though no one else in the precinct knew his real identity except his superiors, it was enough that Bobby asking him questions had made him react this way for him to realise he may need to take the force up on the offer of a therapist. 

“Yes, yes thank you Sir. It’s very nice,” Dean lied. The small apartment he had been supplied was in a rough part of town, above a liquor store, but he was grateful for the relative safety the tiny rooms afforded him. 

“Okay so,” his new Captain went on, “I’ll introduce you to the team, using your assumed name of course. They’re a good bunch. A few mavericks that need to be reigned in now and again, but besides that, they behave themselves most of the time.” 

Raising from his seat, Bobby buttoned his jacket as he walked past Dean towards the door. He opened it and gestured for the younger man to exit the stuffy office. 

He was led through a corridor into a bustling investigation room. Numerous staff were typing away on keyboards, the clack of their fingers creating a cacophony of different rhythms. Desk phones were ringing loudly, most of them being ignored. A large white board containing photographs of suspects in the particular case they were currently investigating stood at the front of the room, words written in different colours of magic marker, some circled, some underlined filling in the gaps between images. 

Dean followed his superior as he moved between the desks, the occupants standing up as the Captain passed, nodding at him briefly before taking their seats again and getting on with whatever work they had been doing. Some of them glanced at Dean as he walked closely behind, others ignored his presence. 

It was clear that Bobby ran a tight ship and was well respected by his subordinates. The fact that they stood up when he approached their work station was a surprise to Dean, as this was not something anyone did for Rufus back in Lawrence, but he made a mental note to remember this in future. 

The duo had reached the desk of an attractive blonde police woman. Her face was open and pleasant, a bright smile on her lips. She rose to her feet, as Bobby introduced her. 

“Detective Donna Hanscum, this is Detective Jon Elliott.” 

“Pleased to meet ya,” she said, holding her hand out. Dean shook it, warming to her friendly demeanour straight away. 

“I’ll leave you in Donna’s capable hands,” the Captain told him, “come by my office before you leave for the evening.” 

As Bobby turned away, Donna pulled a chair out and patted it. “Take a seat.” 

“Coffee?” she offered, her eyes moving towards a vending machine in the corner of the room. “It’s not gourmet, but it does the job.” 

Dean was relieved. He was desperate for some caffeine. “Please. Black, no sugar.” 

“You betcha.” 

As Donna prepared the beverage, Dean took in more of his surroundings. The staff were a mixture of uniformed and plain clothes officers, male and female, young and old. Some were busy on their desktops, others were leaning back in their seats, cellphones to their ears. Food was being consumed at work stations, papers were being shuffled, names were being yelled. 

It was so different to what Dean was used to, but he liked it. It distracted the tumultuous thoughts that haunted him, even in his waking hours. 

Donna, returning to her desk, brought him out of his reverie. He took the plastic cup gratefully and gingerly sipped the tepid liquid. She was right. It was far from gourmet, muddy tasting and luke warm, but it provided the caffeine hit he really needed right now. 

“Nasty right?” Donna chuckled, obviously noticing Dean’s disdainful expression. 

“It’s fine,” he smirked, placing the cup down.

“So, Jon,” Donna said, turning her body towards him, “What brings you here?”

Chapter Two

Tags - @salt-n-burn-em-all / @littlelonewolfgirl/ @krazykelly/ @deans-spinster-witch / @lastcallatrockysbar / @ssimelttilgniht / @123passwort / @winchester-girl67 / @winchestergirl2 / @americasass81 / @jessjad / @akshi8278 / @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior / @waywardbaby / @deanwinchesterswitch / @440mxs-wife / @globetrotter28 / @sexyvixen7 / @hobby27 / @djs8891 / @kickingitwithkirk/ @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden / @kyjey / @lindalouh / @solariklees/ @trektraveler

[cassynite]

7 Snippets, 7 People

Tagged by both @knight-commander and @dragonologist-phd, thank you so much for thinking of me! My creative energy has been pretty low lately but this was very inspiring tbh!

Tagging (and im so sorry im nearly certain i will tag people already tagged by accident, and obv no pressure) @dmagedgoods @the-raging-tempest @undyingembers @spyridonya @rollofleaf @archduke-enver-gortash @thesolemnhour

Snips below the cut! Just from various things I am sloooooowly working on.

--

1.

"The boats on the shore will take you anywhere, if you've got the coin for it," Eva says instead. "And you've got the right pass." She pins Evaethi down with a golden stare and then moves the map slightly, just enough to show a flash of the paper underneath, the grooves where a stamp had pressed into the paper.

Evaethi is still connecting the dots between Eva's words and the stamp when Eva places a careful hand on Evaethi's wrist. The skin is cool, slightly clammy and unpleasant. "Wouldn't it be nice," she whispers, "If we never had to see Master again? If we could go do whatever we wanted?"

--

2.

"She was a child," Sparrow repeats. "One desperate for her father's love, and who never received it. Her greatest crime was thoughtlessness, not malice." She draws herself up and gives Daeran a smile she hopes looks genuine. "And if she hadn't run away, I likely never would have gone to Kenabres. So in a way, she is responsible for our meeting."

Daeran lets out a beleaguered sigh, but the frigid lines of anger have finally melted. "Yes, well. I don't enjoy this woman in our house, but it's certainly not my place to forgive her. I do hope she has grown up since your last meeting."

--

3.

"It is my pleasure," he says, and turns his wizened gaze to Daeran. Daeran has to suppress a shiver from its intensity. His eyes are the clear blue of a cloudless day, shining ever so slightly with a light Daeran instinctively understands as divine--years channeling god-given power lingers even if he likely no longer wields a sword--and the gaze seems to peer right through him, to the rotten core infested with worms.

But he must not be using it, or he's attributing to the shadowy mass of hunger that watches Daeran to the shadows of grief: Sir Lant's expression holds nothing but cloying pity. "I never had the pleasure of meeting your mother," he tells Daeran, "but everyone in Mendev knew that a truer heart and a kinder soul didn't exist. Her contributions to the Crusade's cause and the church cannot be overstated. The world is poorer for her loss--but I hope I can help guide you to growing into the kind of man who would do her memory proud."

--

4.

Sparrow's eyes widen and then--it's like watching a turtle retreat into its shell. The bright fury pulls back, closes down, her face smoothing into complete neutrality. If he hadn't just been watching her, Daeran would have sworn the emotion had never been there at all. It really is quite a feat; he can't think of anyone, noble or common born, who can seal away such passionate expressions so completely.

"I should go," Sparrow says, turning away and truncating the conversation. She directs her next words to the group as a whole. "We have a long day ahead of us, and we need our rest. Lann, I'll take second watch if you take first." And she walks away, stiff and lifeless once more, leaving Daeran with the fading electricity and the still-dirty pots.

Daeran sighs and returns his attention back to the dishes. The woman he was arguing with is gone--the emotionless, lackluster leader has made her unwelcome return.

He wonders what he can do to make her become that person again.

--

5. (very mildly nsfw)

The skin on Sparrow's stomach was deeply sensitive, and Daeran's hand pressed against it was a shock of sensation that flashed through her body, settling between her legs. She could barely breathe; she felt like a half-feral animal dragged into the light, skinless and exposed, flinching at every movement. It was so much already, overwhelming in a way she'd never experienced before. If this was how she was going to react something as simple as a palm under her ribcage, how was she going to handle anything when she finished undressing?

Daeran sensed it too, she could tell. The warmth at her back receded as Daeran pulled away, his touch lifting; before he could fully retreat, she grabbed his hand, pressing it back to her torso.

"I just need a moment." Her voice was low, raspy, intimate in the heavy half-dark of the room.

--

6.

It worked for Isore's purposes in this case. Depending on how good the intel of the incoming Hellknights was, they would arrive anywhere from the next few hours to dusk, and Isore needed to not be present when they arrived. He dipped the encoded notice into the brazier, letting the smolders of last night's fires catch it alight before he dropped it among the coals. Then he grabbed a piece of scratch paper only half-full of equations that were useful days ago and penned a quick missive: Gone to market. Don't expect me until nightfall.

--

7.

Silaena won, her queen grabbing the checkmate, but she could tell he had let her. When he finally placed his king sideways, he spoke again. "It will be difficult to convince your father."

"He never actually disowned me," Silaena pointed out, the statement sticking a little in her throat. It had been a nasty surprise, even if it had worked in her favor; like he had known she would come crawling back one way or the other. "And I think once he knows what I am bringing to the table, he will eventually back down. There's nothing he wants more than for his direct line to keep Heaven's Edge. I'll give him that even if I give him not one other thing as long as I live."

[twistedshipper]

So, for the tag game, I'm very interested in Morgana's Tale, could you please share a couple of words about it?

"Arthur doesn't know how it begins" isn't it a story of Arthur who knows about the siblings thing but Morgana doesn't? I recall we were talking about this plot some months ago, but I may be wrong 😗

Of course. I'm excited you asked about this one. From the title it probably sounds like BBC Merlin but from Morgana's perspective, but I'm afraid it's actually a Handmaid's Tale au for Merlin. I was inspired when Margaret Atwood released The Testaments to write the au for Merlin that no one asked for, but I felt I very much needed (though only wrote a few pages of, since I want to finish SL first).

I'm not going to get into the whole story behind the books here but, essentially, it's a dystopia in which women have seen their rights removed. From the wiki about the show based on the book:

The plot features a dystopia following a Second American Civil War wherein a theonomic, totalitarian society subjects fertile women, called "Handmaids", to child-bearing slavery.

In the fic now, Morgana is a handmaid for Commander Arthur Pendragon and his wife Gwen. She is referred to Ofarthur, as each handmaid can no longer be called by her given name in the time before the war, emphasizing how she now belongs as the property of her Commander.

In the fic, Morgana, or Ofarthur, is the vessel by which Arthur and his wife Gwen hope to conceive a child due to Gwen's barrenness (which also works as an Arthurian nod, since I believe in many of the stories Gwen couldn't conceive).

I'll leave a snippet below:

“Did Mrs. Pendragon tell you?” she asked, speaking softly.  Her hand unconsciously moved over her stomach as if to safeguard the child that grew within her.  A mother’s instinct that overshadowed even Morgana’s reluctant acceptance to her pregnancy. 

The Commander watched her gesture, eyes lingering on her stomach as if in disbelief at the entity that grew there.  Then his eyes rose up to his handmaid’s pale face.  “Guinevere did say something of the matter,” he admitted, Morgana thought, rather sheepishly.  “That you told her you have not bled, that you think you are with child.”

“Yes,” she affirmed, as she clutched the hand still at her side into a fist.  She had watched his face carefully when she asked him, making sure to study his face for his reaction.  “I thought you would have been pleased,” she stated matter of fact. 

“I am pleased for my wife,” he allowed. 

She frowned.  “But not for yourself?” she ventured.

He looked away, shook his head, before turning back to face her.  “Not if it brings you displeasure.”

Her frown deepened.  “Why would it?” she asked.  “I am filled with God’s miracle.”

He snorted.  “You don’t believe that righteous hogwash.  Not you, of all people.”

She tilted her head up, inquisitively.  “And how would you know, with all due respect, Sir, just what I do or don’t believe?”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

I also answered a previous ask about the second fic you asked about. Kinda. It was definitely based on that conversation, except in the fic they both know they are related.

Thanks for giving me the chance to discuss both of these.

[holding-monsters-hands]

yooo, I love your writing so much! I'm so happy to see someone writing for snow miser honestly. feel free to ignore this, but, if you don't mind, i was wondering if we could get some headcanons of snow miser with a trans male s/o, & like.. how he'd support him, if that makes sense? especially on those days where the reader is feeling super bad about himself & like, very out of it. if you do, thanks so much! I hope you have a great day <3

YEAH ABSOLUTELY! I try to write my content as gender neutral as humanly possible unless specified otherwise, but this prompt has certainly inspired me. <3

Snow miser with a trans male s/o

He will constantly remind you, without fail- How lucky he is to have such a dashing, charming man like you in his life.

He’ll even get you specially tailored suits for the two of you to match! and once on, he’ll wrap his arms around your waist in front of a full body mirror and softly sigh in your ear, just melting about how handsome you are.

“Y’know I know i’m a whole meal but you? you make me a bit jealous with how good you constantly look. ♡”

Even the little guys have the habit of calling you dad! or papa, depending on what they already call snow miser- But, otherwise any command you have for them is met with a bunch of overjoyed “yes sir!” ‘s

But on your days where dysphoria is at its worst, you have his full support and love- No matter how many times you need him to repeat how much he loves you as his husband, how much of a wonderful man you are, he’d be happy to do so.

Even when it comes down to gender affirming surgeries, he will not even think twice about ensuring your happiness and confidence.

Though if surgery isn’t something you want- not to worry! he’ll get whatever you desire in order to assist you in your transition, this guy would give you the moon if you asked for it!

He’s incredibly devoted to you, nothing you do or say could deter how much he loves you. Or how much endless support he wants to provide, he’ll always be your biggest cheerleader.

[yellingaboutmasseffect]

Writer’s First Line Game

Rules: post the first sentence of your last ten fics. If you haven’t written ten fics, share as many first sentences as you have.

Tagged by @stormikins​ thank you very much!

No pressure tags: @skittidyne​ @jasper-the-menace @littjara-compleated-sage

“Love From The Other Side” - (Magic the Gathering) Two planeswalkers find themselves on opposite sides of the Phyrexian invasion as they both do whatever it takes to make it back to each other and those they love.

“When others told us what to expect in Urborg, no one told us to expect hospitality.”

“From Sparks to Flame” - (Mass Effect)  Artemis Shepard never set out to become an Alliance hero, let alone the first human Spectre, but an unfeeling cycle has begun anew on Eden Prime. She has to get her team to not only trust her but also each other which is easier said than done. Part one of a story about how love and bonds (with the guns they find along the way) save the galaxy.

Later, when people asked Shepard how everything started, they were often disappointed with her answer.

“Beauty and the Furnace Beast” - (Magic the Gathering) A fairy tale inspired story about Ayara and Urabrask fall in love during the Phyrexian invasion of Eldraine.

“In all my years, I have never seen the sky this way,” Ayara said, looking at the odd voids in the sky.

“The One With The Lipstick Incident” - (Mass Effect) A gift written for @angstyastro​ featuring her Shepard, Isani. Thane is thankful for the continued blessings the Gods bestow on his family but that doesn’t mean he isn’t nervous or that things will go smoothly.  With Isani Shepard giving birth to twins, things were bound to get a little out of hand.

Thane would never fathom why the Gods chose to favor him as much as they had— even if this most recent blessing seemed to be a trial into itself.

“Things That Were And Never Will Be Again”- (Magic the Gathering) Ajani and Elspeth meet on Dominaria, not knowing they will soon be on opposite sides of the looming conflict about to beset the Multiverse.

Elspeth. She was here on Dominaria and alive.

“Same Song, Different Verse” - (Mass Effect) In a different universe, Council Spectre Garrus Vakarian is investigating Saren when he is shot down over Earth. He is found by Shepard and the two of them have to work together as other turians try to hunt him down as they try to rescue his informant, Tali.

Garrus could just hear his father’s voice berating him as he looked at the view of Vancouver.

“Reunion” - (Fallout 4) Nate didn’t die when he was shot by Kellogg. If only it was that simple. Now a ghoul, he’s come to accept his new life but a chance meeting at the Third Rail Bar changes everything as he comes face to face with who his wife is now.

“There’s your shares boys. Don’t spend it all in Goodneighbor, even you, ghoul.”

“In the End” - (Fallout 4) When Shaun decides that his mother should no longer be allowed to be influenced by the surface, he decides to keep her at the Institute with a synth copy of her husband, Nate, to keep her “comfortable”. As time goes on, Nate begins to realize just how cruel that was as the pieces fall into place for the beginning of the end.

He had been made as a replacement for her. It was simply a fact of his existence. Made in the image of her dead husband, Nate. He was a gift to her from their leader, Father, as she transitioned to her new life in the institute. 

“More Than a Name”- (Transformers: Prime, Shattered Glass) An old one I am still proud of so I am throwing it here instead of my 9th fic

When a mission goes wrong, Starscream is forced to explore some harsh truths about himself and his views on the Vehicons under his command.

“Sir…I found him! Guys help me out!”

“Love in the Age of Gods” - (Smite) I cant believe this one squeaks in. I wrote it for my future wife.

Arachne and Serqet have been seeing each other for awhile but Arachne doesn't dare hope that it will last. Despite expecting the worst, Arachne isn't ready when she sees the end draw near. Serqet sees the situation in completely different light.

“That was completely unnecessary. We’re fighting but we’re not completely uncivilized.”

[writersglock]

The Chimaera Chronicles. 1BBY. Issue 27

Hello dear readers. As promised by yours truthly, my Admiral has gracisly accepted my request for an interview!

CH: Sir, the readers are dying to know. what is the most prized artwork, currently in your collection.

AT: A very good question, Commander. I would have to say, Sabine Wrens art, her use of vibrant warm tones and how she correlates it to the people of Lothal. Its fascinating...

CH: An excellent choice, sir. That rebel is a very skilled artist. Now, my next question: Who inspires you the most?

CH personal note: Reader before I reveal the Admirals answer, please take note, that this question elicited a reaction in him - I have never seen before, nor can I describe it. I will only say this - his eyes spoke a thousand words.

AT: I have had many inspirational figures in my life. Each moulding me into the warrior I am today. But there is one that I do not mention often - if at all. My brother (He died many years ago) but his memory still steers me whenever I feel lost. Are you alright, Commander?

CH: Oh, yes, sir. apologies, I got a bit emotional there. Right back on track, for my final question, I need to know, who is your favourite officer aboard the Chimaera?

AT: [Smiles] I have no favourites, Commander. I value of all of my officers equally.

CH: Ah, a diplomatic answer, sir. but an answer nevertheless. Thank you, sir. For joining me today. It has been an honour to interview you.

AT: Of course, Commander. Please inform your readership, that I am always open to another interview, perhaps one focusing on Imperial navy battle tactics.

And there we have it dear readers. I hope you enjoyed this insight into the Admirals mind.

Until the next issue.

Yours ever faithfully, Commander Elin Hammerly.