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ysljoon · 7 months

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Love Maze-Chapter 1

pairing: single dad!simon 'ghost' riley x live-nanny!reader wc: 1.8k warnings: slow burn-ish, unexpected pregnancy, abandonement, swearing, afab!reader a/n: trying to do a chaptered fic after so long my god pray for me yall but im really excited i hope yall enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it MINORS DNI (have your age in your bio or you're getting blocked) >next chpt.

Simon stared down at his baby girl with unreadable emotions swimming around his pupils. He loves his daughter with every fiber of his being and would do anything for her. Although she came into this world unexpectedly at a time when Simon was unprepared to be a dad and the mother left as soon as he was born into this world he stepped up for her. All Simon wanted that night was a night to relieve some tension after a particularly hard mission with any broad that was willing to look past the mask and just make him feel good. He didn’t expect her to be at his doorstep two months later with mascara-tinted tears rolling down her cheeks with a pregnancy test in her hands. She was blubbering about a missed period, not being ready for a baby, and cursing her birth control for not being more reliable, but Simon’s ears were ringing and his chest felt tight just from the sight of the pregnancy test. He had to brace himself against the frame of the door to keep himself steady. He needed to stay composed for this poor girl.

He invited her in and they sat over a cup of tea to devise a game plan on how to go about this pregnancy. Simon had half a mind to just tell her to get rid of it and as those words almost rolled off his tongue he heard her utter the words of wanting to keep it as she was already attached, Simon scoffed at that notion, but at the end of the day, he couldn’t tell her what she can and cannot do with her body. Simon’s heart was racing when she started to get ahead of herself talking about the color of the nursery how they should go about the gender reveal and if it should be a big party or a private affair. Simon felt like that was enough for one day and politely ushered her out gave her his phone number and told her they would be in contact.

Simon did try to keep in contact, but two weeks after that meeting he got called on a mission that would send him abroad for over three months. He had a strict rule that he left his phone behind while he went on operations to not be tracked. He knew it was shitty to do after being aware of the knowledge that he has a child on the way, but he favored the thought that the girl would just leave him alone and he would be free of all responsibility for the child.

That was not the case when he came back, to say the least. When he turned his phone back on after his arrival back home he saw 50 missed calls and hundreds of texts from his fling. At first, they started with concern as to why he was not answering and the texts slowly descended into angry texts filled with swears about how awful he is for abandoning a pregnant woman and the child. The last text made his blood run cold.

Since you want to abandon me I can do the same to you.

He stared at it trying to figure out the full meaning behind the cryptic sentence and there were many ways it could be spun. He frantically called her and bounced his leg trying to steel his nerves as the call rang out. On the second to last ring, she finally picked up.

“Nice of you to finally get around to answering my calls.” Simon gritted his teeth.

“I need to know what that last text meant.” She scoffed hearing his words. “It meant exactly what it meant Simon,” The venom in her voice seeped through the speaker of the phone and it was palpable. “Once I have this baby it’s all yours I’m not dealing with an absent baby daddy. I’ve done all the hard work anyways while you were out fucking off to go do whatever it is. Oh right, I don’t even know what it is you do because it’s all classified.” Simon had to roll her eyes at the tantrum she was expressing over his absence. “Can you be fuckin’ rational? We’re not doing that shit.” He was losing his patience as the call went on, but the girl just laughed at his response. “You don’t get to decide when you pick and choose to be a father so I’m deciding for you. I’m done with all of it! You’ve left me here with no support and I’m not going to live like that for the rest of the kid’s life. Oh, and it’s a girl by the way.” And with that, the call ended without Simon being able to get a final word in. In a fit of anger, he threw his phone down on his hardwood floor causing the glass screen to crack, but it was still usable.

The day he was there at the hospital for her baby girl’s birth was a day that will forever be ingrained into his memory. The feeling of holding such a fragile and small human overwhelmed him to no end. When signing the birth certificate he decided to name her Ella. He felt like it matched her perfectly. When he got home and placed her sleeping form into her crib he sat on the couch and took in everything that had taken place. It was now just Simon and Ella and he wasn’t mad about that, but he also realized he couldn’t do this alone and that’s what terrified him. He wasn’t ready to let the task force know about his daughter.

Simon spent the whole night occupied with making a job listing for a live-in nanny. He felt like that was the best option for him to go about his life as normal without worrying about his child at all hours of the day. Once it was posted he rolled on his side and just stared at Ella sleeping peacefully in her crib. He rolled it closer to the bed and closed his eyes hoping to get an hour or two of rest.

You were up late at night straining your eyes against the bright screen of your laptop busy searching for a new job. You had been out of a job for almost three weeks now and your savings were depleting faster than you expected. You had loved being in childcare, but the last daycare center you had worked at was just not the right fit for you. The coworkers were toxic and you could tell management wasn’t in the best interest of the children, but to ensure that administration had their pockets lined with cash. It had burnt you out to be in an environment and you needed a change of scenery. You refreshed the job listing website you browsed hoping a new job listing would miraculously pop up. Your prayers were answered when you saw the new listing pop up of being a live-in nanny for a newborn. You fervently submitted your resume and went to bed wishing you would get a fast response because this job sounded like everything you needed such as a great wage and a place to live. After all, the rent at your current was unsustainable for the salary you were receiving for your past job, and living paycheck to paycheck was draining.

You woke up at noon and were delighted to see a notification from the poster of the job listing wanting to arrange an interview for the position. He gave you his availability and you realized he was available today for an interview. You hastily agreed to meet with him at 3 p.m. to discuss. You frantically searched your closet for your best professional attire and you printed out a copy of your resume just in case. As you got ready nerves started to build up in your stomach. You needed this position and you didn’t need any unfavorable first impressions to ruin this opportunity for you.

The GPS leads you to quite a large and cozy home. You triple-checked the address to make sure you were at the right home before knocking on the door. You rapped your hand thrice against the door and occupied observing your surroundings so as to not look too nervous. The door creaked on its hinges as it opened and you were greeted by a burly man that towered over your frame and had half of his face covered by a mask. You didn’t expect it but still greeted him with a bright smile and a handshake. He stood to the side to allow you in and you followed him into his living room which had a large black leather couch, a fireplace, and a wall-mounted TV. The home was very minimally decorated, but you could still tell that this man was in a different tax bracket from you. He grunted as he sat down and you tried not to make too intense eye contact as you waited for him to begin the interview.

“To preface, my name is Simon and my daughter’s name is Ella. I work in the military and the line of work that I’m in specifically requires me to be gone for weeks to months at a time and that’s why I need a live-in nanny. I already looked over your resume and you seem to be very experienced in childcare which is a great sign. You would be given the wage that was listed in the job description as well as a weekly grocery allowance. You are allowed to pretty much do whatever you want around here to make yourself feel at home. The one thing I will not allow is strangers to be over. I prioritize my daughter’s safety over anything in this world and if you do anything to jeopardize that I will deal with that and that’s one thing you don’t want me to do.”

You took in all his words and this wasn’t even an interview it had already sounded like you had the job. “Do you understand? If you agree to this position we can get to signing your employment contract and you can start Monday so you have the weekend to pack up your belongings.”. “I understand fully sir.” “Drop the sir, we're not doing that here. You can call me Simon or Mr. Riley.” You nodded at that and he stood up from the couch and went over to the dining table where a thin stack of papers was. He brought them over a pen and slid them across the coffee table for you to look over. They essentially reiterated all the rules and expectations of the job and you signed and initialed wherever it was necessary. You handed him back the papers and he gave them a quick glance to ensure it was completed. He nodded and then stood up to help escort you out of his home. You gave him a quick handshake as your goodbye and went along your way. You could practically be skipping to your car with how excited you are to be starting this new chapter in your life and career.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfiction #call of duty modern warfare #ghost x you #cod mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 11 months

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Consequences | One

Word Count: 4.9k~ | Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, dark, medieval-canon sexism, heavy dub-con/noncon, mean Aemond, manipulation, abusing power, gore, blood, violence, major angst, oral (m receiving), Aemond being a possessive horny weirdo with a power complex, a dash of religious guilt if you blink

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It was then the Prince had insisted that he had wanted her for himself. For her maidservant duties of course.

The other maidservants were delighted with the new gossip, tittering amongst themselves at the reasoning that the One-Eyed Prince had taken a special interest in the new maidservant. They’d come up with all sorts of reasons.

Perhaps it was because of her pliant, quiet nature and she could slip into the chambers largely unnoticed and one wouldn’t be able to truly see her presence until she spoke. The other women had often described her as such. That she was like a shadow, silent, but always looming behind someone else. That she was like a breeze, gentle and discreet, as every maidservant should be in the presence of her master.

Or perhaps, they speculated, that it was because of another, darker reason. That Prince Aemond intended to make some fun for himself and torture the poor girl with his mere presence and shrinking stare with his one good eye, the other sapphire one on full display, rooting fear into the shy, young thing. That he wanted someone to torment, as he had so often been tormented himself and found the power behind it exhilarating.

Nobody could have expected the true reasoning behind his newfound desire for her company. Not even she herself. But the other maidservants were at least grateful they no longer had to enter his chambers.

Having only Prince Aemond to run after was a nice change of routine, albeit a strange one. For a man who had requested she be at his beck and call, he was rarely ever in his chambers past the morning. Usually, he could be found in the training yard for hours on end, and it occurs to her that this is how he’s managed to build the form he has, by mercilessly pushing himself to his limits for hours everyday. It must be hard work, she thinks to herself.

He would only return in the early evening, to prepare himself for supper and then once again later for his bath and then bed. It was a rigorous routine, but it was nice to have some consistency in her life for a change.

One morning after placing her week’s wages into the pocket within her pillowcase, she smoothes down her apron over her maidservant dress, intending later to send some of the copper coins to her young siblings, for without their parents to provide, as the eldest it landed to her and her alone to care for them. Everyday she thinks of them and how they had begged her to not leave them in the care of the smelly widow from next door after their father had finally succumbed to illness. Her younger brother had stomped his feet, with each thump he would say she smells like cabbages and the young woman would bite back her laugh, tell her brother that he was to be polite to their neighbour and that he was not to mess with the purple plants at the front of her home, or else she’d have him for supper.

She’d kissed her younger sister, the middle child, but several years younger than her, on the crown of her head and gave her a sad smile, apologising that such responsibility had fallen onto her at such a young age. Her sister had given her a tight hug, not wanting to play the big sister and fall into the endless cycle of domestic prison that could be seen once the eldest had disappeared. But she’d eventually relented and let her older sister depart for her new position in King’s Landing. With a warm wave, she’d boarded the stuffy carriage with other smallfolk, using all of her coin for the passage there and bid them goodbye.

She said she would come back for them.

And at the time she meant it.

It filled her stomach with dread and fear, to know she may never see them again, doomed to live her life in the manner of which she was born as a peasant to do. To do the same dirty, back-breaking work, day in and day out, for the same measly copper she was paid until the day her legs gave out. Or perhaps until they found no more use for her.

At least she could give them funds, she thought.

Only a week had gone by, but she felt as if she could walk the short distance to his chambers blindfolded. She always knocked, but in the middle of the day, he was never there. So when she swings the chamber door open and shut behind her, she goes about her usual duties with a contented sigh.

His chambers were usually always clean and not so much in need of excessive housekeeping. Once his bedsheets were made, the cotton taut to the corners of the mattress, she moves onto her cleaning duties. The fireplace needed a good dusting, so she takes her outer skirt and tucks it into her apron to keep it out the way and turns up her sleeves over her elbows. She’s used to getting dusty and grubby in her work, but fireplace work with soot and the burning stench is possibly her least favourite.

Suitably covered in soot, she continues to sweep up the black dust into the bucket beside her, wiping her face with her clean forearm, fingers too dirty to brush that stray curl from her face, so it hangs there annoyingly.

“Working hard as always, my lady?”

His voice makes her hairs stand up on end and had she not been head first in the fireplace, covered in soot and blackened ash at her cheeks, she might have been less embarrassed. But her cheeks flush at her dirtied appearance and she is immediately stood to attention, brushing whatever she can off her apron.

“Your grace, I apologise for my appearance” she blubbers hurriedly, clearly distressed.

Aemond stands at the doors and she is amazed to find out that she didn’t even hear them open in the first place. He must have light footing, which surprises her since she has seen him train so aggressively and knows that hefty, adept and quick skills are needed for such activities. He wears his usual black leather doublet, hands behind his back as if he is hiding something and that signature lob-sided smirk he seemed to wear whenever he had found his little maidservant in his chambers.

She is now accustomed to his trained silences in between conversations and has come to understand that it is because he is thinking so deeply about something that his mouth cannot move at the same time. And yet, he stands, basking in the uncomfortable feeling he gives her, rather enjoying it and letting his eye wander over her. He pauses and smiles wider at seeing her outer skirt tucked into her apron, showing the cream skirt underneath and when she notices, she quickly plucks it out and lets it fall around her ankles.

Aemond lets the chamber doors close behind him, striding past her for the side table where the wine decanter sits. He moves past her with such speed that the stray curled strand of hair wafts a little in the still air. She cannot deny the aura this man has and the sheer authority he gives off, despite not being the first born of the King and Queen. Every time he enters the room, he commands the space and everyone in it with little but his gaze and even now, she stands where she had been, dirtied hands clasped before her, waiting for him to address her, command her, anything.

Emptying the first cup of wine, he sighs, tongue darting out to fetch the stain of it from his lips and he looks upon the petite little maidservant, waiting patiently.

“Continue”

She need not be told twice. Instead of tucking her dress back into her apron, she folds it behind her as she kneels before the fireplace once again, collecting the ash and old logs and filling her bucket with them, replacing them with new ones for later in the evening when the fire will be lit.

Aemond thrives in her obedience. The way she just does as she is told without speaking. So polite, he thinks. So as he sits in his armchair, shamelessly watching her as she replaces the logs, he finds he cannot tear his eye away from her profile, how soft her features are for someone who works doing such arduous and menial tasks everyday. He thinks her hands must be calloused, but when he looks upon them, they look so soft.

She had a profile that would rival the ladies at court. If he told her to wear the right dresses, hold her head high, keep her mouth shut, she could be his lady.

But he will certainly not say such things to her.

It may give her ideas above her station.

As she sweeps the soot off the tiles, he watches the way her body moves with the effort, the way her lips are parted in concentration. Such little, pink lips.

He taps his finger against the cup, biting on his cheek when he feels the pained strain of arousal in his breeches. Such an innocent little maidservant, obedient and pliant. He knew from the moment he saw her what to do with her. What he could do with her. The week following their first meeting, Aemond had barely had his cock from his hand, tugging it as he thought of the way she always calls him ‘your grace’ with a flush to her cheeks. The way her eyelashes flutter when she strikes a match to light his candles. And today, seeing how she is dirtied and bent over the fireplace, he thinks why wait, he could just have her right there. Why wait.

The question becomes more difficult to answer the more he looks at her.

She stands with the bucket heavy in her hands and strides towards the door.

“Wait”

And his cock twitches in his breeches when she does, looking back at him with those eyes, the ones he imagines glazed over with lust, looking up at him as he fucks her. His tongue pokes his cheek as he stands, taking his time while walking towards her and he doesn’t miss the way her grip tightens around her clasped hands out of nervousness.

He scans her face as he stands before her, blackened soot smeared across one of her cheeks, making the colour of her eyes look as if they are illuminated by light.

He swears he could spill right into his breeches as his hand reaches out to her cheek and her lips part to let a puff of surprised air out. His thumb brushes her cheek, wiping away the soot and he finds his own lips part at the feeling of her warm skin against his hand.

Although his touch is warm, she can feel something akin to fear pool in her gut and something else she does not quite understand. A shiver also runs down her spine when his hand twists that stray curl between his fingers, as if intrigued by her.

She can quite literally feel her lungs contract when his thumb brushes against her bottom lip, barely breaching them, but collecting the wetness that sits at the waterline. He watches her little pink mouth, reddened and oh-so desirable. He wonders what her mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock, fingers threaded in her hair to guide the rhythm to his liking. Would she like it? Would she swallow his spend like the good little maidservant she is? Was she a maiden? Aemond knew she was. And for some reason, it made him want her even more, knowing that no other man has had her, or would ever have her like he wanted to. Like he would.

Her eyes never leave him the entire time, frozen in place, pupils shaking and breath slow, quiet and scattered. Aemond wonders for a moment if she is standing there, cunny wet at the thought of him, at his actions. What would her slick taste like mixed with his? He finds he can't wait to find out.

She breathes again when he steps back, drawing his fingers away from her skin, leaving behind the hotness of his touch.

“Leave”

Is all he commands. She swallows thickly, really processing what had just happened. But she takes her chance when he has turned around to refill his cup, the bucket clanging in one hand as she allows the chamber door to shut behind her.

Should she tell someone? Hedi perhaps? Should she tell them that she fears that Prince Aemond has unclean intentions, but she fears even more if that assumption is even warranted. He had not been unkind to her, nor had he been particularly kind in any way either. But he had no need to be, she was a lowborn servant and he was a Prince of the realm.

She could not disappoint her siblings by risking this job and not sending them money. Risking their lives for a silly little thought of Prince Aemond’s intent with her? Based on no real evidence?

She couldn’t.

So she steadied her breath and instead resumed her duties, largely ignoring that gnawing pit in her stomach. There was a bad feeling around all this, and she couldn’t help but feel it deep in her bones.

She should have listened to her gut. She now realises.

Having lit the fireplace for his return after supper, she sat on the cold, flagstone floor with a needle and thread in one hand and one of his black doublets in the other, fixing the frayed hemming. The heat of the fire licked at the side of her face, warming her soft features as her fingers delicately did their work, faintly humming the only song she knew the words to in her head.

Aemond had come back to his chambers in a mood, quickly shutting the door behind him so hard that it seemed to rattle the very Keep. At once, her wide eyes looked up and she stood to attention, hands clasped as usual. A timid ‘your grace’ came from her lips, softer and quieter than she realised.

He looked absolutely livid, shaking with rage, fists clenched so hard that the knuckles were white and pale. His mouth was taut in a thin line and even his scar managed to look angrier beneath the leather of his eyepatch, his one good eye was still, unnaturally so. His chest inflated with silent breathing, trying to calm himself down, but she could tell he was still angry. In the several weeks she had been attending to him, she’d come to realise the depth of his frustrations for various reasons, but never daring to step beyond her station to ask why.

She breathed as quiet as she could, as if she were in the dark and someone dangerous was looking for her. For a moment, his eye flitted to the floor and then back to her and she thought he was looking at the doublet she was fixing, but it took her a moment to realise he’d been looking at her, dragging his gaze over her form. This fact alone sent gooseflesh on her arms and a shiver down her spine, unable to tell if this feeling was fear or not.

With a low hum, he stalked over to the side table for a cup of wine as he often did, thinking that he would dismiss her shortly, not knowing the aching arousal that he was trying with all his might to hold back. He stood for a moment, not saying anything as he sipped the spiced wine, allowing himself to decide what to do. She was right here, his obedient little thing, nervous with gooseflesh on her skin, cheeks a dusty pink.

He turned around to look upon her, still at war with himself.

Out of sheer nervousness, her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

And that’s when Aemond decided. He needed to have a taste of the little maidservant. Or rather she would have a taste of him.

He stood before her, tall, broad and all encompassing, and she directed her eyes to him, still waiting to be addressed. He simply glared down at her, as if still angry, but in truth he was holding so much back, the hold he had on his own reins were slipping by the second with every breath the little maidservant let free. He finished his cup of wine, sighing as he looked upon her.

“Take your braids out” he commanded.

She blinked for a moment, unsure if she had heard him correctly. But when he raised an eyebrow, she took a steadying breath and reached behind her, not one to refuse a Prince and a passionately angry one at that, she pulled the two pins that kept her braids in place away and tucked them into her apron. She looked down as she began to unravel them, one by one, the hair coming apart in waves around her shoulders. Once all the hair was freed, Aemond hadn’t moved an inch and she flicked her hair over her shoulders to run down her back.

Aemond sighed quietly, looking over her in this new state, hair loose and shockingly casual. He was intrigued to see that the rest of her hair, like the wayward curl at the side of her face, was also wavy, possibly from the braids she’d put in everyday. And he wondered if the beautiful patch of hair that framed her cunny would be the same. He hoped so. And he wondered what the heady scent of her sex would be like, if it would be addictive and once he’d had it, would he be able to stop?

She stood there, eyes averted to the fire and Aemond watched as the flames danced off the colour of them. His breath shuddered with anticipation, watching her pulse thrum in her neck quickly.

Placing the empty cup on the mantle, he cannot hold back any longer.

“Kneel”

She looks at him again, now her eyes spell confusion. Does he want her to kneel to prove her obedience? She doesn’t know.

Her lips part, “Pardon me, your grace?” she says in a whisper.

“I will not ask twice” he barks back almost immediately.

She swallows thickly and smoothes her hand over her apron, tucking the dress beneath her knees as she obeys, slowly sinking back to the floor. She clasps her hands before her, not sitting back on her feet, eyes trained to one corner of the room to ignore the fact that Aemond’s thighs are right before her. She can feel her heart thumping in her chest and she is sure he can hear it as well. It was like she was hiding, waiting for someone to come and find her.

She flinches when she feels his thumb and forefinger grasp her chin, the touch is light but determined and he pulls her head up to look at him. From this angle, Aemond can see all her delicate features and with her lips parted, he sees the wet inside of her pink mouth, warm and inviting. All for him. He can feel his cock needing relief in the tight confines of his breeches and the urge is beginning to overpower him.

“You are my good little maidservant, are you not?” he asks, voice low and commanding.

She can feel her breathing struggling against the front of her dress and she dare not look away.

Finding her voice, she can all but whisper, “Yes, your grace”

He hums lowly, his thumb travelling up to her lips, dipping the tip of it between her lips. His fingers still cradle her soft jaw, keeping her where he needs her, while the flat part of his thumb finally slips across the warm muscle of her tongue. Aemond holds back the desire to outright moan at the feeling of it against his skin, collecting the wetness of her saliva against it, moving forward to completely allow his thumb to be enveloped by her hot mouth.

All the while, she keeps her eyes on him, afraid to look anywhere else. She feels strange, like a constant chill is making its way around her body, overtaking every nerve and replaced with a kind of dark, gnawing feeling. It halts in her gut, where she feels it the heaviest.

After a moment, he pulls his thumb free and smears her saliva over her lips, making them glisten. He wonders if his spend would look as good as this smeared all over them. If she would be good, and dart her tongue out to lap it up.

Powerless to hold back any longer, Aemond hands move to the laces of his breeches, his pupil blown wide with lust at the innocent confusion on her face.

“Now sweet girl” he says, the name making her hairs stand up on end, “will you be good for me”

Again, not a question, more a demand. And she is so shaken, all she can do is nod.

“Have you been with a man, sweet girl” he asks, as he pulls his cock from its confines, using his hand to give himself a few pumps, the tip, red and glistening with precum. He already knows the answer. Just wants to hear her say it.

She shakes her head softly, “No…your grace” she answers with a shake in her voice. She tries to avert her eyes from this member, hard to attention right before her.

One corner of his lips turns up at her bashful nature. One hand threads through her hair, right at her neck, not tugging but not letting go either. She gasps at the action, now unable to move her head.

“Good”

He holds his cock in one hand, aching to bury himself in her mouth. But he holds his animalistic desire back, for the sake of not scaring her too much.

“Open your mouth”

She obeys, pushing her embarrassment aside for the sake of politeness to her master. Her lips part to open her mouth, still semi-unsure of what he will do, her innocence skewing the reality of what's happening to her.

“Wider” he says, now just a low whisper, “That’s it, sweet girl” he coos as she does so.

She cannot say she has seen a man’s parts before and now that she has, if he does intend to do what she thinks, it’s unknown if it will even fit. The thickness of it combined with the length daunts her slightly. As he taps the tip of his cock against her glistening lips, she grips her dress tighter, more out of embarrassment and nerves than anything else. Who would she be to refuse the orders of a Prince anyhow.

His fist tightens in her hair as he slips his cock past her lips, only halfway in he feels her tensing up at the foreign feeling, “Breathe” he orders quietly, “through your nose”. She whimpers at the uncomfortable feeling and wishes not to see anymore, so she shuts her eyes tight, attempting to do as he says and breathe through her nose. His taste is strange, salty and yet not unpleasant. His member is warm and heavy in her mouth, despite not being all the way within and she can feel her mouth aching to accommodate his sheer size. His fingers are tight in her hair, possibly in an attempt to hold himself back, and she whimpers around his cock at the feeling of the tugging of her follicles and the vibrations of her mouth against him make Aemond tip his head back just slightly. He sighs at the feeling of her warm, wet mouth squeezing him so deliciously and he holds back the desire to deliver his spend right into her there and then.

Once he feels she has sufficiently calmed down, relaxed her jaw, Aemond sheathes himself all the way in, briefly touching the back of her throat, making her whimper around his cock again. Her hands fly to his thighs to push him back for reprieve, but he is much too strong for that and he only tightens his fist in her hair more.

Without waiting a moment longer, he cants his hips against her mouth, sliding in and then out slightly, enjoying the friction her mouth gives him. He sees that she still has her eyes shut, hands tight on his leather breeches now and he gives a shuddered moan, tipping his head back all the way now, losing himself in the feeling of fucking her mouth, guiding the rhythm with the hand that’s in her hair.

Caring not that she is a maiden, he hastens his pace and her little whimpers are becoming too loud for him to really enjoy this.

“Quiet” he demands, much more spitefully than he intended .

And she is. Which makes him even more aroused than he could possibly be right now. So obedient. Just the good, sweet girl she is.

At the ache in her jaw, tears begin to pool at the corner of her closed eyes and fall in thin lines down her face. Aemond is lost beyond control, his thrusts sloppy and unforgiving as he feels the tight, wound up pressure of his peak creeping up on him at breakneck speed. He dares to look down at her, accepting his cock into her mouth like a cunt, his shaft now wet with her saliva and thrusting into her with the soft beat of his hips. His other hand comes to the side of her face, using his thumb to wipe the streak of her tear away, before he uses it for more leverage.

He’s never felt more powerful in his life. To have such control over someone he so fervently lusts over. It’s other-wordly. And he has no intention of stopping, not as long as she continues to be the malleable, sweet little thing she is now.

His thrusts cease, and he presses his hips right against her mouth as a strangled and uncharacteristically loud moan escapes his throat. He can feel his spend shoot at the back of her throat, and her flinch when she also feels it. But doing as he says, she makes no sound. Not until his cum begins to pool in one corner of her mouth and only then does she emit the tiniest of sounds. He can now hear the hurried breathing out her nose as she waits for his next command.

Aemond allows his breathing to even out, savouring the look of her, eyes softly shut with his spend and cock in her mouth, before he slowly pulls out. Her lips tightly shut when he does eventually vacate her mouth.

“Look at me”

She can feel something dripping down her face and when she looks at him, he looks a different person entirely. Breathing ragged, hair slightly tousled, looking nothing at all like the prim and proper royal she is used to. Her eyes are glazed, cheeks a dusty pink from the efforts of what he’d done. She waits.

“Swallow”

Assuming he requires her gaze still, she looks between his eye and eyepatch and to the best of her ability, swallows the strange, salty and thick substance in her mouth. She thought it wasn’t unpleasant, the taste of it, but that her jaw ached and she felt the gnawing agony of shame sink in through her skin. Aemond moans outright when he sees her throat bob and her deep exhale after she’s obeyed.

He uses his thumb to collect the line of spend that had leaked from her mouth and puts it back into her mouth, humming at the sight of depositing it against her tongue. She need not be told, and she wraps her lips around the digit, sucking whatever she can off of it, before Aemond is sure that it is clean and pulls out. She shuffles where she is knelt, her knees now aching from the stone, and she feels the slick between her legs as she does so, coating the inside of her thighs. And it confuses her. What is this strange sensation, seeming to come from nowhere, deep and ancient.

Aemond sighs contently and stuffs his softened cock back into his breeches.

“Leave. Now” is all he says to her, not sparing her a second glance as he strides towards the side table once more for another cup of wine.

With a shaky breath, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, still being able to taste the heady, potent taste of his spend. Scrambling to her feet, she dare not look back to him, fearing that the shameful belief within would intensify if she did.

Once the door was shut, she wipes her cheeks of any remaining tears and takes a moment to recover, trying to understand how she feels, what just happened, and what this means for her. Is she a maidservant or a whore. Perhaps she is both now. Living two separate lives for him once the sun has gone down. Does she enjoy the duality of it, she cannot say either way. All she knows is that she cannot possibly refuse him and that she’s not sure if she even wants to. The wetness between her thighs may sway her in one direction, she fears.

She offered up countless prayers to the Mother. For forgiveness. To make her understand.

But the Mother never responded.

General Aemond Taglist: @risefallrise

Consequences Taglist: @iiamthehybrid @manitskatrina @dahlias-and-marigolds @okfashionista @the-common-cowgirl @toodlesxcuddles @darkenchantress @magnificentdelusionr @tinykryptonitewerewolf @tssf-imagines @mandiiblanche @xdeath-soulx

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adventuringblind · 3 months

Text

A Little Sick

Carlos Sainz Jr. x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Sick fic

Summary: Carlos' struggle to take care of his girlfriend who's both sick and regressed. Lucky for him, he knows how to get her to nap.

Warnings: Agere/age-regression, non-sexual ageplay, non-sexual use of daddy, sinus infection, fear of doctors, mentions of past trauma

Notes: Haven't written for Carlos in so long T_T

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Carlos knew the second he heard sniffling that something wasn't right. The way fatigue seems to drip from his lover didn't go unnoticed.

The problem is that was two weeks ago. She'd claimed allergies or a minor cold. Her disgust at anything having to do with sickness and doctors showing through her lack of acceptance.

Carlos has half a mind to just lay on top of her and force her to rest. Alternatively, if he could get her to regress, this would be immesley easier.

He can see her forcing herself not to. The delicate line between headspace getting blurrier with each day.

It's when she wakes up in tears, the Carlos knows something has to be done.

"Princessa?" He rolls her over and bundles her up into his arms. Her entire body is on fire and when he touches her face, she wails in pain. "We should go see a doctor, amor."

She's non-verbal all morning, trying desperately not to slip in headspace. Until Carlos finally take the initiative. He hates doing this, but he's been doing this long enough to see when she needs to slip and let Carlos take care of her.

Carlos starts small by picking out her clothes. Comfortable, obviously, since they are just going to the doctor. Then he puts her shoes on for her and ties the laces. By the time he's done, he can see the look in her eyes. The one that aches with the need for comfort. Desperate to not face the object of her nightmares.

Carlos grabs her comfort item and places it gently into her hands. He kneels down in front of her. "I won't leave you alone, okay? I'll be with you the entire time. Can you be brave for me?" She gives him a shy nod in response.

Carlos gets her into the car and buckles her seatbelt for her. He turns on soft music and she bobs her head along to the words. He coos at her with how adorable she looks at the moment.

She freezes up the second he pulls into the parking lot. The fear in her eyes says everything. She's on the verge of a breakdown, but Carlos is there to calm her. He holds her hand and helps her breathe before helping her out of the car.

He manages getting her checked in since she's still non-verbal and on the verge of tears. Eyes glassy with terror over being in the place she despises.

Carlos runs his fingers along her spine. "You're doing so good, carina."

She freezes when her name is called. Her body trembling in fear and squeezing the life out of Carlos' hand with her own. He swiftly wraps an arm around her and whispers into her ear some reassurance.

She doesn't say a word to the doctor, only watches him with suspicion. He ends up prescribing antibiotics and sending them on their way.

She wails the second they are in the safety of the car. All the nerves she'd been biting back finally able to burst free of their confines. Carlos has to get her to breathe. The hyperventilation nearly making her sick. He doesn't let go of her hand the entire way home.

He carries her inside, still sniffling from the overwhelming emotions from earlier. Carlos feels awful for having to put her through such a thing. The fact he knows full well why she hates it making it even harder to do.

He settles her on the couch. One he can see her from despite being in the kitchen and hastily throwing together soup. The television is playing her movie of choice. The background noise has become soothing to both of them.

He ends up having to feed her the soup himself. Not that he minds, it just means having to change her clothes afterwards. Which is no easy task considering she's deadweight in his arms. On purpose, mind you, but she's giggling about it, so Carlos makes no complaint.

Carlos puts the movie back on afterwards. Her head resting on his lap as she curls up on the couch. The mountain of blankets obscuring her body and stuffed animals she dutifully brough with her.

"I did good, papá?" Her squeaky voice carries from where the blankets muffle it.

Carlos keeps a steady rhythm, fingers running against her scalp in a comforting manor. The repetition has always put her to sleep within minutes. "The best, amor. Sleep now, the more you rest the sooner you'll get better." Ke kisses her forehead. Her eye's drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

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tightjeansjavi · 5 months

Text

The Menu | Part 4

“splinters in his knuckles bangin’ on your door”

A/N: remember that meme I posted earlier about how this was supposed to just be a silly little smut fic? Yeahhh about that..🥴

~word count: 6.3k~

Pairing | dark!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel goes a little berserk after he doesn’t see you for almost an entire day.

Warnings: SA (not by Joel, not described in detail) implied prostitution, abuse of power/abuse by law enforcement, (FEDRA) unhealthy trauma response, degrading language, mentions of guns, threats, injures from punching a door, mentions of blood, removing splinters, dark!joel, mean!joel, protective!joel, is shit at communicating his feelings!joel, asshole!joel, FEDRA SUCKS, no smut, denial of feelings, stalking, possession, morally gray relationship to the reader, (they’re kinda toxic but it’s complicated) hurt feelings, angst, some fluff, age gap, (Joel is in his 40’s reader is in her late 20’s) reader has no physical descriptions, +18 minors dni!

Joel Miller cracked under the pressure when almost an entire day went by without a lick of your presence. Cracking under the pressure was..a severe misjudgment. All rationale was thrown out the door; he had gone completely balls to the wall insane.

It started in the morning when you didn’t show up to your ‘job’ where you and Joel would spend grueling hours dumping deceased infected. Of course, everyone around him could give less of a shit about your absence. And why should they care? It was a dog eat dog world in the QZ. Every man for himself. To Joel? This was a real problem. A thorn in his side because, well, frankly? You might have meant more to him than just a vice to fill a void. Or a warm body to stick his dick in. Maybe he had reluctantly grown to care for you in his own Joel way.

So, when he found himself in line for his ration cards, his eyes zoned in on the FEDRA officer you fucked out of spite. The same one who did business at Joel’s table while Joel’s fingers fucked you to ruin. He had to start somewhere, right?

“Y’got a minute?” Joel asked casually as he shoved his ration cards into the pocket of his jeans.

“Shoot.” Benjamin, better known as Benji, what the fuck kinda name is that.

“Y’seen Angel around this mornin?’ She’s usually out here with me. Didn’t show up.”

“Nope.” Benji responded smoothly.

Joel’s brow raised as he studied the other man’s face intently. He was looking for any clues, any indication that maybe this Benji fellow had something to do with your bizarre absence.

“Right. Well, if ya see her, tell ‘er Joel’s lookin’ for her.” He shoved his hands deep into his jean pockets.

If Benji was good for anything, it was ratting QZ folks out. So, maybe he did know where you were. He had no viable reason to tell Joel shit. In fact, he was the main reason for your absence. Not only did he catch you out past curfew, but with a handful of contraband that could have easily gotten you a week in lockup. He showed you just a smidge of mercy simply for the fact that you offered him a blowjob just to keep your ass off the line, and only in lockup for one single day.

Joel had no business knowing that, of course.

“Well, well, well. Whad’we have here?” Benji stepped out from the shadows of the darkly lit alleyway as a FEDRA patrol vehicle drove by.

“One hour past curfew, Angel. That’s a deduction of cards, and a night in lockup.” He tsked.

Your face scrunched inwards, as if you had tasted something pungent and sour. “Benji? Fuck. C’mon, man. Just let me pass on through. It’ll be like I was never here.” You thought you were being fairly reasonable especially since he did a lot of business with Joel. You thought that maybe you could get yourself off the hook easily.

“Can’t do that, Angel.” He sighed.

“My name is not Angel. And yes, you can. Just pretend that you never saw me.”

“Oh.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he reached for his concealed handgun. “So, I guess buddy boy can call you Angel, but I can’t?”

For fuck sakes.

“Christ, is that what this is about? Who has the bigger dick? What, are you jealous or somethin?’” You egged him on as you reached for your own concealed gun before an unpleasant chill ran down your spine from the familiar clicking sound of the revolver.

“Jealous? Now, why would I be jealous, Angel? Ain’t you just a common street whore? You’ll let anyone stick their dick in ya if they pay well. Ah, but you got that Joel Miller wrapped around your pretty little finger. Everyone ‘round here knows he’s your guard dog. Where is he now, hm?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Look, Benji, you’re a good lookin’ guy and all that, but I fucked you out of spite. I’ll stroke your ego or whatever, but can I please just fuckin’ go home now?” You were exhausted from the grueling day. Your feet ached, your whole body felt like a bunch of pins and needles were stabbing it all at once. All you wanted was to go home, pour yourself a stiff glass, and have a smoke. Was it really too much to ask?

“Turn around. Hands against the wall. No sudden movements.” He ignored every word that left your mouth as if it meant nothing as if you truly were just a whore. For the first time in a long time, you felt dirty. Like something that was disposable. A toy that was no longer shiny and new, but dull and tattered. It made your blood boil.

“Benji—is that really necessary?” You tried to reason with him, but your attempts were fruitless.

“I said turn the fuck around and put your hands against the goddamn wall. Don’t make me ask you a third time, Angel. I ain’t have all night.” His jaw ticked impatiently.

“Okay. Okay. You don’t have to ask me again.” You reluctantly turned around with your hands above your head before placing your palms flat against the brick wall. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, slicing the skin open from the pressure as you tasted copper along your tongue when he yanked you back by the hips as if he owned them.

“That’s right. Because that Joel Miller sure turned you into an obedient little cockslut, didn’t he?” Benji chuckled deeply against the shell of your ear. His hot breath on your skin sent a wave of nausea crawling up your throat.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about, Benji.” You hissed through your gritted teeth as he began to forcefully pat you down. You thought about trying to escape, but decided that would have been fucking reckless to even try.

“Oh, now what do we have here?” He said rather gleefully as he pulled out a baggy of pills. The same baggy of pills that Joel gave to you the night before to deliver to a client.

“Those aren’t mine.” Well, that was dumb.

“No? Hmm. You’re not good at this whole lyin’ game, Angel. Let’s see what else we got here.” He pulled out your gun from the belt loop of your jeans along with tinfoil wrapped cigarettes; fresh ones that Joel had rolled you.

“Well, my dear, you’re lookin’ at about a week in lockup just from this alone. Unless..” he trailed off knowing exactly what you’d offer him in return.

“You’re sick, y’know that?” You scoffed under your breath. Men really did only ever think with their dicks.

“Jus’ doin’ my job, Angel. So, what’re you gonna offer me, hmm? Make it good and I’ll only throw you in there for a day. Sounds fair?”

“Right. Your job at bein’ a fuckin’ rat? I’ll give you a blowie, right here, right now. I think that seems pretty fair, don’t you?” The sooner this is over, the sooner I get to go home.

“Hm.” He pondered it for a moment, as if he really had to think hard on your offer. “Deal. But I want you to act enthusiastic this time, and take your tits out. I’m gonna paint them and your face in my come, and you’re gonna sit there and fuckin’ take it, and if you don’t?” He flipped you around swiftly, caging you against the wall as he brought the barrel of the gun right against your temple, “I’ll spray your brains out right against this fuckin’ wall.”

This wasn’t the first time you had been threatened by a man in the QZ, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but the all too real gun being pressed against your forehead was alarming, and your brain went into compliance mode in an instant. Truthfully, you didn’t want to die, and certainly not in a manner such as this.

All you could think about as you slowly sank down to your knees, and as the pavement nipped at your exposed skin, was that Joel would never do something like this to you.

“Sure, you’ll be the first to know if I’ve seen her, Miller.” He nodded.

Something about Benji, and his stupid face, sent Joel’s hackles rising. But before he could even mutter a reply, Benji was walking away towards the other FEDRA officers.

Joel shook his head while he flipped through his ration cards for the day. He was doing his best to block out all the possible scenarios of your disappearance, but he failed miserably when he realized there was a high possibility that you were either dead, or infected. It happened more often than people would think.

The real start of his manhunt began after he confided in Tess in the utmost Joel fashion. He found himself pacing the length of his apartment while all she could do was watch from the entryway in the kitchen. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she leaned back against the countertop. Her eyes trailed after his frantic movements.

“Look, before you go thinkin’ about doin’ somethin’ reckless, did you ever stop to think that maybe she’s just in her apartment? She could have slept in—”

He cut her off sharply with a quick shake of his head. “Sleepin’ in? Really, is that all Y’got for me, Tess? I knew she should have just fuckin’ spent the night. She’s so goddamn stubborn. I would have even slept on the couch and she could have taken the bed if it was such a big deal. She’s so hot’n cold!” He growled frustratingly. His hands moved upwards towards his head as his fingers tangled through his hair, yanking at the roots till he was feeling a splice of pain. “Or, better yet, I should have just walked her home myself!”

“Texas, you’re actin’ fuckin’ insane right now! Pacin’ the goddamn apartment like a dog. Ripping your hair out?!” Just calm the fuck down for a second. Take some deep breaths, have a smoke or somethin’ and then let’s both think rationally.” She tried to reason with him. All this got her in return was a narrowed glare, a scoff and an eye roll.

“She could be fuckin’ dead, Tess! What if somethin’ happened between her leavin’ here last night and walkin’ back to her place?”

“I highly doubt she’s dead. And if she was, we would have heard about it by now, Joel. Do you want me to help you look for her? Cause I can start askin’ around.” She pushed herself off the side of the counter just as his pacing came to a complete standstill.

“Sure, yeah. Go ahead and ask around. But, before you do that, I need ya to tell me where Angel lives. I’m aware that you know, and that she doesn’t want me to know, but you’re gonna tell me either way.” He stated as a matter of factly.

“Joel, she doesn’t want you knowing where she lives for obvious reasons. How about you stay here, and I’ll go to her apartment. Like I said, I’m sure she’s just fine.”

“Yeah? Well, those reasons are irrelevant as of right now. So, quit your little girl code you got goin’ on with her or whatever, and tell me where the fuck her apartment is.”

Tess didn’t even bother to argue. She knew Joel long enough to know that he wasn’t going to stop until he found that you were safe. Otherwise, the unknown and the ‘what ifs’ would eat him alive, literally.

“You’re fuckin’ relentless, Texas. Y’know that?” She pulled out her own personal map of the QZ before laying it out on the worn down kitchen table. She pointed to your exact apartment building. “She’s on the third floor at the very end of the hall.”

“Yep. You damn right I am, Tess. You know me too well.” He merely glanced down at the spot on the map where Tess was pointing at before he snatched up the parchment, folding it neatly and tucked it into his back pocket.

“I’ll be needing that back, Texas.” Tess reminded him.

“And I’ll be bringin’ it right back as soon as I find her.” Joel responded smoothly, dripping in confidence to mask his true nature. Just like those women he used to sleep with, he could put up a facade with just a snap of his fingers.

“Yeah, well, you’re losin’ daylight. Better go find that Angel of yours.”

“Better me than anyone else.” Joel added with a curt nod. He left the apartment in a rush, skipping a few steps down the stairs. He never handled change of any kind all that well. Especially when you had become a constant in his life while living in this shit hole place. If something had happened to you, Joel would force himself to take all the blame. He felt responsible for you in some capacity.

“Swear to god when I find this girl..” he muttered to himself, shaking his head while slipping past the front door of the apartment building. Evening was steadfast on the horizon; he needed to move fast.

Was it something I said last night?

Was it because I asked her to stay?

Was it the goddamn strap on??

Is she avoiding me on purpose?

Is she dead?

Did she fuckin’ get infected?

Did..she find someone else?

These thoughts and more were swirling through his frantic brain. He fucking hated the fear of the unknown. Absolutely despised the whole entire notion of its existence. He’d much prefer when things were yanked off like a bandaid. Quick and mostly painless.

He triple checked Tess’s map the entire trek to your apartment building. He had no time to fuck this up, and to the passerby he probably looked like a crazed man; which would be an accurate statement given the circumstances.

Your apartment building was nearly an exact replica of his own. Same shitty staircase, peeling wallpaper, the occasional cry of an infant, or scream of a child. Just the day-to-day sounds of the QZ that we’re all white noise to Joel.

When he found himself standing outside your door, he scoffed at the faded “Welcome :)” mat outside of your door beneath his boots. The smiley face had nearly rubbed off entirely, and he wondered if the mat had been there by your doing, or the previous inhabitants.

Focus, Joel.

He pressed the side of his head against the outside of the door, falling silent as he listened with his good ear for any movements on the other side.

Nothing.

“Angel? Y’in there, doll?” He asked through the thin wood.

Silence.

“Look, I’m sorry if I said somethin’ to upset you last night, but I haven’t seen you all fuckin’ day, and I’m real worried that somethin’ bad happened to ya. So, if you’re in there, can you please say something?”

Nothing.

“Okay. Okay, so maybe I do deserve the silent treatment after I made you hold my cock in your mouth like a cum bucket whore, but it was uh—out of affection? And if you’re upset that I asked ya to stay the night, then I’m sorry. It was just late and I wanted to—”

This is fucking stupid.

“Can you fuckin’ answer me, please? Just fuckin’ say something!” He growled, throwing his fists against the door once for good measure. “I’m about five seconds away from lookin’ like a complete and utter psychopath if you don’t open this goddamn door!” His frustration was on the cusp of boiling over, like a kettle on the stove.

“Okay, so we’re gonna play the silent game, huh?! I swear to god, Angel. If you’re behind this goddamn door and you’re ignoring me on purpose?! Good god, girl. You got another thing comin’ for ya!” He laughed, one of those unfriendly, chills down the spine, oh shit! I’m fucked kinda laughs.

Joel Miller had completely lost all remaining shreds of rationale.

“I’m gonna give you to the count of five to open this fuckin’ door, y’hear me?!” He snarled threateningly.

“Five.”

“Four.”

“Three.”

He didn’t even get to two before his fists absolutely began to rain down on your doorframe. The cord had snapped and he was fully spiraling without giving a damn of who could see or hear him.

With adrenaline, rage, and fear pumping through his veins, he couldn’t even feel the skin along his knuckles being absolutely torn to shreds from how hard he was laying his fists into the wood.

It's like he had completely blacked out and all he could see was red. Red. Red. Red. Red.

Benji was ‘generous’ enough to let you out of being in lockup early and sent you right back out onto the streets. Ridden with exhaustion, you practically dragged yourself back to your apartment with only the thought of a stiff drink and your bed bringing you some form of motivation to keep going.

Your keys jingled in your grasp while you trudged up the stairs. You were oh so close to just plopping down in the hallway, but your apartment was only just down the hall. You could make it.

You passed by one of your neighbors on your way. And when you went to wave, they completely avoided making eye contact with you at all costs. Somehow you just knew that Joel was involved in this behavior, but how the hell did he know where you lived?

Then, you heard the sounds of banshee yelling intensifying the closer you drew to your door.

Jesus fucking Christ. Can’t a girl catch a break?

When you turned the corner, you were met with a grizzly bear of a man. Joel Miller had nearly beaten your door in with just his bare fists. You weren’t even all that shocked to see him outside of your apartment, but, nonetheless, you were pissed.

You leaned against the corner of the hallway, arms crossed against your chest and a displeased, yet mildly amused look plastered on your face.

“Joel?”

He whipped around in an instant at the familiar sound of your voice. His eyes were wide, nostrils flared, blood dripping down between the ridges of his knuckles, staining the already faded carpet crimson beneath his boots.

He looked crazy.

“Where in the fuck have you been? Do you know how fuckin’ worried I’ve been all goddamn day?! Huh, sweet girl? Do you have any idea—”

“You’re bleeding, sweet boy.” You mumble softly. You had hoped that you could advert his attention, but he was already stalking towards you, something indescribable flashes in his eyes when you call him, ‘sweet boy.’

“Yeah, baby.” He huffs out a raspy laugh. “I’ve got splinters in my knuckles bangin’ on your door. Tore ‘em all up.”

He’s so close now that you can taste his breath and see that flicker of fear in his eyes. His hands encaged around your face. Soft, wet from the blood, but gentle.

Droplets of blood trail down your neck and down the clavicle between your covered breasts. You shouldn’t be turned on—but that cunt of yours has a mind of her own, sometimes.

“Joel, you didn’t have to show up here like a crazy man and nearly go and break down my door.”

He glares, bloodstained thumb swiping across your lower lip. “Don’t tell me what I did and didn’t have to do, Angel. Haven’t seen you all day. Thought you were fuckin’ dead or somethin.’”

“Yeah, well, I’m not dead. I’m right here. Why the hell did you even care in the first place, huh? Can’t even go one day without losing your cool?” It’s your turn to challenge him now. You place your palms flat on his chest, giving him a firm shove.

He glared, eyes narrowing into slits. His head cocked to the side in a condescending manner. His jaw clenched and unclenched. He dropped his hands from your face only to then encage your wrists above your head. He used his sheer mass to press your back directly against the hallway wall. He loomed over you to appear more menacing, like a predator going in for the kill. “Who said anythin’ about me caring, huh? Is that why you think I’m here, Angel? Cus’ I care?” He questioned, pushing you further into the wall. His chest was pressed right against yours, leaving you no room to escape, let alone breathe.

“Why would I give a damn where my whore on stilts wandered off to? Y’think you mean anythin’ to me other than a hole to fuck? Don’t be so naive.” He scoffed.

“You have got to be the worst fuckin’ liar, Joel. Right. You don’t care. You just happened to track down where I live, proceeded to bust down my door, just because I’m a hole for you to fuck? Right. Keep on telling yourself that, buddy boy. Keep livin’ in your delusions. See how far that gets ya.” You held in your laugh from slipping past. Could he not see that you were exhausted? You had been beaten down enough as it was, you didn’t need Joel fucking Miller pushing you down further.

“That’s it? That’s all y’can say to me? No bite back? No fuck you Joel? What the hell happened to you, huh?” He pressed further, tightening his hold around your wrists. “What happened after you left my place last night, Angel?” His tone was much softer now, gentle, laced with concern.

You couldn’t keep up with his mood swings if you tried. Joel Miller was one hot and cold man.

“No. We are not about to do this again. Not when in one breath you’re a complete asshole, and the next?!” You laughed bitterly. “Joel, I’m fuckin’ exhausted, okay? I had a shit night, and I just want to go and have a stiff drink. If you want to join, then be my guest, but I won’t take another minute of your bitching. Y’got that?”

Joel found himself studying your face. He thought that maybe he could read between the lines and figure out exactly why you were so exhausted, but you weren’t budging, not even for him. What was that bit about him fucking hating the fear of the unknown? Oh, yeah.

“Angel, look..I’m—”

“Oh, fuck no. You are not about to apologize for that. No. You meant every word, Joel. You don’t get to take that back.” You shook your head in disappointment, breaking your wrists free from his gradually loosening grip before you pulled away entirely.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

You didn’t even wait to see if he would follow you, you could care less if he did, or didn’t. With your keys in hand you unlocked your door, muttering about how it probably wouldn’t lock properly anymore from the damage Joel inflicted on it.

Joel’s fingers twitched at his side. He was silently debating his options. It was pointly obvious that something had happened to you, but he had no right to pry. His footsteps followed yours like a shadow.

“You should probably get your knuckles patched up.” You muttered under your breath while carelessly tossing your keys onto the kitchen counter.

“They’ll be alright. Nothin’ I can’t handle.” He replied smoothly and shoved his hands into the deep caverns of the pockets on the front of his worn jeans.

“I have a first aid kit in the bathroom.” You stated plainly. Your back was facing him behind the counter while you grabbed your stashed bottle of whiskey, and two glasses.

He was observing you with a careful eye when you turned around to face him. “Are you offering to patch up my self-inflicted wounds, baby?” He asked in a crackling rasp, like logs on a fire.

“Sure. If that’s how you want to phrase it.” You shrugged before popping the cap off the bottle with your teeth. You poured a generous splash of the amber colored liquor into both glasses. You opted to take a quick swig from the bottle, needing that little bit of relief to kick in sooner, rather than later.

“Why?” He questioned. He reached for the glass, guiding it towards him before he snatched it up in his hand. He took a hefty sip, letting the warmth from the liquor spread through his system like a warm hug.

“Are you really that fuckin’ stupid, Joel?” You wanted to laugh, but it came out more like a strained scoff if anything.

“‘Fraid so, my Angel.” He smirked over the rim of the cloudy glass.

“Guess the apocalypse shrunk men’s already pea sized brains even more.” You muttered with a shake of your head before downing the liquor from your glass in one swift gulp. Your hand wrapped around his thick wrist, and before he could protest, you were dragging him to your bathroom.

“Sit” you commanded with a gesture to the closed toilet seat.

“Look, you really don’t have to do all this, it’s justa—”

You interjected swiftly, giving him a stern glare before grabbing the first aid kit from behind the cabinet door that was barely holding on by the hinges. “Okay, so then leave, Joel.”

His brows furrowed at your response, and his lips pursed tightly. He ultimately decided to plop down on the toilet seat with a huff. “Are you going to tell me where the hell you’ve been all day? Or are you just gonna keep avoidin’ my question?”

“If you’re good, then I’ll tell you. Cause frankly, right now? I’m sick of your shit, Joel. But somehow, some way, my cold cold heart has a shred of kindness left for you.”

He scoffed, resting his head back against the peeling wallpaper. “You’re sick of my shit?”

“Yes. Because you’re a fuckin’ asshole, Joel. How many times am I going to repeat myself? Normal people don’t stalk someone, attempt to break down their door, and then demand to know where they’ve been all day!”

“Oh boy, we’re still on that topic?” He placed his bloodstained hands on his knees and shook his head before he sat back. “So, what would you rather me have done, hmm? Sweetheart, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he gestured with his hands, “it wasn’t like I could fuckin’ call you up! Do you see a phone in sight anywhere? No? Wow, I wonder why! It’s almost like we’re in a fuckin’ apocalypse!” He said with sarcasm dripping with every breath.

And then you threw Joel Miller for a loop when you whipped out a fucking spray bottle and sprayed his snarky ass right in the face!

It didn’t even matter where the hell you found the damn spray bottle in the first place, it was the fact that you had the balls to spray him in the face, not once, but twice when he went to open his mouth. You swore you could see the steam rising from the water droplets on his skin. Like he was an animated bull from those old animated movies. Nostrils flaring red hot flames, smoke billowing from his ears. The tea kettle had reached its boiling point.

On the opposite end of the spray bottle, you saw that very bull with steam spewing. He was flabbergasted, bewildered at your rash decision. “Did you just fuckin’ spray me like I’m a goddamn cat or somethin?!’” His voice boomed like an overhead crack of thunder unleashing its rage in a crescendo.

“I did.”

“And why the hell did you think that you could jus—go’n spray me in the face like that?!”

“You say an awful lot of stupid and hurtful shit to me, Joel Miller. You hurt my feelings, pissed me off, and I’ve just about had it. So, everytime you open that big fuckin’ mouth of yours and say somethin’ mean and stupid, I’m gonna spray you in the face with this.” You waved the spray bottle around for a moment to get your point across.

Displeased, drenched like a damn cat, Joel sent daggers your way with one harsh glare. “Oh, I didn’t realize we were throwin’ a fuckin’ pity party ontop of all of this.” He scoffed.

“Did you not—” you laughed incredulously, “hear a goddamn word I just said? Fine. Well, let me remind you what happens when you’re fuckin’ stupid!” You sprayed him again.

This time he shut up..for now.

“Refreshing.” He mumbled very much like a dog with its tail between its legs.

You set the spray bottle down along the edge of the counter where it was in arm's reach, before you sank down between his spread knees with the first aid kit tucked under your armpit. “Let me see just what kinda damage you’ve done to your beautiful hands, Joel.” Your voice was much softer now compared to moments earlier. At least now you had him tamed and compliant.

“I didn’t break ‘em. Although, if you hadn’t shown up, I probably would have. And they ain’t beautiful, Angel. They’re ugly.” He gruffed out.

“They’re beautiful to me, Joel.” You reached for his hands once they were presented in front of you. The blood had already begun to congeal and dry in some places. “Yeah, you definitely have some splinters in there that are gonna have to come out.”

“Fuck no. Just leave ‘em.” He shook his head.

For the first time in over 24 hours, you smiled. It was really just a slight tug of your lips, but it was there. “Are you afraid of tweezers or somethin?’” You mused.

He scowled at your question and picked a spot on the wall to stare at so he didn’t have to make eye contact. “No.” He grumbled, jaw ticking under the dangling bathroom light.

“You sure about that?” You asked while placing the first aid kit alongside you on the floor. You popped it open, rifling through the different aids before pulling out disinfectant spray and tweezers.

“Crystal.” He confirmed.

“Ookay.” You did your best to hide your little grin while you held the disinfectant spray a few inches above his hands. “This might sting a little.” You softly warned him.

He barely flinched when he felt the sudden coolness from the spray adhering to his open wounds. His nose did twitch the slightest when the stinging sensation settled in.

“You’re being an excellent patient for me, Mr. Miller. Maybe if you’re a good boy for the next part, I’ll reward you with a lollipop.”

He finally looked at you, tearing his gaze from the wallpaper to meet your eyes. His lips curved upwards into a small smirk. “Sounds wonderful, Doctor. Do you promise to be gentle?” He played along.

“Always, Joel.” You replied.

His eyes stayed locked on your own for what felt like hours, neither of you quite ready to break the contact just yet. He cleared his throat, shifting along the closed toilet seat. “Uh, will..you hold my hand? I lied about the tweezer thing. Splinters hurt like a bitch, and uh—yeah.” He muttered under his breath while the heat began to rise rapidly to his cheeks. Even the tips of his ears turned beet red.

“If it’ll make you feel more comfortable, Joel.” You nodded reassuringly. Your left hand reached for his own when he had pulled back slightly in a jerking movement. You could sense his palpable hesitation radiating off of him before he finally relaxed.

“This is stupid.” He said suddenly, feeling more bashful as the seconds ticked by.

“It’s not stupid at all, Joel. Splinters are no fun at all.”

I mean, This. Me and you. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t be blushing like a schoolgirl right now. And over what? Holding hands? He thought to himself.

He’s kinda sweet..in his own Joel way. You thought silently to yourself.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Sweet. Sweet. Sweet.

“Get on with it, please.” He nearly whispered when his left hand finally reached towards your own. He was the one to thread his fingers through yours and let your entwined hands rest along his left thigh comfortably.

It took all of twenty minutes for you to successfully remove every splinter from his hands. Some fragmented pieces of wood were a bit deeper than others. He was a real champ, and you surprised him with a kiss. A soft reward that he felt he was undeserving of.

“I think you should let them breathe a bit longer and then we’ll bandage up.” You said while moving to stand back up. Your left hand was still engulfed in his own when he stopped you from standing up.

“Aren’t you gonna kiss them all better, doctor?” He asked with a tilt of his head. He looked like a puppy with his tousled, wild hair, and big brown eyes staring at you.

You found your lips kissing his broken skin before you even had a chance to respond. A kiss was pressed to each knuckle in an affectionate manner.

He broke the silence when your hand departed from his and you busied yourself with putting away the first aid kit.

“Are you going to tell me what happened to you out there, or are we gonna keep dancin’ around the subject?” He asked rather softly. Almost as if he was concerned.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Joel.”

Please don’t ask me again.

“Angel..”

“Let’s go finish our drinks.” You interjected with a hidden fake smile.

His eyes follow your silhouette when you swiftly remove yourself from the small bathroom. He shakes his head with a sigh before he finally stands up. He eyes the spray bottle still resting along the bathroom counter, and in an extremely cat-like fashion, he swiftly knocks it over into the trash bin below.

Good riddance.

When Joel left your bathroom, he soon found you with your feet tucked under your thighs on the far end of the couch. You appeared to be staring off into space while you nursed your glass of whiskey in silence. He really wasn’t quite sure what to think of your behavior, let alone how he should approach you.

Nonetheless he grabbed his own glass and joined you on the couch. Your eyes stayed focused on the wall even when you felt the old cushions dip down from Joel’s weight pressing down on them gradually.

He swirled the contents around in his glass absentmindedly before he took a small sip. You could feel his eyes along the side of your head when he moved the glass to rest between his knees.

“I really wish you would jus’..talk to me, sweetheart.” He rasped softly while he twiddled with his fingers that weren’t wrapped around the glass. He was never really good at having these types of conversations, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try one last time.

You shifted uncomfortably from his words. You didn’t want to tell him what happened to you in that disgusting alley. Or the way that Benji’s touch made you feel nauseous. You didn’t want to tell Joel that you were made to feel like literal human trash. Pond scum, gum beneath men’s shoes. You didn’t want to confess that you spent a night in lockup, crying against the cold concrete till your body could no longer produce tears while Benji, and a few of his FEDRA friends proceeded to violate you further, stripping you of your autonomy and dignity with grime stained fingernails, and cruel laughter. Nothin’ but a common street whore, that one. Make her gag on it. I wanna see tears streaming down those pretty fuckin’ cheeks, boys. Miller ain’t here to save you now, Angel. You belong to us.

You didn’t want Joel to believe that you were this broken, damaged person. You didn’t want him to take pity on you. That was quite literally the last thing you wanted from him. But, you were only human, after all, and pain had a sneaky way of revealing itself even when you had done everything possible to cloak it.

He watched as you drained the contents of your glass wordlessly before you slipped down from the couch, falling to your knees between his thighs.

She loves it, don’t be fooled boys. She loves to be fucked like a dirty little whore. Ain’t that right, Angel? Joel Miller got her all obedient, just for us. She’ll do anythin’ you ask of her.

“Angel.” He started, words lodging in his throat. Something about this felt wrong.

You ignored him, reaching for his belt with trembling fingers as you worked it open.

Cus’ a whore is all you’ll ever be, sweetheart. The best pussy in all of the fuckin’ QZ. Bet he’ll smell me all over ya, Angel. I hope he does. I hope that guard dog can fuckin’ taste my come inside of ya next time he takes you.

Joel finds himself frozen in time when he sees the way your fingers tremble. He’s stunned and unsure what he should do in this situation. He’s never seen you like this before. He’s used to your brashness. Your confidence. Your swift, snarky, sarcastic remarks. The woman on her knees between his thighs is not you. He knows then that he has to stop this. He has to say something.

“Angel, baby. I don’t think we—” he struggles to find the right words to say. To be delicate, but firm. This had nothing to do with his own feelings, and had everything to do with yours. “This doesn’t feel right, sweetheart.”

Your heart sinks to the pits. He knows. He fucking knows. He knows, and thinks you to be worthless, just like the rest of them.

You sink back along your thighs, tears pooling in your eyes. “You don’t..want me anymore, Joel?” You ask above a whisper, holding on by a mangled thread.

He shakes his head slowly, his heart breaking in the process.

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clearheartspurpleflowers · 2 months

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‼️ Please read ‼️

If you are active in fandom spaces— Especially Sander Sides or Hazbin Hotel, I encourage you to read this thread for your own safety!!

There is a user you may know as they have been called out before, that goes by the name Roman Calvary System, Calvary or Roman Calvary, they were previously known as The Trojan Horse Collective or The Trojan Horse System but has since separated that identity from themselves as a Sub-System although I doubt the validity of that claim because they have previously admitted It was simply to seperate themselves from their past.

Calvarys previous partner, Atlas, somebody who also came forward about Calvary and their repeated abuse, has also been allegedly exposed for inappropriate and gross behaviours regarding children and also saying the n word as a white person. While I cannot speak much on the situation regarding Atlas due to my lack of knowledge, I can bring forward evidence I have seen regarding the claims.

However, this post will probably focus more on Calvary as I have been involved with the drama regarding them personally and I know more about it.

Calvary has already got themselves a reputation amongst the Sander Sides community for various abusive and disgusting behaviours- Just some of them being inappropriate exchanges with children (As young as fourteen) Telling people to kill themselves, wishing death upon peoples mother, being racist/racially insensitive. I wish that was the end of the list but It sadly is not. Calvary has also been condemned by Thomas himself personally which there is evidence of in a seperate call out post that I will be linking below, along with all the other evidence of their behaviour.

Something I would like to close down before it gets brought up as an excuse is the infamous ‘I’ve changed’ tactic. Calvary recently made a post on their X (formerly known as Twitter) claiming that they have changed as a person and the drama is from when they were fifteen and they have since bettered their behaviour- This is not true. Calvary has not changed and has not bettered themselves at all and the drama is not just old things from when they were fifteen. These incidents are recent and from this year.

One of these instances being Calvary (Or one of their alters, Remus- An alter you will probably see a lot of here as he is the main perpetrator of most inappropriate exchanges regarding children) attempting to SRP with a literal fourteen year old- Instead of doing the logical thing and refusing to SRP with a minor, they pulled the typical ‘If you’re okay with it’ card, and I mean, sure- Maybe an uninformed minor would be okay with it but why are YOU okay with it as the older person? ‘As long as you’re okay with it’ Why are YOU? That is very creepy and gross behaviour and any decent person would have refused to SRP with a minor, people under the AOC.. cannot consent.. It is your responsibility as the older person to have known better and said no. You should not try to SRP with minors and you shouldn’t be okay with it either.

Another instance regarding their Remus would be an instance where another one of their alters blatantly admitted that Remus finds it funny to make inappropriate comments about people and even FUNNIER when it’s a minor- You know what that makes Remus? A predator, finding it funny to walk all over peoples boundaries and even more so when It is a child is absolutely horrific and taking pleasure in making children uncomfortable is not only disgusting but also blatantly predatory.

Remus has also been harassing, threatening, and finding out personal information about a minor because they came forward about Atlas dating them when they were *eleven* and Atlas was fourteen, I am sure we can all agree that that is not okay and that the age gap is obviously a problem, minors can very well hurt other minors and be in appropriate towards other minors, Atlas should not have gotten into a relationship with an eleven year old at fourteen years old, children are capable of taking advantage of other children, I’m not sure if that was the case here but regardless, you should not date an eleven year old at the age of fourteen. You also shouldn’t call black people the n word. You also shouldn’t say sexual things to minors.

I will be attaching screenshots of these instances below and potentially reblogging with more to the story because there is a LOT! If you see these users, please be cautious of them, especially if you are a minor!

#sanders sides #remus sanders #call out post #hazbin hotel #call out #abuse allegations #predatory behaviour #syscourse #trojan horse collective #Trojan horse system #drama #fandom drama #toxic fan #toxic people

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 5 months

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Living in My Head

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact. Specific Warnings: Male masturbation, inability to come, Allusions to childhood abuse, Mommy issues, Parental abuse, Coersion, drinking, alcoholism/alcohol abuse, angst, heartbreak, stepcest(in bold, this is *again* heavy on the issues around this),Manipulation/gaslighting, traumatic childhood, parental neglect, angst, grief, regret, depression, Allusion to violence/past SA, abusive relationships, Strained parent-adult child relationship. Let us know if we missed anything! Thank you again, as always to my co-author, @angelofsmalldeath-codeine - This would not be the series it is without you.

6.7k words.

AO3 link <- Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

Nancy returned from helping Danielle to an empty home. Dave’s car is gone and you’re not picking up your phone, but she’s already over it by her second glass of wine. She sits at the kitchen island, brightly manicured fingers drumming on the polished countertops as she looks over the glossy photographs the PI sent across.

She’s pouring her third glass of wine as the frustration prickles under her skin. She knows it can’t be later than six, but she doesn’t care. She needs this drink, and the two that came before.

“So,” she asks, annoyance clear in her tone as she looks them over, “What am I looking at?”

“My guess? A lover’s spat, maybe he forced himself on her and she bolted? But there’s some high emotions there. Poor girl’s crying her eyes out.”

“Well, it’s a start,” Nancy sighs, she was expecting something a bit more titillating than this, “Keep up the good work, Philip. Let me know if you get anything good.”

“Yes, Ma’am, happy to help.”

The line goes dead and Nancy lifts one of the photographs to study it closer. Your eyes are red and puffy as you scream something from the passenger side of a car Nancy doesn’t recognize. Your cheeks are wet and you’re angry.

There’s a small, quiet part of her brain that pities you, makes her feel bad for whatever it was Dave did to upset you. But it’s quickly glossed over, forgotten, as she hears the front door open and close. Her lips curl up as she hears Dave’s voice from the hall.

“Hey, honey, I’m home.”

“Hey, babe, I’m in the kitchen.”

Dave saunters in, perfectly practiced smile on his face as he approaches her. Immediately he senses something is off, from the photographs on the table to the smirk on Nancy’s face. It’s obvious something big is going to go down.

“Care to explain these?”

~*~

You pace the small length of Ash’s spare room frantically as you wait for her to come home from work. It’s been a month since she took you in, and you realize you really need to come clean to her. About everything. You’d told her about the cam work the morning after she’d picked you up. Like the super star she is, she’d taken it incredibly well. So, you’d kept working, making more content than ever.

Yet there’s another reason you need to have a chat. You’ve finalized the rental of an apartment in the city, so you’re moving out. But you feel like you owe Ash an explanation, she hasn’t so much as pushed the issue since you arrived. Besides the initial ‘Did someone touch you?’ ‘Are you hurt?’ ‘Do I need to call the police?’ Ash had let you grieve, wallow, and recover at your own pace.

She only had to make you shower once, and that was in the first week, when everything was just too much.

You hear Ash before she’s even through the door, singing Wham!’s ‘Last Christmas’ at the top of her lungs as she struts through the apartment building. You roll your eyes, it’s not December for another week, but there’s no arguing with Ash over it being too early.

Your phone vibrates and you snatch it up, a small part of you hoping to hear from Dave, but you’re glad it’s not. As much as you can’t admit it out loud, you miss him, and you’re regretting the call for radio silence now. The fact that he’s still respecting your boundaries only makes you ache even more for him.

Mom: Hey, sweetheart, I’m just checking in again. I’m worried about you, please just let me know you’re alive.

You shake your head as you pocket the phone, you’ve been posting on your socials, and she follows you on every platform she knows about. She knows you’re alive, she just wants you to cave, to give in to her pestering. You focus back on the issue at hand as you hear Ashleigh announce herself from the front door.

“Hey, bitch, I’m home!”

“Hey, good day?”

You ask as you take a steadying breath, trying to quell your nerves as you step out into the modest open plan space of the kitchen-diner-living room. Ash is mid-flop onto the sofa as she looks up at you, whatever she was going to say lost to the way she’s now frowning at you.

“It was fine, what’s wrong?”

You wince as you take your place next to her on the threadbare sofa, you’ve never been able to hide your feelings from Ash.

“I’ve got something I need to tell you,” you start, knee bobbing up and down as you try – and fail – to get comfortable, “about Dave, my stepdad.”

“I know who Dave is,” Ash’s tone is guarded, you can almost hear the gears grinding away in her mind as she stares you down, “What did he do?”

“He didn’t- I mean, that’s not how it went down-,” you fumble, caught off guard by the judgement in Ash’s tone.

“So, what did happen?”

“We fucked.”

You blurt it out, covering your eyes as you wait for the verbal abuse to start flowing. You feel your gut twist in knots as you brace yourself for the shame, the disappointment you know is coming.

“Well, shit, that explains a lot.”

Ash says finally and you look up to see an incredulous look on her face. No anger, not even a hint of disgust. She just looks like Ash always does when she’s figured something out. A satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“What do you mean?” you ask, lips pinched together as you track every move Ash makes, watching for sudden movements, changes in body language.

“That night, the one where you went home with that douchebag, was it then?”

“God, no! He’s NOT like that, Ash, he was just doing what any good guy would do,” you shrug, knowing how unconvincing a statement that is.

“Hey, chill, it was just a question,” Ash raises an eyebrow at you, “So he picked you up, and he just took you home?”

You nod slowly, chewing your lip as you take a beat to compose yourself.

“Did he at least kick that guy's ass?”

Ash’s tone is a little defensive and you look up to see her jaw clenched.

“I think he beat the ever-living shit out of him,” you smile despite yourself, “but I was pretty out of it, the guy did a number on me and I’m pretty sure his friends would have helped themselves if I’d stayed.”

“He beat on them too?”

You shake your head, you hadn’t really thought about it until now, but Dave must have really fucked Tristan up for the other two to have stayed put.

“No, they backed off when Dave carried me out of there.”

It’s still so fuzzy but you remember flashes of Tristan’s crumpled form on the floor. The way his friends looked like they’d seen something horrific.

Maybe they had.

“Jesus! Is he some kind of James Bourne?” Ash says with a scoff and you both laugh at the ridiculous nature of it. Dave, a super soldier government assassin.

“So, he’s been looking out for you, when did you guys fuck? Was it just one time?”

“Three times,” you say as heat prickles under your skin, from embarrassment but also from the memory, “and it’s been almost two months since the last time.”

“Is it more than sex?”

You hesitate, too long really to deny it, but you still can’t say it aloud.

“It can’t be,” you mutter as you look down at your shoes.

“So, that’s a yes,” Ash says with a sigh as she grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you in for a tight hug. You flinch at the contact initially, but you lean into her strong embrace.

“It’s so fucked up, Ash,” you shudder as you weep into her shoulder.

“Yeah,” she hums as she continues to hold you, her tone musing, “but we don’t always get dealt the best hand, right? I mean, this is probably one of your healthiest relationships to date.”

“Ash!”

You pull back, trying to sound angry as you know she’s not wrong. You can’t even recall a single stable, remotely healthy relationship.

“If you could remove your mom – figuratively – from the situation,” Ash asks as she rubs the edge of her jaw, her thinking face on, “Would you pursue him?”

“Yes.”

The word is out of your mouth before you can stop it and the realization sinks in. You finally allow yourself to admit to the feelings you’ve been shunning for weeks.

I have feelings for him.

“I like him, Ash, more than just for the sex. I asked him to halt contact, and he has, and he even stopped watching my streams.”

“He watched your streams?” Ash is back on offence now, concern twisting her face into a scowl.

“He didn’t know it was me,” you say, and you cringe as you hear it aloud, “He’d been watching for months before he found out.”

“He let you keep streaming after you fucked?”

“Let me? Come on Ash, I thought you’d be more open minded than that,” You can’t help but scoff at the notion of Dave letting you do anything, “Dave has been nothing but supportive, he made sure I knew it too.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to get a read on this man. This is a man who jumped at the chance to fuck his stepdaughter,” you cringe at how blunt she’s being, but Ash keeps going, “You can’t expect me not to think there’s some coercion here, some manipulation or shitty attitudes towards this kind of work.”

“I love that you care about me to worry so much, I really do,” you shake your head, “But Dave isn’t like that, he respects me, my boundaries. I hate to say it, it’s so fucking cliché, but he’s not like anyone that came before, Ash. He actually gives a damn about me beyond sex. He’s not once tried to control or dictate my actions. In fact, he goes out of his way to make sure this is on my terms, always.” You take a long-overdue breath and Ash looks at you, eyebrow raised as she waits for you to continue.

“The stepdad thing is just,” you pause, trying to find the right word, “unfortunate.”

“It’s more than unfortunate, you idiot, it’s a fucking Greek Tragedy. God, you really are into him, aren’t you?” Ash smiles, her face softening as she shakes her head.

“Yeah,” you feel your shoulders slump, a tension you hadn’t realized was there finally easing.

“What a shitshow.”

“Yeah, and you’re right, it still ranks up there as one of the healthiest relationships I’ve ever had.”

You meant it as a joke, but it hangs in the air between you. Ash knows everything, she’s been there through everything. There’s a pregnant pause as you both mull over the conversation, neither of you quite knowing what to say.

“So, what are you going to do?”

You go to answer when your phone buzzes continually and you know who the caller is going to be before you even look.

“Let me guess,” Ash sighs, “The Wicked Witch of Central Texas?”

“Of course it is,” you sigh, declining the call, “I need to at least text her back, she’s becoming more persistent.”

“Just don’t say anything you’ll regret,” Ash shrugs.

“I’ll answer it later, there’s something else I needed to tell you.”

You throw your phone back down and take a deep breath.

“Fuck, please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

“No!” You say panicking, the mere thought of it making your insides twist.

“Nothing like that, I’m moving out.”

“Ah shit,” Ash sounds genuinely disappointed, “I kind of liked having you around.”

“I love living with you, your shitty singing aside, but I need to do this, for me.”

Ash sneers at the singing comment but you can see the genuine sadness in her eyes at the news.

“When do you get the keys?”

“Monday, going to need some help getting my shit from Nancy’s,” you say, hoping that Ash gets the hint.

“That’s the first time you’ve called her by her first name,” Ash says, nothing but observation in her statement but you realize it’s a big deal.

“I guess it is.”

You sit on that for a moment, not sure how to feel about it when your phone buzzes again. This time another text. You look down to see one from your dad too and a twist of guilt in your gut makes you bite your lip.

“I gotta look at this or she’s going to be calling me all night.”

“Alright, well I’m hitting the shower, don’t let her sink her claws back into you or get you involved in whatever current MLM she’s pedaling.”

Ash kisses you on the top of the head before getting up from the sofa and stretching out dramatically.

“Is there a difference?”

Ashleigh doesn’t respond as she heads into the bathroom at the other end of the room, the door clicking shut behind her as you hear her start to sing once more. This time it’s Mariah Carey’s ‘All I want for Christmas is You.’

You open the text from your dad, and you roll your eyes. Your guilt is assuaged as you see the clear evidence of your mom making him text you.

Dad: hey, your mom told me you’re not returning her calls. She said you left the house, no note, nothing. What’s going on? Are you ok?

You’re just surprised it’s taken this long for her to enlist him to her cause. Usually, she’s under his skin much sooner than this. You open your mom’s conversation thread and sigh. There are over thirty messages there. Ranging from guilt tripping sob stories, to angry ‘Where Are You?’s’ and incoherent gibberish from where she was clearly drunk at 8pm and desperate.

Mom: Hey darling, I’m really sorry you felt you needed to leave the house. Dave won’t tell me what he did, he says you just needed space. Space from what, honey? What did he do? Do you need me to come and get you? I’m just so worried about you, please just let me know where you are and that you’re safe. Just a text would be enough, please?

I love you, honey, and I would do anything for you, you know that right? Xxx

You sit for a while, trying to convince yourself to ignore her but you’re tired of the incessant messaging, the constant pressure to respond. Then you think of Dave, of how he’s not contacted you once, not logged into Cam Dolls for the whole time. You bite your lip as you make the decision to call her.

You pad back into Ash’s spare room and shut the door. She answers on the second ring. You sit down at the foot of the bed as you brace yourself for the spiel you know too well by now.

“Oh, baby is that you? Are you ok? Where are you?”

“Hey, mom,” you sigh, already pinching the bridge of your nose as you try not to sigh outwardly at the fake concern lacing her tone, “I’m fine, I’m with Ash, I’m safe.”

“Baby what happened? What did he do to you?”

You clench your jaw at the insinuation, but you try not to let it bleed into your voice as you respond.

“Nothing, mom, I just needed space, things with you and Dave are too weird for me right now.”

“What do you mean weird?”

The fact that you keep pushing the angle that he forced himself on me for one. Doesn’t exactly scream marital bliss.

You think to yourself as you flop back down onto the modest single bed. You’re already exhausted by her shit, less than two minutes into the call.

“I know there’s something going on between you, it’s been clear since I moved in.”

You confer if you’ve been too forward as your mom goes uncharacteristically silent on the other end.

“We’re having issues yes, but we’re working on them.”

You fight the urge to scoff as you nod along.

“I think me being there makes it awkward,” you say as you nod to yourself, “You and Dave need your home to be yours, especially if you’re working on stuff.”

“You’re always too selfless. You know that, kiddo?”

“I’ve been told.”

There’s a silence as you have genuinely run out of things to say, you’re bored by the predictability of your mom’s behavior.

“I was thinking,” your mom breaks the silence, uncertainty clear in her voice, “Would you come to dinner tomorrow night, just so we can talk about all of this, so I can make things right?”

Your first thought is whether Dave will be there, but you don’t press the issue, there’s no point raising suspicion now.

“Sure.”

You agree too quickly, but you know it’ll buy you her goodwill. She’ll back off if you can survive one evening in her home. Eating her food, being provided for.

“Really?” Your mom cries out, clearly expecting you to decline.

“I said yes, didn’t I?”

“Don’t be like that,” your mother’s tone changes to scolding, “You don’t have to be a bitch about it, don’t come if you don’t want to-,”

“Mom,” you snap, not willing to put up with her speaking to you like this, “I said yes, I’ll be there. What time?”

It’s almost comical how quickly she changes her tone, brightening up like she hadn’t just flipped her lid on you.

“Come round for six, I’m cooking a roast.”

“Wonderful, see you then.”

You remove the phone from your ear and as you’re hovering over the End Call icon you hear it:

“I love you, darling.”

You hang up quickly, not wanting to say it back, but you hope you can play it off as having hung up just as you heard her. You drop your phone onto the bed, not bothering to look at the message that comes through, nor the next. You’re already emotionally spent as it is. Your thoughts drift to Dave and you realize you need to let him know you’re coming. You know for sure Nancy won’t tell him.

~*~

Dave bolts wide awake, the sounds of Panama City’s nightlife weaving through the humid air. He looks down at his cock as it tents his sweatpants, and he groans. He frees his throbbing length and slowly jerks himself off. Trying so hard to just reach climax but like every other time, something holds him back.

He’s covered in sweat and panting profusely by the time he finally gives up. His dick leaking and sore as he lets it flop against his bare abs. He can’t stop thinking about you, and it is making him distracted. In his line of work, it could get him killed. But he’s worried about you, worried that he’s hurt you and jeopardized any chances of something ever happening between you two. He just needs to know you’re ok, safe, happy.

He pulls out his phone and opens your contact, no photo, just your number and the contact's name: Princess🌙.

He sighs, locking his phone before tossing it on the nightstand. You told him not to contact you, so that’s what he’s doing.

He rolls out of bed and pads into the shitty hotel bathroom to turn on the faucet. He can’t even count on a cold shower here, so a lukewarm one will have to do. Eventually he manages to calm down enough to try and sleep. He flops back on the bed, and he crosses his arms over his head as he stares without looking at the impotent ceiling fan as it idly rotates above him. His head throbs and his chest aches as he tries and fails to get some sleep. It’s not the first time this has happened.

Every time he dreams about you, which is painfully often, he wakes up with a raging hard-on and a guilty conscience.

It’s been almost four weeks since he last saw you fleeing from his home. Fleeing from him. He can’t get you out of his head. He’s plagued by the grilling Nancy gave him after she got the photos back from Resnik, or Philip, as she knows him.

“What did you do to her, Dave?”

Nancy had cornered him on the Wednesday following your departure. He was still dazed from the concussion and fumbled through excuses.

“I didn’t do anything, Nancy. She was upset, I tried to make her stay. Have you talked to her?”

Nancy paused, shock on her face at the question. Clearly the answer was no.

“Did you touch her? Force yourself on her? Is that why she left?”

“Jesus Christ, Nancy, no! Of course not!”

“Then what was she yelling at you about huh?”

“She told me not to call her, to leave her alone, that she needed space!”

Dave hadn’t even tried to keep his temper in check. His head still burned from the concussion, his mood sour from the mission he had just been assigned. He just wanted to come home, have a beer and go to bed. Not this shit.

“And why does she need that, huh?” Nancy was up in his space again, just like that night when she struck him. Dave could feel the rage simmering under the surface as the smell of rosé invaded his senses.

“I don’t know, Nancy, maybe because she heard you hanging our prenup over my head? She is a lawyer; she knows how serious of a threat that is. But maybe, just maybe, it’s because you forgot her birthday, because you rushed off to spend time with Danielle on her birthday weekend. Maybe because every time you’ve addressed her since she’s been home it’s like you’ve been speaking to a child. She’s thirty years old, Nancy, she deserves some goddamned respect. Or could it be that she had to drag me, bleeding and unconscious, to the hospital after you hit me? Maybe she just needed to be away from this broken fucking home.”

It all came out in a surge of bitter hatred, so unlike him, so unlike the man he wants to be. But everyone has their breaking point.

“How dare you?” Nancy spits and Dave stands his ground as she tries to square up with him.

“She covered for you that day, she took me to the hospital and lied for you.”

That shuts Nancy up, her eyes wide as she takes a step back.

“Yeah, she made up a fake cat, said I fell down the stairs tripping over it.”

“She’s a good daughter, of course she’d defend me,” Nancy mumbles but Dave’s heard enough. He’s already walking away, heading down into the one room in his house that still feels like his own. Not another beige, soulless room. Nancy calls something after him as he goes but he’s just not paying any attention to her anymore.

He locks the bedroom door behind him, the cramped space is practically the only place he sleeps now, sleeping beside Nancy was out of the question. Hell, she might even try to smother him in his sleep if he did.

He opens his safe, checking the temperature controls are correct as he makes sure the candlestick is still there. Wrapped up in a sandwich bag and kept at the right temperature. The first thing he had done before stumbling into your arms was secure the evidence. Later he made a copy of the security camera footage, which sits in another safe in the garage. He wasn’t going to take any chances with this.

The moment Nancy comes for him – legally speaking – as he knows she will, he’ll be ready.

The buzz of his phone on the nightstand brings him back to the present as he rolls over and picks up his phone. He’s waiting on a lead for the hit he’s pulling down here, but what he’s greeted with makes his mouth curve up into a fond smile.

Princess🌙: Hey, sorry it’s late, or early? Not sure if you’re home? Mom’s having me over for dinner tomorrow, just wanted to let you know.

Dave groans, he needs to talk to you properly before you see your mom again. To his luck another text comes through, details of an address two streets over followed by a message from Ari.

A: Target is enroute to airport, will be at location in twenty minutes. We Green?

Dave texts back “Green” as he springs out of bed, throwing on his clothes as he snatches up his go bag. Before he leaves the room, he texts you back.

Duke🎷: I’ll be touching down in Houston in a few hours, can we talk then?

To his surprise you start to text back straight away, but he doesn’t look, stowing his phone as he storms out of his dingy hotel. He fastens the silencer to the end of his pistol and pulls on his lucky black beanie. He has a job to do.

~*~

You’re getting dressed for dinner when Dave’s call comes through. You’d agreed to talk beforehand and as much as you had been anticipating it, you feel nerves jostling around in your chest.

“Hey,” you say, your voice breathy and full of unwelcome unease as you try – and fail – to keep your cool.

“Thanks for reaching out, I appreciate it,” Dave says with a softness to his voice you’ve only ever heard a handful of times before. It’s calming and scintillating all at the same time. You want to feel his breath on your skin as he talks to you like this. You shake yourself mentally as you focus on the reason you agreed to talk.

“Thought we should be on the same page for tonight,” you say with a shrug, even if you know he can’t see you.

“So,” Dave takes a deep exhale on the other end of the line, and you hold your breath waiting for what comes next, “I told your mom that you left because you needed space.”

“I mean, that’s pretty much it.”

“Yeah,” Dave chuckles low over the line and you find yourself smiling despite yourself, “She asked if I touched you.”

“Fuck,” you wheeze down the phone as you look at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your makeup for the millionth time tonight, “You denied it, right?”

You almost laugh, finally seeing the angle your mom has been trying to play the whole time. She knows that if you so much as confess that Dave harmed you, prenup or not, he’ll be screwed if she files for divorce. You never thought she was looking out for you; you just assumed it was some weird jealousy thing. But now you see it clear as day.

“Of course, and the way she framed it, it didn’t come across like she was asking me to admit anything shy of me outright assaulting you.”

You actually laugh now. Humorless and bitter as you try not to think about your mother’s previous partners. About how they could flirt and eye-fuck you, how they would linger a little too long in their hugs and kisses. As long as Nancy never caught them doing it outright. As long as it was never obvious enough to bring out her jealous streak.

Where was this probing inquisition then?

“I’m not surprised, but I have your back Dave, always.”

“Hey?”

“What?”

“I didn’t do that, right? I didn’t force myself on you?”

You take a moment to reflect, searching your feelings before you speak.

“Never,” you say in a hushed whisper as you feel a tension easing in your chest, “I never felt that way with you Dave, not for a second.”

“Not even when I fucked you on stream? Threatened you with outing you to your mom?”

You pause at that, really considering the scenario in your head before answering.

“It wasn’t an ideal way to start things, but you were playing to the scene,” you sigh, “But no, you didn’t take advantage of me Dave. I knew what I was doing, and I keep private recordings of all my streams, for posterity and for when I need to plug content. If I wanted to fuck you over, I could have.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“If you had made me do anything I didn’t want, you’d be fucked Dave. Fucked so hard.”

There’s a pause before Dave laughs aloud on the other end of the line and you can’t help but smile at his reaction. You’ve missed that sound. Missed him.

“You’re a fucking clever woman and I’m glad you’re looking after yourself.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. You want to take the praise, take the win, but there’s an unease to it all. You’ve only learned to protect yourself because you’d done it all on instinct. You know that no-one else will look out for you if things go wrong.

“It’s all I know,” you say as you take a deep breath, tears threatening at the corners of your eyes, “But I need to finish getting ready.”

“Of course, I won’t keep you.”

You almost hang up then and there, sever the connection before it has chance to take root once more. But there’s something you can’t continue to ignore.

“Thanks for giving me space, Dave. It meant the world to me.”

“No need to thank me.”

“Yeah, ok. See you soon?” you say, hesitation making you linger on the line, you don’t want to stop talking to him, not after so long with no contact.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

The call drops and you feel a hollowness to your bones. Like hearing Dave’s voice after so long had ripped open a half-healed wound. Your fingertips burn and your chest heaves as you set your phone down on the bed. You look at yourself in the mirror and try to hype yourself up a little.

You’re in a loose sweater and jeans, low heeled boots, nothing fancy. You just want to get through the night with as little drama as possible. Turning up in anything but something comfy would only set your mother off, you just know it.

“You ready to go?”

Ash asks as she leans against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest as she looks at you. You know she wants to say something, disapproval written all over her face.

“Yeah, let me just get my purse,” you respond, stowing your phone and slinging your bag over your shoulder. You check that you’ve got your key to the apartment and your wallet before nodding feebly to Ash.

~*~

Dave jumps up from the sofa as he hears the doorbell, his heart thundering in his chest as he hears Nancy open the door. He stops himself at the bottom of the basement stairs when he hears a masculine voice in place of your own.

“Hey there, Nance,” Dave bristles at the nickname, Nancy never lets him call her anything but her given name. Something about the stranger at his door immediately has him on edge. He heads back into his office to check the porch camera.

A mousey looking man, maybe ten years his senior stands at the front door, wringing his hands before stepping in to hug Nancy just out of frame. He immediately checks the rest of the security cameras are working as expected, tracking Nancy and the mystery man into the kitchen before making sure the feed is being recorded and backed up to the cloud.

“Oh Andy, you know I hate that nickname,” Nancy giggles and Dave almost scoffs at the playful flirtatious tone.

“And you know I hate Andy just as much. Kiddo here yet?”

“No, she’s due any minute. Dave, stop sulking and help us lay the table,” Nancy hollers down the hall.

Dave rolls his eyes and does as he’s told, even if he already feels like something is amiss. He doesn’t like surprises and he pulls out his phone. He tries to call you, but it goes straight to voicemail. He types out a quick text.

Duke 🎷: Some guy called Andy’s here. Just wanted you to know.

The doorbell rings a second time just as he hits send. His stomach drops when he hears Nancy ask Andy to answer the door. He’s taking the stairs two at a time in an attempt to cut him off, but he knows he’s too late as he hears the door open.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Andy’s voice is softer when speaking to you, more familiar.

Then Dave hears it, a word that takes his breath away like he’s been winded.

“Dad?”

~*~

The whole ride to Dave’s house had been filled with tense silence, your stomach doing flips as you tried to mentally prepare yourself. But what you hadn’t anticipated was your father being the first person you see. He looks good, short hair a shade lighter, fewer greys and more white hairs streaking through.

“What are you doing here?”

Ash is still parked at the end of the drive, waiting for the signal for her to leave. You turn over your shoulder and you see her peering out of the window to assess the situation.

“Good to see you too, sweetheart,” he chuckles as he tries to pull you into a hug. You step back, throwing your hands up defensively as you shake your head.

“I think I made a mistake, I’m sorry.”

You’re already backing up, mouth dry and heart threatening to burst from your chest when you hear Dave say your name. Your eyes dart up to see him, standing at the top of the stairs to the basement, he’s deathly pale as he lingers there. His dark eyes are wide, filled with horror laced with compassion. A ghost in his own home.

“Shut the damned door, you’re letting the heat out,” your mom huffs as she comes to see what the fuss is all about.

“Oh honey, come on in, you’ll catch your death standing out there like that.”

She pushes your father out of the way, and you feel like your body isn’t your own as she ushers you inside. The hollowness inside you grows, a dark, dank maw threatening to tear you apart as you hear the door shut with a thud behind you.

“What can I get you to drink? Some wine?”

Your mother guides you to the kitchen, practically pushing you into the stool as she heads to the fridge. She pours you a glass of rosé and you take it without thinking. Your ears are filled with a droning buzz, saliva pools in your mouth as you feel panic rising in your throat. You want to scream, to get the fuck out of there. But all you can do is comply.

“Sorry, I need to hit the bathroom,” you mumble as you get up on shaky legs, your wine untouched as you practically run upstairs.

“Dave,” your mother’s voice grates on you as you hear him screech at him, “Where is that man?”

You know where he is, you’re looking at him, leaning back on the wall. Eyes locked with you as he shakes his phone at you. You nod slowly as you ascend the stairs, fishing out your phone as you hurry towards the room you once called your own.

You unlock your phone as you close the door behind you. Three unread messages from Dave.

Duke 🎷: Some guy called Andy’s here. Just wanted you to know.

Duke 🎷: I didn’t know, I’m sorry.

Duke 🎷: Are you ok?

You bring up his contact and hit call. You don’t care about anything else right now, you just need to vent, and texting just won’t cut it. You lock the door and sit down at your desk, logging in by sheer habit as you wait for Dave to pick up. You hear him shout something about a work call to your mom and you allow yourself to smirk. You know she’ll hate that he’s taken a work call in the middle of her all-important dinner.

“This is risky,” you hear Dave growl down the line, but you don’t care about the risk, not right now.

“What the fuck is going on, Dave?”

You hiss down the line as you pull up your browser out of instinct and the homepage is all wrong. You should have saved folders on the bookmarks bar, links to your online banking, your social media links. But it’s all gone.

“I told you I didn’t know,” Dave grunts as you hear him flop down with a sigh, presumably at his desk.

You’re only half-listening to him now, your fingers typing furiously as you bring up an app on your computer. You’d installed it back when you started cam work, a tamper-proof software that tracked logins, provided antivirus protection amongst other things.

“I can drive you home if this is too-,”

“That fucking bitch,” you snap, not listening to Dave anymore as you read through the logs. Over the last four weeks your computer has had over twelve incidents of failed login attempts. Next to every failed attempt there’s an attached image. Every time it’s a picture of your mom, brow pinched, thin lips set in a hard line.

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s been trying to access my computer, Dave.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, too long for it to mean nothing but you’re already taking screenshots and attaching them to emails. You’re documenting everything you can, yet another learned behavior kicking in, protecting yourself from her.

“She’s been snooping in your room a lot lately,” he says, guilt evident in his tone.

“You knew? How?”

“I have motion sensors and security cameras all over the house, my job makes it necessary.”

“You’ve been spying on me?”

“What? No,” it’s Dave’s turn to get defensive, “I only have them on main access points, the kitchen, hallways, the kind of stuff to make sure no-one is intruding without being… Intrusive.”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was doing this?” You snap, shutting down your computer before turning to look around your room. If she’s been on your computer she must have been snooping around the rest of your space.

“You asked me to not contact you,” Dave reminds you with a sigh, but you’ve already moved on, you’re not really mad at him.

“She’s been through my prop box,” you groan as you pull out the plastic container from under the bed, two of your masks are missing, along with your favorite vibrator.

“How’d you know?”

“My vibe is missing, two masks too.”

Dave hisses down the phone in anger as you hear your mom hollering downstairs and you know you’re on borrowed time already.

“Your mom is calling me.”

“Go, I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Hey,” Dave’s tone softens and makes your heart ache, “I’ve got your back tonight, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” you want to say more, but you stop yourself. You don’t need to make tonight any more awkward than it already is. But it’s there, the treacherous thought, the ghost of a word you can’t dare think, let alone say aloud.

The call ends and you gain your composure with a cough and a roll of your shoulders. Your emotions are threatening to spill over, hemorrhaging from the gaping hole in your chest. Anger, betrayal, sorrow, love, loss, despair. They strain like water assaulting a sluicegate after a flood.

But it’s time to face the music, so you stand up, smooth down your sweater, and prepare yourself for whatever hell awaits you downstairs.

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103 notes · View notes

enihk-writes · 9 months

Text

[homecoming]

pairing: past!chung-myung x gn!they/them!reader

summary: the night before he leaves mount hua to subdue cheon-ma and the demonic cult, chung myung pays a visit to the small run-down shed at the edge of the village.

content warning: reader is implied to have depression stemming from their eventual disability due to internal injuries healing wrongly // reader is implied to have some minor form of age-related memory loss later in life // canon-compliant chung myung death from the opening of the novel

word count: 4.0k

author’s note: yea,,, so uh,,, i got hit with an angst-a-tron MK3500 at 10pm on like a monday night one(1) day before i have to go back to campus for my semester 2 classes.... this fic somehow ended up being a fucking monster longest fic i’ve ever written in my career 我的天啊。我发神经病了是吗？这么突然能够写的这么多字？我老师看到这个肯定会把我两个脚从我学校四楼 tie together and 丢我下去。

[PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY TRIGGERS CAUSED BEYOND THIS LINE]

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the chatter in the bustling dining hall died down as he walked further and further away from the crowd and towards the sect gates.

past the open gates, he notices the older man with greying hair standing serenely, looking out at the nightscape and the village that surrounded the base of the mountain down below.

sa-hyung

when did that guy grow so old? he knew the sect leader was getting on in years but, looking at the crow’s feet crinkling from the smile his sa-hyung gave him, it’s just hard not to get sentimental, you know?

are you going to see them? the sect leader asks, a teasing, knowing tone in his voice. like he was aware of something chung myung wasn’t. it was a little annoying, but this was nothing he wasn’t used to at this point.

chung myung grunts, not really wanting to answer the sect leader’s questions. truthfully, it was a habit everyone around him knew about. no one ever asked him about his relationship with that person out-right though, they were smarter then that, and were rather happy to stay curious.

tomorrow's mission won’t be like any other. the sect leader muses, looking out again into the distance.

you should tell them.

chung myung looks at the sect leader incredulously, like the man had grown a second head and was speaking unhinged gibberish.

about what?

you know exactly what i’m talking about chung myung. i know you’re not daft. a deep belly-chuckle came from the good-natured sect leader, even as old men, he still wanted to tease the younger one.

chung myung stays silent. he would rather not confront the matters of his heart tonight. he will in due time, just not now. it was better for the both of them — that person, and himself.

the sect leader chuckles again at the other’s unusually quiet demeanor, turning to go back into the bustling dining hall.

it seems i’ve held you back long enough, run along and come back on time.

the younger man clicks his tongue, scratching his neck and looking away in embarrassment, he felt too seen by the elder then — but he still promised to return before morning. tomorrow was an important day for the sect and the world as a whole, after all.

at the base of the mountain was a forested path leading to a thriving town under mount hua’s protection, he walks past the crowds of villagers and noisy night-market vendors, further and further away until it was just the serene moon of méiyuè accompanying him to where he had promised he would be.

sure enough, right along the dirt path was the familiar shadow of the run down hut, almost shed, that person had taken to calling their home these past few years.

he thought about the day they left the sect. he remembers chasing after them to the gates, hoping he could get them to stay. he didn’t understand why they left back then, even now, he still couldn’t get their reasons.

how could you leave the home you’ve lived in all your life like this? he shouts at them in confusion and anger, maybe with a little sadness laced in it too.

their back looked small. tired. the weight of their debilitating condition heavy on their minds. there is no cure for a broken qi core, after all. it’s like taking the eyes of an artist away or a musician’s hearing. when a murim warrior can no longer use their qi, what were they to do? if their condition hits rock bottom, they might not even have control over their own bodies, or even their consciousness. friends become foes, the living and dead are made equal in their skewed judgement, what if...

a chill ran down their spine at the thought of that scenario. no, they’d make sure such a tragedy can never befall on any innocent being. that’s why they were leaving the sect. for the safety of their sect brothers and sisters, and mostly for their own peace of mind.

why won’t you answer me, damn it!

chung myung’s calls were edging on desperation. he’d never been one to do well in the face of change. he was happy with the way things were, so why weren’t they? what went wrong? why did they want to leave?

so what if you can’t fight anymore? it doesn’t mean you can’t live here, everybody loves you so much and they can all take care of you!

besides, he was here too.

wasn’t he?

there was a long silence. the cool autumn winds danced past the sect gates. surrounding the two were large, towering plum blossom tress now donned in a lovely shade of caramel, with it’s leaves shaking free from the branches it spent a lifetime on — fluttering along with where the breeze led them and falling gracefully at their feet.

ever since their qi core broke, they’ve mostly kept to themselves. not really going anywhere outside their room or talking to other sect members. other then chung myung, of course. he was clingy, nosy and annoying. well, it was hard to shake him off in general.

if they were skipping meals, he’d break in through their window with a table of food. if they weren’t getting out of bed, he’d carry them out to join him in slacking off on daily duties. if they were beginning to spiral into the loop of numbed despair, he would barge in with something for them to do — housekeeping, meeting with merchants, archiving records, anything that kept them on their feet or distracted them enough.

it didn’t really make the feeling go away, but chung myung tries, and that was all that mattered to them.

but they had to go.

because they loved the people who lived here, they have to leave this home behind, so no one will ever suffer the chance of getting hurt by their hands.

because they loved him that they hope he would never have to go through the inevitable task of taking their life, when they are no longer themselves.

i should get going.

they grinned at him, honestly feeling a little silly about getting caught up in their emotions and becoming so sentimental at that moment. they were just moving out to live in the forest around the town outskirts. and it’s not like chung myung couldn’t come down the mountain to see them whenever he wanted either.

chung myung too, grew embarrassed. was he crazy? why did he act like they were going off to some faraway place? there were still within reach, there were still near mount hua. he could see them whenever.

tch. go off already.

he shoos them, flicking his hand at them in annoyance. wanting to hide his heated face from their prying eyes.

he hears them laugh for the first time in a while, he had been missing it lately, how could he have forgotten how sweet it sounded? they turn on their heel, heart lighter from before, it was going to be alright. they would be fine. chung myung will be fine. the sun will still rise on the east, and the seasons will change, the world will move on and so will they.

i’ll be going for real now, bye-bye chung myung. come see me tomorrow, okay?

nah, i don’t feel like it.

please?

he sighs.

i’ll go if i can slip past the sect elders.

you say it like you want them to catch you, i guess you really don’t want to visit me. how upsetting...

ugh. fine, i’ll see you in your stupid new house.

how sweet of you chung myung! look at how grown-up you’ve become!

you little—!

they laughed loudly as they ran down the mountain before chung myung tried to catch them in a chokehold. he doesn’t even bother chasing after them, but he does look on at where the ran off to. their hair had been cut shorter then it usually was, and the tie wasn’t able to hold back the lose few strands that fluttered around their face. they looked younger, lighter, like a kid going on a trip away from home. if they were that happy, he has to be happy for them too, shouldn’t he?

it’s been more then fifty years since then.

he walks into the humble abode, they were sitting against the windows, a book in one hand and the other nursing a cup of tea. they’ve aged, he realised. their once battle-worn face had gone soft, the groves around their eyes had grown deeper over time. skin that was once full and youthful had grown loose around the bones. their hair that had always been so well-taken care of no matter what was now thinner, a little dry and coarse. he picks up the brush lying on the dresser nearby, and walks over to where they were sitting.

with a confidence that seemed to have done this a hundred times, he gathers their long hair and wraps a thin white ribbon around it, looping it over here and there. when he was done, he leans back to look at his work, it wasn’t that good, but it wasn’t the worst either. he wanted to braid the ribbon into their hair but he gave up halfway and settled with a low one instead.

as he sets down the brush, they sweep the half-braided hair over their shoulder to look at his handiwork, fingers playing with the ends of the ribbon.

do you like it?

they look up at him, eyes searching his face, a look of unfamiliarity in their gaze. taking a moment longer before a small smile finally cracks on their face.

chung myung...!

they call out his name, turning to face him fully. they remembered this stranger in their house, and look at how he hadn’t aged a day.

chung myung smiles back sadly. it wasn’t fair how he was the only one whose time had seemed to stop, and theirs had kept moving on, the age taking their memories away at every turn. he just saw them yesterday and they’ve already had trouble remembering him again. they’ve already lost so much, it just wasn’t fair.

i made tea. you should have some, training must have been hard on you.

they smooth out the frown on his brow, tenderly rubbing circles on his cheek with their thumb. humming an unnamed melody as they did so.

he looks over at the said pot of tea. it had already gone cold, probably even bitter from how long the leaves must have sat in the water. he takes a cup anyways, and empties it out, not even leaving a single drop behind.

they giggle in amusement, wondering out loud if he was that thirsty.

hm... the tea you made is really... rich in flavour. thank you for letting me have all of it. i really needed that.

he lies while choosing his words carefully, setting down his cup and pushing the tea set away, he ponders for a moment, and picks them up in his arms, carrying them over to their bed.

what about my book?

you can read that later.

they watch as he sets them down on their bed, kicking off his shoes and climbing in right after. he sighs as his head plops down on their lap, making himself comfortable.

their hands find their way into his thick, dark locks of hair — fingers gingerly undoing the ribbon, watching in quiet fascination as chung myung's abundant tresses came cascading down their legs and flowing over the edge of the bed.

he hums, almost purrs as they thread through the troublesome kinks and knots in his curls, scratching his scalp as they worked through it. his tense body grows softer at their touch, leaning into their hand, wishing that those soft palms would lay on his head forever.

but alas, the night wore off and the distant bustle of the village nightlife had faded into the gentle symphony of the nocturnal critters for quite some time now. he knows he had to get up and return to the mountains, but how could he? the heart wants what it wants, and what it wanted was to stay by their side until the last moment. but he had also promised his sa-hyung he would be back on time.

a long drawn-out sigh was passed in the silence that lay between the two of them. they gaze down at chung myung’s face, again scrunched into a frown.

you frown so much.

the pads of their fingers ghosted over his brows, softly smoothing out the hard creases on his face. he kept his eyes closed. if he opened them, he knew that familiar face would be looking over his, and if he looked at that face, he would look into their eyes, and if he looked at them long enough, he would never want to leave this place. hell, he might not even bother to go with the sect tomorrow.

tomorrow, most of the elders and older disciples will be leaving to subjugate the demonic cult. i’ll be going with them.

he pauses. waiting for them to tell him to stay.

they don’t.

i’ll have to leave soon.

silence.

i’ll come back.

again, he was met with no answer.

you have to take care of yourself.

a beat, and then — a barely audible hum of acknowledgement graces his ears.

chung myung sits up, pulling them into a tight hug, it was really out-of-character of him but something in him was telling him to do it anyways. burying his face deeper into the dip of their neck, he felt his anxiety pour out of his lips.

you better be here when i come back. don’t take this as a chance to go somewhere i can’t find you. i have something i have to tell you so, wait for me here. please?

they rub soothing circles on his back, hugging him back with as much strength their aging body could muster. resting their chin daintily on his shoulder, they revel in the rare burst of affection the man was showing tonight.

hm. you worry too much.

they giggle for a bit.

where else would i be if not here? this is my home, isn’t it?

yeah, but...

if you’re still worried about that... well, i won’t try anything anymore. i promise.

really?

yes. really.

chung myung loosens his grip and finally lets go of his hold on them. coughing awkwardly, he moves them off his lap. slowly, he gets up, puts on his shoes and puts himself together. he turns on his heel, heading for the entryway. they followed after him, their feet shuffling against the floor trying to keep up.

it was drizzling outside.

there was a sudden warmth enveloping him from behind. it took him a moment to register their arms around his waist, face buried against his back. he barely held back his smile as he takes ahold of their hands, once again turning to face them. it seems that saying their goodbyes was a lot harder today, for him and for them too.

goodnight, chung myung.

you should go to bed soon.

he stays at his spot, watching them slide their door shut, listening as the movements in the shed ceased into soft breaths that eventually evened out. he waits a while longer and finally found the strength to return to his own home.

═══════════════

morning rolled around rather quickly. the streets were lined with throngs of civilians on each side of the road making way for the farewell procession of the would-be heroes. vibrant pink petals were cast into the air as the elders of the sect led the disciples onwards.

from the corner of his eye he catches a white ribbon flowing in the wind, but when he swings his head to look, there was no one there. was he just seeing things? his heart drops a little, he was hoping to see them before he —

look up.

his gaze meets theirs, a gleeful glint in their eyes, all perched up in the trees. he wonders what they were clasping in their hands, held up to their mouth in what looked like a kiss. though he didn’t have to for long. as he passed by under them, he felt a flutter of white plum blossoms raining down on him, most of it falling off him except for a lone petal that stuck on his lower lip. he picks up the petal in between his fingers, feeling the corner of his lip crook up in amusement.

he should ask them about that stunt they pulled when he comes back.

and he should probably also tell them how pretty they were with that white ribbon he gave them, all braided into their hair, when he came back from this.

finally, it was over.

cheon-ma has finally been defeated.

all at the cost of so many lives. all taken too soon, too cruelly and all for what? who was going to remember the names of those that died here today? who would mourn for these lives? chung myung couldn’t think of an answer to that.

his body grows limp and he collapses on top of the mountain of corpses. he’s lost too much blood, probably from losing his whole left arm.

to be born alone and to die alone like a common mutt, what a life he had lived as the thirteenth disciple of the great mount hua sect.

all that was left for him to do, as his consciousness walked on the thin line between life and death, was to wallow in his regrets. he could see his memories flicker before his eyes. was this what people talk about seeing when your life is drawing to a close? all that he has done so far, had led to this sorry end?

if only he had been more diligent in training.

if only he had been just a little stronger then he was now.

if only he could have saved a life, any life. a single innocent life spared from the cold clutches of an unjust death.

ah.

and one more thing.

he wanted to apologize to them, for breaking his promise. he hoped they would curse him out a little, because at least that meant they thought of him. he hopes they wouldn’t get too lonely and join them all too soon.

he feels his senses grow numb.

it’s been a few years since chung myung had somehow traversed through time and had woken up a hundred years into the future from when he had died on that mountain of corpses.

he’d kept himself busy with building the now fallen and derelict sect, back into the glory it once had.

this new body of his, it was going to turn twenty-two soon. in his downtime, he’d slipped away from the sect and had gone down the mountain to the town as he usually did.

though it was a little different today. he finds his feet taking him down the almost familiar path out of the town and on an overgrown grass patch where a dirt path once lay. and sure enough, he could see the familiar shadow of a house, almost shed standing in the distance.

time had worked it’s damage on the structure.

he peers in from the broken-in door to see the place left to it’s bare bones. whatever furniture or item had all been looted and taken. in the middle of the room was a mess of broken wood, remnants of when the roof caved in.

chung myung walks into the dilapidated room, looking around for anything that could have survived the past hundred years of wear and tear. anything that could remind him of them.

nothing. there was really nothing left.

a breeze came in from a window, and the corner of his eye catches a fluttering movement. he swings his head and there, on the window sills, was a ribbon, turned light brown from the layers of dust and dirt, it’s once long silky edges now choppy and frayed.

hands shaky, he unties the ribbon from the window, holding it carefully, as though it would fall apart in his grasp. he could feel the barely buried feelings of regret crash upon him all over again. he wonders if they had left this behind with the blind hope that he would come back?

he was back, against all odds. he had managed to come home, but, they weren’t here to see it. nobody he used to ever care for was here to see him anymore.

he should leave. before his feelings get the better of him.

he holds his hands to his face, sighing deeply. steeling himself to move on. but when he drops his hands and opens his eyes, he is once again stunned in his tracks. was it really?

there, past the open window and on the clearing right outside looking at him curiously was a face he would know anywhere. a startled squeak leaves them as they realize that their eyes met, trying their best to block his view with the laundry basket they held in their arms. backing off and beginning to scurry away from the scene.

chung myung knows that it was a long shot, an impossible shot into the dark even, but what if they had been reincarnated like he had? it wasn’t out of the question, right? he thinks as his legs swing over the window, jumping down from it and begins to give chase to the one running away from him.

really, what sane person would ever think that they could outrun a martial artist? chung myung caught up so quickly it was honestly laughable. he catches them by the collar, yanking them back and they let out high-pitched yelp in fright.

he could barely hold back his laugh as he looks down at their face, eyes screwed shut and lips pursed in anxiety.

steadying them on their feet, he turns them to face him. they look different from all those years ago, but his soul knows. it knows better then anyone that this is them, a different face, a different voice and maybe even another name but all of that cannot trick his soul from knowing who they were.

he searches their face, there was no look of recognition. no matter, they could start over, he couldn’t let this chance slip past him like it had back then. he would make things right by them, he wouldn’t keep them waiting in vain like he had back then.

chung myung clears his throat, grinning boyishly at them, hands formed together in greeting, bowing his head before he looks back at them.

ah, really sorry about chasing you down like that. my name is chung myung, and i come from mount hua sect in the mountains back there. it’s nice to meet you.

they look at him, up and down, assessing him for a bit. crazy guy. chasing them down like a predator hunting their prey. crazy. batshit insane. who does that? who even does that? but, they would be lying if their heart was swayed by that grin, he was a little cute, and who in the world wouldn’t be swayed by a face like his? not them, that’s for sure.

besides, when they saw him through the window, something about him...

it felt familiar. it’s almost like, they have known each other from long ago. but wasn’t that weird? how could one know a stranger for a lifetime? unless this was what others call a fated encounter? they bite back a gasp.

hello.

a soft, shy smile graces their lips. quietly telling him their name. chung myung couldn’t help the fondness growing in his gaze. truly, it was a miracle sent from the heavens. maybe this time, the two of them would finally work out what they couldn’t last time. maybe this time, they would find the ending they’ve both always wanted.

#enihkwrites #return of the mount hua sect #return of mount hua #return of the blossoming blade #rotbb #rotmhs #cheong myeong #chung myung #cheong myeong x reader #chung myung x reader #return of the mount hua sect x reader #return of the blossoming blade x reader #not going to lie babes this one took me two weeks to finish writing #i had a plan and i lost the plan and now look at this ending yall #i lost the plot somewhere in the fic #can you believe im still going through the novel #imagine being a writer that hates reading #absolute insanity

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oliveuku · 8 months

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After a lot of research on Twitter (my head hurts let me tell you) I have info on the Scott drama The person who came out about Scott calling them childish and immature. When they were 12, being childish and immature, said they aren't calling Scott a groomer. People decided that, even though it wasn't grooming. That it was grooming and now are using that against him, gotta love twitter A lot of events happened in 2015-2016. But he responded to some people saying they need to get the bigots out of mcc in an immature fashion. Which he apologized for, but I do agree they need to be gone

Some people are taking it out only on Scott, but he doesn't own MCC. MCC is getting backlash for collabing with Youtooz which is known to be a bad company, again it's not on Scott for that choice People are being homophobic to him now, which its pretty obvious they are going after him for being gay More on the MCC thing, they held it on a big Jewish holiday. While not Jewish myself, a lot did say it was disrespectful for them to hold it. But again Scott isn't the owner of MCC, he might have a say, but we don't know how it works behind the scenes From what I seen on the racism front. Scott said "tacos are Mexican" in 2015-2016. In that time frame, he could easily have changed and grown. I seen no other examples, but there could be more. While they also mentioned and showed, Oli had made some songs at the same time that were. Not great, one mentioning Screw the Africans. But again, he could have changed in that time I didn't see anything else mentioning that either have been racist since then People are bringing up the lack of POC and women creators in MCC as well. Another, we don't know what goes on behind the scenes, and if people are actually being invited and declining or asking to join and not getting in that are POC or women. Since not all creators want to play MCC or be competitive If that is true, then yah it's going to be gross of Scott and Noxcrew's front. But it's speculation and until they share who actually signs up/wants in we won't know A lot of it boils down to he did some stuff in the past but could have grown since then. He was immature himself and said stupid things, a common human mistake. But yes, he SHOULD remove the bigots. If MCC is meant to be inclusive and safe As someone who spent far too long on Twitter. This is often their way of thinking, far too often, even if you HAVE improved. People will hold things over your head, assume you are still the same person, or can never change Kids needs good adult figures in their lives to know who the bad adults wanting to take advantage of them are. Twitter has a history of, if you are x age, and you talk to a minor, you are automatically a groomer no matter what. It's highly depressing, so because of that Scott is now labeled a groomer for just talking to a kid He's apologized for being human and being immature. But people aren't letting him have time to improve and show that he's improved. They are just ready to ruin him. While, yes, he needs to take responsibility for his actions. Twitter is taking things way WAY too far once again

Your friendly twitter deep diver (Seriously, it was bad, but I wanted to help)

this was like. extremely helpful. people just being bad people. yep. thanks! so basically #scottisnotbadparty

#scott smajor #smajor #mcc

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fuckitwebhaal · 5 months

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I, like @mightymizora , will take a brief moment tooooo plug my own fanfics!

missing the mark (bg3)

Halcyon, the Dark Urge, is a very busy man as the High Primaster of Bhaal's church. Being on time for a meeting with his new ally, Enver Gortash, is a difficult task when everyone seems to be intent on stopping him from doing so. When he finally arrives, he wants to make a reverent display out of his associate.

(8.1k words, nsfw, DD;DNE)

“I haven’t even read it yet but I need you to know I read the tag “fingering the stigmatussy” and Literally Screamed Aloud.”

memento mori (bg3)

Enver Gortash interrupts Adin'hrae--The Dark Urge--during a busy evening to make a request of him. Smut ensues, but it is not loving or warm.

(2k words, nsfw)

“I told you this but I LOVE their fucked up weird little dynamic. I want them to kill each other, I want them to FUCK, I want Gortash to see Adin'hrae in his post-tadpole era and SCREAM at the fact that Adin'hrae forGOT HIM???”

i betray you like a man (bg3)

The Dark Urge -- a tiefling named Gabriel with no memory beyond a bruised ego and a honed instinct to kill.

The Morningstar -- an aasimar named Bedivere whom has been locked away in a monastery for nigh on twenty years.

Bound by inscrutable fate and the deeds of men who play at being gods, they are brought together after a fateful nautiloid crash upon the Sword Coast. From there, it is a race against the clock to uncover the cure for tadpoles that plague their company, and the truth of the bloody past that Gabriel has left trailing behind him. Whispers from dark urges plague his mind, while the earnest pleas of Lathander guide Bedivere's steps. Time and fate are both poised against them.

(8.7k words, ongoing, slowburn)

“You know how I feel about your writing already, but I'm going to say it here too, it's delicious. Your characters, the atmosphere, the immediate feeling of place and person - on top of that handling of the gods? Lathander a familiar mortal shape but not at all mortal. Vere and Gabriel stitched firmly into the tapestry of a far wider plan and suffering for it (as I am, I am hurting). You know I've got my eyes peeled for more, I always do 😌”

say yes to me (bg3)

Minor spoilers for Gale's Act 1 Romance scene. Piety decides that he wants to return the favor, and they decide the best way to do so is to show Gale his feytouched magic.

(1.8k words, fluff, yearning)

“okay it was cute. catch me giggling a little. i think they should probably kiss. stat.”

born again in blood (da:o)

'He looked down at the chalice in his hands; blood, tainted. He looked up at the statue of Andraste that peered down upon them all. He thought of her when she died a martyr. He thought of his mother, lifesblood, the breath she gave for him at birth. He thought of himself, a child, blood-red and slick from between his thighs. He parted his lips and drank deeply.'

A mostly canon-compliant take on the events of Dragon Age: Origins that follows the path of my Tabris warden; how he deals with the weight of responsibility while trying to figure out his own identity in the midst of a crisis. Picks up post-City Elf Origin.

(32.9k words, ongoing, angst)

“The insight into Mahanon’s will to live despite everything - and because of everything - is so engaging and adds so much depth to the story!!”

#teehee #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur’s gate 3 #dragon age #dao #dragon age origins #fanfic #fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction

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dxngosstuff · 1 year

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Does the Moonlight Shine on Paris? (iv)

Idol!Yoon Jeonghan x Idol!f!Reader

900+ words ; cw :none | m.list tags: friends to lovers; fluff; minor angst; idol au; elements of slowburn; second male lead scoups;

Yoon Jeonghan realizes a few things about you after sharing a drink with you in Paris.

“Hyung,” Hoshi made himself comfortable by the coffee table in his hotel room while the older member was taking off his shoes by the entrance. “What was that about?” He continued.

The former may be eccentric most of the time being the Gemini that he is but he’s surprisingly fast at picking up the changes in his members. Jeonghan just gave a look of confusion as a response.

“You had heart eyes for Y/n Noona that entire time while taking pictures.” Hoshi leaned forward on the chair, anticipating his answer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jeonghan then made his way to the seat across Hoshi.

“Does Seungcheol hyung know about this? I’m sure he’d support you if his two best friends were hitting it off.” Hoshi was skeptical to accept his answer. So taking the risk, he tried to pry further. He knew it wasn’t really his business but he was worried for his hyungs. He didn’t want them fighting over a girl. Plus, Hoshi was quite fond of you. It would be a waste if you stopped hanging out with them because of a possible conflict between the two.

Jeonghan stared at Hoshi for what seemed like an eternity—deciding whether he should ask for advice or still value his pride—before finally taking a deep breath.

“Look, she’s amazing. You know that, right?” Hoshi nodded in agreement at Jeonghan’s statement, thinking that the risk that he took might be worth it.

“I may or may not have a crush on her.” He continued. “It just happened.” He felt like a teenager using the word ‘crush’ at his age but it was the most fitting word he could find for his newly discovered infatuation towards you.

Hoshi covered his mouth, finally leaning back on his chair. “Oh my.”

“I know. I feel really conflicted. Am I a bad friend? I know that Cheol used to like her and I don’t want him to think that I’m taking advantage of what happened between them. But man, yeah… She… I think I’m starting to understand now why Cheol liked her so much.”

He finally let out his worries for the past few days all in one breath which took Hoshi aback. He was shocked to find out that this was a lot more serious than he thought, but there was one detail that he needed to clarify.

“Wait. Hyung used to like her?”

Jeonghan’s eyes widened in realization. This was not common knowledge to the members, despite their speculations, and he just blurted it out due to a spur of emotions. He took a deep sigh realizing that things were gonna spiral down from here. Luckily, when it comes to serious things, Hoshi could keep a secret if he really needed to, aside from comeback spoilers, of course. So, he tried his best explaining both sides to the boy in front of him.

“You need to talk this one out between the two of you, hyung. If he decided to give up on her then it’s not your fault. But who would’ve thought, you two would have the same taste. Guess you really are best friends.”

Hoshi’s attempt to lighten the mood was met with a death glare from Jeonghan but he just laughed it off. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep my mouth shut with this one. Thanks for sharing your worries with me.” He assured the latter with a pat on the shoulder as he stood up and went to the bathroom to wash up.

Now left alone in his seat, he was finally able to contemplate on the growing feelings that he had for you. He can’t pinpoint for sure when he started liking you but he figured it was always there, but like a bystander, or an audience of some sort, he was just watching you and Seungcheol spend time together, content with the fact that his friends were happy with each other. Perhaps, it was because he knew deep down that he would never have a fighting chance so he left his feelings unacknowledged. Whatever was there that was buried deep down within himself was finally let loose, akin to Pandora’s box. He had a glimmer of hope thinking finally thinking to himself ‘What if I was now the one willing to take the risk with you?’

–

“Hannie! Good morning! Don’t forget to send me my pictures”

The man smiled at the message that was sent to him. He thought about how nice it would be to receive a good morning text from you everyday but alas, he needed to get up to get ready for his flight back to Seoul but before that, he wanted to text you back

J: “Yes, ma’am.” Y: “Don’t call me, ma’am. It makes me feel old. (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾” J: “What should I call you then? ;)” Y: “Anything, just don’t call me ma’am.”

‘I’d call you mine if I could.’ He thought to himself. Refreshed from finally having a good night’s sleep, he had finally come into terms with his emotions. He came to the conclusion that he should just man up and do the best he can to win your heart over. He decided that he has had enough of years of just watching; he wanted to act now. It may not be easy but he didn’t want to have any regrets.

J: “Alright. I won’t call you that anymore. By the way, have you seen Ant-man?’ Y: “Nope. Why?” J: “I was wondering if you were free around this time. A friend of mine gave me two tickets.” “I wanna watch it when we get back but I don’t want to be alone, I’d watch it with the other members but they have other plans for that date.” Y: “Hmmm? My manager says I’m free that day. I’m down!” J: “Cool!”

He smiled to himself because little did you know, there was neither a ‘friend’ nor did he invite the other members out.

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aethersea · 5 months

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📓!

There’s an atla au of star wars that I have tried so hard to bend into a shape that I can actually write, but alas, all I have are ideas. This is the one that’s in the wips folder as Everything Changed when the Clones Attacked, which is ironic bc I cannot for the life of me figure out what to do with the clones. Maybe they’re being brainwashed at Lake Laogai? Or something???

Anyway. The story has two parts, prequels and sequels. Details under the cut, because this got a bit long.

In the prequels, the elderly Master Yoda of the airbenders is Avatar, and in his old age he’s stopped traveling the world and instead dispenses his wisdom from one of the great Air Nomad temples, nestled deep in the mountains where only Air Nomads can reach. He’s unofficial leader of the council of Air Nomad elders, which is….not great, really, not how things should be, but it’s mostly been okay. He’s been a good avatar overall, and it’s only in later years that he’s leaned so heavily toward the Air Nomads, and really none of this is enough to push the four peoples truly out of balance.

Our story starts with Qui-gon Jinn, an airbending master traveling with his apprentice, helping a besieged queen from a minor Earth Kingdom escape her city. (I saw a post once asserting that the Earth Kingdom is actually a collection of largely autonomous kingdoms that all loosely recognize the authority of the Earth King in Ba Sing Se, and I like that a lot, so that’s the worldbuilding I’m going with here.) Qui-gon agrees to take Queen Amidala to the Avatar’s council to beg their aid.

Along the way, they encounter a young boy living with his mother. The boy can do a bit of earthbending—and also a bit of waterbending, and a bit of airbending, and a bit of firebending. Which is impossible, because Avatar Yoda isn’t dead, but there he is, bending all the elements anyway.

I don’t think there’s slavery in the atla universe, but we could probably get away with indentured servitude of some kind, and Qui-gon acquires Ani in much the same way as he does in canon. He takes him to Avatar Yoda—and Yoda rejects him. Says, essentially, “This is weird as hell but it’s also not my problem.” (Frankly I can’t come up with an actual good reason for Yoda to do that, but just go with me here.) So Qui-gon angrily responds that if the Avatar won’t take responsibility, he will, and then gets himself enmeshed in Amidala’s political problems to boot.

And then he dies.

Something something evil emperor, yadda yadda you know the drill. (Though I think the empire isn’t going to be the Fire Nation, despite the thematic appropriateness of fire spreading unchecked to consume all in its path. Palpatine is gonna usurp the Earth King, I think, and I do feel the prequels’ themes around entrenched systems with deep flaws, which are too big to fight as individuals and too implacable to change, will fit well with atla themes around earth.)

The sequels portion of things is even less plotted out. All I know is that Luke grows up in the same nameless patch of Earth territory his father grew up in, and he doesn’t actually discover he can waterbend until he’s practically an adult. It’s a shock to everyone—except, somehow, weird Old Ben who lives in the desert, who tells him that the next Avatar is supposed to be a waterbender, and won’t explain why he’s so convinced Luke is that Avatar given that he’s pretty emphatically not from the Water Tribes.

Luke is finally convinced when he manages to airbend, under Old Ben’s suspiciously skilled tutelage. He can’t pull off any other elements, though, so they go off on a road trip to that swamp where you see spirits, to try to reach the past Avatars and get some guidance.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to both of them, Leia has grown up knowing she can firebend. This is kind of an alarming skill for the princess of an Earth Kingdom to have, and even more alarming given that she’s already an earthbender. So she’s kept it secret, and no one but her parents has ever known.

They can meet in some way analogous to the Death Star raid in A New Hope, idk I have zero plot in mind here. The point, as far as I’m concerned, is that the Skywalkers have fundamentally broken the Avatar cycle. Anakin shouldn’t exist, and yet he does, and he was born while Yoda was still alive. If he hadn’t existed, the next Avatar would be a waterbender, and that’s Luke—except he’s from the Earth Kingdom. If Anakin is a true Avatar, then the next one would be an earthbender, and that’s Leia—only then she shouldn’t have been born until after Anakin’s death. Nothing makes sense! Even Yoda and all the other past Avatars together have no goddamn clue what is going on!

Imagine their consternation when they discover that neither Luke nor Leia is the Avatar: it’s actually both of them together. Luke has air and water, Leia has earth and fire; Luke can visit the spirit world and be the bridge between humans and spirits, and Leia can speak to kings and maintain the balance between the four nations. The two of them, together, can defeat their father, defeat the emperor, and restore harmony to the world.

#finx writes #finx has friends on the internet #star wars #why yes I do still have an ask from you from a long-ago wip wednesday for this fic #I stared at that google doc for SO LONG trying to come up with something I liked even a little #I just have no clue what to write! can't make the words happen!#so here instead have this

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ellewritesandrants · 1 year

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I was kind of inspired by a post of @officialjoekeery about pre-byergroveton but I wanted to have some slight Billy angst and some Christmas festivities so here’s my take on it.

Imagine instead of Jonathan getting together with Nancy, he ends up together with Steve after the whole demogorgon beat down and Billy comes riding into town, with his eyes set on Steve only to find out he’s already taken by the town creep. Billy can’t understand what’s so amazing about this guy until he ends up partnered with him an English project, forcing him to get to know Jonathan and to end up falling for him too.

Steve was all charm and wit and admittedly, looks while Jonathan was heart and understanding and kindness. Billy knew deep down he didn’t deserve anything as good as either of them so he was resigned to just lonely pining for the rest of his time at Hawkins before he moved back to California. To add to his pain and suffering, Jonathan took their tentative working relationship as a sign of friendship and Billy had a permanent spot at their table and he was often dragged into their shenanigans like shooting the shit by Lover’s Lake or smoking by the quarry.

As Billy fell deeper and seemingly hopelessly more in love with the two, Jonathan was growing more and more concerned over the bruises and scars Billy liked to hide. It didn’t make any sense, the frequency of his injuries and the stories he told and Jonathan knew what it was like to cover up for an abuser. Since Joyce was dating Hopper, he brought it up one dinner only to have his mom share the same suspicions, forcing Hopper to look into things.

Hopper’s uncanny ability to be at the right place at the right time paid off once again because the first time he patrolled past the house and snuck a glance through the windows, he saw Neil Hargrove with a belt in his hands and a tapestry of scars and wounds laid open on Billy Hargrove’s back. Hopper didn’t hesitate before rushing through the front door to arrest that son of a bitch who started raving on and on about beating respect and responsibility into his bastard of a son who should have died instead. Since Billy was still a minor, Hopper was able to get Neil away long enough for both Max and Billy to be legal adults and he was able to spin it into a premeditated murder case so he would be long gone.

While Neil was taken away in handcuffs, an ambulance had been sent to the scene and Billy Hargrove had been carted out and witnessed by the neighbors, bruised to hell and back, looking every inch the battered and bruised 16 year old that he was. It became the talk of the town over Thanksgiving weekend, especially since no one had expected that at all.

Joyce immediately went over to help Susan, knowing exactly what that woman had gone through and more than willing to help Susan figure out how to make things right with Billy since her inaction had inadvertently hurt Billy. Joyce had been the one to convince Susan to testify in Billy’s favor and to stop living in fear of Neil.

Jonathan had very quickly volunteered to get Billy’s homework and bring it to the hospital for the week or so that he was kept in the hospital. Jonathan had given Billy a safe space to confess about all of the horrors his father had put him through because Billy knew that Jonathan would understand. The slightly older and definitely taller boy had nothing but kind listening ears for Billy and a warm hand to hold onto to ground himself.

Of course, as soon as Steve heard, he was there with Jonathan, bringing all sorts of gifts for people recovering from injuries brought forth by an irrational guilt of not noticing how badly the younger boy had been hurting. Steve had silently resolved to protect the smaller boy the first time he saw him dwarfed in a hospital gown, asleep and for once looking his actual age.

When Billy had returned, he didn’t bother with showboating anymore because that had been to keep himself safe from being hurt in the obvious places unless he’d really messed up and gotten his dad really angry. Billy had returned a quiet shell of his former self, focused on just making it through high school complete with a broken wrist and ankle from them being stomped on by Neil Hargrove upon being arrested as well.

Jonathan and Steve were his perpetual guard dogs in protecting the smaller blond, not letting anyone badmouth him and helping him with his day to day things since he wasn’t able to drive for a while, leaving him reliant on Jonathan and Steve for rides because he was unable to walk the mile to school. The boys were more than happy to help Billy since he not only helped them with their classes but because he’d slowly carved out a place in their hearts as well.

Steve had been the one to broach the conversation about it, telling Jonathan in no nonsense terms that he loves Jonathan but that he also grew to love Billy as well. It had been a huge relief to find out that Jonathan had felt the same about the younger blond and they decided to see if Billy would be receptive of their advances so that they could all be together.

Max had been the first to threaten the two if they ever hurt her brother after she had noticed them starting to be more obvious with their flirting to their purposefully oblivious brother. Max had grown incredibly close to Billy in his hospitalization, finally learning the truth about his punishments for her actions and how Neil had pitted them against each other from the start. She had promised to be a better sister while Billy had promised to be a better brother in return. They’d spent afternoons playing like they hadn’t done since they left California and post-hospitalization, Max was Billy’s biggest crutch since she’d guessed about his feelings for Steve and Jonathan and he told her about how he felt he’d never be good enough for either of them.

It had taken a lot of begging and pleading for Max to let Steve and Jonathan anywhere near Billy as she monopolized his time after school asking for help with homework or in figuring out a new dish since Max was learning how to cook while Billy was injured. It had also taken a greater amount of begging, pleading and bribery before she helped them in getting together with her brother.

She’d been the one to give Billy some of Steve’s old sweaters in preparation for the winter after the two had noticed Billy didn’t have any proper winter clothes since they knew that Billy wouldn’t accept any charity from Steve but would happily accept a gift from his sister who’d won them in a bet. Neither Steve nor Jonathan were prepared for how absolutely adorable Billy looked dwarfed in Steve’s old oversized sweaters.

It also didn’t help that they were there to witness the blond’s reaction to seeing his first real snowfall and the absolute child-like wonder that crossed his face was permanently burned into their retinas. As days passed, they literally couldn’t stop themselves from falling deeper and deeper in love with the blond who was slowly learning to allow himself to just be himself and not have to be the man that Neil wanted him to be.

It all comes to a head when the boys trap Billy at a Christmas Party/Welcoming Party to the Mayfield-Hargrove’s new home, right beside the Byers. They’d connived with Max to place some mistletoe all over the house, allowing them to trap Billy under the mistletoe between them. After an initial kiss for both boys, Steve and Jonathan clarified their intentions with Billy, making the younger blond blush at the praise heaped on him and the care he felt radiating from the boys.

They end up spending most of the Christmas party in Billy’s room, not even doing anything too wild but just enjoying each other’s company and proving their feelings to the blond who still couldn’t believe that the boys he loved loved him back. Max had already told the rest of the people in the house about what was going on and everyone just felt happy that for once, things were going great for Billy Hargrove.

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 7 months

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Day 6 of @silmsmutweek

Pairing: Oromë x Celegorm | Location: Forests of Oromë

Themes: Smut (Lemon/Graphic)

Word count: 1.9k words

Summary: Celegorm struggles to confess his feelings for Oromë. Does Oromë feel the same?

A/n: Celegorm is well past of the age of majority for elves when this takes place, but there is still a vast age difference given the fact that Oromë is one of the Valar.

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+ | You are responsible for the media you consume.

It all unfolded beneath the stars.

Oromë never thought that it could happen. Despite being kindred spirits, their worlds were too far apart. He was of the Ainur. Celegorm was elf-kind, and his student besides. Such a union was bound to end in sorrow. Oromë knew it would. He sensed the impending doom that would hang over them like a dark cloud. And yet, despite this sense of deep foreboding hanging over them, their cleaving to each other happened all the same, with neither doing anything to stop it.

Let us begin.

They had been resting by the shore of a great lake after swimming off the hunt. Celegorm had tried, and failed, to outswim Oromë, and Oromë, as always, would be ahead of him. Ripples of laughter carried across the still air and through the trees. No one heard. No one else came. Their attendants had returned to the halls Oromë called home. Oromë and Celegorm themselves wished to tarry a little longer, and watch the stars.

Hours passed in companionable silence before Celegorm said, "Father insists that I marry, and soon."

A sharp pang of sadness crept deep into the very fiber of Oromë’s being. He knew this day would come, that Celegorm would go on to wed another. Still, he had secretly hoped it would never happen and that Celegorm would always remain with him. Oromë knew it was supremely selfish of him to wish for such a thing, yet he could not bring himself to part with the one who had gone on to claim a treasured place in his heart.

"What did you tell him?" He finally inquired with feigned indifference.

"I said I had no desire to wed any of the maidens he chose for me," Celegorm began, his eyes never leaving the stars. "And it would not matter how many offers we receive. My answer will always be no."

Oromë propped himself on his elbow and gave Celegorm a measured look. "You do not wish to wed anyone?"

"It is not because I do not wish to wed anyone." Celegorm paused, hesitated, and said, "It is because my heart already belongs to another."

Oromë fought in vain to still the hope spiraling within him. "Does your father know who this other person is?"

"Yes." Celegorm finally turned to face him. "My father was not pleased when I gave him a name."

"Because she is of low birth?"

"Because she is a he. And he is one of the Great Ones. He may not even know how much I yearn for him."

"I see." Oromë, overcome by an abrupt flash of dizzying shock, lay back down with his head resting over his folded arms. He said nothing while he pondered Celegorm's words.

One of the great ones, he had said. He may not even know how much I yearn for him, he had also said. Oromë dared to glance at Celegorm. He understood what he meant. The young elven lord had been talking about one of the Ainur. And Oromë was the only Ainu Celegorm ever sought out for guidance and friendship.

"Does it please you, my lord?" Celegorm probed fearfully. "My answer, that is?"

Oromë said nothing and fixed his gaze on the stars instead. I should not do this, he thought. He is elf-kind, and too young. I should do the right thing and nip this in the bud before it goes too far and destroys us.

Golden leaves rustled when a cooling wind blew across the lake. Oromë could not help but steal another glance at his student. There were the eyes that reminded him of the deep pools found only along the Helecaraxë. There was the golden hair that stumbled loose past lean but broad shoulders. There were the tapered hands he had held often when he first taught Celegorm how to use a bow. Now those same hands came to him whenever he closed his eyes, gliding all over him and setting him alight.

No. Oromë fought to restrain himself and the fire that was slowly sparking to life within him. I cannot do this. I will not do this.

Celegorm had been watching him the entire time. Trying to give word to what had bloomed within him used up what courage he had. And Oromë said nothing in return. Perhaps he had been too hasty and should have waited until a more opportune moment presented itself. Or he should have just let things continue as they were and gone ahead with his father’s plans.

Or perhaps he should just refuse his father’s plans to see him wed. Celegorm looked towards the stars, thinking that it would be a life of the most miserable kind for him, to be married to someone he did not desire in any shape or form.

To be bound to one you did not have a shred of regard for? It was not a fate Celegorm desired for himself. And as his lady mother wisely pointed out when he secretly sought her counsel, it would have been grossly unfair to the one he wed. She encouraged him to speak to Oromë instead and let the dice fall where they may. Perhaps he would say yes, as she had gone on to say, or perhaps he would say no. Either way, the knowledge that he tried would give him some solace. Now he was here, deep within the forests, trying to confess more even as his tongue insisted on tying itself up into knots. Celegorm turned to face Oromë again. The Vala had been watching him the entire time, with fear and hope at war in his eyes. A great silence settled between them, one that seemed to stretch on forever. It was unbearable, the pain of it was indescribable. One of them would have to break this wretched silence, and Celegorm thought it would have to be him. Then, before he could gather more courage and speak, Oromë leaned in without warning and kissed him on the mouth.

The battle to keep away had failed. Oromë kissed long and deep, savoring the sensations of Celegorm falling apart beneath him. When trembling hands reached up to touch his hair and trembling lips parted for his tongue, he sighed. Celegorm closed his eyes. Oromë did not like it. He ached to drown in those eyes.

Perhaps later, he decided. After we return to my halls, and I take him to my bed.

His fears over the future now fully forgotten, Oromë rose to his knees and tugged his tunic over his head. When Celegorm tried to do the same, Oromë clutched his wrists and stopped him.

"No," he insisted. "Let me."

Oromë moved slowly, undoing bright, golden clasps one by one before tugging the soft woolen tunic down Celegorm’s arms and throwing it to the side. The shock of cold air made his skin prickle. Celegorm trembled and trembled when Oromë pushed him back onto the soft grass and moved over him. He kissed his brow, his eyelids, the tip of his nose. He kissed Celegorm’s lips—his soft, pink lips—before moving even lower. The elf hissed, unearthly and guttural, when Oromë kissed the length of his throat and the span of his chest. His breath quickened, and he struggled for what purchase he could find against the soil when Oromë sucked and laved at a hardened nipple.

"Arômêz!" Celegorm gasped.

Oromë merely chuckled. He then reached down to cup Celegorm between his thighs, growling when the elf twitched and swelled beneath his palm. The sweet, low moan he incited with his touch alone was like music to his ears.

"Ready for me already?" Oromë rose to his knees again, this time to undo the clasp of Celegorm’s belt.

Celegorm did not wait. He reared up and pulled Oromë in for a kiss, one that was full of violent hunger. His hands delved into thick, dark hair that often seemed to gleam in the soft light of the stars. They cleaved to each other, the Vala and the elf, exchanging solemn vows and promises beneath the light of the stars.

It was not long before he found himself on soft grass again. Oromë sat astride his hips, finding great delight in the muscles that quivered beneath his palms.

"Mine," he whispered before dipping his head to press a kiss upon heated flesh. "Yours."

The blissful sigh of relief that followed when Oromë loosened Celegorm’s breeches and wrapped his hand around his cock was one he would always remember. Celegorm yielded so easily, moaning and whimpering and arching his back while a patient hand stroked his length with ease. He could not think. He could do little but plunge beneath the waves of euphoria that rose to claim him. He impulsively ran his hands over Oromë’s thighs.

"Soon," Oromë promised, his lips barely brushing over Celegorm’s own. "I will be all yours soon."

A flash of heat crept up Celegorm’s throat. "I will hold you to that."

"Desperate," Oromë purred against Celegorm’s ear. "I like it."

He stopped speaking, turning his attention to the pleasurable task at hand instead. Oromë studied the thick, golden lashes that fluttered faintly, the bow-like lips that had parted in a silent cry. He pressed his lips over Celegorm’s own, drinking in the moan that spilled free.

To think I would have denied myself this, he mused. Denied myself the chance to truly know him. I would have been such a fool if I had done so.

A hand rested over his, to guide him. Hips moved in rhythm with his touch. Oromë was relentless now. He studied the expressions flashing across Celegorm’s face—the ecstasy, the yearning. It was not going to be enough. This moment by the lake was not going to be enough. Yes, he decided. He would take Celegorm back to his halls, invite the elf to live with him for as long as he had a desire to do so. And he would help him weather the tempest that would inevitably follow. Fëanor would not take kindly to one of those he was starting to mistrust fucking his son.

Celegorm writhed beneath him. The waves he plunged under dragged him to their uttermost depths, drowning him completely. Oromë’s name rolled off his lips like a chant. A tremor gripped him, one that grew stronger and stronger, swelling and rising before shattering completely. He bucked and thrashed, the warmth of his spend spilling all over his belly. The world went dark all around him, his body grew limp. Ecstasy and yearning ebbed from him, and lazy contentment poured in.

It was a while before he opened his eyes, and that too when Oromë was cleaning him with water he had gathered from the lake. Contentment slowly gave way to fear. The things they did beneath the stars, if word got out…

"My lord," he shuddered. "What just happened…"

"Was a taste of more to come," Oromë promised.

"A taste of more…" Celegorm considered his promise, the delights it held, and the implications. "But my father… his council… my brothers"

"Will answer to me should any harm come to you. Stay with me, Tyelkormo. They will not dare come for you then."

"Stay with you? And never leave?"

An indulgent smile swept across his face. "That is my wish," said Oromë. "What is yours?"

Celegorm sat up straight and studied Oromë keenly. He found neither guile nor trickery hiding within eyes as green as velvety moss.

To stay with him. Just him. To live my life how I wish to live it, with whom I wish to live it with.

"Yes," he replied, flushing from toe to head. "That is my wish as well, to be with you."

"Then let us stay here and rest a little longer," Oromë said, "and then we will return to my halls. I desire to know more of you."

Tags: @cilil

#silmsmutweek #celegorm #celegorm smut #celegorm imagine #the silm #the silm smut #the silm imagine #oromë #oromë smut #oromë imagine #oromë x celegorm #the valar #The ainur #The elves

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