#TWO DIFFERENT but equally soft vibes !

[sunlightmurdock]

For Old Times’ Sake | Bradley Bradshaw x Maverick’s Daughter Reader

Synopsis: Reader is back in town visiting her father after many years away and runs into a very pleasantly familiar face.

Warnings: Vaginal sex, oral (m&f), soft dom vibes, unprotected (kinda protected) sex, swearing

A/N: this took so long bc all my drafts kept getting deleted but I persevered because I love this man… hope you guys enjoy this one :’’)

…

“Y/N, do you know that guy?” Your best friend, Ashley, leaned over the bar of the Hard Deck, eyebrows furrowed as she looked past you. “He has not stopped staring at you for the past hour.”

“Who? Pornstache?” Your other friend, Lily, asked from the other side of you. You knew immediately who they meant.

You didn’t visit San Diego much anymore, not since your dad had lived here last when you were younger. The only reason you were visiting now was because your dad had been nominated for an award and he wanted you to be at the ceremony with him.

So, you had made a trip out of it. You had brought your closest girl friends, booked a nice hotel on the beach, gone clubbing and then decided to bring them back here. They had been bugging you to show them some hot pilots the whole trip.

You turned your head, smiling as you meet Bradley’s gaze across the bar. Rooster now. That’s what your dad had been calling him. You didn’t know him as Rooster, you had known him as Bradley. Bradley Bradshaw — the son of your dad’s best friend.

When you were in High School, you got into a huge fight with your mom and ended up going to stay with Maverick for a year. That was whilst he still lived here. During that time, you went to the same school as Bradley.

He might’ve been two grades above you, but he looked out for you and made sure no one thought of you as the new girl. He drove you home, took you to parties, looked for you at his Football games and let you wear his jersey. People thought you were dating for a while that year. You hadn’t ever dated.

“That’s Bradley Bradshaw.” You said, smiling into your martini as your eyes lingered on his. He grinned at you.

“The Bradley Bradshaw?” Lily gasped, leaning closer to you excitedly. “Big dick Bradley Bradshaw?” Ashley whispered, equally excited.

Yeah. You might not have ever officially dated Bradley, but you had lost your virginity to him a week before you moved back to Arizona with your mother.

You laughed at them, taking your lip between your teeth as you watched him hand his pool cue to one of the other guys he was with, ready to forfeit his turn at pool.

“Shh, shh — he’s coming over.” You hushed them, setting your martini down on the bar and standing up as he crossed the bar to you. He seemed taller now, and he must’ve been twice as big — he had just been a flagpole in high school, tall and broad but no muscle whatsoever.

“Bradley Bradshaw.” You smiled, looking him over as he approached you. His grin only grew as he squeezed past the group of people between you and him and reached you,

“Y/N Mitchell.” He bit his lip, shaking his head slightly as he let himself look you up and down. “You — uh, you look good. How are you?”

“I’m good.” You deadpanned, in awe at how much bigger he seemed. You thought back to that night with Bradley, both of you huddled in the back seat of his Ford Bronco out on the cliffs overlooking the base — there was no way you were both fitting in that backseat now.

Lily nudged you.

“Oh, uh — Brad, this is Lily and this is Ashley. They’re my friends from LA.”

“Yeah, your dad mentioned that you’re a lawyer or something up there now.” Bradley reached up and scratched the back of his neck. He paused his hand still there, watching all three of your eyes follow his movement and land on his flexed bicep. You looked away whilst your friends shamelessly continued to stare.

“And you’re a pilot now.” You breathed, knowing that that was all he had ever wanted. You had wanted to be a million different things over the course of your life, it still changed day to day even now. You had never met someone as focused as Bradley.

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled again.

“Sorry to be forward — are you seeing anyone?” Lily interrupted, making Ashley snicker. You glanced at Bradley apologetically, though he didn’t seem phased in the slightest. He shook his head at her, smiling politely, “I’m not, no.”

“Rooster, the alarm on that piece of shit in the parking lot is going off again!” Someone called from behind the bar.

Bradley sighed softly, pushing his hand into his pocket and pulling out his keys, “Sorry ladies.” You recognised the keys, eyes flickering between the metal and him, “No way — no way do you still have that pile of scrap.”

Ashley and Lily glanced at each other knowingly. They knew yours and Bradley’s story clearly.

He held the keys up and nodded, “C’mon. Come see her. For old times’ sake.”

You glanced at your friends, both of their eyes wide and silently urging you to go. You giggled, linking your arm through his as he led you out of the packed bar.

The alarm was indeed going off, but you weren’t surprised. That car must’ve been at least fifteen years old, and Bradley had driven the mileage sky high in the year that you knew him so it must have been awful now.

“Nice face fuzz by the way.” You murmured, half wanting him to hear, halfway to shy to say it to this new Bradley. He laughed, bringing his hand up and stroking at it jokingly,

“Right? Remind you of anyone?”

You smiled, your eyes lingering on his face, nodding slowly, “You look just like him.”

You may have been too young to really remember a time when Bradley’s dad was around, but your dad had pictures of him everywhere. Bradley really did look just like him.

He slid his hand down into yours and squeezed it softly, and suddenly you were back in your junior year again. He still wore the same cologne he did back then. That was his dad’s too.

He released you hand as he reached the car, kicking the hood with his boot and making the obnoxious alarm stop abruptly. You laughed, bring your hand up and covering your mouth, “Jesus, Bradley. Why do you still have this?”

“Nostalgia.” He glanced back at you, a familiar look in his eye as he walked to the passenger side and opened the door. You glanced back at the bar, seeing both of your friends watching out of the window. What the hell. You slid into the passenger seat, glancing around and checking out the backseat.

Rooster closed your door and hopped in on the driver’s side, catching you looking and grinning, “Thinking back to the best night of your life, Mitchell?”

You laughed, scrunching your nose slightly — maybe it was but he didn’t need any extra boosts to his ego — “You mean the best five minutes of my life?”

Bradley let his jaw fall open, feigning offence and then scoffing, “Fi— five minutes? All I know is that the sun was up when I kissed you, and it was down when we were done. Now forgive me if I’m wrong, but by my calculations that’s over an hour, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, I was your chemistry partner, your calculations were never correct.” You teased, knowing that he was absolutely right. He shot you an amused look, turning the keys in the ignition and moving the gear into reverse.

“Where are we going?” You asked, sitting back comfortably against the familiar leather seat. Rooster shrugged, “What? You have somewhere you need to be?”

“No.” You admitted, your heart racing as you watched him pull out of the parking lot. It was an odd feeling, being more comfortable than you had been around any man in years, and also having butterflies in your stomach like a silly teenager. You put your feet up on the dash, smiling slightly to yourself as he groaned,

“God — you know I hate when you do that.”

You did know that. You wanted to see if he remembered. Still, it made him drive more carefully when you did, you had noticed that once. About ten minutes into your drive, you realised where you were going. The state reserve. The cliffs. You giggled, pressing your hand to your mouth in realisation.

Bradley grinned, glad you had finally caught on.

“If you wanted to get in my pants, Bradshaw, you could’ve just asked.” You teased, rolling down the window on your side and breathing in the salty sea air. Bradley chuckled softly,

“I was thinking about being a gentleman and taking you out for dinner or something first. ‘Til you insulted my performance.” He looked over and winked at you, pulling his car up a bit back from the edge of the cliff. You sat up in your seat, examining the perfect view out over the base, taking your lip between your teeth.

This was all too familiar. You weren’t even supposed to be up on the cliffs that night with Rooster. You had been at a party the night before and had jumped in the pool with all of your clothes on, and when you had gotten home at 5am, your dad had flown off the handle.

That was one of the only times he had really yelled at you. He had really put you in your place. Had grounded you for the last two weeks of summer. But, being the dramatic teenager you were, you had called Bradley, snuck out of your bedroom window and come up here to cool off.

“Deep in thought?” Bradley brushed your hair back off of your shoulder, sliding his fingers up your neck and massaging his fingers through the hair at the base of your scalp.

“Just… remembering.” You blushed at the thought, feeling stupid for doing so. You were grownups now, with careers and exes. It was dumb sitting up here and blushing about someone you hadn’t seen in a decade.

“Seems like there’s a lot to remember,” Bradley mused, turning his head and looking out over the view. You nodded silently, chewing at the corner of your lip to calm your nerves. “Like a lot more than five minutes of stuff to remember.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching out a smacking him in the chest, pretending you weren’t impressed by how solid it was. He grinned with you. It was only once your laughter slowed that you noticed the look in his eyes, your face flushing again.

“Come here.” He jerked his head.

You giggled, holding onto his shoulder with one hand and onto the roof of the vehicle with the other as you slid over the centre console and into his lap. His hands started on your waist, sliding up your back and moving forward to cup your cheeks.

He examined your features for a moment. You examined his. There were a few more lines than you remembered, significantly better facial hair than the wispy moustache he had once tried to grow in high school. His eyes were just as soft. His hands came back down to your sides, eyes following them as they moved before looking back at your face again.

He exhaled gently, leaning forwards and kissing you. You cupped his cheeks with both hands, humming contentedly against his lips. Bradley had always been very gentle with you, you appreciated that now more than you had then. You still liked a man who took charge, but you also knew he was just being what you needed more than what you wanted.

His hands slipped under your shirt just slightly, his fingertips skimming over your sides. He stroked them up and down, and back up again, bringing your skin up in a layer of goosebumps.

Your fingers slid up into his sandy hair, tugging lightly at his roots. His hands pawed at your breasts under your shirt as he pulled back and licked his lips,

“Your boobs finally came in.” He teased, pushing the cups of your bra down so he could really feel you. A cheap shot. You were a late bloomer, you had been flat as a board until college. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to hold back your smile as you smacked his head gently.

“Fuck you.” You giggled, shivering as his thumb swiped over your nipple. He pushed your shirt up, lifting it up over your head and connecting his lips to yours again immediately.

“Oh, so you were for sure planning on fucking tonight.” He chuckled breathily, his eyes falling down to the black lace on your chest. You shifted in his lap, licking your lips, “Maybe I was.”

You glanced at the backseat, furrowing your eyebrows slightly, “I don’t think you’re gonna fit in there, though.”

Bradley glanced down between the two of your bodies at the semi straining against his denim shorts, furrowing his eyebrows, “It’ll fit.”

“I meant that I don’t think you’ll fit in the backseat, Bradshaw.” You whispered, watching his features change in realisation. He rolled his eyes playfully, “I knew that.” He didn’t. You giggled as he peppered kisses along your chest, his hands still massaging at your breasts.

He glanced over his shoulder into the backseat and clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he realised you were most likely correct. He hummed, swinging the door open, pulling you closer against his body and wrapping his arms around you as he stepped out of the bronco.

“Woah — careful! Where are we going?”

You pressed your fingertips into his shoulders as he carried you around to the front of the vehicle, setting you down on the hood. You let out a breath, steadying yourself back on your palms, studying him, “Are we really gonna do this out here?”

Rooster lifted your chin, “Scared we’re gonna get caught?” He teased, pressing his lips to yours. He pressed both palms flat against the hood of the Bronco on either side of you, rutting his hips forward against yours. There was a soft breeze between the two of you, his warm hands a stark contrast to the chill in the air.

“Fuck it.” You breathed, feeling him smile against your throat as you tugged at the buttons on his Hawaiian shirt. He halfway helped you, shrugging it off of his shoulders and letting it fall into the dirt. Then his lips are on your again, his hands on your waist, pulling you against him. His kisses became less uniform. It becomes more desperate, uncoordinated and messy by the second as neither of you can hold yourself back anymore.

There had been other people in between but Bradley had ruined other men for you a long time ago. You had been waiting for this for a while.

One of his hands slid down your neck to hold you by your throat, not squeezing but just resting there, while the other remained steadfast on your hip – you find yourself shivering at the feeling of how big and strong they are, how you’re left entirely up to his mercy.

You could feel his erection, straining against his denim shorts as he rutted his hips forward against your clothed core. You breathed out hard, whimpering softly as he pulled away, kissing your chest, then your stomach as his hands worked open the button of your own shorts.

You lifted your hips for him to pull the material down your thighs, eyes twinkling as he glanced back to you, “Damn. I had my fingers crossed for the superman panties.”

You bit your lip. It wasn’t your fault — Bradley had just been your best friend, you weren’t planning on hooking up with him on that day. You had been wearing blue underwear with the superman symbol on the ass, which Bradley had found hilarious.

“These work, though,” he tugged your hips to the edge of the hood, crouching between your legs and pressing a kiss to your clothed core. He brushed the tip of his nose against your clit through the black lace, “Yeah, I like these.”

You giggled, sliding your fingers into his hair, spreading your legs for him. His finger tips pressed into you, his new trash stache tickling your skin as he grazed his teeth across the inside of your sensitive thighs.

If there was one thing Bradley had always done, it was tease you. Whether it was about your perfect grades, your low tolerance for alcohol or your superman undies. Today was no exception. His lips were everywhere except where you wanted them the most.

“Bradshaw, I swear to god,” You breathed, gripping a handful of his hair. “Touch me or lose me forever.”

He chuckled softly, his warm breath fanning out across your core, making you squirm. “Yes, ma’am.” He obliged. His fingers nudged the lace to the side and swiped two between your folds, teasing at your entrance.

You took a deep breath, arching your back up off of the hood as he slid two digits into you.

“God damn.” He murmured, kissing your hips, working his fingers in and out of you gently. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

He curled his fingers expertly inside of you, making you jolt against him.

“Missed me this much, huh?” He pressed his mouth between your legs, clasping his lips around your clit, pressing his tongue flat against you. You whined, your fingers curling against his scalp.

“Missed your cock.” You admitted playfully, rolling your hips down against his tongue. His left hand held your hips down against the hood as his fingers drove deeper into you, curling up against your g-spot, making you moan for him.

Rooster glanced up at you from between your legs, groaning gently. You looked fucking ethereal. Eyes closed, fingers covering his over your hip, your other hand on your breast.

“Be a good girl and cum for me and I’ll think about letting you have it.” He kissed your thigh, putting his mouth to work between your legs again as soon as he was done talking. You let your head fall back against the hood, writhing for him.

You licked your lips, breathing hard, “Don’t stop.” Bradley was happy to comply. You were in heaven, having a man who knew how to listen between yours legs. He didn’t speed up, didn’t slow down, just kept thrusting his fingers deep, curling them and working his tongue against your clit. His other hand rested across your pelvis, holding you down against the hood nice and still for him.

If it wasn’t for that grip, you would’ve been a wreck.

“Fuck, I’m so close.” You admitted, lips parted as you stared up at the orange sky. Sunset. Of course he had brought you here at sunset. You moaned, blinking hard at the clouds over head, your fingers knotting in his soft brown hair.

Bradley kept up exactly what he was doing, coaxing you up to the edge and taking you straight over it. The clouds overhead were replaced by a blinding white, desperate moans spilling from your lips. And he still didn’t stop. You cursed, pushing yourself up on your elbows, trembling.

“B-Bradley…” You breathed, finally earning yourself a reprieve as he stood up between your legs and pressed his lips to yours. You could still taste faint spearmint on his tongue, the rest of it was all you.

You pushed yourself off of the hood, standing before him, trailing your fingers along the lines on his bare stomach. He was still so tall. You kept your eyes on him as you popped open the button of his denim shorts. He was silent, lips toying at a smile as you dragged the zipper down.

He raised his eyebrows at you, wetting his lip with his tongue, knowing exactly what you were waiting for him to say. His eyes were on you, daring you to ask him. You didn’t have to. His cock had been straining at that denim for long enough that he was willing to beg without you having to ask.

“Please.” He whispered.

Your lips curved up into a smile. Something about this decorated pilot, one of the best in the world, standing taller than you, asking so politely for you to suck his dick was so satisfying.

He swallowed, watching you kneel in front of him, tugging his shorts and boxer down enough to free his cock. You grabbed the back of his thigh with one hand, wrapping the other around his shaft, your eyes on him as you dragged your tongue along the underside of his cock, ending by wrapping your lips around the tip.

“Fuck,” He breathed, his thumb stroking at your cheek. “Whoever taught you how to suck dick was a fucking genius.” It was him.

You couldn’t help but pull back, laughing as you looked up at him. He shot you a wink, resting his palm on the hood of the car just past your head and taking his lip between his teeth as you wrapped your lips around him again.

It didn’t take a genius to suck a dick, but you had to admit that Bradley’s method had gotten you plenty of compliments over the years. You pressed your fingertips into his thigh, blinking tears back from your eyes as you slid him further into your mouth.

Bradley took in a sharp breath, groaning softly, “Hold on, holy shit…”

You pulled back, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb and rising to your feet. He pushed you hard against the bumper of the car, slipping his arms around your body as he kissed you.

“I want you inside of me already.” You whispered, craning your head back as his lips assaulted your neck. He grabbed your hips, putting you up on the hood again, pushing the black lace between your legs to the side, his fist at the base of his cock as he lined himself up between your legs.

You winced slightly as he pushed the tip into you, his hand gripping the back of your neck, his lips pressing against your temple.

“You’re so fucking tight.” He whispered against your ear, his breath making you tremble. You considered explaining to him that in reality he was just fucking huge. You whined at the feeling of him stretching you out, leaning back on your palms and hiking your legs up around his waist.

Bradley let out a hard breath as he bottomed out, his pelvis pressing tight against yours. His eyes watched the space between you as he rolled his hips, agonisingly slowly in and out of you. You took your lip between your teeth, sighing gently in relief as your body adjusted to the feeling of him.

“Brad?” You spoke tentatively. His warm brown eyes flickered up to you and you almost melted. You gulped, shaking your head as you remembered your original point. “I’m not made of glass.”

Bradley nuzzled the bridge of his nose against your jaw, thrusting unbearably slowly as he kissed your cheek,

“Honey, if you want me to fuck you like a whore then you have to ask.”

Your lips parted in surprise. He had always had a dirty mouth but you hadn’t ever heard this from him. He felt your walls contract around him, his hand guiding your hip as he continued his delicate thrusts.

He looked up at you again, his eyes seeming darker this time. He raised his eyebrows at you expectantly, stilling his hips all together this time. You shivered.

“I-I…” Your cheeks flushed with heat, “I want you to fuck me like a whore.”

Always one to please, Bradley pulled out and flipped you over, tugging your ass back against him. He buried himself deep inside you once again in one swift thrust.

“Fuck!” You whimpered, hiding the head in the crook of your elbow. Rooster peppered kisses from the nape of your neck to the base of your spine, giving you just a moment to recover before dragging himself back and plowing forwards into you once again.

You flinched as Bradley’s hand came down on your ass, moaning into your elbow.

“You look so pretty taking my cock like this, honey.” He murmured, dragging his lips across the the middle of your back, his hand massaging your reddened ass cheek.

“Ohmyfuckinggod.” You mewled pathetically. You cried out again, moaning softly for him each time your hipbones slammed against the hood of the car.

Bradley’s hand roamed up your back, tangling in your hair and scooping it up into a makeshift ponytail. You gasped as he tugged at your roots, pressing his bare chest against your back, exposing your neck to him as his lips assaulted your throat.

You arched your back, gasping desperately as his cock thrust even deeper into you, brushing your cervix. You cursed, doing your best to meet his thrusts, pushing your ass back against him. Rooster grunted softly, the noise reverberating in your ear drum and sending chills through you.

“Taking it so well for me, baby.” He whispered, kissing your neck.

His other arm tucked around your waist, holding you still as he rutted into you. Rutting was the only way to describe it. There was something so animalistic about the way he fucked.

He pulled at your hair, tugging you closer against his chest, snaking his hand between your legs. Your eyes fluttered closed, practically going limp in his arms for a moment. Until your hips slamming into the hood again brought you back. They were for sure going to be bruised as shit tomorrow. You would have to swap your bikini for Ashley’s one piece for sure.

“You close, baby?” Rooster whispered, his voice gruffer than it usually was. You nodded feverishly, whimpering as he finally released his grip on your roots, his hands sliding down to both grip your hips. Bradley grunted gently against your shoulder, his hips stuttering as they hit yours.

You jolted, placing your hand over his on your hip and gripping it as his other hand helped you over the edge once again.

“W-Wait- wait, you should probably pull out.” You stumbled over the words, barely remembering your own name as he drove your pelvis into the metal hood one last time. Bradley breathed hard, kissing your jaw, his cock twitching inside of you, “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, “Nothing, I just got an IUD a couple days ago and I…” you paused, still trying to catch your breath, “I don’t know if it’s effective yet.”

Bradley hummed, pressing his lips to your jaw and then your temple, “What? — You don’t think Mav would be too stoked about me making him a grandpa?” He teased, thrusting once more, making you gasp.

“You’re an idiot.” You giggled, pushing your hips back against his. He grinned, turning your jaw and leaning over your shoulder to kiss you, rutting his hips forward against you.

You felt his hips stutter again, his soft breaths in your ear becoming faster.

“Fuck, okay — where do you want me to cum?” He whispered, his forehead resting against your shoulder. You made a nonsensical whimpering sound, resting your head in the crook of your elbow again. He could feel your legs against his, trembling.

You whined again as he pulled out sharply, gasping as you felt his cock brush against your ass cheek, warm ropes shooting across your ass and lower back.

He stayed there for a moment, groaning as he kissed your shoulder, before shaking his head and standing up right.

“Hold on one sec,” Bradley seemed much more coherent than you did as he walked around to the still open drivers side door. “Here you go.”

He walked back to you, chuckling softly to himself as he wiped off your back, “Shoulda taken you back to your friends like this, think they would’ve found it funny.”

You pulled your underwear back up correctly, grabbing your shorts off of the hood and pulling them back up your legs. It was at that point you realised what Bradley had balled up in his right hand as he buttoned his shorts with the other.

“Is that my shirt?”

Bradley glanced down at the now absolutely unwearable item in his hand, then looked back up at you, somewhat guiltily. Then he grinned, “Sorry. Here, you can wear mine. I’ll make it up to you.”

You glared at him playfully as he handed you the Hawaiian shirt he had been wearing and tossed your shirt onto his backseat. He shot you a wink, taking a step toward you an pressing his body against yours.

“So,” He tucked your hair behind your ear, those warm brown eyes setting in on yours again. “Better than the first time?”

“I dunno, Bradshaw,” you gave him a smug look over your shoulder as you walked over and slid into the passenger seat. He followed you, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Might have to try a third time for some more conclusive results.”

Bradley’s lips quirked up into a smirk as he turned the keys in the ignition, “Well in that case, I only live a couple minutes away.”

“I have to meet my dad early tomorrow morning, so I can’t be walking funny.”

Bradley laughed as he turned out of the clearing on the cliffs and headed back down to the main road. He shook his head, putting his hand on your thigh, shooting you a wink, “I’ll take it easy on you, honey.”

You scoffed, pushing yourself up on your knees and leaning over the centre console, pressing your lips to his neck, “I never asked you to do that.”

Bradley tilted his head from side to side, pretending to evaluate, “Maybe not. But I did notice that you forgot how to talk English for a little bit back there,” he teased, “so in the interest of preserving that big, smart brain of yours — I’m thinking maybe next time I shouldn’t fuck the language right out of you.”

You giggled against Bradley’s skin, trailing your fingertips along the inseam of his shorts until you reached his crotch. He bit the corner of his cheek, still grinning from his previous joke, his heart speeding up slightly as you stroked him over the shortsz

He took his lip between his teeth, shifting in his seat, parting his knees further to give you better access.

Lips pressing firmly to his throat, fingers dragging his zipper down agonisingly slowly then popping open the button on his shorts. Bradley groaned, pushing his head back against the headrest, rutting his hips up into your hand.

You worked your palm against his length over the denim as he pulled up to a red light. You hummed softly, turning his jaw towards you and pressing your lips to his. Bradley stiffened suddenly.

You pulled back, eyebrows furrowed as you looked him over. He was looking past you, lips parted slightly. You turned slowly, centring yourself back in your own seat, pulling your knees up to your chest as you followed his line of vision to the motorcycle stopped beside you at the lights.

Maverick looked between the two of you.

Rooster in the driver’s seat, his hair damp and falling messily across his forehead, sitting shirtless and his eyes wide. Then you. Wearing Rooster’s missing shirt, dirt on your knees, your hand still on his crotch.

Rooster slapped your hand back into your lap, swallowing hard. You winced as your father called you by your name. Your full name.

“Drive.” You demanded, slipping down in your seat. Rooster did a double take at you. He hadn’t realised that was an option.

“What?”

“Drive.” You demanded, watching the light finally turn amber. Bradley pressed the gas pedal down into the floor, eyes straight ahead.

“He’s going to rip the brakes out of my fucking plane.” He breathed, pressing his hand over his mouth. “I am so dead.”

You shook your head, “No… maybe he won’t be that mad. We’re both adults now, you know?”

Rooster glanced up into the rear view mirror, “Yeah, he’s following us.”

…

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#bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #miles teller #rooster x you #top gun smut

[infamous-if]

I know everyone is thinking of Soft Violence on the bus with MC, but I'm excited to see Underground Wastebasket with MC's band on the bus. I can just imagine the chaos.

If the Soft Violence bus is just silent tension with a lot of glaring and subtle jabs thrown in every conversation...with bouts of unavoidable emotional turmoil, the Underground Wastebasket bus is actual yelling, cursing, and fights that have to be stopped by Orion before they get ugly.

Two very different vibes that are equally terrible to experience lmao poor mc

#inbox #chapter 2

[goatpaste]

Hai, mutuals have my actin up getting obsessive brain over Pillar Fam Au again and their all over my brain like ANTS

So I wanted to redo the art on the pillar fam playlist and doodle some stuff for my fav songs on the playlist

just thinking about them thinking about them thinking about them and running around and biting

every few weeks I just remember this AU is everything to me good lurd

[Commission Prices][Etsy][Buy me a Kofi]

also wanted to talk about some thoughts on the songs of the playlist just whatever, under the cut

Where Evil Grows by The Poppy Family: this one I drew for, but I heavily think of it over Joseph and Wamuu's first meeting where despite the rough first meeting, theres that spark of interest in on another. Despite unexplainable need to get close to one another, especially Joseph to Wham.

Blood in the Wine by AURORA: mostly a song I put on there for Wham, its a Wham heavy song and makes me think generally of pillar fam but also of Wham and his relationship to his pillar men family and kars. His Loyalty and devotion to the man who is his father, but ultimately having these different goals and feelings.

Electric Love by BORNS: Honestly mostly just a fun feel good song I felt had some good vibes to Pillar fam, love a good lightning motif for Joseph.

Kiss her you fool by Kids that Fly: First kiss scene, 1000% Joseph with a million thoughts about how he's trying to get out of dying, or even killing but also quickly realizing he might just be in love with this powerful warrior and that Wham just might like him back, and to make a leap of fate with a kiss.

Talk to Much COIN: Another song that fit the bill for Pillar Fam especially of a Joseph angle for suuuure

High on Humans by Oh Wonder: I think this is pretty straight forward for the wham angle of this relationship, especially when Suzi starts being in the mix and he's realizing he's soft for two humans who he should be seeing as a threat to Kar's mission. but instead his brain if fuzzy and soft around them

The Sex has Made me Stupid by Robots in Disguise: also pretty straight forward, they were going at it like rabbits because i take Wham for a guy who fucks his enemies as an equal partner for him, fighting it like gay sex to him but so is gay sex lol. Also this song is such so extremely british its just a bit of a too fitting not to include

Dirty imbecile by The Happy Fits: Kinda vauge take on Joseph, i get big joseph vibes in this song and fitting to my minds touchings of his character and relationship to family and lack there of

Step With me by MIKA: its the vibes, the specific lyrics just feel so right, the slow set by set calculations of getting close to someone like Wham in their specific situation. Both in trying to work every angle to get everyone out alive, but also dealing with big feelings for a big man who may kill him. One step at a time, just a few steps away from you. I especially take this song overlay to the idea of the height of Pillar Fam when the month is almost up and joseph's one like asking of truce between him and wham, but wham choosing to stay to his word and to kars and leaving Joseph, but stubborn Joseph not giving up quite yet.

Necessary Evil by Unknown Mortal Orchestra: i think this in a way feels a lot like similar lyrical vibes to Where Evil Grows. But bit on the horny side lol, two crazy kids defying the odds, dealing with how they feel, messy messy feelings while they nearly kill each other in a gladiatorial fight on chariots around a roaring fire.

I wont hurt you by the West Coast Pop Art Experience: THIS SONG OUHGH this is one of the big ones on the playlist to me, its soo ouch. Song that 100% in my head links to the end of the Chariot fight. Joseph and Wham have dealt out all their cards, every trick in the book to live or win. All but their final trump card, all or nothing, put it all on the line and die winning. Wham lost of sight, arms and burning a hole into his own chest. Joseph with caesars headband and the lighter fluid... But he can't do it. instead opting to drop his weapons and his guards, i wont hurt you, Yelled over the intense slicing winds as they grow nearer. Joseph's pleading one more time for Wham to stop to not kill Joseph, but more importantly, himself. That Kars wouldnt want this, Suzi wouldnt want this and Joseph wouldnt want this. He would rather lay down and accept defeat and death than be the one to remove Wham from the world. its then, Wham in his biggest moment of vulnerability stops, words reaching him. Falling to his knees and embracing Joseph in a messy bloody puddle in all the heavy silence under the blazing fire. I wont hurt you.

m'Lover by Kishi Bashi: themes of unlikely lovers? well dont mind if i do for my pillar fam playlist. Picking up right after the last one, things are finally looking right, defying the destiny that they were meant to hurt and kill each other in that pit that night instead promising themselves to each other. two loves in the night finding each other in the most unlikely way

Affection Taku Iwasaki: Its a jojo song, and it makes me sad weepy, its soft its perfect for this vibe.

Bizzare Love Triangle by New Order: I think mostly on here for the general title and 'love triangle' idea. Suzi and her two boys, their Bizzare Love Triangle

From Me, the Moon by Lav and Dark Moon by Bonnie Guitar: putting these together as their both meant to be for the same idea, Wham watching his human partners grow old. His family even with his pillar man genetics, growing older. The idea they will one day leave him behind. This reality will obviously never come as they world ends in p6. But its a lingering idea, a soft sad, but approachable topic to think about for Wham. Couldn't not include it in a playlist meant to encapsulate them and their life start to finish. Wham will be sad, but happily live out his humans long lives. As long as they'll have him.

Affection Taku Iwasaki: it was the final track of P2, just like Affection, sweet and good, how could i not make it the final track on this playlist.

#pillar fam #battle tendency #jojo #jjba #wamuu #joseph joestar #suzi q

[knightofthesevenfandoms]

Now that you've watched s2, I'm very curious to hear your opinion about it as an honourable IB shipper

My feelings are very mixed, while their flashbacks were pretty cute, the "confession" scene felt TERRIBLE to me. Why would these two old bureaucrats sing a cheesy song at each other in front of their respective courts 😭 Why were they speaking like 13 year olds. The ending just ruined the relationship becoming canon :(

Really long answer incoming lol.

Okay so. Essentially, yes. It was jarring/cringe because it was so VASTLY different than the vibe of their relationship that I had built in my head the last four years. I've always thought of them quite a bit more mature, sometimes combative, and really fucking kinky. But I wouldn't say it ruined it for me, and I'll explain why.

Initially it seemed SO out of character, the lovey-dovey, almost childlike affection they had for each other. But it's exciting for me to consider what if this WAS in their characters all along, they were just never given the opportunity/felt safe enough to let that side of their personalities be seen. Which is HEARTBREAKING but there's some subtle evidence to back this up.

We all know Bee is an angry, annoyed, high ranking demon with a lot on their plate. Even Crowley said "because they're always such a ray of sunshine" to Shax because it seems common knowledge to all of Hell that Bee is, well... an angry little shit. But they ARE a ray of sunshine when they're with Gabe, away from hell, away from their daily stresses, away from the expectations of running Hell. LOOK AT THEM.

We saw a hint of this in S1, when they showed a moment of vulnerability. When? In front of Gabe, at the airbase. They can't show weakness in Hell because they can't weaken their position as Prince (Grand Duke?), but Gabriel is the only other being in the entire cosmos they feel is an equal, and they can therefore let their guard down like they did at the airbase, and like they do a little bit more at every meeting with Gabe following Armageddon. Until they were actually showing the real Bee- who is a little unsure, kind of quiet, and a worrier. I always headcanoned that Bee absolutely WAS soft, underneath all their posturing, but only ever in private and only ever with Gabe. AND THEN I WAS GIVEN THAT HOLY SHIT.

Okay now on to Gabe. I always headcanoned that after Armageddon, he fucking broke. He snapped. He was SO TIRED of working toward goals, leading the host of Heaven toward said goals, and then the biggest one of all ended up a failure and essentially it fell on his shoulders. And that's basically what did happen in canon! It started, just like it did for Bee, at the airbase, when it was all falling apart, he turned to the only being he could that would understand his frustration.

He was always the hard-ass boss, albeit an idiot and a dick, but the memory wipe proved there was a sweetheart in there somewhere. Before the season aired, I assumed the memory wipe was what would show Gabe the error of his ways, and he would learn to be gentle and generous and loving through that trial. But it turns out HE ALREADY LEARNED IT BY THE TIME OF THE MEMORY WIPE.

Heaven seems so cold and lonely, and my god the scene where he says no one had ever given him anything. My heart ached for him. Heaven didn't even give him a desk. MURIEL, a 37th order, was given a desk but he wasn't. Away from the cold sterility of Heaven and his obligations, he heard Bee say they liked something, and he realized how happy their enjoyment made him. So he decided he liked it too. He never got to enjoy things (other than clothes), or his time around others, and Bee provided him that escape, simply by saying "I like this song." And then he miracled the song to play because he wanted to make someone, other than himself, happy. And he was ready to swan dive into Hell, give up the clothes he loved, because he knew he'd be okay, he and Bee would be okay if they were together.

Yes, their relationship is way different than I pictured it would be. But I'm framing it instead of being ooc, maybe we weren't seeing the real Gabe and Bee in S1. We were just seeing them as the result of their respective situations.

And the confession, to me, was used as a juxtaposition for the husbands confession, which uh. Did not go nearly as well.

So yeah, the singing to each other and their soft, innocent affection was cringe. But Bureaucracy has always been cringe, Bee is a gremlin and Gabe is an idiot. I'm looking forward to exploring their new dynamic in fic, and maybe filling some of the gaps that took them from where they were to where they are now.

#good omens #beelzebub #ineffable bureaucracy #gabriel #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers

[des-no9]

Des’ Gith Dictionary

All of these words are created by me (Des) and are derived from existing phrases, words, roots or just pulled from the vibe of the language. 

Most revolve around the githyanki’s meaning of relationships, sex, and love, following my fics centreing around the relationships of Voss and Orpheus. (TW here for mentions of canon githyanki behaviour surrounding pain, raiding, sex and non-con).

NOTE: many of these words are also written with my HC of there being quite a big linguistic drift in their language, beginning when Vlaakith I took power. Many of these words are old and might not be used in modern gith now, but some are. You can read more about my HC about this here - Des' Githyanki language HCs.

You are free to use any of these words any way you like, but if you use them in anything published like a fanfic or meta, please credit me:

twitter: @grabthemhorns tumblr: @des-no9

Sources used linked at the end.

Here is a link to it in a g-doc if you'd prefer and ease of access - Des' Gith Dictionary

Listed Alphabetically (will be updated as I create more)

A

**Adilshar - first among many

The meaning of this word ‘first among many’ has different connotations depending on context, and for some githyanki, depending on creche, and even city in the Astral. It can elude to a title, a formality, something a little more casual. I’ve seen githyanki use it to refer to their favourite lover or companion.

However, primarily, thousands of years ago it was used largely by those in a position of power to those below them as a title of honour and singling them out to a special, almost near equal respect. In a way, it was levelling someone to your worth. One of the highest honours of githyanki. The first among many. I see you. I respect you. 

**NOTE: Adilshar is a canon gith word, but I have expanded/adjusted its meaning. I’ve only included it here because it has had such a personal impactful meaning to me, my githyanki worldbuilding and vocabulary.

B

Bhav - speak; talk; sometimes used when addressing someone 

C

Cha/Ch - bearer/owner/only 

(depends on context and the following word)

Example: Var’cha - star bearer

D

Da - laugh, laughter

G

Gi - student of 

H

Hsha - lie

Hshazi - liar

Htaz’i vo z’varc - literally, death by blood wild

Even for githyanki, this is one of their more unsavoury words. It means, in common vulgar slang, ‘fucked to death’ or ‘fuck and kill’. This is a term githyanki use primarily for their treatment of istiks during raiding, or istik slaves that they keep and then get bored of and dispose. It’s a very derogatory term, but also very common and has lasted from the very early years of the gith, to now. And is even a word that’s heard, and known, from plane, to plane, to plane. Having heard it myself during one of their notorious raids in its exact context from their raiders, it is as haunting and terrifying to hear as you might think.

I

Ir’gi  (ihr - ghi) student of my pain 

An often intimate word used primarily between new lovers. Can also be used derogatorily or affectionately, or playfully, if two people have known each other for a long time. Nowadays, ir’gi is kept private if saying to one above your rank, and only often heard publicly from the person who holds higher rank in whatever kind of relationship they are in. Good luck to you if you wish to say ir’gi to your superior in public is all I’ll say.

Ir’mir’r’tal - the comfort/safety of my pain

A lost word that some say is used still by the githzerai. A version that was taken and adapted to their current language I have heard to me Ir'm'tal which now simply means 'my safety'. My source? My lips and quill are sealed.

Ir’zai (ihr - zoi) - the honour of my pain

A deeply intimate expression used between lovers/mates to express the meaning they hold to one another. Common translation could be ‘I love you’ but a githyanki would say that cheapens it, the expression so lost in soft istik translation. This is an expression heard still in current githyanki language.

K

Kalisk - small one; compact

Kalisk’nal - little creature; little beast

Often kalisk is used colloquially or affectionately, so used with ‘nal’ which can mean creature or beast, turns the phrase into something even endearing. Not something one would usually associate with the githyanki. One might think this could be heard in their creches to their younglings, or in my travels I did once have the pleasure firsthand to see a githyanki meet a cat for the first time and exclaim rather joyfully ‘kalisk’nal!’. 

M

Mar - all; everything

N

Nal - spawn/creature; strange one

P

Pa - no/don't/not

Q

Quith’na - literally weak creature

This word is a slang that roughly translates into, in common, as ‘pussy’. The githyanki have varying and sometimes different genitals to those who speak common so it doesn’t translate directly into what those who speak common recognise it as. And although the githyanki use terms of genitals for insults or colloquial speech, do not recognise calling someone by one of their terms as a description of weakness.

R

Rrav’kil - 

A term of endearment for someone below you in rank. What affection that is, is between the speaker, and the receiver it seemed. This is an old word, and is barely, if at all, used in current gith. It seems to have shifted into ra’stil instead which means ‘ally’ in common. Another language of affection and endearment lost to the githyanki from long ago.

Note: derived from ra’stil - ally (to other gith)

S

Sh’k’nal - hellspawn

Sh’k - hell

T

To/T’ - Has several meanings, depending on context and which word precedes, follows. 

Mostly it means: only/one/this/to/of.

T’lak’var - literally, severance.

A very old word from when they freed themselves from the illithid, severing their control. A lot of it comes poignantly from Mother Gith and her power of severing the Elder Brain’s control which therefore, eventually, granted their freedom. It translates to freedom in common, and for githyanki then, and now, it simply invokes freedom.

Note: taken from T'lak'ma Ghir - Sister in freedom (t’lak meaning freedom, here, where ghir means sister, vhir brother, and stil friend in this context. (Although interesting how stil is in jhe’stil which means ‘superior one’).

I also HC that the githyanki have several different words that translate to freedom, as it is such an important and integral meaning to their people.

T’rac'nal - literal, insane creature/spawn/strange thing 

The common translation of this word is wild or mad beast.  

T’var - literal; only star; one star

An old word that uses var when referring to someone, instead of vah’k. Found in some ancient, forbidden texts that translates, it seems in common, to ‘my one’ or ‘only you’. What we can gather from the context of its use, a declaration of affection, a promise, a title, a threat even, depending on who spoke it, who heard it. Some may say it means I love you. Some may say it’s the githyanki word of marriage. Some say it’s the promise of death. Some may say it’s a feeling, a promise, a bond that anyone other than githyanki will never understand.

Tuj’da - a loud, happy laugh 

Tuj - loud, boisterous, joyful. 

Sometimes this word means free, wild. In the meaning of ‘wild animal’; ‘no boundaries’. 

V

Va (voh) - go/yes/acknowledgement

Vah’k (vahk) - body/person/referring to oneself; 

This word comes from a very ancient gith language where the word var means ‘star’ from their first settling on the Astral Plane, and being new beings on the Sea. Vah’k can also mean ‘star’ in today’s gith, depending on context. You will find both vah’k and var in ancient texts, to now. It seems vah’k was brought into use around the time of the settlement of Tu’narath, but how widespread its use then, and also if they used var prior to vah’k is unknown.

Vah’k gi (vah - ghi) - lover; literally, student of my body/self

There isn’t really a direct word for ‘lover’ in githyanki society as we’d know in common, but this is as close to our understanding of it. Student of my body. It’s used in many ways, for one night trysts, casual partners, to longer term partners within the githyanki. Although some prefer not to use it if they decide to share their bond longer term. 

For those that develop a more long term and serious bond, the word ir’zai, which means ‘honour of my pain’ is often used more.

Note: ir’zai is derived from sha va zai which I HC is a very old and early gith language, mostly now lost or changed over time, that simply means ‘I love you’.

Vak (vohk) - cut; harm

Note: The closeness in the words of vah’k and vak in their language is notable, as for githyanki so often their expressions of self, identity and love are built upon pain.

Vak’nir (vohk - nir)- literally, cut by silver. 

Githyanki are an intense people, and their expressions are no different. ‘Cut by silver’ when translated to common, we would understand it to be ‘you’re beautiful’. But it is most likely closer to ‘you’re exquisite’, or even, to our god fearing races, ‘you are cut by the divine’.

Vak zharni (vohk - zohr - knee) - changed by time 

literally, harmed by memories

A descriptive, and surprisingly, an affectionate word used by the githyanki to describe the change of time, or an event, has had on someone. Be that physical, or emotional.

Sometimes it’s used casually or teasing, when a githyanki returns from the material after a long period back to the Astral, and has therefore aged, and changed, compared to those back on the Astral who have not.

Author note: I made this one especially thinking about Orpheus and Voss and Orpheus seeing Voss for the first time and how this could be a phrase the githyanki have used/maybe still use to describe how much someone’s physically and also emotionally changed after they haven’t seen them for a long time, or from a past event.

Var’cha - literal, star bearer; 

Another very ancient gith word used to describe the skies of the Astral Sea - ‘skies that bear stars’. Sometimes it’s still used to simply describe something that is aesthetically appealing, sentiment in your beauty (invoking a certain emotion and attachment from beauty, however there’s a different word for that, that was used more), or that something simply looks like the Astral Skies.  

Vhayeri - the future/a point in time that hasn't yet happened 

Can be used in a poignant and significant way. As in “we will meet vhayeri”.

Vo - of/by/my (context heavy, and a more modern and colloquial version of to/t’)

Vo mir’tal - (vo - meer - tohl) - literally, my safety

A lost word in most of githyanki society, however there are some communities that have kept it alive, the meaning often reverting to its literal nowadays. Whereas its original meaning seemed to hold the weight of ‘my lover’ or simply ‘mine’. It was said Gith had favoured this term for her lovers, one especially, whoever that had been.

Z

z’var - blood

Z’var’zai - (z - vohr - zoy) - literally, blood honour

This can be used in different meanings such as the literal, to give a blood honour, to pay a price in blood for Vlaakith, your jhe’stil. Or to describe a wound or injury because of an honourable thing a githyanki did for someone (however this seems rare, and used more in the older days of the gith). 

Often it’s translated and used as ‘worth of blood’ or ‘blood beauty’ to describe someone’s war or battle wounds as something another githyanki appreciates in that person, admires, or desires them because of it.

Z’vart’rac (z - vohr - t - rak) - literally, blood insane

This term is more for battle bloodlust, but sometimes spills over to other feelings between gith, gith and istik or other scenarios. 

Z’varc (z - vohrk) - a derivation of the above ‘z’vart’rac’, blood insane.

Blood insane to blood lust, but carnal. If you ask a githyanki what it means in common, they’ll probably say something itense like ‘blood wild’ or ‘bleed me dry, fuck me wet’. Mates and lovers started shortening the original version to this one, and it’s lived on to now heavily through their raiding culture. This is one of the words of the githyanki that is more understood in the feeling, tone, that simple meaning. Trust me on this.

Zhak - bruises

Zharni - memory

Sources used:

Githyanki Vocabulary used in BG3 Gith dictionary of the Forgotten Realms Tir words of Planescape  Mordenkainen’s Tome Of Foes Archive of Vocabulary and Grammar of Tir by bluebeholder on AO3

#githyanki #githzerai #gith #bg3 #bg3 githyanki #des' HCs #githyanki worldbuilding #tir'su #next step is to write them all out in tir'su oh boy lmao #kith'rak voss #orpheus bg3 #des writes #my writing #dungeons and dragons #githyanki language #enjoy!!!! i hope #let me know if you like them i always love to know people's thoughts

[non-stop-imagines]

MEE RELEASE THE ARCHIVES BABE

Thank you for this. It kick started my creativity. I have soooo many WIPs that I'm excited to show you guys and my ideas need somewhere to land, so why not here.

I'm also gonna link this to my Masterlist so I can link the finished products to both and people are able to choose how they decide which fic to read.

(A bunch of barely coherent brainstorming under the cut 😚 And this apparently will be changing and updated whenever I think of it so keep checking back 💖)

Works in progress/ideas by driver:

Lewis Hamilton

- Something with the vibe of Angel of Mine by Monica because that song reminds me of him every time it comes on and I desperately want to try writing for Lewis again

Another song one. Ours by Taylor Swift. You both are very busy but very in love and will always make time for each other. No matter what.

Max Verstappen

Raincheck sneak peek here (Intense hatred between Max and the reader can only last so long.)

Big brother Max trying to help his sister out but is block by his father at EVERY TURN. (Tyla faceclaim and the request alone has me obsessed with her now. I absolutely love her.

Different things to add to Repeat That Au; Big sister, best friend and a lot of pregnancy talk (including something that links in the On Display Au courtesy of my ♥️ anon)

Lando Norris

Lando flirting with his PR manager who is a few years older.

Two words: Uncle. Lando.

Something to the song Making Whoopee by Frank Sinatra bc Lando seems like the type of guy to do anything for the girl he wants to fu k really badly. Wedding. Home. Baby. Whole nine yards. Big simp energy. The best type of energy

More from the Valentine Au because it's cute and I love it

Lance Stroll

Fake dating. We love when besties fake date and fall in love 😙

Oscar Piastri

Oscar loves his wife. Talks about her all the time. But no one knows they're married??? A little sneaky peek (that is barely put together):

"Your girlfriend is into astrology. I made the mistake of telling her my birthday." Lando spoke, twirling his flags, not seeing the extremely confused look Oscar was giving him.

"Girlfriend?" Lando looked up at his teammate and given him an equally confused face, believing his comment was quite clear.

"Uh, yeah? Yn?" Lando was so matter of fact, and yet had no idea how wrong he was.

"Yn's my wife. We're married."

"BUT YOU'RE BABIES!?"

"YOU'RE TWO YEARS OLDER THAN US!

More for Girl Almighty bc we have to see how the reader and Oscar do driving against each other

Charles Leclerc

Cocoa Butter Kisses-Charles is mesmerizing by your everything shower routine and how good you smell when you're done

Rockstar-undercover soft girl-reader; another smutty one; just gotta figure out the direction I was to take it

Wedding Night-Self explanatory;smut and aftercare (almost done with the smut, just gotta do the aftercare)

More stuff from My Biggest Fan Au bc who doesn't love Charles and Gianna 🥹

Something to I Wish by 1D with Pierre. You and Charles are literally the perfect couple. The entire way through. (See the ideas for Pierre for his part in the plot)

Logan Sargeant

Thanksgiving with the Fam and our very own Mr. America gets to experience a black Thanksgiving (yes I did get that suggestion right after Thanksgiving. Let's not talk about that 😔)

Something with the vibe of Wouldn't it be Nice by The Beach Boys bc apparently I think Logan is the purest little boy on the grid and just wants to live a happy life with his girlfriend

Carlos Sainz

More for Mírame Au (stay tuned bc there will come a time where I open request for suggestions for this 😚)

Esteban Ocon

Man's will be pining for Lewis' personal assistant and it will become a viral F1 moment.

Daniel Ricciardo

Reader can't stand sisters new boyfriend, and Daniel can't stand the fact that his girlfriends identical twin sister hates him, but feelings change, just not for the better

Handled: The Backstory (How reader and Daniel meet and fall for each other 😚) yes it will be smutty

Something based off the song "Would You Go with Me" because it is very Daniel and I don't know how to explain it

What do you think the opposite of On Display would be? (Hint: jealous Danny 😚)

More for On Display, but I might make her an OC to make another fic suggestion (look under Max ideas) a bit easier to write.

Fernando Alonso

Fernando and reader are literally each other's muse, he talk about her all the time and he inspires and entire album (and makes his music video debut)

Fernando gets some plants to impress reader; now he the plant dad to her plant mom and it's an inside jokes between family and friends

Fernandos favorite pass time is picking the readers hair color

Sebastian Vettel

Sebastian only wants one thing: For everyone to know how much he loves his ballerina girlfriend. Another little sneak peek (that, again, is just barely put together):

"Yes. You are in the presence...of the first...black Sugar Plum Fairy for the New York City Ballet." Your cheeks were sore from smiling, but nothing could dull your shine right now. Your friends that were hovering around you finally crowd around and give you tight loving squeezes, greeting Sebastian on your phone and bragging on your accomplishment.

"Sebastian! How does it feel to be dating the best principal dancer in the history of the New York City Ballet?" Your friend, Julia, hooks her arms over your shoulders and presses her mouth to your temple.

"I'm just glad I get to be her boyfriend. That's my title now. Sebastian Vettel, boyfriend Yn, New York City Ballett Principal Dancer and first black NYCB Sugar Plum Fairy.

Pierre Gasly

Introducing new OC!Eve (Chloe Bailey faceclaim);my way of introducing the readers sister into the Repeat That Au; we get to start off with a small backstory

I Wish-1D; Pierre's got it BAD. Go listen to the song. His POV is the song. It's heartbreaking and I love it so much. Probably one of the first fics that doesn't have a happy ending.

Maxiel

Trying get someone to buy you and Daniel a drink goes wrong

#i didnt mean to post this when i did #but here we are #formula 1 #black reader #f1 imagines #formula 1 x black!reader #f1 x black!reader #daniel ricciardo #max verstappen #charles leclerc #carlos sainz #lewis hamilton #lance stroll #logan sargeant #lando norris #oscar piastri #esteban ocon #fernando alonso #sebastian vettel #pierre gasly

[yukidragon]

Sunny Day Jack - Cat AU

Okay, so, two particular pieces of beautifully drawn fan art have collided together in my head to create a light and fluffy self-indulgent image that I just had to share with you all.

@okamiliqueur's heartbreaking picture of Jack's lonely and forgotten box from the new demo made me think of cats abandoned in boxes, "free to a good home." Only in the case of the game's story, he was left out in the rain to rot, the owner having given up giving him a good home.

@jazzylovetodraw's picture of Jack as a cat has been buzzing in my mind for quite a while. I just love how precious he looks in both forms, and when I was thinking of Jack being like those abandoned kittens in cardboard boxes... well, the combination was obvious.

I know that Jack's fursona is a snake, and I know being a cat is Shaun's thing, but I'm a sucker for kitties. I'm as biased towards cats as I am for dragons, if my avatar and username didn't offer enough of a hint. ;3 I'd love to see all the characters as kitties honestly.

Tempting though it may be to go with Fruits Basket rules for kitty Jack, like I toyed with over on twitter, I think I'm going to play with a different and simpler set of rules. In this universe, Jack is stuck as a cat until his sunshine's love allows him to become human again.

Admittedly, it's kind of hard to imagine Jack being alone for very long when he looks so adorable. Who wouldn't fall in love with that precious kitty face instantly? Most everyone would be putty in his paws.

Content Warning: I wind up touching on a couple explicit headcanon details near the end. I mean, I did say this is a pretty self-indulgent image with my OTP.

Maybe Jack was stuck as a cat via a curse ala Hocus Pocus and is guarding the box/tape/etc. Maybe he was stuck as a cat instead of in the tape and no one could see him until MC came along. Maybe he's got a tragic backstory like the cat from Fruits Basket.

Since this AU is more about the vibes, I'm just going to leave the how and why parts of the lore up in the air. All that matters is that Jack is stuck as a cat and left out in the rain in a cardboard box until MC decides to take him home.

I'm just going to switch over to Alice and what she would do in this scenario. Poor lonely Alice is out on the town, when she comes across the box out in the rain and sees an equally lonely kitten. Poor little thing, all wet and sad... She just has to take him home with her.

Alice cleans Jack up, gets him wrapped up all nice and warm in a blanket, and even gives him some chicken she bought for her own dinner that night. She'll have to get cat food and other things for her new furry companion tomorrow, though she should probably look for his owner and take him to a vet.

At first, Jack isn't sure what to do about the situation, though he is grateful. No one has even acknowledged his existence until Alice came along. She's so soft and warm. He loves it when she holds him. She's so kind too.

Alice does find it surprising Jack doesn't put up a fuss when being given a bath. Jack didn't exactly like the feeling of being all grimy, and don't get him started on fleas and other gross things cats have to deal with on the streets!

The vet isn't as fun, though Jack is well behaved, though very clingy to Alice throughout the appointment. He can't help but fear that she'll abandon him too. He'll keep up the helpless and adorably needy kitty act if it means she'll stay with him.

There's no ID chip, no tag, and no missing notice for any cat that looks like Jack. It's clear that the poor guy is a stray.

Alice is hesitant initially. She's wanted to get a pet cat for a long time now, but she has barely been able to take care of herself. How can she handle taking care of an innocent life that needs her when she's struggling so much with her own life?

That hesitation doesn't last long. Jack loves on Alice so much, constantly purring and snuggling up to her. He curls up with her when she sleeps or relaxes. He was hesitant at first, and she assumed that was because he was wary of her, when in reality, he just didn't want to cross any of her boundaries. He didn't want to do anything that might upset her and make her get rid of him. When she started petting and cuddling him, he wholeheartedly returned the affection, absolutely starved for it.

The first thing Alice thought when she saw Jack was that he was lonely, just like her. He's so sweet and can't stand to be apart from her. How can she just get rid of him when he makes her feel loved and needed?

Of course, a cat's life isn't all sunshine and rainbows. Cat food is a step down from people food, and a litterbox is anything but sanitary. Jack just skips that nonsense and goes straight to using the toilet despite the awkwardness, which shocks the heck out of Alice. He also snubs all cat food in favor of human food.

Yes, I could go with Jack being a ghost(?) cat that doesn't need food or to use the toilet, but then he wouldn't have gone through the indignities of a vet visit.

Then again... it would be funny if Alice brought Jack to the vet, only for them to think she's crazy, since to them all she's carrying is empty air.

Hmm... yeah, I think I'll go that route. As hilarious as vet hijinks and typical cat care with Jack while he possesses a human mind and identity might be, this would be a more interesting and tragic route. No one else can see Jack but Alice. He's lived for who knows how long in a world full of people that don't see him at all, unable to even be human anymore. It'd be a different type of hell than the one in the video tape, similar to what I talked about in my previous ramble.

Imagine if the 1984 incident Jack died and became a ghost(?) cat because he was secretly a cat shape shifter or something. Or maybe something more supernatural happened during the incident. Either way, cat ghost(?) Jack is very, very lonely.

Man, I just realized, it would be even more tragic (and complicated) if I go with the reincarnation route for this AU. Ghost(?) cat Jack probably had to watch Mary die slowly in the hospital after the incident, unable to help her or let her know that it's him. He couldn't even offer her comfort in her final days. It would've been so traumatizing.

For now, let's just play with this AU without the reincarnation angle, since this is supposed to be mostly light and fluffy feline fun with the OTP.

Jack, even as a cat, tries to do his best to help Alice out. If he can make himself useful, make her need him, then he won't ever lose her. He sneaks out when she goes to work to keep her company even though she initially tried to get him to stay home. No one sees him, so it won't matter. Besides, petting an invisible kitty is a good stress relief when dealing with awful customers, and certainly beats regular stimming.

The more Alice cares for Jack, the more powers he gets back, starting with the ability to talk. It's a huge shock for Alice of course, but Jack makes it clear that it's because of her love for him that made her stronger.

Of course, that love is platonic, at least at the start, which Jack knows full well, but he'll work on shifting things to a romantic love... especially after he gets the power to shift back into a form that has hands.

Like in typical canon, Jack answers Alice's questions as best he can. He probably lost his sense of identity like in game canon, so he references CloudyTown and stuff "he" did there, mixing up the show's lore with his own past. It's also intermingled with his many years spent wandering the streets being ignored and going crazy from the loneliness.

Jack does let Alice know that he used to be able to change from a cat to human. He just... can't anymore. He thinks it was because he was forgotten. He doesn't know why no one can see him until Alice came along.

It's so sad and tragic that Alice can't be unmoved by his plight. Sure, it makes things a bit awkward knowing that Jack is sentient and used to have a human form, but she feels for him. It also makes sense now why Jack always turned away whenever she changed.

Yes, Jack could have peeked. He could have even watched Alice while she was bathing, but he didn't. He refuses to do anything she won't allow. Cuddling her and sleeping in her bed is innocent, but the thoughts he'd have about her when she was undressing were anything but. He loves her too much to take advantage of her innocent trust in him. He needs her to want him to see her in that vulnerable state... even if it drives him crazy lusting over her. Poor pitiful kitty can't even have a good wank off session with his paws.

Still, despite knowing that Jack was human and is sentient, it's hard for Alice not to fall for his feline charms and not think too deeply about that fact. She still winds up cuddling him and petting him.

Of course, when it first hits Alice that she's treating a human like a pet, she stops and apologizes, but Jack insists that it's fine. He enjoys their cuddle time. He gives her the big, pleading kitty eyes as he begs her not to stop, and she can't help but give in.

Awkwardness soon fades and settles into a strange new normal. Alice does wonder if Jack really is real or if she was just so lonely she imagined something this crazy... but his presence is comforting. He keeps her company almost all the time. She doesn't feel alone anymore thanks to him.

Also... now that Jack can talk, he says such sweet things. It's weird to have a "pet" take care of her, but he reminds her of when it's time to brush her teeth, wakes her up for work, helps her get chores done despite how awkward it is with his paws and small size... It's so endearing.

The encouragement and assistance Jack gives Alice is wonderful, and his jokes are so fun and silly, but it's the praise that leaves her feeling flustered. If she didn't know any better, she could swear that he's almost flirting with her sometimes. She's in denial that's what it is, but it feels nice to be told that she's cute, and Jack is so sincere about it... and how can she not melt when he says sweet things with such a sweet face?

It's one morning that things change drastically. Alice's bond with Jack strengthened over time to the point that Jack finally can change back into a mostly human form, though he does have cat ears, a fluffy tail, and whisker markings.

It was a big surprise to them both really, as Jack transformed in his sleep. Alice had gotten used to cuddling up to a talking cat during the night, so it was a shock to wake up in a pair of big muscular arms. Jack was so happy when waking her that morning, giddy to show her his (mostly) human side, that it slipped his mind what a shock it would be.

Naturally, Alice bolted back against the wall away from the stranger in her bed. Jack quickly started reassuring her of who he was and that she wasn't in danger. He stooped down to her level, pretty much wilting really, with ears folded back, as he apologized for scaring her. He was just so happy that he wasn't thinking about how it must look from her side...

Seeing Jack so pitiful and sad, Alice feels her heart go out to him. Once things calm down, she can't help but be amazed by how he looks. Unthinkingly, she reaches up to pet his ears and feel how they attach to his skull. She only fully realizes how forward she's being when Jack starts purring.

Flustered, Alice immediately pulls back, only for Jack to whine at the loss of her touch. He didn't mind it at all. He always loves it when she cuddles with him.

It's a complicated feeling for Alice. On the one hand they've been very close for so long. On the other, Jack is definitely a human, so it feels different now.

Yet, Jack is so sweet. He's mindful of her hesitation, even if he's disappointed. It's harder for him to hide his feelings with such expressive ears. Alice can't help but want to reach out to him, especially after they've already spent so much time together, getting to know one another. He's chased away the loneliness that had been haunting her for so, so long.

Of course, now that Jack has a human form, Alice finds her feelings slipping into "dangerous" territory. He makes her feel so good, so loved, and she feels for him too. She doesn't want to dare assume he might feel anything more for her than just a friend, but she can't help but notice the way he looks at her, the way he clearly longs to be near her. He's so tender and gentle... and they've already been so cuddly.

It's easier for Alice to find herself cuddling up to Jack, letting him and taking guilty pleasure from his gentle warmth. He pets her hair too in return, and it feels surprisingly good... a bit too good at times.

The line between friend or something more blurs with all the cuddles and petting. Alice feels guilty about it, but Jack keeps encouraging her until, finally, something has to give and their relationship changes. Both of them feel relieved when it does, as they couldn't help but worry that their feelings might not be reciprocated.

In a lot of ways, it's pretty close to the normal continuity, just with some fuzzy ears on top. Jack can change into a cat at will now. As he gets stronger, people can start to see him, perhaps as a feline silhouette, or maybe with some unsettling shadows not from a cat. He's certainly going to be a bit territorial and not be afraid to hiss and use his claws if absolutely necessary.

Still, this kitty is pretty content thanks to Alice. Jack loves it when Alice carries him around as a teeny kitty, warm and snuggly against her chest, even in the cleavage of her shirt at times. Naturally, he returns the favor, carrying her around the apartment as often as possible. It's only fair after all~!

Naturally, Jack wants to get intimate with Alice as soon as she lets him. He's so pent up. Even with hands to take care of himself, all the cuddling and now kisses just make him ache for her even more. He longs to be inside her, biting her gently and growling in pleasure as he takes her.

A bonus with Jack being part cat is that he gets to have some vibrating action when he purrs. It adds a whole new dimension to their lovemaking, whether he's using his mouth on her sensitive parts, or thrusting himself deep inside.

Oh, I'm reminded of the cat-like features I mentioned in the Omegaverse AU. I guess Jack, having feline features, would have a dick that's ribbed for her pleasure too. Tongue too. Neither would be sharp because rule of sexy, but it would add a very pleasurable texture that a clever man like Jack is going to take full advantage of~

Of course, Alice can take advantage of those feline features too. The base of Jack's tail and ears are quite sensitive, and she quickly learns what spots get his motor running. Of course, getting Jack excited will lead to him pouncing on her and getting rather frisky, but Alice would certainly be expecting that result~

I can imagine Jack could make himself look fully human without any feline features, but he knows Alice finds his cat side to be adorable. She has a hard time resisting petting him when his ears and tail are out, and he certainly wants to encourage her to pet him as much as possible. He also wants to encourage her to let him pet her as much as possible.

Of course, if Jack can become powerful enough that other people can see him, he'll have to stick with only cat or human form when out in public. Still, even when other people can see and hear him, he prefers to be in Alice's company. Cats have their preferred human, and Alice is Jack's.

Naturally, Jack would have to be sneaky about showing Alice love when in public if there's a chance of getting caught. Good thing he has that perfectly innocent little kitty form to hide in. I can imagine it would lead to some interesting interactions where someone shows up only to find Alice incredibly flustered with a slightly disheveled appearance, while her "pet" Jack is just casually looking smug, as all cats do.

Person: Whoa, what happened to you?

Alice, not looking them in the eye: Uh... Jack, m-my cat just... ah, got a bit excited.

Person: Heh. Cats, am I right?

Alice: Haha... right.

Jack: :3c

Hmm... I wonder then if the other love interests should have cat transformations in this AU too. It'd be a crime if Shaun doesn't have that ability but Jack does. Jack already gets together with Alice, so I don't want to be extra cruel to Shaun.

Admittedly, I don't have too many ideas for other characters with cat modes. Well, aside from an image of Shaun taking care of his baby MoonPie by carrying her around by the scruff. This post was mostly just indulging in sweet moments with my OTP with a bit of feline flavor sprinkled on top. Maybe I'll revisit the idea again if I get more ideas than just a bit of fluff.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this silly romp with Alice and Jack having some feline fun times!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings #Cat AU

[onyourhyuck]

BEST FRIEND. | Mark Lee. (M)

prologue- “That’s my best friend, got his own money he don’t need no girl.” + “That’s my best friend she a real bad bitch.”

summary: you are on the dance floor with your best friend Mark. One girl approaches Mark while a guy approaches you. Mark doesn’t want to share you and you don’t want to share Mark.

the warning: best friend possessive!mark x best friend fem reader!Y/n. Public toilets setting. Mention of slightly tipsy reader and mark. Alcohol use. Underlying jealousy. Use of pet names. Fingering female receiving. Mention of squirting(?). Marking skin (hickeys, bites). Exhibitionist. Male oral receiving.

the notes- Inspired by Best friend Doja Cat song. Listen to it while reading this— purely inspired by the song lyrics.

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Partying was yours and Mark’s favourite activity together. Staying up late at night listening to club music or bar music, people chattering with every ounce of their lively enthusiasm. Crowds never bothered you both, you guys thrived and lived on the large amounts of people surrounding you.

Wherever you both went, men and women wanted a piece of you guys. The two of you were the equivalent of the ‘Starboy’ and ‘Stargirl’ trope. Both as powerfully influential as the other. Popularity? You both have that. Friends? Plenty everywhere you go. Simp armies? No need to mention them, of course you got them. You’re down right beautiful and radiating. With Mark beside you, your light has never dimmed down, if anything it grew brighter considering how Mark is as equally ravished by you.

The dance floor was not any different than last night or the night before. Your body moving to the beat with each pop, grinding your hips onto drunken women and men. Your friends vibing as much as you were, the disco above and LED lights switching colours to colours. Mark was right behind you with a plastic cup full of beer to brim dancing , slithering closer to you as his hand slips round your waist pulling you closer. Taking a whiff of your sweetening perfume on your hair, you grin at the warmly affectionate pull towards the boy. Your best friend, god, how fine was he too.

You look at him. Up and down your eyes fell from the eyes to his lips that were sipping large trails of the beer from the red and white plastic cup. The alcohol burning in his throat, welcoming him to the light effect of the drink; god, you were obsessed with how his stubble beard makes him so much more attractive than before— you never thought he could get even hotter than that. But he can. Lord, Mark Lee was blessed with god’s favouritism. You lean your face in towards his face, Mark never took his eyes off you even when he was drinking.

“Give me a sip of your beer.” You command as Mark lifts the cup towards your face. You were about to pull the cup from his hand, but he stops you. He had a different idea.

Mischief was written all over the boy’s face, his eyes darken and the corner of his thinly lips purse upwards like a horseshoe. “Lean your head backwards and open wide. I want to pour it in your mouth.” Mark told. The way your stomach turned upside.

You grin, without any words spared you do as you were told to do so. Leaning back your head stretching out the neck, your collarbones becoming more visible with the balance ratio. Your silky soft hair that smell like heaven flow back with your head, touching round your waist now. Your lips parting widely and Mark admires the way you were so flexible and beautiful in sight of your obedience. He was so down bad for you. He’s willing to do anything for you. And you knew this, took advantage of it.

Once the cold beer pours down your throat from above, your neck clenched tight gulping everything it had filled in your petite lips. Mark darkly rubs looks down at your throat with each gulp he saw the way it moves up and down, only sinful thoughts were running in his brain; but could you blame him ? Anyone would if they glance at you.

Mark pulls your neck from behind making you lean back. The beer cup put away as you finished the entire liquid down in a go, Mark let’s out a chuckle as you glance back at him with small drool of beer down your lips to your chin.

“That was hot.” You said back to Mark as he hums, watching down your lips. “You should’ve seen yourself. You were hotter than anything I’ve seen.” Mark huskily whispers. The tension rose between you but no one else was bothering you, both of you guys were in your own world, as was everyone else. People dancing around the dance floor crowding you did not bother you, as in fact they were oblivious of you and Mark. When he leans closer about to capture a taste of your mouth on his, you close your eyes anticipating it.

But an annoyance came between you quicker than you were about to come closer to forward out a kiss. When the small gap was coming to an end, someone has to come in and bring your limitless attention to another, away from you and away from Mark. Your heads turn around the left to see a girl and a guy approaching you both with hidden intentions.

“Mark Lee hey! You’re from my biology class.” The girl coming forward squeals. Mark shifts his body away from yours to face the random stranger came forward and a guy next to her, looking you up and down your beautiful curves figure in the slim fitting dress and thigh high boots. Mark noticing the stares from the man in front of you deepens his blank and uninterested stare, clearly, he looks like he will murder someone any minute.

“And you are?” You blurt out to the both of the strangers who turn to you. The girl raising an eyebrow at your blunt attitude and the guy licking his bottom lips, intentionally eye-fucking you. Seriously, in front of your best friend? A guy who you actually want. Mark grits teeth together on his bottom pit.

“I was talking to Mark. Not you. ” The girl points out and turns to look at Mark again. “Do you want to dance with me? I’ll buy you a drink if you do.”

The minute Mark stood quiet and gave you ‘that look’ that signalled you to jump in and push this annoying girl out of the way, as if he was interested in her when he was not, she wasn’t going to take his rejection well. It would be better if you do it for him, as he deals with this pervert of a guy rudely watching you as if you were his dinner. Man looks starved, it’s rude to stare at someone that never belonged to you in the first place anyways. Mark should teach him a lesson. You come forward in front of Mark, gripping your arms round his neck as you sign out.

“Sorry girl.” You start. “That’s my best friend, he got his own money. He don’t need no girl.”

The girl goes quiet and silently retreats away. The guy on the other hand stood persistent, he kept wanting to get your attention but everytime he did so you ghost over his dead-boring questions. Mark had enough, he steps in front of the man with a challenging gaze as his hand slides down your waist. He smirks with malicious intentions, nothing peaceful was about this guy and he were only going to return back the energy with twice as fire.

“Y/n isn’t interested.” Mark points out. “That’s my best friend she a real bad bitch. She’s outta your league. Move along.”

The guy towering downwards to Mark suddenly pulls out as you smirk watching the terrified expression on him. You chuckle when you were left alone and Mark returns back to you, leaning to your lips and closing the gap finally. He hungrily kisses you. As if this was the moment he waited for a long time to do, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Until now.

Your voice hushing down a small living gasp as the sensation of his dangerously fuming mouth kissing you so deep you couldn’t comprehend any thoughts in your brain, his burning touch scorches your skin and you pull him deeply on the side, away from the dance floor now. Back hitting the wall— Mark let’s out airs of groans, you’re going down on him was a sight to see. You breaking apart from the makeout was only the beginning of you absolutely railing him to another dimension. Both were as equally impatient. You forcefully pressing the man on the, he chokes out a smirk as your lips breathe tickles his hard erecting cock in your hand.

“Please Y/n put it in your mouth, don’t tease me like this.” Mark said with his glaring eyes watching you lick your lips vigorously.

“Your whining temps to wait this out.” You remind him and Mark bites his bottom lip. “You’re such a brat, baby, put your mouth to good use.” Mark runs his soft palm behind your head, with a sudden force down his cock invades your mouth quicker than you had planned. Was it funny to provoke Mark like this? Yes it was. Will this cost you to pay a visit to your dentist later? Yes but it’s worth it. Costing his hard solid cock in your warmth gob was enough to set him on the edge, gripping your beautiful long locks in between his fingers , sometimes he would twirl it softly, another time he lifts it into a ponytail to get the hair out of your face; just so he can see your valid and expressive expressions you pull when licking him from top and down.

Going into a deepthroat, you had Mark heavily breathing and whimpering at the nearest climax he almost has. Just a little more, you knew that because of the way he was throbbing and his pelvis was thrusting into your mouth. He began face fucking you without having knowledge that he has done that. He was so far lost, clenching his eyes and focusing on the sensations. You rub your tongue to his tip and there was the rope snapping. The threatening role finally letting go, he came in your mouth and as he did— his eyes widen and close again. He felt like his entire soul left his body and the way his body went numb. You were more than what he expected.

You lick your lips when a little bit of his come slips out, all Mark could do was watch you with a daze and darken expression of how effortlessly hot you are. Doing bad things was such a turn on for him, because you look innocent when doing them. No one would’ve expect this sight of you.

He leans down pulling you up from your knees as he leans down kissing your lips once again. You move in with him in rhythm synch, as he breaks apart whispering.

“Your turn baby. I want you to come on my fingers more than once.” Mark bellows at you with a challenging gaze, as you anticipate each and every thought of orgasm. “No. I will make you come more than once on my fingers.” He finally rephrased.

You’re in for a long ass night with your best friend.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu!! REBLOG AND LIKE THIS FIC, FOLLOW ME FOR MORE <3

#nct fanfiction #nct smut #nct x reader #nct u scenarios #nct hard hours #nct series #nct fic #mark lee drabbles #mark lee fanfic #nct mark smut #mark imagines #mark lee fluff #mark scenarios #mark smut

[suzdin]

Two For One: Ch. 2

(Dave York x Max Phillips x f!reader)

Part One Here

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-vampire Max, pre-Equalizer 2 Dave, small age gap (unspecified), no use of y/n, some angst, mention of weapons, romance, some fluff, alcohol use, smut, graphic depictions of sex, rough sex, degradation, sadism, kinda dubcon, dom!Dave, spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, anal

Notes: This is a Dave heavy chapter and Max is kind of an afterthought, sorry if you’re here because of him. He’ll make a larger appearance in the next chapter, I promise! 🤪

——

“Careful, it’s a bit heavy—“ you say as you pass your bag to Dave. “—there’s glass,” you add for good measure, Dave’s fingers brushing yours as he grabs at the straps to hoist it over his shoulder. You watch as your bottle of Smirnoff lists to one side, breath catching in your throat until it eventually tips back.

Ignoring the almost-fiasco of it crashing to the sidewalk, Dave eyes you up and down once he settles everything, which causes your cheeks to heat. “What are you in the mood for?” he asks, his eyes large and brown, reminding you almost comically of a baby cow.

“Um,” you answer awkwardly, not sure what to say. You don’t want to pick something on the pricier side, your impoverished upbringing screaming at you in your head. “I don’t really have a lot of money, so…there’s a Burger King around the corner?” you suggest.

Dave shakes his head in disagreement, his lips tilting into a smirk, the skin around his eyes crinkling in a way that makes him look soft. Inviting. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m paying.”

And herein lies a new dilemma: you don’t want him to assume you’re gouging him for money. It isn’t like the restaurants in your neighborhood are high class, but they certainly aren’t cheap, either.

“Oh, um, well…” you begin. “What are you in the mood for?” you ask, deflecting the question back to him.

Dave knows what you’re doing; you don’t want to choose something that might leave a bad taste in his mouth, literally and figuratively. He can’t help to admit it strokes his ego a little that you want to make a good first impression; he thinks that bodes well for him. He tries not to let his gaze linger longer than necessary.

He cants his head forward, gesturing for you to follow him. Together, the two of you start down the street.

“Well,” he begins, raising his eyebrows in contemplation. “There’s Italian straight ahead. An Irish pub called Quinn’s that has decent enough food across from that. Greek and Indian on Broadway…” he trails off idly, hoping any of those sound appetizing.

“Greek is good. I like Greek. Hummus actually sounds killer right about now,” you admit, your stomach grumbling audibly at the mention of food. You clutch at yourself as if that will stop it. “Sorry.”

He re-adjusts the bag on his shoulder and smiles over at you, pointedly ignoring your wailing stomach. It isn’t heavy, not really. Not for a big guy like Dave. “Mythos it is.”

——

The restaurant isn’t far. You walk, shoulder to shoulder, mostly in silence. Dave can’t stop thinking about you or the sounds you’d made for Max; his dick fighting with his brain, trying to keep himself in check now that he’s this close to you.

He clocks right away how different you are from Carol, who would have vetoed every restaurant in the city and then complained about being hungry later. Carol, whom he’d met at his church—back when he gave a shit about such things—only a few months before being sent away to the Marine Corps, so that he hastily rushed into a marriage that neither of them ended up being happy in.

Carol liked to present herself as a godly, Christian woman, though from Dave’s experience, he knew that to be far from the truth.

You, on the other hand, did not give off such vibes, the way you often slept in until noon on Sundays (when you didn’t happen to be working, that was), the somewhat revealing cut of your clothes, or the fact that you didn’t care enough to keep your debauchery stowed away, if the constant slew of alcohol and cigarettes had anything to say about that.

Not to mention how you allowed yourself to be manhandled in a public space with little to no concern of being discovered.

Would you let him drink with you later? he wonders.

Would you let him touch you? Fuck you?

As if on cue, you pull a cigarette loose from your purse. “Is this okay?” you ask as you draw it up to your lips.

There’s something in his eyes you can’t quite read.

“By all means,” he responds, and you let go of a breath. His eyes track the way your lips curl around the filter as you bring the lighter up; the way you cup your other hand to block the wind as you walk. He’s never been more jealous of a cigarette in his entire life.

“Want one?” you offer, assuming that’s why he’s staring.

“No, thanks,” he replies with a small laugh. “Gave them up years ago when I left the Marines.”

Marines? This guy couldn’t possibly be anymore different from Jonathan, you think.

Jonathan, the tortured artist. Jonathan, who once tried to make his own beer and failed horribly, which landed you in the ER several months ago. Jonathan, who dragged you from your home state all the way to Massachusetts, depleting your life savings, and now you don’t have enough money to get home.

He was your type, once. Maybe Dave is what you need.

Maybe Max is what you need, you ponder, a particularly brisk step reminding you of the soreness blooming between your legs.

You don’t need a relationship, you think. What you need right now is no-strings-attached sex, which is exactly what Max seems to be able to offer you.

Dave is cute, though. And seems nice. You can’t deny there’s something reticent about him, however. Something tucked away.

It fascinates you.

You’re about half done with the cigarette by the time you reach the restaurant. You snuff it out on the ground and cram the remainder back into your purse.

It’s a small, hole in the wall sort of place with outdoor seating off to one side, somewhat hidden from view of the street. The inside is intimately lit, and seems a touch cramped for your taste.

“Inside or outside?” Dave asks.

“Out, if that’s okay,” you reply. It’s a cool September evening, which means it will be pleasant enough to sit outdoors, unlike back home this time of year. It’s a nice night and you’d like to enjoy it a bit longer.

“Yeah. Of course.” He tries to quell his nerves when he notices how empty the patio is; were you trying to hint at something? he wonders.

You realize at the same time Dave does that the patio is devoid of other patrons, and you hope you didn’t give off the wrong impression, but it’s too late to say anything by the time he tells the host to seat you there.

The patio is situated between two buildings, adorned with standard metal grid outdoor tables and chairs, a few planter boxes flanking the walls, and string lights strewn above your heads. The host seats you by one of the tables nearest a wall and tells you someone will be by to take your order shortly.

“This is nice,” Dave says, taking time to pull out your chair for you before you sit. It stokes something in you; none of the men you’ve dated ever took such a simple gesture into consideration.

It probably shouldn’t, though. You barely know him.

You shuffle uncomfortably under the table. It’s been a long time since you’ve been on a date, if that was in fact what this was, and you aren’t really sure how to feel about it; how to act and what to say.

“So, where are you from?” he asks, breaking the ice for you.

He is, of course, only making small talk out of formality; he already knows where you’re from. All the places you’ve lived, the jobs you’ve had, your relatives, your financial situation. Social media links. By simply finding out your name and knowing where you work, he was able to obtain more information about you in hours than he had in months of watching you.

It wasn’t enough. He needed to know more.

“Texas,” you answer. The waitress is here now, and she takes your drink orders. Dave orders a Diet Coke and you start to order a water—your go to because it’s free—but change your mind at the last second and order the same thing.

“Be right back with your drinks,” she speaks in what you assume is a Greek accent. You mumble a polite thank you out of habit.

“How about you?” Your turn to ask now.

“Baltimore. Parents were in the FBI, so we stayed close to D.C. for a reason,” he replies with a smile. You make a face of admiration because you don’t know how else to respond to that.

“Wow,” you say as a placeholder. “The FBI? Impressive.”

He preens and shakes his head with a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

And then you settle into another drawn out silence. It should feel jarring, but to you, it’s a reprieve. You were never good at carrying a conversation. You start looking over the menu to fill the time, even though you already know what you’re getting.

“So. You want hummus, right? I’ll order some when she comes back,” Dave says.

“I’m getting that as my meal,” you state and it’s true. You would normally get an entree if you were just eating alone and save it for later, but you’re being polite. Besides, you’re really jonesing for some hummus right now.

“You sure?” he asks. “You can get anything you want.”

“I know. Thank you. But I— the hummus sounds good,” you reiterate. He concedes, brushing a hand through his sweat damp hair.

“Dolmas, then,” he suggests, pointing it out on the menu. Your menu, in fact, so that his arm briefly comes into contact with yours.

“Yeah. That sounds nice,” you agree quietly.

He can’t stop himself from smiling at you. You’re so kind. So polite. So shy. Everything that Carol isn’t.

He almost couldn’t believe what you’d let Max do to you. The sinful noises you’d made as a result.

Your duality captivates him. Not unlike yourself, he has his own duality.

He’s already growing stiff under the table. He can’t help it. He wishes you would make the same noises for him.

The waitress comes back a few minutes later with the drinks and takes your orders. “It will be out shortly,” she says when she’s done, tapping her pen against the ticket book as she strides away.

Dave starts asking you about your family. He already knows, of course. But he wants to hear you say it, perhaps to elaborate the details, see how much you’re willing to open up. He nods along patiently as you talk about your sick grandmother and how your mom takes care of her full-time. That you send money to them every once in a while, which is just one other thing that keeps you from saving, although you omit that last part.

You briefly touch on the subject of your brother—your only sibling—and how he’s been in and out of jail and rehab for years, but you don’t expound on that more than necessary.

Dave knows everything so he only lets you tell him what you’re comfortable sharing. He knows about the armed robberies, and that when you say jail, what you really mean is prison.

He notices how disquieted talking about your brother makes you. He’s overcome with the urge to kiss you, again. Take away the hurt. He settles on gently squeezing your shoulder instead. You don’t cringe away this time. He lets his hand dally a touch too long, perhaps, but you don’t say anything.

The dolmas come out a few minutes later. You admit to Dave you’ve never had them before, but after trying the first one, you’re hooked. They’re earthy, lemony and savory; everything you would expect and more.

“Glad you’re enjoying them,” Dave says affectionately. “They’re my favorite.”

You start to relax, a little. But you’re still mostly a bundle of raw nerves and when staff is out of view, you bend over to dig in your grocery bag to retrieve the vodka. It’s been such a long—and bizarre—day. It cannot be helped how you’re feeling or that you need relief.

You don’t catch Dave’s eyes on the droop of your chest as you bend…or the way he licks his lips salaciously, imagining how your nipples would taste against his tongue.

“Would you like any?” you query as you unscrew the top and dump what looks about a shot’s worth into your soda, swirling it with your straw.

Dave should say no. Lord knows he can barely contain himself as it is, stone cold sober.

But like most things having to do with you, he can’t resist, so he doesn’t. You pour some of the clear liquid into his cup.

And it continues like that for a while; adding another shot after every refill, halfway to being drunk by the time your food arrives, your anxiety dissipating with every drop of alcohol in your bloodstream.

Dave’s little touches grow more frequent, as well. Your hands and arms, your nearest shoulder, your knees. A few times, he has to stop himself from gripping your knees to spread them apart for him. It’s been a while since he’s been drunk; you’re probably handling it better than he is.

“What about you, then? Tell me about your family,” you pry, adding another shot to each of your cups.

Dave tells you about his parents, his siblings—one brother and one sister, both older. One lives in Rhode Island and the other in Florida. He says he doesn’t see them as often as he’d like.

“What do you do for work?” you question.

“I’m retired from the CIA,” he answers honestly, pointedly leaving out the part where he still acts as a consultant from time to time. He does not elaborate more than that.

Your eyes go wide, your brows shooting up your forehead. Dave must be the most decorated person you know. “CIA? This isn’t a situation where you have to kill me now that you’ve told me, right?” you ask playfully, and Dave laughs, his fingers grazing your hand.

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t,” he says around a laugh. You melt into a soft smile and he almost grabs you. Almost drags your mouth to his.

His control is waning by the minute.

“What brought you to Boston, anyway?” he finally asks. He knows already, of course, but he wants your side of it.

You’d been avoiding the subject, but the words flow easier now that you’re inebriated. You tell him about Jonathan; how you’d met online, fell in love—or so you thought—moved halfway across the country for him, only for him to leave you for another woman. Your cheeks shade red with anger.

You clock how hard Dave’s face gets while you’re recounting everything. It’s sort of amazing how swiftly his visage shifts from light to dark in the span of mere seconds. It’s unsettling in its own right, really, so you wave your hand dismissively, in order to change the subject.

“What about you? What brought you to Boston?”

He shifts back in his chair, knee brushing yours and bumping it aside ever so slightly. But he isn’t listening, his bubbling thoughts like a dull roar between his ears; he’s thinking of all the ways he would torture Jonathan before killing him. He’d killed many men, both for the Marines and the CIA. He enjoyed it. Got off on it. So what’s a little more blood in his ledger, in the shape of two men named Max and Jonathan?

He would kill them both as soon as he got the chance. The first in years.

“Dave? You okay?” you ask, placing a tentative hand on top of his where it grips the edge of the table, your thumb skimming the hills and valleys of his knuckles. His gaze snaps to yours, and he recognizes the worry in your eyes. You’re worried about him. It’s been a long time since anyone has worried about him.

That small reciprocative touch from you is all it takes to provoke him, drunk as he is. His opposite hand moves suddenly to your throat, then to the nape of your neck, and he pulls you into him, mouth crashing against yours, needy and messy, all teeth and lips until you open your mouth to him and he’s laving at you with broad strokes of his tongue.

You taste like vodka and heaven.

He swallows your whimper as it works its way up from the depths of your throat; as much as you can’t believe you’re kissing a man you’ve only just officially met, you’re impervious to stop him. This is exactly what you were wanting, what you were needing earlier, with Max. That intimacy, that connection, that Max had denied you. That Dave is offering freely. It’s what you wanted so badly and you only stop when Dave does, pulling apart from you to catch his breath, panting against each other’s lips.

You swipe your tongue against his bottom lip after a few moments, enticing him to return, and he takes advantage of the invitation with a deep groan, prodding his tongue hungrily into your mouth. He palms himself over his shorts as he does so—he can’t help it. You drive him fucking crazy.

You’re letting him touch you. He cannot believe you’re letting him. He wonders how much farther he could go.

His hand moves to your chest, curling lightly against the rise of your upper breast, skirting, testing. When you don’t object, he moves lower, gently cupping you from underneath, cradling the weight in his hand. He grunts into your mouth, dragging his thumb up to circle the stem of your nipple. Might as well go for it as long as you seem receptive.

You pull apart, panting hard, lust-drunk and intoxicated. His hand doesn’t move from your breast, his thumb deftly doing laps around the circumference of your stiffened peak, and it feels better than you could have ever imagined, your head draping over the back of the chair.

You need to know how his thumb would feel circling the bundle of nerves between your legs. You know how fucked it is, how fast everything is moving between the two of you, but you find yourself unable to give a shit after the year you’ve had.

You take his hand and move it down to the cradle of your lap as your legs splay wide for him. He cups your heat with his hand, wrist cocked, completely swallowing you in its mass.

His eyes go impossibly dark. Almost unreadable. His lips pull tight, and you think you see the promise of a smirk there, but you can’t be too sure. His brow is furrowed into a heavy line, lending him a feral—almost dangerous—appearance. And he absolutely is, right now—he’d wanted you for so long and he finally has you. Target acquired. God help anyone who might try to take you from him.

His hand doesn’t move right away and you almost think you’ve offended him. You start to cant your hips, seeking friction, and he stills you with the other hand, wide palm holding you in place against the chair.

The thin bike shorts don’t leave much to the imagination; he can feel your soft folds against his fingers and the dampness that is already creeping through. He starts to stroke with his fore and middle fingers along your seam, his thumb firmly pressed to your clothed clit, rolling tight circles.

It’s all so much that you would buck into his hand if he wasn’t holding you down. You mewl pathetically in his wake, and you’re certain you do see his lips curving into a grin now.

You feel like a rabbit locked in the jaws of a wolf.

“Feels so pretty for me,” Dave murmurs against your lips, his forehead pressed to yours as he holds your gaze in his. “What else would you let me do to you, huh?”

You swallow. Your heart is slamming in your chest. The hero facade from earlier is gone and the real Dave is now bared right in front of you.

“Whatever you want,” you respond in a shaky breath. You’re scared of him, but you kind of like it. The fear consuming you is enrapturing.

“That’s a dangerous proposition,” Dave tuts, tongue clicking between his teeth. Thumb continuously circling your sensitive nub.

A moan slips free and you find it nearly impossible to stay in one spot, even in his clutches. He eventually resigns himself and lets go, hand coming up to squeeze just under your jaw.

“Would you let me put a finger in you? Right here?” he rumbles lowly, his voice deep, dark. It almost doesn’t sound like a question, coming from him.

You already know the answer to such a devious question. You’d let Max almost do the same, after all, and you don’t even like Max.

“Yes,” you admit. “Yes…please.”

“Fucking filthy.” His eyes shine and his lips curl into a wicked smile. Carol would have never agreed to something like that; as if he hadn’t asked on multiple occasions. But that never stopped her from fucking a neighbor at a Christmas party several years ago.

The ache in his cock is burgeoning on painful. His grip under your chin tightens; still very much controlled, but enough to get his point across. “Grab my cock.”

Your breath catches. He leans in to kiss you again, your fingers skating along the inner plane of his thigh, snaking into the opening of his shorts. You find his stiffened member readily, lacing your fingers around the ample girth and stroking it along the ridges of your palm, slowing down when you reach the head. Precum leaks down your wrist. He’s warm and hard as steel and feels amazing. He grunts into your mouth, hips rolling forward, chasing your touch.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He’s spent so long dreaming of this exact scenario that now that it’s happening, it’s too much. Too much and not enough all at once. He breathes headily into your mouth, sucking and biting at your lips. He wonders if you’d suck him off under the table; he knows from listening to you earlier that Max hadn’t claimed your mouth. He wanted to be the one to claim that before Max, spill himself down your throat and mark you from the inside out.

It’s so much that he won’t last long if you keep touching him like that, your soft warm hand doing slow, rounded strokes on his cock. He stills your hand and you exchange a glance.

“Lean back, sweetheart.” His words go straight to your core. Max had also called you that, but the cadence was different, more derivative. Dave’s movements are deliberate and controlled, unlike Max’s more chaotic approach. Cold and calculating; yet something in the low pitch of his voice makes you want to trust him.

You lean against the chair, hips sliding forward. Dave wets two fingers against his tongue and, resuming the onslaught of his mouth on yours, pulls back the band of your skin tight shorts to slip the other hand inside.

Your head lolls back against the chair and your eyes flutter shut. Your head swims; what is wrong with you? The waitress could come back to find Dave knuckles deep inside of you at any second.

But that’s part of the allure.

His hand dips lower, skimming the soft curls of your mound, tracing your shape. He’s only inches away from discovering your drenched and waiting hole when a new sound penetrates the fog of your mind. It takes a moment for understanding to settle over you, and then hits you abruptly: someone is clearing their throat.

Your eyes snap open and Dave yanks his hand back so hard he elbows the arm of the chair, a quiet hiss escaping from his lips as he tries to downplay the hurt. You look up to see the waitress peering down at you.

“I was going to ask if you wanted dessert, but seems you’ve already started,” she points out. She looks more amused than angry, but it doesn’t stop the shame that blooms hot in your cheeks at being so careless.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her softly.

“Just the check,” Dave says, doing his best to feign innocence. He bites the inside of his cheek. “Thanks.”

You both burst into laughter like a pair of teenagers as soon as she’s out of earshot. You look down at your half eaten plate of hummus and pitas. “Shit, I should have asked for a box too,” you say, acting as though you didn’t just have hands down the other’s pants. He chuckles, brushing a hand through short, dark hair.

“Yeah, guess so.” His mouth hooks into a crooked smirk.

The air of the moment is gone as you fall into a silence that is more comfortable than the one before, his hand lingering on your knee, thumb circling your kneecap as a gentle reminder.

The waitress returns and she is a saint. Not only has she brought the check, she’s also brought boxes for your leftovers and something in a smaller to-go box. “Baklava, for after,” she says, giving you a knowing wink. You blush. “On the house.”

Dave pays the check and leaves a generous tip as quickly as he is able to do so.

——

Dave’s hands are all over you the entire way home.

Not in a gratuitous way; he’s learned his lesson there. But that doesn’t stop him from sliding his fingers up and down your back as you walk together, or the way his hand curls taut around your hip and ass to pull you in close to nip at your neck. You giggle and playfully try to fend him off, but it does very little to dissuade him, of which you don’t mind.

He’s grateful he chose to wear loose fitting shorts to jog in today. Anything tighter and it would leave very little to the imagination. He’s sure he’s showing enough already, but he can’t be arsed enough to care, or help how deranged you make him feel. He would have taken you at the restaurant, if you had let him. If the two of you could have gotten away with it.

You arrive at the passage between your buildings after what seems like an eternity of walking. You feel his fingers dig a little harder into your backside as soon as you round the corner, and then he’s turning you, pressing your back flush against his building the same way Max had done to you earlier against yours. The similarities between both men is eerie.

His mouth finds your neck and he sucks a line of red marks down to your shoulder, leaving behind a trail of hickies that won’t be going anyway anytime soon, but you’re too fucked out already to mind.

“My place or yours?” Dave asks. His pelvis crowds into you, erection grinding at your center, the thin fabrics of your outfits a blessing as you feel every hard press of him into you.

“Yours,” you mutter without a second thought. You don’t know if you could handle two men in your space in a single day. You’d barely had time to gather your thoughts from earlier, much less clean up after yourself.

If only you knew what Dave knows. What he did.

Dave pulls away from you, one hand circling your wrist as he drags you with him, the other digging into his pocket to retrieve the keycard from his wallet. You need the same for your building, he thinks. Safer that way, less chance of being tampered with, and he would be able to rest easier.

He readjusts the grocery bag on his shoulder as he slides the keycard into the lock and pushes the door open. “After you,” he says, motioning ahead. You do as he asks, stepping over the threshold and into the building, Dave following at your heels.

His building is nicer than yours, a little more modern and kept up. A bank of mail boxes sits off to your right, a seating area to the left. There’s a staircase directly in front of you and an elevator beyond that. He gestures you up the stairs.

“I’m just on the second floor, last door on the left,” he instructs, and you dutifully begin your ascent, slowly, as you’re still more than just slightly tipsy.

Dave falls in line behind you. A moment later, you feel his hands spanning the width of your ass, kneading your flesh against his palms, landing a soft smack to your right cheek; just hard enough to let you know that he’s there and what he’s about to do to you.

“I’ve thought about this ass a lot,” Dave says in a low pitch, “Feels just as nice as I imagined it would.”

You reach the landing and make your way down the narrow corridor until you reach a door with 2A emblazoned on it, canting your eyes towards Dave for conformation. He nods and you step aside as he moves to unlock the door.

The interior of Dave’s apartment is larger than your own. It has an actual bedroom, for one. It’s also more tidy—there isn’t a lot of furniture, very few personal items, which means less clutter. No pictures hung on the walls. Just the bare necessities. A man’s apartment.

Dave puts your bag on the kitchen counter and he’s on you before you can even slide your purse off, removing the burdensome item for you, tossing it thoughtlessly behind him to join the other. His lips crash into yours, needy and desperate, tongue licking into your mouth as his hands roam over your chest to cup both breasts.

You feel better than he could have ever imagined. Like your body was made just for him, the way it slots perfectly against his own.

You make a chirp of surprise as he scoops you up with a low growl, one arm across your back and the other in the bend of your knees as he carries you to the bedroom down the hall. His mouth doesn’t relent, sucking and biting at your lips, your jaw.

“Going to ruin you tonight,” he moans against your mouth.

He puts you down on the edge of the bed when you make it to the bedroom. It’s just as sparse of the rest of the apartment, with plain black sheets and a plain black comforter. At least the bed isn’t made up; that makes you feel a little better about how you live.

He crouches in front of you, large brown eyes darkening a shade as he studies your face. Hands gripping your thighs.

“Just so you know, darling, I don’t play nice,” he forewarns, hands sliding down your legs to stroke your bare calves. Going off of what he heard earlier, he’s sure that won’t be a problem. “Before we start, is there anything off the table?”

You consider his question for a moment, thoughtfully biting your lip. “Yes. I’m not on birth control, so…” you trail off with a nervous giggle. Your condoms are of no use back at your apartment.

His jaw clenches. Of course he doesn’t have any condoms either, as he hasn’t had a need for them in quite some time. He supposes he understands. It isn’t like he needs more kids, anyway.

“Guess I have to cum in one of your other holes, then,” he muses, squeezing and kneading your calves. His hands are large and warm and they feel fucking amazing. “If at any point you want me to stop, you say ‘foxglove’. Otherwise, I assume anything goes. Clear?”

“Clear,” you confirm, inclining your head in a small nod, a tremor slithering its way through you as you consider the possibilities.

Dave’s expression hardens as a hand lifts to your face, landing a smack across your cheek just hard enough to sting but not hurt. Not yet.

“Tell me what you say if it’s too much. I need to hear you say it,” his voice dark and heavy.

“Foxglove. The safe word…is foxglove.”

One corner of his mouth slants upwards into a smirk, his eyes remaining dark. Glassy. “Atta girl,” he says with a wink.

He begins removing your clothing, yanking and manipulating the fabric free from your form until you’re completely nude, your skin pebbling as cool air rushes over you. His gaze traverses your curves, drinking you in with his eyes as he licks his lips hungrily. He can see bruises forming where Max’s fingers gripped you, where they dug in. He surprises himself when it only serves to further turn him on, the head of his dick beading with precum as he pictures how Max must have fucked you. Part of him wishes he had been able to see it for himself.

He slaps you again, harder this time, hand moving to your throat to shove you down until your back makes contact with the mattress, a small gasp rushing out of you. Moving from the floor to the bed, he seats himself at your side, grabbing one of your knees to spread you open.

He drags a finger along your soaked seam, revering how wet you already are for him, how easily the tip of his finger slips inside. “Fuck, is this just for me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. You nod in response. “Fuckin’ slut.”

He sinks his finger to the last knuckle, pumping a few times, adding a second a moment later. You mewl and writhe underneath him, craving more friction between your legs.

“Just fuck me, Dave, please. Want your cock in me.”

He chuckles, balls pulsing in response to your words as he removes his fingers from your dripping heat. “My cock, pretty girl?” he purrs. “Who’s calling the shots here?” he asks you, pinching and twisting one of your nipples as retribution. The pain makes you cry out, tears stinging your eyes, your back arching.

When you don’t answer, he repeats himself, tugging harder this time. “Who?” he snarls.

“Y-you! You!” you whine, moving your hand over your breast to soothe the hurt, but Dave knocks it back, pinning it to the bed.

“Don’t move your hands. I mean it.”

Your body trembles. This isn’t the mild mannered Dave from earlier; the juxtaposition absolutely terrifies you and it’s fucked how much you like it.

“You,” you repeat for good measure. “You do.”

Dave beams down at you, caressing your cheek. “Good girl.”

His fingers move to curve inside of you, adding a third this time, splitting you open for him. You keen at the sting of being stretched around his knuckles, hips instinctively bucking against him. You whimper when his palm bumps your clit.

He stills you with his opposite hand and you flinch, anticipating more retaliation.

“Easy,” he soothes, flattening his palm against your hip as he strokes. “I got you.”

His fingers pump lazily through your slick, sinking to the hilt, allowing himself to feel every ridge and ripple of your tunnel. Memorizing it. You’re so wet for him; he still can’t believe that you’re letting him do this. How did he get so lucky?

He fishes his phone from his pocket in a moment of insight; he doesn’t want to take any chances in case you never let him do this again. His eyes move to your face as he does so, awaiting any kind of objection, only to continue when he finds there is none. You watch with curiosity from your perspective as he flicks open the camera app and begins to film, training the lens where his fingers are currently disappearing inside of you.

It goes on for several minutes like that, Dave filming as he fucks you with his fingers, the wet squelch of his digits driving into you paired with the accompanying sounds of your gradually building pleasure more than a little gratuitous, as if it was straight from a porno.

He can tell by the way your inner walls are tightening that you’re getting close. He wants to get you off before he does, prepare you for the inevitable stretch of him so he can properly ruin you on his cock.

He passes the phone to you now, scooting higher up on the bed. You watch him through the phone screen and realize he’s still completely clothed, the lewd bulge of his erection more than obvious even through the phone. As if on cue, he palms himself before settling in next to you.

He nibbles down the rise of your shoulder, trailing to your breast, leaving small suckling bites until his mouth reaches the hard peak of your nipple. His tongue laves over it, circling it, sucking it into his mouth and taking it between his teeth. It sends a shockwave of pain through you, your cunt clenching down on Dave’s fingers, momentarily blinded by your pleasure.

You do as best you can to capture everything on camera, but there’s so much going on, your brain so swimmy you can barely see straight.

“Mmf,” he groans against the stiffened bud. “Doing so well already,” he praises.

His teeth move to the pillowy flesh of your outer breast, biting down harder than you would have imagined he would—to the point of nearly drawing blood—another lance of pain shooting through you with a strangled cry. It’s at that moment an orgasm unexpectedly washes over you, taking you by complete surprise as you scream Dave’s name loud enough for the entire building to hear.

His cock pulses with the need to be buried in your dark, wet heat as he rides out the ebbs and flows of your ecstasy, hand still fucking into you, harder and faster than before, and before you even realize what’s happening, a second orgasm surges through you like an arc of lightning on the tail end of the first, your vision pulling white for what seems like a lifetime.

“Fuck,” you mewl, your voice almost a sob. “Fuck, Dave.”

He keeps pumping until the aftershocks of your back to back orgasms starts to be too much, burgeoning on painful, and you plead for him to stop, grabbing at his wrist without giving it much thought.

“You know what to say if you want me to stop.” His face contorts into a wicked sneer. “I like when you tell me no.”

You let out a sigh of relief when you get a brief reprieve from the overstimulation as he pulls his fingers out of you, leaning forward to force your mouth open with his fingers. “Clean them off. Taste yourself. Taste what I did to you.”

You do your best to turn the camera to your face as you suck obediently, tasting a mixture of yourself and the salt of his skin, murmuring low in your throat as your eyes move to examine his face. He’s drunk on lust and on you, slack-jawed, dark eyes shimmering with dubiousness. Somehow, if it’s possible, it makes you even wetter than before.

When he removes his hand, a string of saliva connects your mouth to the tip of his middle finger, which you most definitely capture on the camera.

“My turn,” he says, sliding into a stand, removing his shirt and letting it join yours on the floor. The first thing you notice are his shoulders, endlessly broad and well defined, flexing with every movement. You’re unable to pull your attention away from the vastness of them until he’s kneeling again, grabbing you by the hips and pulling your ass to hang over the edge of the bed.

His face is buried between the juncture of your thighs a moment later, arched Roman nose nudging your overly sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue dips to penetrate you, lips forming a tight seal around your entrance as his tongue scrubs at your inner walls, groaning deep in his throat as he tastes you for the first time.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he moans against your folds. “Best I’ve ever tasted.”

“No, Dave, stop,” you beg, weakly pushing at one of his shoulders with your free hand, so overstimulated it hurts. Between him and Max, they’ve already done a number on you today, and Dave hasn’t even properly fucked you yet. Your words don’t make Dave stall, however; if anything, he speeds up.

You know what to say if you want me to stop. His words echo in your mind as a single teardrop clings to your waterline. You could just say it, foxglove—a type of poisonous flower, aptly fitting—and you’re certain he would stop. But you’re willing to see how far you’re able to go, how much you can take, the word fading away behind your lips along with your considerations.

“Stop,” you whimper to spur him on, intentionally antagonizing him now, and he growls, animalistic, heady, unrelenting as he grazes his teeth over your sensitive nub, making you cry out before returning to his previous task of eating you out like a man starved.

It isn’t long before he drags a third orgasm out of you, your hips bucking completely off the bed to chase the fleeting stimulation, his name a chant on your tongue. Your fingers curl into the sheets to anchor yourself.

Dave falls back on his calves, chest heaving as he takes a moment to collect his breath, likewise allowing you to catch yours.

He runs a hand over his face, wiping away the sweat that wants to fall. He often stopped using his air conditioning after summer, and he’s feeling the effects now as perspiration beads up and rolls down his back.

“Are you ready for my cock?” he asks, his face cast in shadow, lending him an insidious appearance. It makes you shiver.

“Yes. Need your cock in me,” you whine, knowing how sore you’ll be after this, how sore you are now. You can’t find yourself able to care.

Dave rises, one hand on his hip, cock pulsing and leaking with arousal at the chance to fully bury himself in you. He goes over to the side of the bed, hauling you up the rest of the way by your arm, which makes you yelp.

He takes the phone from you and places it on the nightstand, angling it so that it faces the bed. You aren’t sure how much you were able to capture with his head between your legs, so you’re happy to be relieved of film maker duty.

He’s on top of you an instant later, shorts somehow shed in a frenzy of movement, lining himself up at your entrance and then pushing inside in one smooth, devastating go. His head rocking back to slump against his shoulders at how amazing you feel, how tight you are for him despite being with Max, how subservient you’ve been and how well you’re taking him. It takes every fiber of his being not to offload into you on the first thrust.

His hands lace around your throat as he begins to pump, squeezing into the meat of your neck. “Look at me,” he snarls.

You look up at him, brown eyes shifted to black, a dark band of shadow covering his visage, making him seem that much more sinister. He isn’t fully railing into you yet, but he isn’t exactly going easy on you, either, every thrust into you more tender than the previous.

“Open your mouth for me like the whore you are,” Dave commands, tightening his grip until the edges of the room start to blot away. “And stick out your tongue.”

Your lips part and you curl your tongue outward, thinking you know what’s coming, but still being taken aback when you feel a thick glob of saliva land directly onto your waiting tongue. You don’t give him a chance to tell you to swallow; you do it on your own, opening wider for more.

“Does my little slut want seconds?” Dave asks, and you nod. He smirks, spitting directly into your mouth again, watching intently as you swallow. “Filthy. Should make you eat my cum, too.”

You nod in wanton agreement, but you’re unable to speak with his massive hands digging into your windpipe as they are. The flash in his gaze tells you his understanding, though, and he starts fucking you harder, instructing you to lift your legs so he can slam into you as deep as he possibly can, the head of his dick knocking at the delicate spongy area at the back of your tunnel.

And then a fourth orgasm rolls over you, vision fading away momentarily as your head rocks back against the pillow, choked cry clawing its way out of your throat.

You aren’t sure how much more you can take, which Dave must admit is more than he expected you to. Your body is numb and your head is pounding; you hope for your sake he cums soon.

He loosens his hold on your neck, and you’re able to breathe again, chest rising and falling rapidly beneath him as you catch up. He taps the side of your face, softly, almost affectionate in comparison to how hard he slapped you before. Then he pulls out of you, wrapping his hand around his thick cock, slowly pumping himself with your slick and cum.

“Maybe I won’t spill into that pretty little whore mouth of yours,” he muses. “Maybe I should take your tight little asshole instead.”

Your heart palpitates faster, eyes going wide. You’ve never done anal more than just a finger or two and Dave is so girthy—the idea gives you pause, admittedly.

Dave expects you to say no. Like, actually say no, this time. The veins running the length of his shaft pulsing as he imagines how your ass would feel sheathed on his cock, but he isn’t pressing the issue, so he’s more than pleasantly shocked when you don’t abstain.

“Okay,” you mumble, hardly above a whisper. “Need you to fuck my ass, Dave.” You look up at him through your lashes and it stirs something primal in him, hearing those words come from your sweet mouth.

He wastes no time in flipping you over, pulling you up to your knees as he notches himself at your star of muscle.

“Have you ever done it before?”

“N-never, no. Just fingers,” you admit, biting back your trepidation.

“I’ll start off slow, then. Get you nice and stretched out. But I won’t be able to control myself for long, knowing I’m the first one who gets to claim your ass. I won’t go easy on you after that point.”

You swallow and nod. The alcohol will definitely help to loosen things up, but you aren’t sure how much.

Dave tilts your hips up, spreading your cheeks to spit directly onto the ring of muscle. He slips a thumb inside, pumping it easily a few times, groaning at how you squeeze him.

“So tight,” he growls. “Going to feel so fucking good.”

He slides his thumb out and spits again, first at your entrance and then into his palm, smearing the cocktail of saliva, slick and precum over himself. He grips your cheeks and spreads you open as wide as possible, positioning his head between them.

He starts to push slowly inward, the initial stretch painful, your vision temporarily reduced to nothing, tears stinging your eyes. It’s so much. He’s so much.

In spite of yourself, you do your best to relax, regulating your breathing and slackening your muscles. It seems to help as he claims another inch of you with a throaty reverberation. “Doing great, baby.”

You moan, an amalgamation of pleasure and pain when he pushes in about halfway, filling you in ways you never could have imagined. He pumps his hips languidly as he continues to gain ground, parting you slowly around his length, molding you into a desired shape for him, until he eventually bottoms out with a visceral groan.

“Fuck,” he pants. “So fucking perfect.”

He holds there a moment, relishing how fucking amazing you feel strangling his cock, knowing it won’t take much from this point to send him hurtling over the edge; he’ll have to make sure it counts.

He ruts into you a few times, gingerly, opening you further to ensure you have ample time to mentally prepare for the impending onslaught.

“How does it feel?” he asks, kneading your hips under his hands.

“G-good, so f-far,” you reply. “Okay.”

“That’s too bad,” Dave tuts. “We’ll have to fix that, won’t we, darling?”

He plants a hard smack to your ass, causing you to arch involuntarily with a high keening yelp, rocking you back into him as a dagger of pain courses through you. Dave grunts, snapping his hips into you, and you yelp again.

“That’s it, sweetheart. That’s it.”

He flattens his palm over where he made contact to soothe the hurt, but before you can settle he strikes you again, harder than before, gripping your hips with enough force to bruise as he begins riding you rough and frenzied, bucking his hips against yours.

His hand snakes around to your front and finds your swollen and overworked clit, administering quick tight circles to the delicate bud. Your initial instinct is to push him away, tell him to stop, and you do. You cry out for him to stop, because it’s so much, he’s so much, forgetting in your haste that it only spurs him on, makes him want you more. And it’s so much that he’s literally fucking you senseless, unable to breathe or even think.

Despite everything, that familiar tickle begins to build low in your abdomen again, the noises you make with every thrust inhuman and supplicant. You want him to stop but you don’t. You don’t know how much more you can withstand but at the same time want him to use you all night.

Dave rumbles from the depths of his chest, completely feral as he ruts into your ass, the noises you’re making driving him to the brink of insanity, the same ones you’d made earlier for Max. And he can feel his climax building, listening to your salacious inhuman noises, envisioning Max fucking you in your apartment and how much you’d fallen apart for him. And subsequently four times so far with himself.

“Whose ass is this?” Dave snarls, spanking you again, leaving an imprint of his hand behind.

“Yours, Dave, yours!” you cry.

“That’s right. No one else’s. Just mine. All mine,” he grunts. “Cum for me, baby. Need you to cum as I rail your ass.”

“I can’t, Dave, it’s so much…” you whine. Everything is disorientating. You’re glad you have tomorrow off because you aren’t certain you’ll be able to walk after this.

“Yes you can. Cum for me. Last one.”

He flicks the pads of his middle and index fingers over your clit, and when you think it isn’t going to be possible, another orgasm burns through you like a powder keg, your walls clamping down around nothing as Dave spears himself repeatedly into you. You see stars, crying out his name as your arms give out beneath you, the upper half of your body slumping into the bed.

Dave snaps his hips once, twice, three times more and then he’s cumming hard with a deep, animalistic snarl, pumping himself deep as he uses you to milk every last drop of himself.

He eventually slows to a halt, both of you panting hard, covered in a thin sheen of perspiration, your bodies like jello as you sink in tandem to the mattress below. Dave pulls out of you, rolling onto his back as he pants up at the ceiling.

He takes a moment to catch his breath and bearings before he scoots off the bed, checking to make sure you’re okay as he turns off the camera on his phone and then heads to the small en suite bathroom, the only one in the apartment. He starts the warm tap and retrieves a wash rag from the basket he keeps by the sink, running it under the water until it’s pleasantly warm.

He returns to you a moment later to find you already halfway to dozing, looking at him through sleepy, half-lidded eyes. It stokes something in the cold cockles of his heart seeing you like this, running an affectionate hand up the back of your thigh as he approaches you. “Here, open up.”

You hardly have any cognition left, yet you somehow manage to comprehend, spreading to allow him to clean you. The warmth of the rag is relieving against your sore and tender parts, and when he feels you’ve been sufficiently looked over, he seats himself next to you, brushing your hair from your eyes.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmhm,” you manage weakly, unable to keep your eyes open now. “Jus’ tired.”

“Rest,” Dave says, stroking along the edge of your jaw with his thumb. “You’ve earned it.”

He watches you a moment longer as you drift off, leaving your side only when he’s sufficiently sated on the image of you in his bed to go clean himself up in the bathroom. While he’s in there, he can’t help but think that being able to fuck you should have scratched that itch, scratched it enough that he could move past you, but now that he’s had you—he feels it growing even more restless than before, contorting into some kind of twisted, dangerous animal. He fears the things he would do for you. To you.

He needs to remember you like this. All fucked out and beautiful in your post-coitus glow, one hand rested under your cheek. He goes back to you, grabbing his phone to snap a picture of you. And then several more.

He has to see his daughters this weekend so his time with you is fleeting. And he won’t be around immediately after either, since he’s decided to make a little impromptu trip up to New York to pay a friendly visit to your ex.

He rejoins you in the bedroom, flipping on the wall unit air conditioning before sliding into bed next to you, wrapping you in his arms as he places kisses where he left marks on your neck. You utter a small, chirping sound, settling into his arms as the rest of your mind slips away to sleep.

——

You aren’t sure how long you were out.

Your mouth is parched and you’re simultaneously freezing and burning up, a layer of sweat between your bodies where your skin makes contact. He’s got you tangled up in his arms and he’s like a massive furnace, smothering you with his impressive body heat.

But the A/C is also going and everywhere the air touches is freezing, your skin bubbling with goosepimples.

You shift, hoping it will rouse him. You need to get home. When it doesn’t work, you move your limbs more, stretching and quietly murmuring his name. He eventually stirs, looking down at you with sleepy baby cow eyes, somehow soft in their regard of you, despite every debauched and depraved thing he did.

“Dave, I need to go.”

He frowns. He has to leave tomorrow morning for Virginia, but he was hoping you’d stay, wanting your face to be the last he sees before then.

“Spend the night. I make a mean bowl of cereal,” he jokes, the edge of his lip quirking up. “Or we can order in.”

You deliberate on it. Dave absolutely wrecked you, brought you the brink of losing yourself several times, frightened you and hurt you. You let him. You wanted it—you liked it. And you like him.

But your ex ruined you in the worst of ways. Things had moved quickly with him, you being absolutely starstruck in love from the start, and look where it got you. As much as you like Dave, you fear history repeating itself. You barely know him. You can’t risk going down the same road again.

“Next time,” you offer as compromise. He doesn’t do anything to hide his disappointment, but he nods in confirmation anyway. As much as he needs you to stay, he doesn’t want to push you away with his neediness.

“Next time,” he repeats with a nod. “Sure.”

You get up to use the rest room, slipping back into your clothes, checking yourself out in the mirror as you do so and notice how you’re absolutely riddled with marks. You can hide out in your apartment tomorrow, sure, but you aren’t sure what you’ll do for work. Wear a scarf, maybe.

“Let me walk you home,” Dave says as you gather your things, taking the grocery bag from you, even though it really isn’t that heavy. You lift heavier boxes of coffee at work, after all. “Please.”

“Dave,” you say with a laugh, “I live, like, a hundred feet from you.”

He offers a weak, nervous laugh of his own in response. He really is a man split right down the middle, personality wise. A study of duality. “I know. It’s just proper.”

You don’t fight it. You’re already turning down his request to stay; may as well give him this one. “Sure. Come on.”

He walks you down with his hand planted in the small of your back, gingerly stroking as you make your way outside. The air is stagnant and quiet, the faint sounds of traffic somewhere in the distance.

You reach the door of your building and turn to face Dave with a shy smile, your cheeks heating. You aren’t sure why, after what you let him do to you. “Well, this is me.”

“Yeah,” he says with a breathy laugh, placing his hands on his hips and looking you over. “I can walk you inside, if you want.”

“I think I can manage,” you reply with a smile. “Thanks, though. And thank you…for everything.”

As he passes you the bag, something else unspoken passes between the two of you, Dave rushing into you to plunge his tongue past your teeth, licking broad strokes into your mouth. You moan and sink your fingers into his hair without even thinking about it.

Fuck, he’s going to miss you.

He was hard again the moment you woke up naked in his arms, and he’s even harder now as he presses into you, cock twitching to feel you again.

“I have to go,” you plead against his lips. “I’ll see you this weekend. Promise.”

He frowns. He never told you about his daughters. Or his divorce. Now probably isn’t the most opportune time to bring it up, either.

“I’ll be out of town until next week,” he says. “But after. Yeah.”

It tugs at something in you, hearing his voice drop like that. You decide to compromise once again by offering your phone number up as penance.

“So, we’ll still be able to talk,” you say.

“Yeah. Sounds good.” He smiles, even though he doesn’t exactly feel up to it, the corners of his eyes wrinkling into crow’s feet.

“And bring me back a souvenir from wherever you’re going,” you say in jest. “I’m kidding, by the way. Don’t.”

He chuckles. “I’ll bring you back a “‘Virginia is For Lovers’ shirt,” he responds.

“Virginia? Nice.” You nod. “But seriously, don’t. And have a nice trip.”

“I’ll try,” he admits. And then he kisses you again, less aggressively this time, hand trailing down to the curve of your buttock, resting there, but not squeezing. It’s taking everything in him not to pull your shorts down and fuck you within an inch of your life, again, in the open like this. But he refrains.

“Talk to you soon, Dave,” you say as you take a step away from him, punching in the door code on the keypad. Dave watches your fingers move, tucking the number away for later use. 6435#. Easy enough.

“Soon,” he agrees. “Have a good night,” he says, his voice dropping to an affectionate octave when he says your name.

He watches you go. Watches you leave him. He swallows back his pride, knowing he hasn’t driven you away fully yet, but more than a little concerned he doesn’t have you exactly where he wants you.

He returns to his apartment alone, which already feels empty without you.

He knows it will be impossible to sleep right now. He brews himself a cup of Earl Grey and takes it over to his computer, the screen shining a bright white in his irises as he sits down to do some digging on Jonathan. He has enough information to go on; now it’s just a matter of filling in the gaps.

He can’t wait to pay your ex a visit.

——

Max surprises himself when his heart drops at not seeing you at the shop the next day.

Maurizio is there, whom he greets unenthusiastically, his ex-schoolmate little more than an acquaintance at this point, but the interaction is amiable enough. And some kid with a face full of piercings manning the counter who’s maybe all of eighteen at best, as far as Max can tell.

At least that pink haired bitch isn’t working today, Max thinks.

He orders a large Americano and a cookie to go, his usual order. He asks if you’re working today. The metal-faced kid—whose name tag says Vincent, and whom he recognizes from yesterday—tells him you’re off today.

“Thanks.” Figures you wouldn’t be here. For whatever reason he can’t seem to fathom, he hasn’t been able to get you off his mind since yesterday. Even wore the same tie as a reminder, which is something that meticulous, obsessed-with-his-own-appearance Max does not do. Ever.

He takes his Americano and cookie and leaves, thinking about you on his way to work as he takes small sips of the subpar coffee. He wonders what you do in your free time. What you’re doing now.

He thinks, perhaps, he’ll drop in after work. He knows where you live now, after all.

He can’t wait to see your face when he shows up unannounced at your door.

@ohheypedrito @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @oberynslady @chronically-ghosted @onmysluttyknees @kellybelly1978 @annieispunk @sarap-77

Enjoy! 😘

#pedro pascal #writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro fanfic #dave york #max phillips #equalizer 2 #bloodsucking bastards

[carnivorousladybug]

A Character Study: Aemond from House of the Dragon

Almost 4k words. My thoughts on Aemond Targaryen. This is me trying to make sense of his character and guessing his motivations. I'm focusing mainly on the show so I did not mention Daeron.

To the greens, Aemond was the spare. To the blacks, he was even less than that.

In the show, he was born after The Green Dress stunt at Rhaenyra's wedding, when Alicent got rid of her Targaryen red and black dresses in favor of Hightower green, signaling her true allegiance. Sides are declared. The die is cast. In the book, Alicent's stunt wouldn't be pulled until a year after Aemond was born, but I like the show's timing better.

I like the idea of Alicent being in full-on war mode while she was pregnant with him. It would be fitting, knowing she would give birth to a baby boy with a choleric temperament. The boy who would one day grow up to be the young man whose actions started the Dance of the Dragons.

Aemond as might as well pull an Athena and come out of the womb fully dressed in armor and ready for war.

From the time Aemond was old enough to understand, the tension between his mother and half-sister had been so thick that you could cut it with a knife.

In the show, Aemond and Jace are roughly the same age, so Jace was probably born not long after Aemond (I'm guessing their age difference is a year max). Then Rhaenyra churns out two more bastard kids throughout the duration of Aemond's youth. Growing up, this boy would’ve been mighty familiar with hearing questions about his nephews' legitimacy as more and more rumors of Rhaenyra's trysts with Harwin Strong spread throughout King's Landing. 

To properly understand Aemond's childhood, we need to talk about Aemond's momma, Alicent Hightower. Mommy dearest.

Alicent was literally a teen mom who had been forced to grow up too quickly. After Viserys fired Otto and her friendship with Rhaenyra disintegrated, she had almost zero allies in court. She was scared, paranoid, and bitter. Alicent was nowhere near prepared for the motherhood and queenship that was thrust upon her. I'm pretty sure that she often found herself needing someone to vent to, and I think Aemond would've been that someone for her (My Son is My Therapist).

Alicent was, by definition, an emotionally immature parent. In this scenario, it’s common for parents to turn to their children for emotional support. She couldn’t turn to Viserys, Aegon was rowdy and does his own shit, and she and Helaena never quite connected. That left Aemond, who strikes me as a naturally attentive and observant child.

This is just a theory, but I don’t see why it couldn’t have happened given the circumstances. It would certainly explain why Aemond and his mom are so close. (And why Aemond gives "older sibling who acts like a parent" vibes.)

I mean, have you seen this scene? The softness they have for each other? How in tune they are with each other’s emotions? They act more like equals than Mother and Son.

With Viserys being a shitty father who'd rather play with his legos than pay attention to his son, Alicent would also be the only person Aemond would look to for guidance, to make sense of the world.

I'm imagining Alicent ranting about Rhaenyra's irresponsibility while a young Aemond listens, absorbing every word.

Here I am, upholding the kingdom, the family, the law, while she flouts it all to do as she pleases.

The audacity of her to name her common-faced bastards as heirs while you and Aegon are pushed further down the line of succession.

Where is duty? Where is honor? Where is sacrifice?  

It’s a wonder to me that her sons’ eggs ever hatched. We all know what they really are.

Aemond takes Alicent's words to heart and he treats them with a level of seriousness that is rare for most children his age. He strikes me as a very precocious kid. I see him as an overthinker, which would mean he has a tendency to mull over things for long periods of time and find deeper meanings where most would fail to. (A trait that would serve him but ultimately destroy him in the end.)

Like the good student he is, Aemond takes in everything that Alicent has to say. And if my My Son is My Therapist theory is correct, then out of all of Alicent’s children, Aemond would be the one most privy to her thoughts. It would explain why he's so similar to her in beliefs and personality. Everything he knew, he learned from Alicent.

Helaemond shippers like to point at this scene and say Aemond had a crush on Helaena and idk about you but it sounds like he's just echoing his mother. This is a 10-year-old boy.

Thanks to Alicent, Aemond would see the world as being split into two groups: the “worthy” and the “unworthy”. The worthy are the ones who uphold honor and duty. The unworthy are the ones who do not. 

His sense of worth would be directly tied to this metric. Aemond has a strong desire to prove himself worthy by being the perfect prince, the perfect son. He cares deeply about how others views him, and he becomes a perfectionist.

Aegon being a useless drunkard and Rhaenyra being a lawbreaker would only motivate him further. (Yes, Rhaenyra naming her bastards as heirs is literally illegal. It's high treason. It's an offense that would result in being disinherited and even executed, I can't stress this enough.) I can do better, Aemond thinks.

So, being the only boy in the family without a dragon would do monumental damage to his self-esteem.

I'm imagining him listening to Alicent rant about how Jacaerys and Lucerys are unworthy of having their dragon eggs hatch. Being the over-analytical little shit he is, Aemond would've come to the conclusion that the eggs only hatch for true Targaryens. And suddenly he's worried because what if I'm not worthy of my name?

Even my idiot older brother and my bastard nephews have dragons. What does that make me? He thinks. Aemond would've felt so small.

As if it wasn't bad enough to know that he was only the spare to Aegon's heir, to watch his father neglect him while pouring affection to his half-sister and her kids, to know that he was the least important member of the family. (Knowing you're not the favorite child hurts even for normal people; imagine growing up in a family system where every child is ranked from most important to least.)

It sure didn't help that Aegon, Jace, and Lucerys took advantage of his biggest insecurity to bully him.

Now, we don't know exactly when this bullying started or how long it had been going on, but the Pink Dread incident was nowhere near the first time. To find a pig and to attach wigs on it takes a bit more effort than your average taunts. There's a lot that has to build up for that to happen. I'm guessing the bullying had been going for a few years.

But the pig was definitely the crescendo. With each taunt and sneer the boys had thrown at him, Aemond's self-esteem had gotten worse and worse. When the Pink Dread happens, something in Aemond snaps.

It was more than just a pig with wings. It was utter humiliation. It was telling him no matter how perfect you try to be, you will always be lesser.

Knowing this and all the pent-up anger that Aemond would have towards his brother and the Velaryon/Strong boys, it probably took him a lot of self-control to not explode right there and then.

In Fire and Blood, Aemond is described as being a feisty kid.

"Aemond was said to be half the size of his elder brother but twice as fierce."

In the show, he's more chill, but I don't think the book is wrong. F&B is written like a history book, and history only remembers what was notable. Aemond has this sort of vibe that says "I'm chill on the outside but I'm screaming on the inside." Like his mother, he holds in all his feelings for the sake of appearances but you can bet that during the times when he does let it out, this boy would have an anger that burns hotter than the seven hells. And it would be enough to give him a reputation.

Aemond tries to be on his best behavior and bottles up his emotions... until he can't anymore. Being a perfectionist, he has a do-or-die mentality. This aspect of him was ever so apparent when he sees Vhagar at Laena's funeral.

The oldest, largest, and most dangerous dragon in the world... out in the open, without a rider. And one desperate boy who has had enough of feeling weak and inferior.

Hell, it was like dangling a carrot in front of a rabbit.

This is my one and only chance, Aemond thinks. My brother and my nephews want to laugh at me? Fine, I'm going to claim a dragon that'll make theirs look like a pig.

At this point, Aemond could care less about the dangers. Give me the biggest dragon in the world or give me death.

Vhagar sees Aemond and goes, "This little shit has balls... I like it. But let's see how he does in the air." She tests him by flying like an absolute maniac but when she realizes that Aemond has persevered regardless, she deems him worthy of being her rider. Vhagar likes her riders strong-willed and courageous. Aemond didn't claim Vhagar, Vhagar claimed Aemond.

And that validation from Grandma Dragon was all Aemond needed to go on a freaking power trip. This lonely boy — who had been bullied for years, whose only "friend" was his mother — was suddenly given the highest level of approval from an ancient war dragon who people write songs about. Becoming Vhagar's rider gives him newfound confidence and Aemond feels on top of the world. He's still riding that high when the Strong boys and Daemon's daughters attack him.

It's this same rush of power that makes him utter the forbidden word.

Bastards.

I don't think Aemond actually hates Rhaenyra's boys for being bastards. I mean, look at this scene where he goes up to Jace during Laena's funeral. The look of sympathy. He wants to say something to offer condolences about Ser Harwin's death, but he knows he shouldn't. And the future love of his life is literally a bastard of House Strong.

During the fight, Aemond calls Jace and Luke bastards as a way to get back at them for making him feel weak. He's saying, look who's the inferior one now.

Then Lucerys stabs him in the eye and all the euphoria he felt a few minutes ago goes down the drain.

It only got worse from there.

Instead of giving him sympathy, his half-sister politicizes his trauma, makes the entire thing about her and her sons, and accuses him of treason. His father is angrier over the fact that he called his nephews bastards than the fact that he was maimed. The little shit who took out his eye doesn't even apologize.

And where had his useless older brother been all this time? Drunk beyond repair.

The only one who seems to care is his mother, and Aemond watches as she gets excessively gaslit for wanting justice on his behalf.

He's sitting there in the armchair while all this goes down, one of his eyes is literally gone, and his injury is probably so painful that his head feels like it's going to burst.

I let my feelings get ahead of me one time and this is what happens, Aemond thinks.

Any other kid in his position would've felt entitled to act out, but Aemond swallows down his emotions and puts on a brave face. He protects his mother from his father's wrath and even steps in to defuse the situation by placating her. Mommy's little therapist.

This ten-year-old boy was forced to take on the role of an adult while his eye had been freshly slashed from his skull. The trauma of that night would stay with him for years afterward.

Three things were certain in Aemond's mind:

He can't count on his father to defend him.

He can't count on his older brother to defend him.

His half-sister cares more about the throne than his safety and most likely his life.

When the family returns to Kings Landing the next day, Aemond leaves his childhood behind at Driftmark.

He develops hyper-independence and spends the next several years trying to compensate for his disability while preparing for the Targaryen Hunger Games that will come one day. Aemond would be the first one up at dawn, already in the training yard, and he'd be the last one to retreat to his chambers at night, reading page after page in the library and sometimes even falling asleep there.

Well, okay, maybe he's not exactly the last one to bed.

I'm imagining pre-teen Aemond coming out of the library at the hour of the owl, only to bump into a staggering teenage Aegon who was just sneaking back into the Red Keep after a late-night rendezvous, high as a kite.

This is the idiot who is to be king, Aemond thinks. (Rhaenyra's gang can delude themselves as much as they'd like but Aemond knows the precedent set by the Great Council of 101 AC, the primogeniture, was bigger than the wishes of a dying king and an entitled princess.)

No matter how hard he tries, his clown of a brother would always get what Aemond had always been more qualified for.

Because Aemond was only the second son.

Worse, a second son with just one eye.

Aemond's quite insecure about his looks; I'm sure he thinks his scar looks ugly and horrifying. It's canon that he wears the eyepatch to not frighten the ladies. The sapphire is there so he looks cool when he does want to frighten them.

I don't think he would've had a lot of crushes. Not because he doesn't care about romance or sex, I think it would be because he's scared of getting rejected. He hears the court calling him Aemond One-Eye and people whispering about his fiery temper behind his back. As a side effect of that traumatic day in Driftmark, I think Aemond would now anger quite easily, as trauma survivors often do. And when he isn't angry, he's putting on a stone mask of confidence to seem indestructible. It would definitely come off quite cold to others, but after all the helplessness he had felt, Aemond adopts the "I'd rather be feared than loved" mentality.

He knows he's not crush-worthy material (don't fight me on this, it's different for fandom girlies because we know his story, but imagine if you didn't and you met him in real life, only knowing him based on the rumors? and, while I think ewan mitchell is handsome af, he's not conventionally pretty.).

I have other things to do than think about girls, he tells himself.

Then Aegon takes him to a brothel on the Streets of Silk on his thirteenth birthday. His older brother basically rapes him by proxy via a woman who is twice Aemond's age. (We don't know if this trauma did anything to affect Aemond's sexual preferences but we do know that teenage Aemond would never look at girls his own age. He falls in love with Alys Rivers... who's like 40. Aemond also has mommy issues so there's that.)

When Aegon marries Helaena, Aemond does his best to protect his sister from his brother's abuse because he knows what it's like. Both being victims of Aegon, he forms a special bond with Helaena and takes on the role of being her protector. This protectiveness he feels is extended down to Helaena's children.

A few years go by and Aemond settles into a routine that consists of him picking up after his brother, taking care of his sister and her children, being a confidant to his mother, and essentially taking the position of the family patriarch. On top of this, he has a rigorous training regimen and he's studying everything he can about history and political philosophy so that at least someone will know shit about ruling when Aegon becomes king.

This boy had so much on his plate.

Eventually, the matter of Driftmark's succession brings Rhaenyra's clan back to court. Bro definitely had flashbacks when he heard the news that they were coming. During the petitions scene, he's tense and on guard. He's trying to act like seeing Rhaenyra and her kids doesn't bother him, but his hands are clasped high behind his back as if he's trying to keep it all in.

At this point, it was about more than the loss of his eye. It was about more than just that night. More than the pain of the injury, and more than the phantom pain that he probably still feels occasionally in the place where his eye had been.

(Edited: I found this amazing post explaining that Aemond most likely had chronic pain resulting from nerve damage. So he probably had more than phantom pain. Which makes his trauma ten times worse.)

No, this boy has been hurt mind, body, and soul. He looks at the blacks and he sees all the years of helplessness, loneliness, resentment, anger, and insecurity that he had been through as a result of their actions. (I've said before that Aemond is a ruminator, and ruminators are often the best grudge-holders.)

Daemon beheads Vaemond for saying the same thing he did when he lost his eye, showing absolutely no mercy. Then, during dinner, the little shit who took out his eye had the audacity to laugh at him when he saw a pig.

Aemond's like, y'know what, I've been acting cordial all day for the sake of being respectful but these people don't deserve it. Fuck it.

After Vizzy T dies and Aegon runs off, Aemond volunteers to find the fool. He prides himself in being dutiful and loyal, it's literally his entire sense of identity, and if it means tracking down his idiot of a brother just so the fool could be crowned — so be it.

That doesn't mean he has to be happy about it though. Aemond finds himself alone in the streets of Flea Bottom with Ser Crispy — the man who taught him how to fight, the man who has been there for his family ever since he was born — and decides to take the opportunity to vent and grant himself some much-needed catharsis, if only for a few seconds.

I think all the resentment that he had felt during the last few days finally boiled over when he saw Luke at Storm's End.

There he was, selling himself up for marriage, trying to do what's expected of him even though he probably feels like a puppet on a string — just so Eggy gets to keep his crown. And this boy, this boy who took his eye out, who bullied him, who laughed and never apologized, waltzes in. The same boy who, a few days ago, was named heir to Driftmark, even though he was a bastard and a second son.

Aemond is triggered. He's a trauma victim; his mind immediately reverts back to the state it was in that fateful night in Driftmark. Mentally, he's no longer the dutiful young adult. The helpless little boy in him comes out and he sees red.

"I want you to put out your eye."

My theory is that Aemond had been dreaming about taking Luke's eye as retribution for years. It's pretty common for victims of violence to fantasize about attacking their abusers — it's a defense mechanism to prepare them for violence to come, and in Aemond's case, violence was guaranteed to come. My dude has probably been suffering from intrusive homicidal ideations for while.

The show told the tale from Luke's POV so we see the boy running out the hall after Borros ends the conversation, only for a mean nasty Aemond to chase him on Vhagar. In the book, however, another secondborn decides to stir shit up after Luke leaves the room.

And there it might have ended, but for the girl Maris. The secondborn daughter of Lord Borros, less comely than her sisters, she was angry with Aemond for preferring them to her. "Was it one of your eyes he took, or one of your balls?" Maris asked the prince, in tones sweet as honey. "I am so glad you chose my sister, I want a husband with all his parts."

So what I'm thinking is that Aemond did try to drop his anger when Luke took his leave. But then the girl picks at his insecurity (bro doesn't know shit about girls and he takes everything so seriously, there's no way he could've seen that she was just jealous).

And that was the final straw. The boy who has tried so hard to be perfect loses control. Honestly, this moment has been a long time coming.

Aemond chases Luke on Vhagar to scare him. He wants to make Luke feel as helpless as he did when they were younger. It makes him feel powerful, and after feeling stepped on for so long, he's letting himself enjoy it while giggling like a maniac in the pouring rain.

Vhagar, however, had other plans. I think she sensed his anger and madness, just like Arrax sensed Luke's fear and anxiety. Aemond might've been playing around, but Vhagar had a mind of her own.

Aemond's only friend (who doesn't also double as a mom or a training teacher) is his geriatric dragon, so of course he would be a tad overconfident in their bond. He definitely wasn't planning for Vhagar to dive in for a little snack.

And that's the story of how the lonely boy who tried and tried and tried to be the perfect son went down in history as a kinslayer.

I can't wait to see him in season 2, absolutely wrecked with guilt. And who's going to believe that mean ole Aemond One-Eye never meant to kill Lucerys? Kinslaying is a serious offense in Westeros. Aemond fucks up one time and now he's going to be ostracized for the rest of his life (which isn't too long 💀).

I can't wait to see how his dynamic with Alicent is going to change since he's no longer this golden boy.

I can't wait to see him become absolutely deranged when Blood and Cheese happens. Aemond thinks he knows what guilt feels like? Think again. The guilt of killing Lucerys was only the prologue. With Blood and Cheese, Aemond wouldn't just be losing a nephew, he'd lose his sister too. Helaena becomes a ghost of a person, and Aegon... I think Egg would be so mad at Aemond. The roles between the brothers would suddenly reverse.

Also, I can't wait to see how they'll portray his relationship with Alys Rivers. (I will sue if they make Alys a skinny, young cottage-core girl. Give me an actual middle-aged woman and make her a witchy girlboss with a fire that matches Aemond's. Give me Katie McGrath.) I want to see him meet Alys and be like "Fuck the Baratheon girl, I'm going to hell anyway so I as might as well enjoy life while I can." I want to see the dutiful side of him unravel as his desires get the best of him. I want to see him drunk with power when he becomes Aegon's regent.

#aemond targaryen #hotd essay #hotd thoughts #house of the dragon #team green #hotd aemond #hotd meta #hotd analysis

[2toplibrary]

Hello! I was thinking of trying my hand at writing todobaku and I figured I’d ask for any advice you have on the subject!

I want to make something I can be proud of and know could happen in canon. Have a great day!

I suggest to go back always to the source material to make sure that you get the character voices and dynamics feel faithful to canon.

I think a lot of people do base their character "voices" on reading a lot of fanfic and end up with a pretty distorted view of the characters' relationships, ways of emoting and generally their tone.

I also feel like in the past years, this ship has taken on a certain entrenched dynamic and tropes that have become kind of stale. If you read older TDBK/BKTD fics, the dynamic had more of a chaotic, equal energy, with good banter, fights, etc.

Lately, 80% of fics I see have the "Bakugou calls Todoroki princess" tag that comes with a certain vibe too, usually. It feels almost as if fanfic authors are afraid that if they are not using this fanon trope, their fics won't be read. I personally feel though that it's not something that needs to be forced into every fic, and I'm always happy to see someone come and bring a fresh take.

So the best advice I can give you, is to go back to the scenes that made you like TDBK, and try to capture the energy or vibe that made this pairing appealing to you. Don't try to imitate popular ships - but just go with the flow that feels natural to you.

I think for Shoto, the trick is to keep in mind his design - everything always have two sides. For every "soft" Shouto, there is always a feral one. He's dumb, but also very wise. He's kind, but can be incredibly petty. Trying to balance his different qualities is what makes his writing good.

For Katsuki, you always need to be aware which part of his "growth curve" he's on. 1-year Katsuki is drastically different from 3rd year Katsuki, and will be again different from adult Katsuki. He matures, but I imagine he keeps a part of his tsundere, bombastic personality. The edges don't go away fully, but they change. I think Katsuki at any age will use a lot of F-words, but post-PLF war Katsuki won't call his classmates "extras" anymore. These are the type of things I'd keep in mind writing him.

#ask the librarian #todobaku

[jacksgreysays]

"like normal people do" - Sai/Shikako, cosmic horror under the guise of romance

Anonymous asked: "Memento Mori," Master of Death!Harry Potter/Shikabane-hime!Shikako, vows under the auspices (only shooting stars)-verse, because I really just want to see these two reluctant gods of death being sweet and earnest and soft with each other as the rest of the world watches in bemusement and/or wariness Anonymous asked: Nec deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus (inciderit), Shikabane-Hime 🌌🌟🦌🖤🌠 damnsmartblueboxes asked: jic tumblr ate my counting corvids fake title asks: Would you ever write an Original? Fiction about accidental body cohabitation & platonic devotion? Like cyborg & ai, Venom-style, transmigration, however the temple that is a body is devoted to two gods :p

Because there are SO MANY prompts left in my inbox and I am RUNNING OUT OF DAYS and, also, these four resonated when I went through my inbox, I will be answering these prompts together, I hope you don’t mind anon(s) and @damnsmartblueboxes!

Let me start by saying: while I do look fondly on my fic vows under the auspices (only shooting stars) and consider it some of my best work as well as love how it endeared people to my genin OCs for jounin sensei!Shikako, I’d rather not further engage in the Harry Potter franchise for obvious reasons.

However, the concept of reluctant god of death still applies to Shikabane-hime!Shikako even without an equally reluctant god of death counterpart, and the premise of your prompt still applies, for the most part, especially in combination with the other anon prompt of cosmic horror under the guise of romance. The dynamic of affection from an eldritch being, whether romantic or, as in damnsmartblueboxes’ prompt, platonic.

And what turns these prompts from my darling, dearest ambiguous vibes of god nonsense into an actually plot is the latin phrase prompt: Nec deus intersit, nisi dignus vindice nodus (inciderit) which translates to “That a god not intervene, unless a knot show up that be worthy of such an untangler” or less literally “When the miraculous power of God is necessary, let it be resorted to: when it is not necessary, let the ordinary means be used.”

All of this mixes into the following:

Shikako’s post-Jashin coma is not JUST mental/spiritual backlash of surviving a hostile outer god’s attack. It is, in fact, a chrysalis for mortal!Shikako to turn into burgeoning eldritch god!Shikabane-hime.

UNFORTUNATELY, it gets interrupted by the entirely well-meaning, and necessarily intervention of Sai—who, even so early on, is so ready to defy Danzo on Shikako’s behalf that it’s not even funny.

The thing is—at least with butterflies—you can’t really stop the metamorphosis without, you know, killing the pupa, and if you, for example, poke a hole in the cocoon, the liquified goop that is on its way into becoming a butterfly just… spills out and dies. Uhoh

Thankfully, our girl is NOT a literal pupa. But her metamorphosis has been interrupted. What’s a devoted disciple of a burgeoning eldritch god to do?

Basically, Sai is the mortal/physical touchstone for evolving deity Shikabane-hime. I do also like playing with the idea that worship can look like dating from an outside POV—after all, whether to a partner or a god, devotion is devotion even if differently flavored.

In the damnsmartblueboxes’ vein of Original Fiction, I once wrote a script playing with the idea that the grieving process can look like a messy break up—it involved a ghost, also—so the above concept is the arguably more lighthearted version of that. I mean, it’s not entirely lighthearted, what with the eldritch god and the cosmic horror but, you know. It’s not sad, per se.

I also, keeping in line with damnsmartblueboxes’ prompt and also my own leanings in regard to canon!DoS Shikako and Sai’s relationship, would make this a platonic fic. Mostly because I think canon!DoS has SO MUCH power over Sai. Like. Again, that devotion. I didn’t make it up. That’s in there. Sai is so ready to defy Danzo’s orders to protect Shikako. The power imbalance is just too much.

I am a multishipper, so I do think there is a version of Sai and Shikako that COULD work romantically. There’s even a version of Sai and eldritch god!Shikako that could work romantically in an AU. But since the brainstorm we’re currently running along is more canon divergence than AU, I think this would work BEST as platonic. Especially to further contrast the cosmic horror under the guise of romance. Like, if it isn’t even at all romantic, just cosmic horror and platonic devotion, that makes the juxtaposition all the greater.

Anyway, as I was saying, the plot part of this is: mortal touchstone/devoted disciple!Sai is a very competent shinobi on his own, but even he can’t deal with [[insert divine level threat here]]. Everyone knows that Shikako has been teaching him fuinjutsu—that they have been getting closer/getting along more so than before—but everyone is surprised when he breaks out what looks to be the Shiki Fujin but instead of summoning the Shinigami it is instead the debut of the Shikabane-hime in full force.

What is the divine level threat? Maybe it’s Jashin again and this time, Shikabane-hime gets to go toe to toe with him rather than just slamming the door in his face. Or maybe it’s moon aliens O_O

#jacksgreyson #anonymous #damnsmartblueboxes #ask box advent calendar #vows under the auspices (only shooting stars) #dreaming of sunshine #sai #shikako nara

[roguelov]

I feel like we're all sleeping on the greatest threesome/throuple situation. Dream x hob x reader. Imagine the dates. The romance. THE SMUT. like dream being so ethereal and Eldritch and of course that is Hot. But also hobs softness. Hobs Experience. Hobs Humanness. Like the difference between hob and morpheus is like a delicious rustic home dinner vs going to an equally delicious Michelin (man) star meal. Just morpheus usually being top but once in a while when he's getting too big for his britches (or in need of some love and comfort of his own) hob just knocking him down a couple pegs (of course it's delicious for you either way)

(also I've accepted my fate as the Panini Anon, it's just too fun to say 😂)

With the power invested in me I now christen thee panini anon! Also this threesome is my fav thing!!!!

I have like 6 (with 2 smuts) fics with this goofballs and honesty it’s not enough I need to write more of them!

Like you said it’s like a wonderful balance between the two, it’s night and day. And I just adore this dynamic between them! On one hand you are doing insane things in the Dreaming then the next you are having a normal domestic day at Hob’s (laundry/grocery shopping/lazy day etc)

Also Dream can top but I kinda get the vibe if he’s in this relationship he can be the biggest pillow princess (he’s works hard enough) and you and Hob are happy to give him anything 🤭

#the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #hob galding #hob gadling x reader #panini anon #ask

[dabblingreturns]

Cav Body Autonomy and the locked tomb

The cav-necro relationship is an inherently unbalanced relationship.

Some houses and cav pairs in the cannon house lyctor trials are able to function healthily anyway despite these societal imbalances.

So here here are the happy cav-necro pairs:

Ducli and Pro of the seventh house seams to have had a relationship of mutual respect but but Pro had a lot more leeway then most cavs, since his necromancer was busy with her own medical issues he had time for a wife, a bunch of kids, gardening and amateur poetry. But based on the cohort files I got the sence that Pro vollenteered to be Ducli's necromancer because he wanted a quiet life, and a lot of people thought he was throwing humself away on a dying girl. A bit like a star athlete retiring to coach a minors team. So I would say that thier relationship gives mutual respect but also freedom to pursue thier own projects.

The Magnus and Abigial of the fith house are necromarried. And they seem to be in a healthy relationship. Even though its very against shocking, Abigail and Magnus seem to have found a good balance. Abigail gets to pursue her academic career and Magnus seams to enjoy the administrave/ diplomatic responsibilities that come from being married to Abigail. Magnus also gets to has a lot of soft power as senichel of the fith. They seem to support each other in thier careers. Even if the arrangement may seem unorthodox to everyone else ( I know, happy marriage, so unorthodox)

Isaac and jeanmary of the forth house seam to take some of thier cues from magnus and Abigail about mutual respect, but they also have thier own battle buddy dynamic going on. They act as equals because they have always been equals. They are both raising thier younger siblings and getting ready to join the cohort. There strength is that they always have the others back, adults may treat them slightly differently but isaac and jeanmary view each other as equals. They are more like a shadow hunter peribatai pair then a traditional necro-cav because thier specialty is watching each others back.

Next we jump to the sixth house. Camilla and Sextus have a bit of the Sherlock and Watson vibe going on. But also a bit a non romantic Mustang and Halkeye from FMA thing. They bonce ideas off each other and stop each other from getting to in thier own heads. They have more diverse skills then Isaac and Jeanmary, but they see themselves as a unit. And they see each other as equally intelligent, and if others assume that cammila is just an assistant to sextus, that is their problem.

Judith and Marta of the second have something different going on, its a bit sadder but still falls into the relm of healthier. Judith and Marta both views thier relationship as slightly unequal but in opposit directions. Judith tends to put Marta on a pedestal, since Marta is more experience, charming, and so very competent. Judith feels lucky to have Marta and unworthy of her at the same time. Marta on the other hand, defers to Judith because Marta is a good soldier and Judith outrank her. Following orders is what a good soilder is supposed to do. But you do get a bit of the green officer experience underling situation that makes them overly cautious when together. They defer to each other bit they don't seam to honestly talk or share ideas enough to be truly effective.

Now we go to the unhealthy relationship which, interesting, all seem to be related to autonomy.

Ianthe and Coronabeth and Naberius of the third house have three different types of fuckery going on. First is the fact that Ianthe has two cavs, one that she uses for emotional support, and the other that she uses for the show. Both cavs are left feeling disposable and powerless. The second power imbalance is the difference in rank and the volenteryness of service. Naberius was trained from birth as a caviler, no one ever gave him a chance to be anything else. He mentions that he "should have stayed home" and ianthe tells him that no one would wants to marry him. I don't know if she would stop anyone from marrying him but he has no choice but to be a cav and no way to stop. He is a "prince" but I got the sense that that was a curtasy title as the the heirs' cav rather than an enherited title. Third, we come to the canibalism thing. Naberius is uncomfortably resigned to people taking bites out of him. His only worth is his body, not his mind, not his companionship, not even his attractiveness, just his body and its ability to fight or be consumed. And his fighting skill will decrease the more scar tissue that builds buy on his hands. His time was always numbered and naberius new from birth that his destiny was to be consumed one way or another.

Next we have the 9th house. Which is really an interesting case of independent vs body autonomy with harrow, Gideon and Ortus There is the pervasive knowledge that when you die in the ninth house, even party of body will be recycled back for the good of the house. You hair will be brushes, your fat will be soap, I assume your flesh will fertilize the fields, and your bones will tend the fields, your skin is probably turned into book covers. Once you are done with your body, every part will go back to the collective. And you can't leave the house to go off and die somewhere else you have to stay. But when you are alive, you get a lot of free time to do whatever you want. Do you want to read porn and train with a sword that you will never get to use off planet? Go ahead and train or 8 hours a day. Do you want to go off and write poetry even though your explicit job is to be good with a rapier? Well we won't force you to train, we will even provide you with writing material. The ninth house is hotel California with bones were everyone works on thier own projects.

Even Mattius Nonius was a cav without a necromancer. He teamed with all sorts of people outside the ninth house but he was an independent entity, known by his own name instead of as mattius the ninth, because he wasn't bound to the head necromancer.

Maybe it was more structured before all the kids died, maybe there were more rules when the reverend mother was alive, but Harrows leadership philosophy seams to be independent study for everyone. There is freedom till death.

There is also a bit of a touch taboo. I don't know if it comes from Harrow and travels to Gideon and Ortus or it was alway part of the very unsexy ninth. But except for Crux and Aiglamine slapping Gideon in anger and Glaurica having clutching Ortus, no one ever touches anyone. Because In the ninth, your body pretty much belongs to you till you die. And Harrow struggle with both Ortus and Gideon as cavs because she has never practiced working with them. It's all been independent study.

Next we have have the Eight house which is the exact opposite of the ninth interms of freedom. The cav of the eighth house belongs to his house, body, mind, and soul. The Asht brothers were geniticly engineered before birth to be cavs. Colum is on a regiment of anti rejection drugs so that not even his immune system can fight back against his necromancer. He is taking drugs that make him vulnerable to illness to fulfill his purpose. He was trained from a young age to leave his own body and sacrifice his own will to offer his necromancer more power. He willingly undergoes a process that he knows is giving him brain damage. And he casts in soul in to the abyss and leaves his body. He has been taught his life to surrender control of everything on comand. And what does he do in his free time? He is a servant, Silas doesn't want to talk to someone, Colum relays the message, Colum also acts as Silas' valet and maid. It isn't so much that he wasn't a man allowed to " pick and chose his own decency" he is a man who was never allowed to choose at all. Yes Colum is almost twice silas' age but Colum wasn't really raised to be an adult, he was raised as a battery.

Last we have the first house. Which has treaded all of its cavs horribly and I'm not going to into it.

#the locked tomb #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #tlt #tamsyn muir #harrowhark nonagesimus #gideon nav #camilla hect #htn #gtn #judith duterus #marta dyas #neberius tern #coronabeth tridentarius #ianthe tridentarius #body anatomy #cw abuse #cw cannibalism #jeanmary chatur #isaac tettares #abigail pent #magnus quinn #palamitedes and camilla also model how.tomhave a friendship #palamedes sextus #dulcinea septimus #protesilaus ebdoma #colum asht #silas octakiseron #ortus nigenad