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matchagator · 1 year

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Clash | jjk (mature) Ch. 1

I've had a really fun time working on this story so far! Let me know what you think and if you're interested in reading more parts. I have SO many more ideas in store for these two, including some smut. 😈

{Main Pairings:} Jeon Jungkook x Female Reader

{Rating:} 18+

{Genre:} Slice of Life | Neighbors

{Summary:} You're a new resident in your very first apartment excited to enjoy the simple life of adulthood. Unfortunately for you, you continue to run into unruly neighbors no matter how much you try to keep to yourself.

{Warnings:} Mature Language, Enemies to Lovers, Hostility, Mild Angst, Sexual Tension (This list will be updated as each part gets released)

After successfully surviving your first week in your new apartment, you decide to celebrate by popping open a bottle of Stella Rosa to commemorate the start of your mid-twenties. You pour yourself a glass before cozying up to your favorite blanket, sparing no expense as you carry over a couple of slices of pizza that you just had delivered. You become eager to scroll through Netflix to find something new and entertaining to watch for the evening, finally enjoying a break from your tedious work schedule as you relish some time to yourself.

It isn’t long until you find something that catches your interest, opting for a romantic comedy to kick off your weekend as your favorite candle burns on your coffee table ahead. Finally, you didn’t have to answer to your family or share the apartment with roommates. This place was one hundred percent yours to enjoy and do as you wish.

The movie keeps you occupied for the majority of your meal, leaving you invested in the outcome of the plot. While romantic comedies were notorious for being overly predictable, you still enjoy them.

The gentle hum of your phone buzzing against the coffee table has you leaning forward to retrieve the device, gently tapping your fingers across the LED display to see a text message from your boss. Your eyes scan over the words that come up on your screen, pulling a long drawn-out groan from your lips as the message sinks in. Your boss wants you to come in early tomorrow to help catch up on overdue reports, causing tension to reappear in your posture as you toss your phone to the side.

You turn your attention back onto the screen, quickly thinking over whether or not you want to take on that responsibility since your weekend off was just commencing. Ultimately, you end up sighing and caving in, sending a compliant response given that your job was the only reason you could afford your new apartment in the first place. You might as well take the opportunity to stack up some overtime.

After checking the time on your phone, you glance back at your television screen, eager to at least finish your movie before calling it a night. You gently bring your wine glass up to your lips as you indulge in a couple more sips, finishing off the crusts of your pizza as you lay back to sink into the comfort of your couch cushions.

Your eyes study the characters on the television screen, enjoying the banter between the two main characters as you watch their relationship blossom. You can’t help but dwell on your last relationship, clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth at the thought of your breakup.

You chug back the rest of your wine before a slow melodic thumping begins reverberating from the opposite side of your apartment wall. You glare at the material as if your stare could seep through the wall. You instantly shift your gaze onto the drywall, groaning at the thought of your neighbor insistently playing their music loudly at all different hours of the day since you’ve moved in. One morning, you woke up to Charlie Puth resonating through the thin barrier between your apartments while tonight they were enjoying a much more energetic melody of song selections.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You groan, as you lean forward to grab your remote, raising the volume to try and drown out the insufferable noise. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to camouflage the intrusive thumping, causing you to abandon any hope of enjoying the rest of your film. You can’t help but let a sigh escape your lips as you dramatically stand from the couch, collecting your trash and dishes before retreating into the kitchen.

Part of you wishes to go next door and give them a piece of your mind, however, you withhold since you have yet to meet them. What a chaotic introduction that would be. Despite your irritation with their lack of respect for your tranquility, you don’t necessarily want to start this milestone in your life with a feud next door.

Once you finish cleaning up, you retreat to your bedroom, eager to shower and get into bed for the night. As you move through your apartment, the noise from next door seemingly intensifies as you enter your bedroom. You pause at the door, groaning deeply at the realization that your neighbor’s room must be directly beside yours. “Seriously?”

You bite back your festering anger as you retreat to the shower, wasting no time hopping into the tub and turning on the faucet. Thankfully, the loud stream of water seems to muffle out the noise as your body relaxes beneath the warmth, letting the tension melt from your muscles as you finally unwind from the stress of your day.

While you usually take average-length showers, tonight your stay is a little longer than usual to keep yourself distracted from the ruckus in the apartment beside you. Eventually, the music would have to stop. It was the middle of the week, whatever their job was, it couldn’t possibly allow them to stay up past midnight on a Wednesday.

Once you successfully wash away your day, you slip out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel to dry your skin of the excess moisture. The moment the faucet shuts off, you’re met with the persistent sound of music pounding through the walls. You catch a glimpse of your features hardening through the mirror as you pull on your bathrobe, tying it off before drying your hair with the towel.

You shake your head as the next song arrives with more bass, causing you to make the split decision to dry your hair. Surely the blow dryer would cancel out the noise. To your surprise, the hum of the styling tool keeps you focused on your nightly routine, finishing up in the bathroom as you pass more time in hopes that when you get to bed, the music would be over.

Your feet end up dragging across your carpet as you toss yourself into bed, the comfort of your sheets swallowing you as the music calms with the introduction of a few melancholy tunes. You figure this is your best opportunity to fall asleep, wasting no time to set your alarm on your phone as you set it up to charge on your bedside table, before crawling into the sheets. You let yourself sink into the mattress and you turn on your side, hoping your mind will let you fall asleep quickly.

Luckily, the music remains smooth as your bed slowly lulls you into a peaceful sleep. Just as your mind begins to drift off, the thumping returns, another bass-heavy song blaring from next door causing a slight tremor to radiate across the wall. You tug your pillow over your head, pulling it down over your ears as you kick your legs in frustration, pouting into the pillow as you desperately try to ignore the unforgiving noise.

-----

Thanks to your stubbornness, you find yourself standing outside your jeep with your arms full of reusable grocery bags, completely crippling yourself from reaching back towards the keys that you tucked into your purse. You refuse to take another trip down to retrieve the rest of the totes, so you simply continue sliding them down the length of your arm, fully knowing it was going to be a heavy trip up to the seventh floor.

You contort your body uncomfortably as you utilize your elbow to push the button to latch the trunk close, watching the mechanisms of your vehicle automatically operate the door. You grin happily at your success, knowing that with everything stuffed into your arms, you wouldn’t need to take the extra trip down for a second load.

Thankfully as you walk away from the car, the sensor automatically locks your doors once your keys are at a farther distance. You quickly begin walking towards the door leading from the parking garage to the main lobby of your apartment complex, hoping someone else would come along to help open the door for you.

It’s as if your prayers are answered when a man appears from the opposite side of the garage, typing away on his cell phone as he makes his way toward the secured door. You quickly realize the distance you have compared to him and begin hustling toward the entrance.

“Hold the door!” You holler out, juggling your variety of different tote bags as you rush toward him. You hope that his chivalry will prevent you from needing to find your key fob from underneath the stacks of groceries cutting the circulation from your wrists.

You watch helplessly as a man with a grown-out mullet of curly hair taps his fob, a small tone indicating his granted access as he enters the building. You are desperately sprinting toward the door at this point, trying to sneak in behind him to make your life easier. Unfortunately, you’re stuck watching it close shut behind him, before you can even manage to catch up to him. You huff in annoyance as the man ahead of you completely ignores you, keeping his attention on his cell phone and disregarding the fact that you’re struggling to carry in the large load just a few feet behind him.

“Seriously?” You tut, completely unamused, that now you need to slide the handles of your bags down the length of your arms, just to reach back into your purse to pluck your keys from the front pocket. “Asshole! Can’t even hold a fucking door.” You mumble under your breath, performing a perfect balancing act as you lean over to press the fob against the sensor, lifting your leg to help pull open the front door of the main lobby.

You sigh once you finally make it inside, thrilled that you managed on your own as you begin the walk to the mailroom towards the back of the first floor. You figure since you’re already down here, why would you waste a trip up to your apartment just to venture back down to get the mail?

Maneuvering your way through the long corridor, you find the relatively large mailroom nestled in the back corner as you walk in, instantly seeking out the counter lining the wall by the door. You sigh in relief as the pressure is relieved from your limbs, placing your grocery bags up on the counter as you turn to face the various rows of mailboxes lining the far wall.

You fiddle with your keys before realizing that you aren’t alone, spotting the same mess of grungy hair poking through a mailbox as he collects the contents inside. You blink in surprise, your face unable to hide your annoyance with the stunt he just pulled back at the entrance. You chew on the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from retaliating and giving him a piece of your mind, figuring it was most likely better to just be on your way without any confrontation.

You adjust your posture, causing yourself to stand straight as you seek out your specific box, quickly inserting your key and tugging the compartment open to retrieve whatever lies within. Thankfully there was only a coupon booklet and a ‘Welcome to the Neighborhood’ flier stuffed within the small space, allowing you a simple addition to your already ambitious load upstairs.

Peering down at the flier, you start to study all of the local joints attempting to solicit your business as you feel a sudden nudge cause your balance to shift. You catch your footing as you peer up, coming face to face with the culprit from outside who refused to hold a simple door for you. First, he ignores you and now he runs into you as if he isn’t even paying attention.

Your irritation bubbles over as you grasp the paper tighter in your hand. “Watch where you’re going.” You hiss as you take a step back to properly face your assailant, a not-so-friendly expression plastering itself onto your features. You watch him pluck a headphone out of his ear, revealing the truth that he wasn’t blatantly ignoring you, he just couldn’t hear you. Your eyes flicker down to an envelope in his hand as you skim the print to find the name Jeon Jungkook labeled on the postage. Jungkook’s features tighten at the unforgiving tone in your voice, your eyes watching his jaw flex as he glances over the sight of you.

There’s something about the way Jungkook’s large expressive eyes bear into your soul that causes you to feel guilty for judging him too quickly. If his headphones were preventing him from hearing you outside, he must not have heard you come into the mailroom behind him. You shrink under his handsome stare, noticing every feature on his face as you stand close to him after accidentally colliding with you. Why did he have to be so handsome? Couldn’t you have snapped at anyone else?

“My apologies, princess.” Jungkook’s condescending tone instantly washes over any remorse you felt toward him, your irritation revving back as you pop out your hip, crossing your arms in front of your chest. “I didn’t hear you come in.” He was apologetic for colliding with you however, was annoyed by your short-tempered attitude.

“Well, maybe you should try only wearing one earpiece.” You suggest defensively, knowing that while he may not have heard you, it was his fault for compromising his senses in the first place.

You watch as Jungkook’s tongue presses against his cheek, his head tilting to the side as he chuckles in amusement. You can’t help but let your eyes wander to the pout on his lips, admiring the small freckle tucked beneath his bottom lip as he narrows his stare in your direction. You notice his pupils flick toward your groceries, a mischievous smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Maybe you should try being less lazy and taking multiple trips.” His words cause your jaw to hang open in disbelief. A stranger did not just call you lazy without even knowing anything about you. Who does he think he is?

“Excuse you.” You huff, completely perplexed by his crude disregard for a stranger.

Jungkook seems content in your reaction as he pushes past you unapologetically, allowing his steps to drip with swagger as he seeks the exit of the mailroom. You want to retaliate but find yourself temporarily speechless as your mind tries to wrap around the interaction you just shared with the attractive, yet infuriating man. “Someone’s in a shitty mood today.” You mumble under your breath as he walks away, assuming his headphone was back in his ear.

Unfortunately for you, Jungkook stops at the doorway, glancing back to get in one final word. “Yeah...” He grins before placing his headphone in his ear. “Seems like you’re in one.” With that, Jungkook waves you off by shaking the small pile of mail nestled in his hand through the air as he turns to walk back into the hallway.

You feel your body tense as you stare down the space that was once occupied by Jungkook, still baffled that you were so enraged by this random man. The smug look on his face still haunts you as you scoff, rolling your eyes as you move to retrieve your tote bags, grunting at the thought of making it upstairs. You tuck your mail into the side of one of the bags, sliding each bag on your arms as the weight strains against your muscles.

You take a deep breath before lifting the heavy load, quickly escaping from the mailroom to seek out the nearest elevator. You desperately want to make it to your apartment to neatly organize your groceries into their designated spot, eager to be rid of this tedious task.

-----

The next day, the gentle hum of your jeep’s engine causes your eyes to weigh heavy as you drive back home from a long day at work. You fight off the sting in your eyes from the numerous hours spent in front of a computer screen, thankful for a break as you make your way back to your slice of independence. Your radio is off as you drive past each intersection, your mind and body exhausted from yet another night of terrible sleep. If only your mysterious neighbor would take a night off from blasting music or movies to prevent you from falling asleep.

You groan as you rub a hand across your face, deciding the silence of the vehicle wasn’t helping you keep your focus on the road. You lean forward once you stop at a red light, switching on the stereo as your car instantly connects to the Bluetooth on your cell phone. You utilize the break from driving to select your favorite playlist from Spotify, picking your favorite road trip jams to help keep your mind engaged for the remainder of your ride home.

Thankfully the traffic is on your side as you approach the parking garage of your apartment building, the automatic door allowing you access once reading the signal of the fob tucked within the sun visor. You smile at the thought of soon being bundled in your bed, ready for a midday nap to help fight off the insufferable noise your neighbor insists on putting you through, day in and day out.

Usually, there aren't any spots available on the first floor once rush hour hits, however, once you turn the corner, you notice a vacant spot close to the main lobby entrance. A relieved smile pulls at the corners of your lips, knowing you aren’t in the mood to carry your laptop bag down two floors of the parking garage just to get inside.

You quickly accelerate in an attempt to claim the space, suddenly noticing a BMW whipping through the parking garage from the opposite direction, barreling towards the vacant parking spot. Given the distance between you both, it’s clear that the BMW would reach the space first if you didn’t act quickly. Your exhaustion leaves you to act rashly, rapidly pulling into the spot and cutting off the man cruising through the space. You suddenly feel guilty, however, your tired limbs overrule the emotion since you no longer have such a long way to trek to get upstairs.

You nervously chew on your bottom lip, peering up in your rearview mirror to vaguely see the man inside the vehicle waving his hand in disbelief, followed by a swift raise of his middle finger. You don’t dare retaliate, fully knowing you were in the wrong in that situation.

You grip your steering wheel with both hands, sinking in your seat as you raise a hand to wave back, mumbling to yourself since he can’t hear you from inside your car. “Sorry!” The roar of the BMW ignites behind you as the BMW spots a car pulling out not too far from your current parking space. You wait till he disappears, quickly grabbing your bag and purse, and turning off the ignition of your jeep to park. You open the door, quickly slipping out as you grip your keys tightly between your fingertips, desperate to get inside and avoid an awkward conversation.

You stumble around your jeep, moving toward the entrance door with your fob in hand, quickly tapping the sensor as you walk hastily to get inside. You feel the tension in your body simmer as you walk toward the elevators, leaving the previous events behind you. You maneuver your way through the elegantly decorated corridors, the fresh scent of your apartment building wafting around you as you drape your laptop bag over your shoulder.

You reach an inlet nestled between the various corridors that lead to the amenities offered by the complex, quickly pressing the call button as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. You notice that the elevator is currently on the tenth floor, groaning at your luck. Of course, it would be on the tallest floor of the building, leaving you waiting like a sitting duck. You grip the strap of your bag, tapping your foot impatiently before hearing a deep voice echo from behind you.

“Well, if it isn’t princess.” You blink before rotating your body, allowing your gaze to follow as you land on the image of the same man you encountered yesterday in the mailroom. The messy overgrown mullet is a dead giveaway that you’re talking to Jungkook, your eyes drop to find his keys with a BMW fob nestled in his hand. Your gaze follows up on his tattooed arm that was deliciously exposed beneath his oversized black t-shirt.

You quickly turn back away, closing your eyes at the audacity of the situation. Of all the residents you could’ve cut off, of course, it just had to be Jungkook. “Shit.” You whisper under your breath, adjusting your posture to stand taller as he moves to stand beside you.

“You almost hit me, you know.” His tone was serious, clearly agitated with you as his stare bores through the side of your skull. Jungkook notices your hesitance in offering him the courtesy of talking with him, shaking his head as he recalled your interaction from yesterday. “I didn’t realize calling you lazy would have you out for me.”

“Believe it or not, I had no idea that was you.” You don’t want him to think that you purposefully had it out for him, refusing to paint yourself as someone so petty.

Jungkook grins in amusement, passing his tongue over the shiny metal piercing latched on his bottom lip. “Oh, so you just cut everyone off?” He chuckles darkly as he offers you a mischievous glare. “I didn’t realize you were such a bitch.”

Your jaw drops once again, flabbergasted by his brazen remark. “I’m not a bitch.” You retaliate, inwardly recognizing that you weren’t exactly the most neighborly by cutting him off. You figure the least you could do was offer up an apology for acting so rashly. “I’m sorry, I just had a long day.”

Jungkook’s wide eyes evaluate your sincerity, noticing the exhaustion behind your pupils as you offer him a genuine apology. He turns his attention back to the closed elevator doors, tucking his lip piercing between his teeth. “Hey, I get it.” He wasn’t a stranger to long days or long nights at work and understood the feeling of exhaustion. Your features soften at his understanding, taking the opportunity to observe his appearance completely. When you aren't arguing, you were able to notice how undeniably handsome he is, his tattoos and piercing adding to his edgy persona despite the large soft eyes that were peering back at you.

Jungkook equally takes the opportunity to glance you over. His eyes traveling up and down your figure as he admires the way your dress hangs just above your lower thigh. You chew the inside of your cheek, suddenly feeling nervous.

“I’m Y/n.” You offer, keeping your hands clung to the straps of your bags as you offer him a smile in hopes of getting a truce.

Jungkook hesitates for a moment before adjusting his grip on the backpack around his arm. “Jungkook.” He answers softly. “Most people just call me JK.”

You nod before turning back to face the elevator, hating the awkwardness that was radiating between you both. He hums softly as silence falls upon the pair of you, the void is suddenly filled by the chime of the elevator. You watch as Jungkook gestures for you to go first, suddenly becoming a gentleman despite the past two interactions you shared.

You move swiftly into the elevator, watching as Jungkook follows, seeking out the operation panel as he glances back in your direction. “What floor?” He peers at you as he hovers his finger over the panel, waiting for you to answer.

“Um, seven.” You speak, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the thought of the elevator door closing you into a tight space with Jungkook, a man who was equally as gorgeous as he was frustrating. Jungkook quickly presses the number seven before offering you a mischievous grin, sliding his finger down the length of the buttons as each one illuminates.

Your eyes become wide in horror, realizing that the elevator would now make a stop at every single floor on its way up to your apartment. “What are you doing?!” Your voice has a little more snap to it than you anticipate, your irritation bubbling over as a chuckle reverberates from his chest.

“Next time, don’t cut me off.” He offers you a devilish smile before pressing the button to have the elevator doors reopen just before they can fully shut.

You narrow your eyes, any hope of patching things up with him dissipating as you cross your arms in front of your chest. “What are you, four?” You mock, scolding him as if he was a young child playing with the elevator panel.

He shrugs his shoulders as he steps out of the elevator, glancing back at you as his hair hangs just above those bright brown eyes that seem to captivate you so effortlessly. He looks so handsome even though he was doing you dirty, allowing you to let your guard down around him. You could kick yourself. “Nah, I’m just bored.” He offers plainly, turning to seek out the door that leads to the stairs. “Enjoy your ride, princess.” He offers as he gives you a backhanded wave with his free hand, before using it to press open the door leading to the stairwell.

You watch him disappear as the doors slide shut in front of you, leaving you alone to process the childish interaction. “Fucking asshole.” You groan, feeling the frustration bubble over you as the elevator begins ascending to the next floor. You sigh as you feel the jolt of the elevator coming to a stop, the door opening to reveal a barren second floor. You move to the control panel, repeatedly pressing the close-door button, angry that your body is too exhausted to trek up seven flights of stairs. You are going to have to endure the endless opening and closing of the elevator doors, pressing your back into the wall as you let a frustrated growl escape your diaphragm.

-----

After a week of hiding out in your apartment and avoiding any more unfortunate interactions with the residents of your apartment complex, you decide it’s time for a much-needed day of relaxation. You tug on your favorite beach coverup, the kimono style article hanging off your curves while it conceals your favorite swimsuit. You shift around your apartment, walking toward the kitchen to retrieve something refreshing to consume in the summer heat sweltering outside.

Your eyes scan over the selection, landing on a glass bottle of calypso lemonade as your mouth seemingly salivates at the thought of drinking it. You happily pluck it from its place on the shelf, tossing it into your tote bag before turning to grab your keys from the counter. Thankfully for a weekend, your next-door neighbor seems to have given their obnoxious music a break, leaving a pleasant silence in the span of your apartment.

You hum contently as you make your way out into the hallway, turning to lock your door swiftly after stepping on your decorative mat. A dark object pulls your attention as you peer toward your noisy neighbor's apartment door, noticing a black gym bag tossed carelessly into the corner of the hallway. Apparently, your neighbor believes that since they hold the corner lot, they think they can utilize that corner space for storage. You roll your eyes before turning to make your way toward the elevator, eager to seek the comfort of a day at the pool.

Most of the trip down is spent browsing through your social media catching up on the latest celebrity news and the endlessly exciting lives of your friends and coworkers. You notice yet another engagement and pregnancy announcement while you’re mindlessly enjoying the single life. You roll your eyes as the elevator tone indicates your arrival at the main lobby, placing the device into your tote bag to avoid any more mental comparisons about your life and your friends.

You end up strolling past most of the recreational amenities, utilizing the time to thoroughly observe each one as you walk down the length of the corridor. You pass by a lounge with a pool table and coffee machine, quickly glancing at a sign that reads ‘Free Coffee and Cookies 24/7 for Residents’. Your eyes widen at the sight, knowing that would surely be a perk you’d take advantage of. You continue down the hallway, passing an Internet cafe and a fully equipped gym. You smile brightly, knowing that you’ll utilize the gym instead of always going out on a run.

The thought of the gym instantly reminds you of the bag outside your neighbor’s door, your curiosity peaking as you peer through the glass windows in an attempt to see if anyone is inside. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be anyone there, leaving you clueless once more about your mysterious neighbor.

With a shrug of your shoulders, you continue down the corridor to a door that leads outside into a courtyard that was completely surrounded by the towering buildings of your complex. It created a perfect rectangle in the center of the lot, left open to the sunshine as you glance around the beautifully tiled lanai.

There’s a small stone fire pit in the far left corner of the space, lounge chairs and hammocks spread about for the enjoyment of the residents. There’s even a small bar and kitchen area available for rent in case anyone ever wants to host close to home. It was in moments like these that you felt accomplished, thrilled to know that your efforts to advance in your career allowed you to settle into a place like this. If only the crazy neighbors weren’t included.

You strut happily through the courtyard, noticing a few residents moving about as you keep your eyes focused on a special lounge chair perfectly placed beneath the shade of an umbrella. What you didn’t notice was that in the pool were Jungkook and his coworker, Taehyung, casually tossing about a volleyball for their enjoyment.

It didn’t take long for Jungkook and Taehyung’s gaze to find the sight of a young woman making her way towards the pool, your outfit drawing their attention. “Damn, JK. You got that walking around yet you're still single?” Taehyung teases, watching you set your bag back and settle into the lounge chair as he tosses the volleyball back toward Jungkook.

Jungkook simply shrugs his shoulders as he effortlessly catches the ball, peering back at you only to catch a glimpse of your backside. It isn’t until you take a seat in the lounge that he catches a glimpse of your features, recognizing you from your last two encounters.

“Yeah, trust me. I don’t need that one.” Jungkook scoffs as he tosses the ball into the air, spiking it down toward Taehyung. Taehyung narrows his eyes in Jungkook’s direction, retrieving the ball before twisting it within the confinement of his hands.

Taehyung glances between you and Jungkook, noticing the tension exuding from his friend and coworker. “What’s that about? Bad hookup or something?”

Jungkook laughs sarcastically as he motions with his hand for Taehyung to spike it back, shifting his feet beneath the water as he prepares to block the incoming object. “She wishes.”

He grins mischievously at the thought of putting you in your place while he fucks the living daylights out of you, lucid images of getting you to shut your mouth in sexually creative ways plaguing his mind. He shakes off his imagination as he retrieves the volleyball that comes flying towards his body, gripping it tightly between his large hands.

Meanwhile, you find yourself comfortably lounged about in your chair with your towel draped beneath you, allowing your skin to soak up the rays of the sun. Your tranquility falters slightly each time you hear the spiking of the volleyball against the water, however, you muffle out the sound by playing your music softly from your phone to not disturb anyone around you.

The heat of the afternoon kisses your skin as you lean down to retrieve the bottle of lemonade from your tote bag, eager for a refreshing treat to quench your building thirst. You grip the neck of the bottle as you twist open the cap, a satisfying pop allowing you to tug off the metal piece as you bring the bottle to your lips to down a sizable gulp of the sweet yet sour liquid.

You smack your lips happily, leaning your head back to enjoy the peace and quiet as your back presses into the half-raised lounge chair. The umbrella provides you with just the right amount of shade as you begin sunbathing, completely oblivious to the company just a few feet away from you.

A good while passes, your phone scrolling through your summer playlist as Jungkook and Taehyung continue chatting and enjoying a few more tosses of their volleyball. “Wanna grab hibachi after this?” Taehyung offers as the ball travels back towards Jungkook, flying clear over his head as he dives in to swim after it. His toned limbs row effortlessly through the water, his tattooed arm distinguishing him from his friend as he snags the floating ball before it drifts farther away.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Jungkook’s eyes swell against his cheeks at the thought of delicious food before he walks through the resistance of the water to get closer to Taehyung. He holds out the ball, preparing his opposite hand to punt it back in his direction before his eyes catch a glimpse of you sitting up. He studies your movements, watching as you bring your bottle back to your lips for another sip.

His lips tug into a mischievous smirk, aiming his hand past Taehyung toward your unsuspecting self, swiftly sending his hand forward to send the ball in your direction. You’re too preoccupied to notice the incoming object until it’s too late, a small screech escaping your lips as the ball smacks into the arm that's holding your drink.

The impact causes you to lose your grip on the glass, watching it drop into your lap as the sting of the ball radiates against your forearm. Your eyes widen as you notice the volleyball, glancing up to see two men staring in your direction from the pool.

A stupid grin stretches across Jungkook’s lips as he waves over to you. “My bad.” He offers half-assed, before watching the ball roll back toward the pool. He lunges forward, swimming quickly to reach the opposite end of the pool that is only a few feet away from you as you suddenly notice exactly who is swimming towards you.

“Seriously?” You groan, lifting your sunglasses to send your glare blaring at him. He simply grins as you observe the way his muscle top hangs loosely on his frame from the weight of the water.

You watch his large eyes sparkle with pride as he retrieves the ball, a laugh erupting from his diaphragm as he notices the sticky blue liquid dripping from your lap. “Happy accident.” He assures you, challenging your glare despite the amusement dancing behind his pupils.

You roll your eyes at the bullshit he’s trying to pull on you, lifting the now-empty bottle as you set it down beneath your chair. “Yeah, accident my ass.” You grumble under your breath as you lean sideways to grab the extra towel you packed in your bag in case you want to go for a swim. You move to wipe up your lap, only to realize the liquid completely seeped through your coverup.

Jungkook turns to make his way to Taehyung who is desperately biting back his laughter as Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. You give up on salvaging the piece of clothing, standing up from your seat before crossing your arms to peel off the cover-up.

Jungkook turns around just at the right moment, catching you mid-action as you tug the clothing over your head, revealing the delicious sight of your body in your sexiest black two-piece. Jungkook’s eyes widen at the sight, his mind plummeting into his sexual fantasies as your swimsuit leaves little to his imagination. “Fuck.” He huffs under his breath, turning around to avoid any other intrusive thoughts about you. It was bad enough that he had to put up with you, let only be physically attracted to you.

Jungkook shifts his attention to their towels and belongings, moving to pull himself out of the water to put away the culprit of your unfortunate spill. You toss your soiled coverup to the side, utilizing your towel to clean up as you watch Jungkook grab a blue towel, using it to wipe off his face and hair as he places the volleyball down beside their things.

You smack your lips as you narrow your eyes in his direction, your irritation doing little to prevent your mind from ogling over the sight of his now see through muscle top, exposing his perfectly sculpted abdomen through the sheer veil. A shiver courses through your body from the anger and the arousal, feeling yourself become irrationally petty about the man you can’t seem to escape.

Jungkook quickly runs to jump back into the pool once the volleyball is tucked away, leaving you with the perfect opportunity to be spiteful. You glance down at your body, feeling the sticky residue of the lemonade as you decide to head to the bathrooms to clean up. You grab your cell phone before sliding on your sandals, moving with purposeful steps toward Jungkook’s belongings.

Taehyung currently has Jungkook in a playful chokehold as the pair begin roughhousing, distracting them from the sight of you stomping toward Jungkook’s towel, instantly grabbing the fabric before tossing into the pool.

The men pause their actions as Jungkook glares in your direction, his long hair hanging in his eyes before he slicks his hair back to get a better view. “What the hell?” He growls, pushing Taehyung off of him as he moves to grab his towel that is slowly soaking up water and sinking beneath the surface.

“Man, the breeze is just so strong today.” You tut in satisfaction, giggling from the frustration invading his features. “Maybe you should weigh it down next time.” You add before turning on your heel to seek out the restroom. You hear the sudden sound of water dripping against the tile of the lanai, only assuming that Jungkook was ringing out his towel. You grin to yourself as you disappear inside, refusing to give him the satisfaction of glancing back toward him.

You disappear inside the lobby as you dash toward the women’s room, eager to cleanse your body from the residue causing your thighs to stick together. You move straight to the sink, twisting on the tap as you reach for the soap, eager to lather up the suds to rub against your abdomen and thighs, sighing as you glance in the mirror to spot your disheveled appearance.

This was all thanks to Jungkook. Why did he insist on being such a brat every single time you saw him? Your thoughts cause you t0 halt as you find your eyes in the mirror, realizing that you’ve equally been a brat around him. You were just as guilty as causing this feud in the first place. You sigh, knowing that this would only continue getting worse until one of you apologizes. Unfortunately for Jungkook, you had no intention of being the first to do such a thing.

You grab a handful of paper towels, rubbing the material over your skin to remove any excess soap before tossing the remnants into the trash, bringing your hands up to smooth out the flyaways from the top of your head, taking in your figure before turning to head outside.

You open the door to the corridor, rolling back your shoulders to create a false appearance of confidence, refusing to step outside with any sign of defeat exposing itself on your body. You turn the corner to reach for the door that leads outside until you feel your leg slide out from beneath you, causing you to fall.

Your breath gets knocked out of you as your back collides with the tile flooring, leaving an ache against your backside. You pause for a moment, feeling a tight tension in your neck as you strain to keep your head from slamming back. “Fuck…that hurt…” You whimper as you gently let your head rest against the tile, watching your chest concave with each breath to compensate for the sudden impact.

You bring your hands up to your face, running your palms up to push back your hair as you take a moment to collect yourself. You suddenly hear the echo of footsteps, letting your head roll to the side as you notice a pair of toned legs approaching you. Your eyes scan up the figure to spot a thin waist decorated in the same wet muscle shirt that Jungkook was wearing. You blink as your eyes keep traveling up to find his arm of tattoos.

Jungkook has a cookie hanging from between his teeth as his hands balance two coffees. His brow raises as he observes the sight of you splattered against the ground. He moves one of his occupied hands to his mouth, retrieving the cookie between two fingers as he chews the bite. “What happened to you?”

You move to push yourself up, your hands sliding against the tile as you realize that there are droplets of water decorating the floor. You glance back toward Jungkook, realizing that his body is still dripping wet from the pool as if he put zero effort into drying himself off before going inside.

“I slipped on your fucking puddles.” You snap, realizing that once again, Jungkook was the culprit of your misery. “Didn’t you dry off?”

Jungkook’s triumphant grin causes your cheeks to flush red as he casually shrugs his shoulders. “I would’ve, but someone threw my towel in the pool.” He speaks nonchalantly as he moves forward, raising his leg to step over you. You instinctually duck down as he mindlessly walks over you, moving to push open the door with his back given his hands were still occupied.

You stare at him in utter shock, stunned that he would leave you on the ground without at least offering you a hand. Before you can get another word out, he moves his hand up to his lips, eager to take another bite of his cookie. “Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it, princess?” He chuckles youthfully as he escapes back out to the lanai, leaving you on the ground feeling infuriated and defeated once again.

Once you’re alone, you grunt as you bring your hands down to your sides, slamming your palms against the tile in frustration. You gently pick yourself up, knowing you will need to walk back out to face the scrutinizing stare of both Jungkook and his handsome friend. You take a moment to collect yourself, pausing as you reach the door leading outside to take a deep breath, reluctantly facing your inevitable doom.

-----

The slow-building ache in your stomach causes you to groan in discomfort as you lean your body weight into the shopping cart in front of you, slowly stepping through the aisles of your local pharmacy. You peer down each row as you search for feminine hygiene products, utilizing your cart as a crutch while you familiarize yourself with your new neighborhood pharmacy.

Thankfully like many others, the layout was quite simple, leaving you a clear path to wrap around the store towards the back area. You catch a glimpse of brightly colored bags lining one of the aisles, instantly halting your steps as your mouth begins to salivate at the sight of an unlimited choice of candy and chocolates.

You fight off the building temptation to venture down to browse their selection of sweets, determining it was probably better to simply b-line for the back and avoid the intake of additional calories. You take a few steps before your stomach begins to rumble in protest, the hunger outweighing your resolve to follow your healthy eating habits as you pivot back around.

A smile stretches across your face as you gently drag your tongue against your bottom lip, your irises instantly latching onto the sight of the large selection of chocolate bars. You shamelessly debate your options before reaching for your all-time favorite, grabbing a couple of bars to toss into your basket.

You feel the discomfort of your cramps intensify as you resume your quest towards the back of the store, knowing the longer you spent roaming around, the more your cart would fill with things you most definitely didn’t need to purchase.

To keep your mind occupied, you start humming along to the music being projected overhead, matching each of your steps to the beat of the music as you sway your hips from side to side. You spot the next aisle marker, noticing the sign hanging above the shelving as you stumble across the section of the store you actually came for.

Just as you start turning the corner, you pause as your eyes settle upon a familiar sleeve of tattoos, specific designs standing out to you as you trace the pattern of a snake near the man’s wrist. You trail your eyes up to spot the blue words that read “bulletproof” just below his elbow, instantly taking a few steps back to retreat into the aisle to hide from Jungkook.

What the hell was he doing here? It was at least a couple of days since your last interaction at the pool. Why did he have to be at this very pharmacy on this specific day? You peer your head around the corner, watching as he glances over a selection of hand-support braces often used by athletes. You raise a brow, suddenly curious to find out why he would need such a thing.

You find yourself waiting impatiently for him to disappear off into a different section of the store, so you can quickly move to retrieve a box of your usual tampons. The last thing you want from this evening is to cross paths with Jungkook while you’re out making such a personal purchase.

You decide to hug the sides of the store, walking past the refrigerated section to seek out the cashiers in the front. Your eyes look for a distraction as you peer over the selection of ice creams and frozen pizzas, suddenly craving both to indulge in as your dinner. You nibble gently on your bottom lip, debating the purchase in your mind as you recall everything remaining in your fridge that you could possibly cook. The mere thought of cooking causes you to groan, wishing you could simply crawl into bed with a heating pad and a delicious pizza to enjoy a simple night in.

The fall in your resolve comes when you notice your favorite flavor of ice cream, licking your lips as you pull the case open to retrieve a small pint alongside your favorite type of pizza. You hum happily, deciding that you’ve worked out enough this week to splurge on something quick and easy for dinner.

As you place the items in your cart, you glance up to find the sight of Jungkook making his way into the refrigerated section, leaving you scrambling to turn around and head in the opposite direction. You feel ridiculous for being so paranoid about crossing paths with him, yet feel immensely relieved when he stops in front of one of the cases to look over a few drink selections.

You take that as your cue to dash down the snack aisle, ready to check out and head back home. Unfortunately for you, you aren’t paying attention when you arrive at the front of the store, colliding with another shopper’s cart. You are too busy glancing back to make sure that Jungkook is not following you, that you didn’t notice the incoming patron, cringing internally at the loud bang your cart caused against theirs.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You quickly tug your cart back, feeling your cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson as the older woman glares at you with an unmatched irritation. The sudden desire to crawl beneath a rock comes from the disapproving glare the middle-aged woman flashes in your direction as you watch her smack her lips before turning down the refrigerated aisle.

You bring a hand up to your face, dragging your palm down the length of your face as you internally cringe. The embarrassment leaves you swirling in your anxieties as a low chuckle reverberates from behind you.

“Nice one, Klutz.” Jungkook is suddenly standing beside you, amused to find that you are the reason behind the sudden commotion in the pharmacy. The wide goofy grin on his features leaves you irritated beyond belief, groaning that you now pulled attention to yourself when all you wanted was to disappear.

“Fuck you.” You instinctually reply, knowing your reaction is wildly over dramatic. You chew on the inside of your cheek, quickly trying to think of anything you can throw back in his face. Your eyes settle on the small case of yellow boxes nestled against his side, your eyes widening at the sight of banana milk. “Aw cute, did you drive all the way here for your little juice boxes?” You retaliate, utilizing your best infant vocal inflections to tease the gorgeous man staring you down.

Jungkook’s jaw visibly tightens at your mocking tone, tonguing the inside of his cheek as his large bug eyes drop to the contents of your shopping cart. Two could play that game. He wasted no time observing the ice cream, candy bars, and pizza scattered about the basket, his eyes stopping upon the box of tampons. “Chocolate and tampons…is that why you’re acting like a raging bitch?”

You feel your jaw drop open, something that Jungkook constantly seems to cause as you blink off your surprise. “Excuse me?”

Jungkook simply grins at your flustered reaction, adjusting his grip on the case of banana milk as he continues toward the register, obnoxiously content with himself. “You’re excused.” He hums happily, bumping into your shoulder as he passes by. “Make sure not to run anyone else over, alright princess?”

You scoff at his words, turning around to face him as you notice him waving a hand back at you as he focuses on greeting the cashier. “Fucking asshole.” You mumble under your breath, feeling angry about his smug attitude and the building pain from your cramping uterus. You sigh, admitting your momentary defeat as you join the opposite queue for a different cashier.

Keeping your eyes down, you focus on the items in your cart, fighting the urge to peek up at Jungkook to see if he cared to spare a look in your direction. The man irritates you beyond belief, so why are you secretly hoping that he’s watching you? You bite your bottom lip nervously, caving into your temptation to glance back in his direction. To your surprise, you meet his eyes, instantly feeling the heat rush back to your cheeks. Is it because you’re blushing or that the gorgeous man infuriates you?

Jungkook pins you with his dark pupils as you suffocate beneath his stare, sharing an odd mixture of electricity and rage as you peel your eyes away to meet the cashier. He does the same, both of you focusing on your transactions as your items get bagged up while you pluck your credit card out from your wallet to pay.

You tap the small piece of plastic onto the payment terminal, hearing the soft tone that causes you to pull it back, watching the screen process your card. As you wait, you hear Jungkook thank the cashier before grabbing his items and making his way out of the store. Just as he goes to step out of the automatic doors, he flashes you another daring glare, raising his eyebrows mischievously before disappearing outside.

With a click of your tongue, you push your wallet back into your bag, glancing at the cashier who is holding out your receipt with a friendly smile. “Have a wonderful day.” You hear them say as you mindlessly collect your bags, still hyper-focusing on the front door, watching Jungkook walk off toward the array of parked cars.

“Thanks, you too.” You speak your words without offering them eye contact, quickly following after Jungkook as if you are paranoid that he will mess with your car or try something to get you back for all of your recent encounters.

Thankfully, you spot his messy overgrown mullet climbing into his BMW, the tension in your muscles relaxing as you walk off toward your jeep. You curl an arm to retrieve your keys from the side pocket of your bag, hearing the slight jingle as you pull them from their confinement. Your fingers press the top button of the fob, hearing your engine ignite before another button has your trunk door opening automatically. You quickly swing into the trunk, pressing the side button as it begins closing itself.

Just as you turn to approach the driver’s side door, Jungkook’s black BMW speeds by, blaring his car horn which causes you to jump in fear. You clutch a hand to your chest, feeling the rapid thumping of your heart within your ribcage as you glare back toward Jungkook’s car that was exiting onto the main road. You growl beneath your breath, only imagining Jungkook’s wide bunny smile as he drives away in gratification.

You climb into your SUV, simply wanting to be home so you can sink away into the comforts of your sheets. You move the gear shift back as you pull out from the parking spot, flipping on your radio as your phone automatically connects to the dashboard. You let another drawn-out sigh escape your lips as you pull out of the parking lot, turning to stop at the streetlight leading back out to the main road.

Luckily your apartment complex is only a few blocks away, allowing you little time to dwell on your stomach pains before arriving at the intersection leading to the parking garage. You suddenly snap out of your thoughts, noticing the car in front of you was the familiar black BMW from earlier, rolling your eyes as your peer through the tinted window to spot the outline of Jungkook’s body. “Great.” You mumble under your breath, pulling in behind him as you click the fob on your sun visor to keep the garage door open behind him.

You notice a spot by the entrance to the lobby, watching as Jungkook smoothly backs into the space to claim it as his own. You avoid eye contact with him as you drive farther down, grabbing a spot not too far beyond the entrance as your own. You take a moment to yourself before turning off the ignition, getting out of the car to collect your purchases from the back, and watching as Jungkook disappears within the building.

Locking up your car, you keep your keys in your hand as you walk towards the main entrance, tapping over the sensor as you enter the familiar lobby. You only hope that once you get upstairs that your next-door neighbor is gone, allowing you a moment of peace without their need to be so noisy all hours of the day.

Your shoes tap against the tile as you turn towards the elevators, pausing in your steps as you notice Jungkook is still waiting for the next available cart. You figure he would have already caught the next elevator by now, but of course, as your luck would have it, you are stuck enduring him for a little longer. You awkwardly walk up behind him, making sure to keep your distance as you lean against the wall, refusing to make eye contact with him.

It’s suddenly uncomfortable in the lobby, both you and Jungkook clearly attempting to refrain from making any more jabs at each other. Despite the awkwardness in the air, you can’t help but flicker your gaze in his direction. He’s dressed in simple oversized clothes, concealing the delicious figure you witnessed the other day at the pool. His hair is tossed about as he keeps his gaze on the closed elevator doors, his tongue fiddling with the metal hoop piercing along his bottom lip.

For a moment, you look him over, wondering what your interactions would have been like if you didn’t get off on the wrong foot. Would you have simply said hello and moved on? Would you have possibly become friends? Despite the variety of scenarios in your head, you settle on the fact that despite his obnoxious personality, he is in fact a very handsome individual. His features seem soft as you continue to observe him from afar, noticing the glimmer in his large eyes as the elevator tone indicates its arrival.

You watch him walk into the space, hesitating before following after him, your eyes meet as you join him. The eye contact instantly reminds you why you didn’t like each other, his judgmental glare matching yours as you scoff at his presence. You watch him press the number seven, the tension only growing between the pair of you as the doors threaten to close. “Seven, right?”

“Yeah.” You’re surprised that he remembers, your throat suddenly feels immensely dry as your voice cracks, wishing you could face-palm yourself as embarrassment attacks you once more. The corner of Jungkook’s mouth pulls into a smirk as he peers back at you. You feel your breathing pick up as you get lost in his surprisingly soft stare. You catch yourself staring at each other, Jungkook equally surprised by the way you both seem to be hypnotized by each other.

The elevator tone pulls Jungkook back from his thoughts as he clears his throat. His fingers hover over the call panel, your curiosity peaking as you watch to see which floor he will press for himself. “On second thought, I’ll take the stairs.” His voice pulls your attention as he awkwardly slips out of the elevator, recalling that not twenty minutes ago you were bantering with each other at the pharmacy. He wasn’t ready to handle an awkward elevator ride up with you confined in a small space.

“What?” You blink off your surprise as Jungkook glances back at you, grinning coyly as he moves towards the stairs.

“You already attacked one innocent person today. I don’t want to take my chances.” He teases, leaving you smacking your lips in disbelief.

“Seriously?” He would rather walk up the stairs instead of trusting that you can behave yourself in a short elevator ride. You pop out your hip and place your hand against your waist, shaking your head as a bright airy chuckle escapes his lips.

He pushes open the door, getting one last word in before disappearing inside the stairwell. “Never trust a bitch on her period.”

With that, the elevator door closes leaving you alone to ponder what just transpired. He did not just seriously ditch you for the stairs, and call you a bitch again? You stomp your foot in frustration just as a child would, letting your annoyance manifest as you feel the elevator start to move. You try to calm yourself down with a few soothing breaths, knowing your hormones are all out of whack and it was best to ignore Jungkook while focusing on getting home.

-----

The soft vibrations of your next-door neighbor's music pulse through the connecting wall of your bedroom as you mindlessly scroll through the various platforms of social media on your phone. Your bedroom television is playing through episodes of your favorite sitcom to try and drown out the noise from next door, testing your patience as you indulge in bites of the candy bar you purchased earlier. Your eyes flicker up at the clock on your phone, groaning once realizing that it was already nine o’clock and your neighbor seems nowhere near calling it a night.

You kick your legs in front of you out of frustration, tossing your phone to the side before slamming your hands down on the plush duvet as you let a drawn-out groan escape your lips. You feel your muscles become increasingly tense as the slow thumping morphs into a strong pattern of electronic beats. You roll your eyes, bringing your candy back to your lips as you sink your teeth down into the sweet fix, the taste soothing you as you teeter on the edge of your sanity.

Your eyes shift toward the television screen, hoping that by focusing on the sitcom, your mind might grow used to the background noise and drown out the insufferable sounds. You let the chocolate delight melt against your tongue as you savor your indulgent snack, tuning out your neighbor's music as much as possible, knowing you will need to try to sleep soon after your exhaustion from the day.

A comforting warmth radiates against your stomach as you adjust the heating pad that is nestled against your lap, thankful that the pain relievers are beginning to kick in. You hear a soft hum from beside you, hearing your cell phone vibrate against your comforter as you slowly lift the device to your face. Your eyes instantly settle on the name of your best friend, your lips gently pulling into a smile as you tap your screen to accept her call.

“Hey, Roxanne.” You mumble into the phone, feeling exhaustion weighing on your limbs as you sit back against your pillows.

“Y/n? What are you doing?” You hear your best friend's energetic voice over the phone as she questions the slow melodic thumping unfortunately being heard through the phone.

You let out a sarcastic laugh before reaching for another bite of your chocolate bar. “I’m at home, why?”

“Girl, it’s a Friday night. You should be out partying with us.” Roxanne has a judgmental tone to her voice as you roll your eyes, knowing the last thing you want to do is to be out at clubs in a mini dress while your stomach is cramping uncontrollably.

“I’m perfectly happy sitting my ass in bed for tonight.” You tease, attempting to give Roxanne a bit of sass to lighten your mood.

You hear a lighthearted chuckle on the opposite end of the telephone, causing the tension in your body to relax as you melt back into your mattress. “So how’s the new apartment?” She hums through the phone as you shift your position in bed.

,“It’s great.” You bite your lip as you process your words wondering if they are your reality or a lie that you’ve been trying to tell yourself. You glance around your room, settling in the fact that you do love your apartment. It’s modern and new with an amazing view of the courtyard from your balcony. The complex itself has amenities you could only wish to afford on your own and the lifestyle you’ve created for yourself is exactly what you hoped for. So why were you questioning the authenticity of your answer?

The reverberations through your wall reminds you of not only your next door neighbor, but Jungkook, who seems to lurk about the complex and run into you whenever it is most inconvenient for you. The thought of him causes you to grumble, taking your noisy neighbor over his smug ass comments any day.

“That’s good. So when are you inviting me over?” Roxanne teases, causing you to roll your eyes playfully.

“Want to come over tomorrow?” You quickly add, knowing any company would be the exact distraction you need.

You grin at her confirmation, suddenly feeling excited for tomorrow as her voice echoes over the telephone. “Let’s invite Lisa as well. We can make it a girls night!” You ponder the thought for a moment, imagining all three of you drinking wine and watching movies together as you gossip about the latest drama in your lives.

“Sounds perfect.” You beam, feeling eager to fall asleep so that the evening could arrive sooner.

Just as you’re finishing your conversation, you hear a series of low groans echoing through your bedroom walls. You pause in your conversation, listening in carefully as the deep sound only becomes louder and seemingly more strained. Your cheeks instantly flush crimson at the realization of the noise, hearing the breathy moans coming from your next-door neighbor.

At least now you know that your neighbor is a male, or at least that’s what you’re assuming. Heck, for all you know, maybe your neighbor has a guy over and they are banging it out on the opposite side of your bedroom wall. You can only imagine how loud they actually are being since your walls aren’t that thin.

“What the hell are you listening to?” You hear Roxanne comment before bringing your attention back to your phone. “Y/n? Are you with someone right now?”

Her serious tone instantly causes you to become flustered, embarrassment taking over your limbs as you swallow back the growing knot in your throat. “Oh my God, no!” You quickly defend, sending your fist slamming into your bedroom wall in hopes the sudden jolt would cause your neighbor to stop whatever unholy actions from occurring in their bedroom. “It’s coming from my neighbors, I swear.” You add in a panicked state. “I swear they are loud as fuck.”

Roxanne only laughs at your discomfort, her usual brazen demeanor living for the drama. “Oh…kinky.” You practically face palm at her comment as the grunts continue, causing your embarrassment to morph into annoyance.

You suddenly hear the music increase in volume which only sends you into a rage. Of course no other neighbor would complain about them given they had a corner lot. The only person stuck listening to their insufferable nonsense was you, and you were about done. “Listen, I’ll text you. I gotta take care of something.”

Before Roxanne can respond, your finger taps the end call button, tossing your phone to the side as you peel your covers from over your limbs to crawl out of bed. You are in a loose band t-shirt and a pair of comfy leggings, however, you don’t seem to think twice about your appearance as you storm out of your bedroom towards your front door. You’ve about had it with the insistent music and you were ready to speak your mind. All you want is one night of peace and quiet, something your neighbor seems to not understand.

Once you reach the door leading out into the hallway, you yank it open, steam practically seeping from your nostrils as your fist meets the door of your neighbor’s lot. You bang you fist loudly a few times, knowing the only way your neighbor would hear it is if you were obnoxious about it. You pause for a moment, hearing the music get turned down a bit as you send another series of knocks against the material of the door.

“Hello?!” You question sarcastically, fully knowing someone was home. You don’t care if you ruined their evening of sex or whatever they were up too. You were fed up with the noise and you fully plan on giving them a piece of your mind. “Hello?!” You speak again, your voice becoming increasingly louder.

You hear the lock mechanism engage as your eyes study the seam of the door frame. You’re eager to discover the face behind all of the commotion, ready to give whomever your neighbor is an earful after so many disturbances.

As the door squeaks open, you feel your jaw drop open at the sight that greets you on the opposite side. Your eyes instantly devour the image of a wonderful toned abdomen with a chiseled waist, completely bare of clothing as sweat glistens off the tanned skin. You feel your throat tighten at the arousing sight, a pair of basketball shorts hanging loosely off his hips with a pair of Calvin Klein boxers peeking from the waistband.

Your pupils rake up the man’s body until you come across the familiar glimmer of the hoop gently hanging on his bottom lip, the usual fluffy mess of hair pulled back in a man bun as you pause upon Jungkook’s large doe eyes. “Fuck.” You can’t hold back the reaction, watching as it helplessly jumps from your lips before gently tucking your bottom lip within your teeth.

You notice the irritation on his face as he leans his tattooed arm against the top of the doorframe, leaning forward to hover his face closer to yours. “I didn’t have you pinned for a stalker. How the hell did you find my apartment?” He groans, eyeing you up and down as you instinctually cross your arms over your chest to close yourself off from him.

Your mind whirls from the discovery, internally screaming at the fact that of all the people in this apartment complex, Jungkook was your neighbor. You smile sarcastically as you release one of your arms from around your chest, waving your hand in a dramatic gesture as you pop out your hip. “I’m your neighbor…” You admit, watching his facial features morph from amusement to dread.

Jungkook lets his hand drop from the top of the doorframe, stepping back to process your words as he groans in frustration. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #bts smut

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humanpurposes · 8 months

Text

De Facto

She can't afford to fantasize over Aemond Targaryen, he's her boss and the Prime Minister... but stopping is easier said than done // Main Masterlist

PM!Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, mentions of SA, questionable power dynamics, politics (putting my degree to good use), unnecessary world building

Words: 7700

A/n: Thanks for the inspo @ewanmitchellcrumbs, sorry it's not Dishy Rishi tho :(

Throughout the whole train journey into Central King’s Landing, she’s sure she’s dreaming. Her body feels strangely light, her hands are restless and her heart is beating steadily in her chest.

She flows effortlessly with the stream of commuters, along the platform, through the station’s glass atrium, then left towards Conquest Street. She knows her way around this part of the city already, and though she’s never been inside, she’s walked past Hightower House countless times.

This time is different. Now she walks up to the iron gates, pressing her thumbnail into her index finger, because the armed guards are making her nervous.

She tells them her name and one of them mutters into a radio.

Her eyes run along the gold crest that marks the gate, a shield divided into seven, a sun for Dorne, a rose for The Reach, a stag for The Stormlands, a Trout for The Riverlands, a Falcon for The Vale, a Kraken for The Iron Islands, a wolf for The North, and at its heart is the symbol that unites them, the three headed dragon (although strictly speaking, Westeros abolished its monarchy centuries ago).

Suddenly one of the guards catches her attention. He opens the gate for her, and says she’ll be given a security pass and instructions to use the staff entrance following her official induction.

Hightower House stands proudly before her, an ornate facade of balustrades and columns, order and symmetry, an obvious juxtaposition of the medieval majesty of the Red Keep, just down the road.

It all feels very daunting, but the last five years have led her to this moment, the entirety of her adult life. She keeps telling herself that she deserves to be here, after all, she was the one who made it through the first round of applications, who made it to the shortlist and the final interviews, and she was the only one of hundreds of applicants who received the phone call, offering her a position as a personal advisor to the Prime Minister.

The contract only lasts two years, but it is the most effective stepping stone into a career in politics that she could ever ask for.

The entire morning is spent working out formalities. First she meets the deputy chief of staff, a handsome man named Criston Cole, who she’ll directly report to. He shows her through mountains of paperwork and gives her a brief overview of her role. Essentially, she is to assist the Prime Minister on whatever he deems necessary, policy aims, speeches, media coverage, political rhetoric, public image.

“You’re a glorified assistant,” Cole says as she reads and signs page after page of her employment contract, “but with a salary to reflect it, so don’t feel discouraged. There will be some admin work which can get tedious, but you’ve been selected for your expertise and your passion for the party.”

That’s the crucial part of the job. Everything she does will be to benefit Mr Targayren as head of the Green Party, still running off the high of their victory at the last general election, just under a year ago.

She signs her last signature triumphantly, despite the ache in her wrist, and hands the pen back to Cole with a smile. “All done?” she asks hopefully.

Cole grimaces sympathetically. “Not quite.”

There are four people to meet before she’s officially in. She takes a deep breath to soothe herself. It’s all just more formalities, which she can understand, given the weight of this job.

The first is the Prime Minister's private secretary, a glamorous woman with black hair and piercing green eyes, named Alys Rivers. She greets her warmly, having already spoken over the phone with her several times. She also knows her CV off by heart. It’s a little strange having someone know almost everything about her education and employment history when her face is unfamiliar.

The next is a young woman named Maris, the other of Mr Targaryen’s personal advisors. She has dark hair and a look of determination in her grey eyes. She explains that there are always two personal advisors, but hired on alternating years. She was hired at the start of Mr Targaryen’s premiership, and has a year left of her contract.

There are a thousand questions she wants to ask Maris, but before she can even scratch the surface, Cole’s checking his watch and dragging her off to another office.

Otto Hightower is the chief of staff. He’s thin and wiry, but incredibly intimidating. He has tired, sunken eyes that seem to glare right through her, and a passive but severe expression on his face, as though he’s scrutinising, having already decided she’s a waste of his time.

It’s not a great feeling, being looked at like that by a man she’s idolised for years. She knows his career timeline by heart. He earned his bachelors in Politics and Economics from Oldtown, before doing a masters in International Relations at King’s Landing, where he met and befriended Viserys Targaryen. He worked his way to becoming an MP and soon into Viserys’ cabinet when be became Prime Minister.

But things changed when Otto’s daughter married Viserys. No one really knows the whole truth, but Otto resigned from the Black Party, and took over from his own brother as leader of the opposition.

Now he works in the background, the mastermind behind his grandson’s remarkable successes.

Cole explains that Mr Hightower had the final say in the shortlist and determining which applicant would be given the final job offer.

“You had an impressive application,” he says, briefly looking up from a document. “I’m sure you’ll do well with us.”

“Thank you, Mr Hightower,” she says through the slight tremble in her jaw.

Other than that, the interaction is brief, and soon Cole is ushering her out of the room, back to Alys’ office, as richly decorated as the rest of the building. Maris is sitting at another desk, typing away furiously on a laptop.

“Tea? Coffee? Water?” Cole offers her, gesturing for her to take a seat on a green leather sofa.

“Water would be lovely,” she says.

“Maris,” he calls.

She glares up from her laptop. “That’s not my job.”

“No, but it’s courtesy,” he says.

Alys’ slight smirk doesn’t escape her attention.

Maris purses her lips, but she closes her laptop, pointedly slams her hands against the arms of her chair, and marches out of the room, her shiny black heels clicking against the dark wood floor.

“She’s nice really,” Cole says, “just a bit… direct at times.”

“Direct,” Alys groans to herself.

She feels her brow flicker into a frown but stops herself.

“She’s good at her job,” Criston says like he might say something else, but he doesn’t.

When Maris returns, she seems a little less on edge.

She takes the glass of water with a cautious hand, Maris’ eyes lingering on her maroon painted nails.

“I like your top,” Maris says.

She glances down. It’s nothing special, black and long-sleeved, to go with her long blue and green patterned skirt.

“Thank you,” she says.

Maris hums to herself before she goes back to her desk.

“Do you often work in here?” she asks.

Maris shrugs. “It depends.” She doesn’t care to explain further.

Alys is smirking again.

“Mr Targaryen was in a meeting with the cabinet this morning,” Cole says, then checks his watch. “He has a few phone calls to make, but he should be ready to see you at about 4pm. Maris?”

“Yes?”

“Will you show her in around then?”

“Yeah,” she says, flatly, “of course.”

Cole shakes her hand before he leaves. “Alys will show you out when you leave. I’ll see you on Monday morning.”

She continues to wait on the sofa, restless in the silence that follows once the door has shut. Alys and Maris are both typing, their nails clicking against their keyboards. She starts to bounce her leg and stops herself.

Her mind is racing. The day seems to have gone well so far, but what if she meets Mr Targaryen and it all falls apart? What if he decides he doesn’t like her and sends her packing?

She’s too lost in her own head to notice the flash of Alys’ emerald green dress as she stands in front of her. That is, until she’s leaning down and waving a bar of chocolate in front of her. “Get a bit of sugar in you,” she says, “and breathe slowly.”

She smiles as she takes the bar and places a single cube on her tongue. She lets it melt, savouring the sweetness and the slight bitterness of its taste.

You can do this, she thinks to herself with every inhale. And then she exhales. You are here for a reason.

The phone on Alys’ desk rings. She checks her own phone. It’s exactly 3:59.

“Yes, sir, Maris will show her in now.”

Aemond Targaryen is on the other end of the line. Her heart drops at the thought.

As the second son of Viserys, it seems like he was always destined for the family business. He differs from his father and grandfather in that he did Politics and Philosophy at Sunspear, before going on to do his masters in History at Oldtown, and then another masters in International Relations at King’s Landing. By all accounts, he is fiercely intelligent, mature beyond his years, with the right balance of intimidating and charismatic to command the support he needed to get in as MP for Rosby, then as party leader.

In fact, it had been his first campaign that inspired her to apply for a degree in politics in the first place. She loved how he spoke, how he managed to strike a balance between grace and passion, and how deeply he cared for his policies. He was poised and perfect, but driven by a genuine want for improvement.

He perfected his craft within a matter of years. With the mess Rhaenyra Targaryen had made of the country, it was all too easy for him to win a majority with a few winning speeches, a hand running through his silver hair, that lazy half-smirk and the intense look in his eyes that just made you want to fall at his feet. And people do. The press adore him, his party worships him, foreign dignitaries often remark on his charm but also his capabilities as a negotiator and a leader.

Maris leads her out of the office, along a quiet corridor. She stops outside a door with gold lettering: Office of A. Targaryen, Prime Minister

Seeing it in front of her, strangely, seems to subdue her nerves. Her chest flutters, but the anxiety is more manageable than before.

Maris taps her knuckles against the door three times.

From the other side of the door she hears a gentle but chilling voice. “Enter.”

She follows Maris inside.

He’s perched against his desk, his long, silver hair falling around his shoulders as he looks over a few pieces of paper. He wears a white shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, black slacks and brown leather shoes.

He looks up slowly, the light of the early Autumn evening beaming through the windows, over the sharp features of his face, his cheeks, his nose, his jaw, his neck.

His eyes find hers, unashamed and curious.

Suddenly she can feel her heart in her throat.

Maris introduces her. “I’m sure Alys already debriefed you, but she’s here for her induction. Cole said you wanted to meet her as a formality and–”

It feels awfully like she’s talking for the sake of it.

“That will be all, Maris,” Mr Targaryen says softly. She can’t help but watch the way his lips move when he speaks.

“Oh, are you sure, sir?” she asks. Her face is twisted into a slight frown but her eyes are wide. “I just thought, for her sake, it might be useful if I’m here to explain everything.”

“I’m sure, thank you.”

She stands with her hands clasped in front of her skirt as she listens to Maris’ footsteps move towards the door. It opens and closes, and now all she can hear are her own breaths, gently flowing through her nose.

She doesn’t know where to look. At the patterned carpet on the floor? No, it would be rude of her to hang her head. At the portraits that line the wall? At the bookshelves? At the desk? No, that all seems too intrusive. Out the window? No, that might seem like she’s not paying attention.

So her eyes settle on him.

He hasn’t moved from his position, but he’s placed the paper on the desk behind him, leaning with his palms at the edge. His eyes glance over her once, up and down.

Fuck, he’s so much better looking in person.

Then he stands to his full height, and picks up a clipboard from the desk. He flicks through a few of the pages and hums softly to himself.

“You had an impressive application,” he says.

She swallows through the slightly dry feeling in her throat. “Thank you, sir.”

“And an excellently written cover letter.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You did your masters in Comparative Politics at Sunspear. Oberyen Martell is still head of faculty there, isn’t he?”

“Yes, sir. He taught one of my modules, Security Studies.”

“He’s an interesting character,” he muses, smiling to himself. “He was my supervisor for my undergrad dissertation.”

She already knew that. Dr Martell loved to go on about his star student. She would too if she taught the future Prime Minister.

He flicks to another page. She watches as his eyes skim over the words in front of him. “And you came with glowing reviews from Tyland Lannister.”

She’s not sure how she’s supposed to respond to that– it makes her sound more like a product than a person– so she just smiles, as delicately as she can, making sure not to squint her eyes too much.

She had spent the last year as Mr Lannister’s Parliamentary Assistant, at his office in the Red Keep, starting just as he had been appointed as Foreign Secretary.

“How was he as a boss?” Mr Targayren asks.

Straightforward, she thinks. He took his job seriously and was decidedly not a fan of smalltalk. His office often worked in silence, and even when he was stressed he was efficient.

“No complaints,” she says.

“I’m sure you were all kept busy, cleaning up Corlys Velaryon’s mess after the Stepstones.”

A minor military excursion to defend a few key trading routes, or at least that’s how it had started. Within a matter of months the Stepstones had spiralled beyond control, costing Corlys Velaryon his seat and the Blacks their majority in Parliament.

“If I remember right, it was Daemon Targaryen pushing that particular policy,” she says.

The corner of his mouth curls upward. It could be a smile but she’s not entirely sure.

“Sir,” she adds, hoping to soften the blow of her unintentional insult; what idiot tries to correct the Prime Minister on their first day on the job? She does, clearly.

He doesn’t seem irritated or angry, more amused. A cryptic “hmm” sounds in his throat as he flicks back to the first document. “And before that you were a campaign manager for the party, yes?”

“Yes,” she says brightly, grateful for the change of subject. “I was working in the Stormlands in the lead up to the general election.” The region was formerly a Black stronghold, but turned Green thanks in part to her efforts.

“Excellent work,” he says.

The smooth, seductive tone of his voice seems to come so naturally to him. She bites her tongue at the image it prompts in her head, of his lips brushing over her ear, his hands resting on her waist, she can almost feel it–

No. That’s wrong. So wrong.

Fantasising about the Prime Minister of Westeros is not a habit she can afford to keep up, not when she’s supposed to be working with him in such close proximity.

But that’s easier said than done.

Cole enters his office, bright and early on Monday morning, before the rest of Hightower House is awake.

Aemond’s routine is the same every day. Up at 5am, run a few laps of the expansive gardens or spend an hour going through his meticulously planned gym routine. He showers, shaves, applies his skincare and haircare products, dabs some perfume on his wrists, dresses, and takes breakfast and a black coffee in his office. By 7:30am he’s ready to work.

He needs the routines and the outlets. They help keep him sane.

He’d seen how this position twisted his father into a tired, irritable and irrational man, how it got to Rhaenyra’s head until she became a liability to herself. He won’t be like them. He has a reputation to uphold, a legacy to claim.

Cole places a folder on his desk. “The background check you ordered, sir.”

He thanks him, quietly and sincerely, and waits until he’s left the room to open the folder.

His new personal advisor intrigues him. He’d made the request for the background check as soon as their meeting had ended on Friday.

She has no criminal record, which is unsurprising, that definitely would have come up sooner if she had one.

He browses through her education history, a star student at Storm’s End Grammar School, a bachelor’s in history from Rainwood, a masters from Suspear, where she was head of Debate Soc and Amnesty International, while working various internships and retail jobs in between.

The next page is full of articles from student publications, The Importance of Integrity in Politics for the Rainwood Student Journal, Sovereignty in the Stepstones for Red Sun Rising. He reads through them both. Her writing is immaculate, concise and convincing.

The final page is more personal, social media profiles. It’s nothing scandalous, but she clearly has a certain image she wants to project. Her Instagram is full of art and history museums, coffee shops and preppy outfits. She has a few pictures on her LinkedIn of her at the Green Party conference last year, pictured with a group of girls her age and a caption that talks about the importance of representation in politics, with links to various charities and initiatives. In the photo she’s wearing a white silk shirt, open just enough to show off a dainty gold necklace and a hint of the swell of her chest.

She seems perfect. Too perfect for his own good.

The first months go smoothly enough.

Maris is a practical person. She’s good with numbers, good for bouncing off ideas for economic policies and analysing data for him, even if she is a little overbearing at times.

But she fills the gaps perfectly. He secretly looks forward to their meetings and debriefings, when he asks her to write or edit speeches for him, or run through questions with him before a press conference. Politics is never easy, but she has a remarkable talent for keeping a level head. He likes that she’s always calm and composed. He likes her soft, reassuring smiles and the sharp look in her eyes.

They just click. She’s always switched on, always knows the right things to say and do, always knows what he needs.

Every moment they are alone feels monumental; the settled quiet of his office when she first walks in and takes a seat on the other side of his desk; when they make an exchange, debriefing papers for an empty coffee cup, and their fingers will brush over each other; when he stands over her shoulder to read the document she’s working on, close enough to smell her perfume and feel a heat simmering under his skin. It’s starting to become unbearable, and yet he craves that feeling.

And then, one morning, he gets a phone call from the Crownlands Messenger. They’re about to publish a story. His brother has been accused of inappropriate conduct by no less than three women.

Fucking Aegon.

The entire country is in an uproar. How can anyone trust their Parliamentary representatives when they do shit like this? Is Aegon an outlier or is this just scratching the surface? What will his punishment be? What else are the Greens hiding?

There are hundreds of emergency meetings with his grandfather, tense phone calls, bearating headlines, and onslaughts of outrage online. There’s no question about it, Aegon has to resign as an MP, but the damage is done. The polls are turning Black instead of Green. People don’t trust the ruling party, or its leader.

It’s late. Aemond paces his office while a headache pulses in his head. He’s long ditched the coffee for whisky, swirling it about in his glass. He sent Maris home hours ago. He doesn’t have the patience for anyone at the moment. Except for the woman leaning against his desk, flicking through news articles and the pages of notes she’s prepared for him.

Tomorrow is PMQs. No doubt there’s only one topic the Blacks will be asking about. He can already see Rhaenyra and Daemon’s smug faces, the delight they’ll take in watching him fall apart. There’s just no way he’s getting out of this easily.

He feels so restless. His hands are trembling and his lips won’t seem to stop moving, so he places himself against the wall, mindlessly tapping his fingers against his glass as he takes another generous sip.

From the desk he hears a heavy sigh that hums slightly in her throat. “Is there anything else you want to go over, sir?” she asks.

“No, I think we’ve exhausted the hypotheticals,” he says, running his free hand through his hair. He resists the urge to pull at the roots, to take his frustration out on something. “It’s just– fuck’s sake, I’ve been saying Aegon’s a liability for years. But no, Otto always wanted to keep pushing for him. Said it was good for the family’s image.”

She places her phone and the document behind her, and takes a few steps towards him.

He glances down at her, at the way the low light of the lamps and the fireplace glows against her skin, the contented sort of look in her eyes.

Her eyes flicker down at his now empty glass. “Refill, sir?” Her lips stay slightly parted once she stops speaking.

Then he realises he’s staring.

“No, thank you,” he mutters, tapping his finger against the glass. “I should probably stop now.”

She takes the glass from him with her middle finger and thumb, avoiding touching his hand before she takes it away. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting to his head but his heart sinks at the lack of contact.

What is he doing? It must be after 9pm now and he’s still keeping her here without a real reason.

She’s standing by the drinks cabinet, carefully placing the crystal bottle of whisky away and setting the empty glass out for housekeeping to clean up in the morning.

Instead of thinking about her, the way her hair looks, the way her skirt hugs her waist and the curve of her backside and thighs, he tries to think about how much he hates Aegon. This only makes him more agitated.

He closes his eyes and throws his head against the wall. His heart is racing and there’s a hollow feeling in his chest. He’s craving something, not another drink, not a smoke (he quit once he was first elected as an MP). He wants something else, something dangerous and damning.

The heels of her shoes tap softly against the floor, until she’s standing in front of him.

He opens his eyes.

She frowns slightly before lifting her hand and delicately placing it on his shoulder. “You need to relax, sir,” she says.

He lets out a low “hmm,” as he weighs out his options. This seems like a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

“That’s not going to happen with you here,” he says.

Her calm, somewhat smug expression falls. She looks so innocent now, so sweet. “What does that mean?” she says.

He leans in closer to her, until the tip of his nose barely brushes against hers. “I think you know what it means, darling.”

She hesitates, before her mouth spreads into an eager smile that shows off her teeth.

Her hands find his, ensnaring him under a soft but commanding grip. She leads him away from the wall, to the sofa by the fireplace.

He settles on it, leaning against the arm as she comes to her knees before him, spreading his legs apart to make room for herself.

She palms her hand over the hardness that’s been straining painfully against his trousers for hours now. She feels along his clothed cock, pressing her cheek against it and gazing up at him with a look of teasing innocence.

Aemond knows he is done for, jaw slack, chest rising and falling as he breathes. He would have never presumed he would find himself in this kind of position, not after all the work’s he’s had to do cleaning up the mess of Aegon’s fuck ups, not after working this hard to get where he is, and least of all because he believes himself to be a decent man.

But he doesn’t stop her as her fingers undo the button and the zip on his trousers, and he doesn’t make any kind of protest as she takes his freed cock in her hand and teasingly strokes along it.

He keeps his hands firmly on the sofa, digging his fingertips and his nails into the leather, as if he hasn’t been dreaming of having her like this for weeks, as if he hasn’t fucked his own hand countless times pretending it was her.

He doesn’t have to pretend anymore. He looks down, his jaw slack, barely containing his strained breaths, and there she is, doe-eyed and eager as she places a delicate kiss to his flushed tip. Her lips barely brush against him before she pulls away, keeping a hold at the base.

His arousal stains her mouth and she fucking grins.

“Enjoying yourself?” he says through gritted teeth.

“Yes, sir,” she says, sweetly, earnestly.

He runs his hand against her hair, gently, as if trying to soothe her. It seems to take her by surprise which only serves to excite him further.

She leans into his touch, lips parting, her eyes half-lidded and dreamy.

Until he grips his fist and pulls. He tilts her head up. It shouldn’t hurt, but it’s enough to bring her attention back to him.

He decides he won’t tell her what to do, not directly, but she’s a smart girl, she knows what he wants.

With her eyes wide again, she opens her mouth and inches his cock past her lips. The tightness in his gut starts to burn as she works up and down his length, slowly– excruciatingly slowly. It’s not in anyway relaxing, he thinks, but it’s a nice kind of torture.

He loses himself to the warmth and the wetness of her mouth, her tongue running over the underside of his cock, her lips teasing over the tip before she moves back down, using her hands where her mouth can’t reach.

He chokes out a throaty “fuck,” knowing there’s a security guard outside the door, and probably a few of the staff still lingering about.

But she looks so beautiful like this, her brow furrowed in determination as she tries to take him deeper and deeper, desperate to please him, happy to make him suffer for it. And the little noises she makes, the gags and the moans. He imagines that she likes this, that she’s been wanting this for as long as he has, and if he pulled her onto his lap and slid his fingers under her skirt, he’d find her drenched.

She starts to up the pace until he brings his hand to the side of her face again, his hand large enough that he can rest his palm against her cheek and tease his fingers through her hair. Her eyes dart up to his, wide and teary.

“Good girl,” he whispers, “nice and slow, just like that.”

She whimpers around him, breathing desperately through her nose.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he coos, “you started this, didn’t you? Wanted to taste me? Wanted to feel my cock in your mouth?”

She hums in agreement.

“Just fucking take it then,” he says with a clenched jaw, gripping her hair to bob her head up and down, keeping that torturous pace.

The pleasure builds slowly, running hotly through his body, but he fights the urge to clamp both hands around her head and buck his hips up to fuck her throat.

He comes harder than he thinks he ever has before, keeping himself sheathed within her as he paints the inside of her mouth, and pulls her head away to see the last few drops spill against her lips.

She gazes up at him with dazed and glassy eyes. She’s panting, trying to catch her breath. Her forehead glistens with sweat, mascara runs down her face and his spend drips over her chin.

He wipes some of the mess away with his thumbs, cradling her face in his hands. “Swallow,” he orders.

Her mouth closes and her throat bobs. He can already feel the tension in his gut tightening again.

If only he could keep her like this forever.

She makes it to Hightower House at the usual time of 8am, despite leaving work so late last night. Despite the hours she spent consumed by thoughts of Aemond Targaryen as she rode the train and dragged herself into her bed. Despite the aching arousal that went unfulfilled. Despite the marks on her knees and the stiffness in her jaw.

When she walks into Alys’ office to sign in, she’s already there, perfectly poised and typing away on her laptop.

“Morning,” she says brightly.

Alys looks up from the screen. The white light shining from below makes her face look a little eerie. “Morning,” she says with a smug look on her face.

She ignores it, scrawling down the time and her signature beside her name.

“You were working rather late last night,” Alys says.

“Yeah, I was,” she mutters, placing the pen down and straightening her spine.

Alys is staring at her. Her eyes are unnervingly bright. “He never asks Maris to work late.”

Her heart drops.

It’s like she can feel the weight of him in her mouth, the taste of him on her tongue.

“I bet he’s just realised I’m more of a people pleaser,” she says.

Alys hums and smiles. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t have time for this. She hangs up her coat and her bag, and picks up two black coffees from the coffee machine in the kitchenette down the hall.

Aemond is in his office, leaning back in his chair with his mobile pressed to his ear. He doesn’t react much when he sees her, he just watches her as she sets one of the cups in front of him. He raises his eyebrows in thanks and brings it to his lips.

She imagines the person on the other end of the call is starting to bore him.

“Yeah… yeah… I know… well there’s not much to be done now but get it over with.”

She takes a few sips from her own cup, wiping the corners of her mouth. Aemond follows her fingers as she does.

“I’ll speak to you after. Yes, thank you, grandfather.” He hangs up the phone and tosses it onto a stack of papers on the desk. “Seven fucking Hells.”

“How did that go?” she asks.

Aemond rolls his eyes and huffs a tired laugh. “He wants to talk through candidates for the by-election in Duskendale. I said I’ll think about it if I survive PMQs.”

She sets her coffee cup down. “What are you most worried about? You’ve prepared for this. What’s worrying you?”

Aemond taps his fingers against the desk. She tries not to ignore the thrill it sends through her belly.

“I’ve never had to deal with something like this. I’ve never been this worried about the party’s image, but that’s usually because I do everything right.”

The whole Aegon situation is beyond his control, and yet he’ll be getting the scrutiny for it.

“People need to be able to trust you,” she says.

Aemond looks up at her expectantly.

“Is Aegon still a party member?” she asks.

Aemond’s expression darkens. “That was discussed. Otto wants him to remain an official member.”

“You’re the Prime Minister. Put your foot down.”

“I can’t,” he says, standing and fixing the rolled up sleeves and undone buttons on his shirt before he reaches for his tie.

“You can’t afford not to. If you go easy on Aegon, Rhaenyra’s going to play to some kind of ‘the Greens are anti woman card.’ Your voters need to know you’re taking this seriously.”

“And throw my own brother under the bus?” he says, sternly.

But she can tell he’s still nervous. His hands are shaking as he ties the tie around his neck.

She pauses, wondering where the line is here. Aegon Targaryen will be fine. He’ll be put under investigation and keep getting bad press for a while, but he can live off daddy’s money in the meantime, and in a few years the whole scandal will be forgotten.

She takes a few steps towards him and comes close enough to smell the dark, boozy smell of his perfume, and shoos his hands away.

“What would be better for the country,” she asks, tilting her head and keeping her eyes focused as she fastens his tie, “presenting yourself as a leader who is committed to integrity and respect, or leaving yourself open to further criticism?”

She pushes the knot up tightly against his collar for emphasis.

Aemond just smirks. “You’re very persuasive,” he says.

“That’s my job, sir.”

She gasps as his hand grabs her hip and pulls her against him. His breath runs hotly over her face as he tilts her chin up to look at him. His throat hums as he breathes.

She could fall apart then and there.

Until a knock on the door has her practically shoving him away.

Aemond chuckles and shrugs on his suit jacket. “Enter,” he calls.

She turns her back to the door to hide the flustered look on her face, pretending to look through a bookshelf that she’s never really looked at properly before.

“Car for you, sir,” Alys says from the doorway.

Aemond calls for her by her surname. Fuck– she was supposed to pack his briefcase before he left. She takes a breath and goes about collecting all the pages of notes and briefings he’ll need.

She brings it to him, and notices Maris standing in the hallway behind Alys. Maris usually goes with him to the Red Keep for PMQs, but today he requests that she accompany him. She supposes it makes sense, she’s been the one helping him prepare after all.

Maris’ face is a storm. Alys looks down at her feet and tries to stifle a giggle.

The next few hours are a blur. She trails after Aemond through the ornate corridors, keeping her eyes on his silver hair, flowing down the back of his black suit jacket. Somewhere along the way, Cole and the head of security, a man Aemond greets as “Mr Westerling”, joins them.

They leave through the front entrance, into the sharp September air and into a black car. The hum of the engine and the smell of leather makes her nauseous, but they’re only in the car for a matter of minutes before the door swings open and she’s been ushered towards the Red Keep.

Once a seat of Kings, now the red stone castle seems a little out of place with the rest of the city. This is where Parliament gathers.

As they walk through its halls, Aemond tells her to throw a few questions at him. She has them all memorised in her head, able to recite a few without really thinking about it. Aemond mutters the answers they’ve rehearsed under his breath, smiling politely and waving as they pass by civil servants, MPs, Green and Black party members alike. They even pass Cregan Stark, leader of the Northern Independence party. He whispers all of their names in her ear.

There’s a small room where Aemond waits in before he enters the Great Hall. She can hear the noise and the chatter on the other side of the double doors, engraved with the same crest that marks the gates to Hightower House.

He won’t stop moving, adjusting his tie and his cuffs, tutting and pursing his lips.

She makes sure Cole and Westerling are muttering to each other before she leans into Aemond, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” she whispers, “don’t see it as a chance for them to criticise you, see it as an opportunity for you to reassure everyone else of how brilliant you are.”

Aemond turns his head towards her. He’s not touching her but she feels the proximity.

“That’s an interesting way to look at it,” he says.

She smiles. “It’s all perspective.”

Before Aemond is called into the hall, Cole directs her to the gallery, above the benches where the MPs sit.

She and Aemond meet eyes before she leaves. She stops herself from reaching for him, not wanting to leave his side.

“Good luck,” she says.

As if he needs it. She watches everything unfold from the gallery, the MPs sat below her like she’s watching a play in a theatre.

Aemond starts off with an amazing opening speech which, at her recommendation, doesn’t shy away from the issue of the whole Aegon scandal. He affirms his commitment to ensuring that central government is a safe and inclusive working environment, which is when he announces Aegon’s resignation as an MP, as well as his removal from the Green Party.

The chamber in an uproar. A few members of the Green Party make a bit of a fuss, but mostly Aemond’s announcement is applauded, even by a good number of Black Party members.

Rhaenyra, Aemond’s sister and predecessor, is at a loss for words, as is her deputy, Daemon.

Aemond seems to get a boost of confidence from this and takes every question in his stride, using elements from the answers she had rehearsed with him and even throwing in a few one liners which has half the room cheering him.

And he’s fucking hot when he’s cocky.

While he speaks all she can think of is how he sounded while she was between his legs. “Good girl… just fucking take it…” she has to clench her fists and her jaw at the wave of arousal that rises within her.

Afterwards she walks with him to the car. A whole host of Green Party members crowd him as they walk through the hallways, praising him, commending him. He smiles graciously, looking over his shoulder every so often to look at her, to make sure she’s not fallen behind.

The silence of the car is unbearable with Cole and Westerling in the front, and Aemond beside her, drumming his fingers against his thigh and running his other hand through his hair.

She presses her thighs at the obvious arousal pooling at her centre.

Seven hells, she’s acting like she’s in heat.

She follows Aemond back through Hightower House, past Alys’ office, to his own office. When he closes the door behind them, he locks it.

She leans against the desk, keeping her hands on the wood behind her.

Aemond turns back to her with a ravenous look in his pale blue eyes. He reaches into his pocket, effortlessly pulling his hair into a low bun, as he usually does in informal company.

She can’t take her eye off him as he tosses his jacket over the sofa, and begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. Then he stalks towards her, his chin tilted down and his lips in a tight line, until he’s close enough to paw at her waist.

“I suppose I should thank you for your help,” he says, eyes fixed on his hands as they tease over the fabric of the red mini skirt she had picked out this morning, the way she squirms underneath him.

“Oh,” she breathes. One of his hands trails up, untucking her blouse from her skirt and brushing his fingertips against the bare skin underneath. “Just… doing my job, sir.”

He hums to himself as his hand works its way round to her backside, squeezing gently. “Do you like calling me ‘sir’?”

She can’t help but nod, dazed at the feeling of his hands tracing the shape of her body.

“Yeah, I think you do,” he says, leaning in to press a slow, firm kiss to her neck.

Her resolve is shattered. She throws her hands around his neck, pulling herself into him, desperate to feel him against her, to stay close to him.

She almost whines when he moves away, much to his amusement, feeling her mouth fall into a pout.

“Don’t tell me I’ve got a brat,” he says, taking her chin in his hand. “Are you going to be good for me, pet?”

“Yes, sir,” she utters.

“See? You don’t even need to be told,” he says with a smile. “You’re going to turn around and lean over the desk.”

She follows his instructions without missing a beat, bracing herself on her forearms, against the surface. She feels her skirt being pushed up over her hips, her tights and panties pulled down in one go, fingertips trailing over her thighs. Then she feels his breath against the wetness of her bare pussy.

She can’t help but let out a quiet moan, pressing her nails into the wood in anticipation.

“Haven’t even fucking touched you yet, are you that desperate for me?”

“Yes, sir,” she whimpers, trying to look over her shoulder.

Aemond’s hand finds its way against her head, pressing her down. And he doesn’t let go.

His fingers drag through her folds, teasing her entrance and her clit before he slides in a single digit. It feels so different from her own, longer and thicker, pressing into her at an unfamiliar angle. She feels utterly weightless, the obscene sound of him moving in and out of her only adding to her arousal.

Aemond’s voice is dark and husky, as it was last night. “Good girl,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?”

When she doesn’t reply, he withdraws and lands a stinging slap against her cheek, before he pushes into her again. “Answer me,” he says, clearly and firmly.

“Yes, sir,” she says, frantically trying to nod against his hold of her head. “Feels so fucking good.”

He increases his speed, pumping in and out of her until her climax washes over her. It happens gradually, building and building before a pleasant numbness washes through her, to every corner of her body.

While she comes down from her high, her attention is caught by the sound of a belt buckle and rustling fabric.

The tip of his cock presses into her without warning. He inches further and further in until he bottoms out, the material of his trousers pressing against her skin– the cunt hasn’t even bothered to take off his clothes.

He finally relents his hold of her head, grabbing at her waist as he ruts into her. It’s fast and primal, adrenaline pumping through her blood, Aemond’s fingers digging into her flesh, her breath coming out in moans, his belt buckle hitting the desk with every harsh thrust.

“Knew you were a little slut,” he grits out, grabbing at her cheeks and spreading them out to watch his cock moving in and out of her. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

She covers her mouth with her hand to hold back the wanton noises threatening to slip past her lips.

Suddenly a hand comes to her shoulder, pulling her up against his chest. One hand kneads at her breasts through her blouse and her bra, while the other slips between her legs, tracing quick circles over her clit.

“I wanna feel you come,” he rasps into her ear, “wanna feel my good girl clench around my cock.”

She doesn’t know what to do with herself. She clings to his arms and digs her teeth into her bottom lip. She can feel herself hurtling towards her climax, if only he would move his fingers a little faster.

“Please,” she whispers.

“What was that, pet?” Aemond asks, brushing his lips over her cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to come!” she whines. “Fuck– please… please, I just want to come, sir.”

She feels him smiling against her as his fingers rub faster over her clit. She can feel how deep he is inside her, how his cock bullies against that sensitive spot, over and over again, until her orgasm tears through her.

She tries to keep her mouth shut but she can’t help the pleading groan that hums in her throat. Aemond holds her as she falls apart, fucking her thoroughly through it all.

Until finally, he reaches his end, hissing through his teeth and pulling out to spill himself onto her pussy. She feels the warmth, how it drips through her folds, for now uncaring of the mess they’ve surely made.

Aemond keeps holding her against his chest. His forehead falls against the back of her head and his hot breath echoes over her neck. “I really appreciate the work you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly. “I think you and I make quite a pair, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” she mewls, letting her head fall against his arm.

Aemond hums a laugh to himself, it rumbles in his chest and against her back. “So pretty and polite,” he coos, “how did I ever manage without you until now, pet?”

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria @targaryenrealnessdarling

A/n: I might do a part 2 to this so let me know if you would liked to be tagged :)

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fhroggy · 1 month

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Apple Rot: MLP Infection AU - Parts 1-6

Moving my infection au over to tumblr from deviantart! All six written parts are included below, hopefully soon I'll get the time to keep working on this lol

Part One: Introduction

It's cider season at Sweet Apple Acres. The apples are ripe, the barrels are ready, and the ponies are thirsty. It's hard work, bucking down the apples and bringing them inside to press into cider, and Applejack is exhausted. It's hot, and the work she usually enjoys has grown tedious in her misery. She brings the last of the apple buckets inside, coat slick with sweat and hooves dirty and sore. She tosses the bushel of apples in with the rest of them, only to notice a strange apple sitting on top. It's a pale, sickly pink, with oozing black spots. She groans. She'll have to toss it, and thoroughly clean the rest of the bushel to avoid any contamination. But she's just so thirsty. She'll just leave for a moment, just long enough to get a glass of water, then come back and sort through it. She leaves the room, promising to herself that she'll be back before Granny Smith and Big Mac start pressing the cider.

Applejack has barely left the room when Granny Smith and Big Mac come in to get started. They're both excited for cider season, talking back and forth and keeping only half their mind on their work. Without more than a cursory glance at the harvest, the apples are loaded, the cider squeezed into barrels, and the lot ready to drink. Granny Smith, as always, tests each batch before approving it for sale, and though one of the barrels has a strange sweetness she can't quite place, the taste isn't unpleasant, and the barrel goes along with the others outside, where the line of ponies waiting to buy is over the hill and out of sight. One barrel of cider only supplies about fifteen large wooden mugs, and and while it's impossible to tell which customers happened to get the extra-sweet batch, no one complains, and the Apple family considers the day a rousing success, even if Granny Smith had to go inside early since she wasn't feeling well.

The Apple Rot has begun.

Part Two: Unwell

As the sun goes down at Sweet Apple Acres, Granny Smith seems to feel worse with each passing hour. It started with a stomachache, just a few hours into their big cider sale. A barely uncomfortable twinge in her gut, something she could easily ignore with interesting enough conversation. She was old, sure, but she wasn't frail. As she thought this, the twinge in her gut became a writhe, a rolling boil of pain and sickness that progressed into nausea, nausea which she could control only long enough to run out of sight of the customers, spitting up apple chunks, cider and froth as her cider samplings and breakfast expelled from her. A violent upheaval like that was enough to get her inside for the rest of the day, leaving her always-honest and always-steadfast granddaughter Applejack to hold down the fort. In the back of her mind, as she crawled into bed, was that the poor girl deserved a day off. Perhaps tomorrow, when she was feeling better, she'd surprise the dear thing with some apple fritters and insist on taking her chores for her. She was old, sure, but she wasn't frail. She could handle the farm work for one day, at least.

As the night wears on, Granny Smith starts to get…flashes. Flashes of…something. An urge in her gut, a need to feed- but on what? The very thought of apples, carrots, and oats makes her want to throw up even more- but she's hungry. Her bedroom floor has become a shallow pool of black, bloody bile, and even still, she's so hungry. She paces the wooden floor, hooves squishing in her sick, a steady growl in her stomach and in her throat, neither of which she can control. The door creaks, letting a sliver of light into the pitch dark room. Her darling Apple Bloom stands on the other side, coming to check on her dear old Granny.

Granny Smith knows what she's hungry for.

Part Three: Stone Content Warning for Violence/Gore/Death

As screams fill Sweet Apple Acres, miles away in Ponyville, Pinkie Pie and her family are none the wiser. In between planning their wedding and keeping up with their event schedule, Pinkie Pie and Cheese Sandwich have taken a few days off to welcome Maud into their home while she visits between geological expeditions. She isn't in town often, not since her promotion to Lead Field Researcher, and Pinkie wants to make the trip super-duper special. How lucky it was, then, that Maud would arrive in Ponyville just in time for the Apple family's cider season! Bouncing alongside the ponies she loves most, she took Cheese and Maud to the farm and bought them each a large mug, sipping from her own and pausing when she notices the strange taste on her tongue. It's...not unpleasant, exactly, but it's a little too sweet, even for her. As it slides down her throat, her Pinkie Sense tingles, and she gets the distinct feeling that she should not have swallowed it. But- it's probably fine, right? Cheese has nearly finished his mug, and Maud's is empty- though she doesn't recall seeing her sister drink anything. Maud gives her a look, stern and knowing, and does Pinkie see a little bit of concern in her sister's eyes? She shakes the worry from her mind. It's fine. She's fine.

Hours later, now, she and Cheese have been throwing up what seems like buckets of cider, frosting and cake. Maud sits quietly as Pinkie and her fiance take turns in the bathroom, though her poor Cheesie is far worse for wear. He's been positively green in the face ever since they got back, and he's been acting...strange. He's twitchy, and he keeps trailing off when he speaks. The way he looks at her, looks at Maud...there's something in his expression that Pinkie can't place, and she doesn't like it. He's been shut in the bathroom for some time at this point, and she knocks on the door, voice sweet and loving.

"Cheesie? Everything okay in there?"

He doesn't speak, but she can hear a low growl from the other side of the door. It's obvious that he isn't doing well, she needs to take him to Nurse Redheart. She'll have to talk with Applejack about the cider- she loves her friend, but this is ridiculous! It was clearly an off batch, and the Apples should never have put it out for sale. She's disappointed in them, and worried for her fiance. She opens the door, and before she can get a word out, she hits the ground.

Cheese Sandwich is above her, eyes milky white, bloody yellow-white bile dripping from his lips. He snaps his teeth at her, trying to bite her, and she's screaming and crying and what's wrong with her Cheesie and why is he hurting her makeitstopmakeitstop-

And then it does. With a heavy thud, Cheese Sandwich hits the ground, dark blood pooling from the back of his head. Maud stands over him, holding the heaviest stone she could manage. For good measure, she hits him again, and again, mashing him until Pinkie has to look away. She drops the stone on top of him once more, looking to Pinkie. They're both splattered with blood, their eyes wide and afraid as they meet each other's gazes. Maud says the only thing she can think to say.

"I'm sorry, Pinkie."

Part Four: Help

Fluttershy's cottage isn't far from Sweet Apple Acres. She can see it if she really looks, just barely able to make out the outline of the barn against the horizon line. As far out as the Apples are from town, she's even farther, her cottage so remote that only Zecora lives more isolated than her. She likes it that way- she loves her friends, but, she's also a very introverted and private pony, and thrives best when she doesn't have to worry about the way others perceive her. The only company she never truly minds is Discord's, and even he is free-spirited enough that he often disappears for days or weeks at a time. Other ponies might mind the frequent absence, but, to her, it's nice to get the space to herself. She trusts him, loves him, and is glad for the breathing room.

She's just thinking about how nice it is to have such a quiet night after the hustle and bustle of cider season when she hears a pounding on her door. It's a loud, desperate sound, and to her it sounds as if somepony is beating their entire body against the wooden door, forgoing knocking in favor of trying to take it off its hinges completely. She trembles next to her fireplace, legs quaking as the sound beats and beats and beats...

"Fluttershy! Open the door, please!" A familiar voice calls, and while Fluttershy has a sense of immediate relief knowing that she's not in any danger, the fearful edge in Applejack's voice puts her on guard. She goes to the door and opens it up, taking a step back as her friend nearly collapses at her feet.

"Applejack? What's wrong?"

Her friend looks up at her, and Fluttershy gasps.

Applejack is splattered in black bile and blood, and her eyes are wide and fearful. She's never seen a pony look so afraid, and the expression looks foreign on Applejack's face- Applejack is always strong and brave, what in Equestria could have her so meek and desperate that she needs Fluttershy's help?

"It's Apple Bloom," Applejack wheezes, barely able to get the words out between catching her breath. "Granny- Apple Bloom- something's wrong with Granny Smith, she's," Applejack shakes her head. "Granny Smith has lost her Celestia-forsaken mind. She was feelin' sick, I told Apple Bloom to leave her well enough alone, but she went in and Granny bit her!" Applejack wipes the blood from her cheek, smearing it across her face. The substance is thick and congealed, and Fluttershy notices absently that she recognizes the smell. She's smelled it before, whenever she found hurt and sick animals that were too far gone to save. It's the smell of death.

Applejack continues. "Granny just- started tryin' to tear into her, Big Mac got Granny off of her but she's bleedin' real bad and Nurse Redheart is too far away," she's crying openly now, tears cutting through streaks of bile and blood and leaving trails down her cheeks. "I know you take care of the animals, stitch 'em up sometimes, please, Fluttershy, she's my baby sister..."

Fluttershy cuts her off, voice meek but determined.

"Okay. Take me to her."

Part Five: Feed Content Warning for Violence/Gore/Death

Twilight knows she's somewhat of a workaholic. She's been that way for as long as she can remember, and though making friends did help her balance her life more, that curious, studious streak never fully left her. She's up late, later than she should be, and she's about to call it a night when she hears a loud banging on her castle doors. She groans. She loves helping the citizens of Ponyville, but, well, it's always something with them. She calls to Spike, who's been helping her find and return books as she's been going through them.

"Spike, do you mind getting the door? I swear, there's always somepony with a problem that needs fixing...You can take them to the throne room, I'll be down in a sec."

With a nod, Spike leaves the library to go down the spiral staircase and receive their guests. It's only a few seconds later that he screams for her, voice so loud and so panicked that she doesn't even bother running downstairs, using her magic to teleport her to the doors instead.

"Spike? What's wrong?"

He points to their guests, and Twilight turns her head to see Pinkie and Maud are standing in the doorway, both covered in blood, looking positively traumatized. Whatever they've been through must have been absolute hell, and the moment they lock eyes, they both immediately start yelling for her to shut the door, lock the door, keep them out-

"Them?" She interjects, looking over their shoulders into the Ponyville streets. She supposes it's a little unusual to see ponies up so late- upon closer inspection, the way they walk is a bit odd, too- they're...twitchy. Their movements are stilted and stiff, lacking in the fluidity that most creatures have. One walks into a wall, and then just stands there, face pressed to the brick and hooves shambling forwards as if they're trying to walk through it.

A cry in the night snaps all of the strange ponies to attention. Lyra bursts out of her home, screaming and crying for help as Bon-Bon gives chase. She doesn't get far. Another strange pony, Twilight thinks it's Junebug, heads her off and tackles her to the ground, biting into the flesh at her shoulder and tearing it from her in bloody chunks. Lyra is screaming and begging for somepony to help her, her eyes follow the light coming from the palace and Twilight swears that they look at each other- Lyra starts to cry out again, shrieking a pleading "Princess-" before Junebug bites into her throat and severs her vocal cords. More of the strange ponies pile on top of her, Bon-Bon bites into her cutie mark, Clover into her side- and all Twilight can do is stand there and watch. As they feed, she hears sobs, she hears muffled and distorted voices speaking around mouthfuls of flesh, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm hungry," wailing and biting and wailing some more. Once Lyra is nothing but a carcass, they finally pull away from her, and as they finally notice the light from the castle and look in her direction, Pinkie and Maud take it upon themselves to shut the doors themselves, locking and barricading it while Twilight's brain screams at her to get herself together and stop being so useless.

What is happening to everypony?

Part Six: Sorry Content Warning for Violence/Blood

Apple Bloom doesn't feel good at all. Applejack's gone, promising that she would go get help and that Apple Bloom would be okay, she just has to hold on- but Apple Bloom can feel her strength waning. She's trying, trying as hard as she can to stop her mind from swimming in and out of consciousness, and she's trying to keep the pressure on her bandages like Big Mac told her to before he left. He was supposed to stay with her, but the crash from Granny Smith's room had been worrying enough that he'd decided to check on her, promising Apple Bloom that he'd be right back and to just keep holding her hooves down against the wound so that it wouldn't bleed so much. She's pretty sure he's been gone too long, but she's having trouble keeping track of the time. Maybe it really had only been a few minutes.

Really, the bite wasn't too bad, all on its own. Sure, it needed stitches and wouldn't stop bleeding, and its position on her neck made it hurt to turn her head, but it was just a bite. She'd been injured worse by farm animals, and she'd always been okay then. And for a little while she did seem okay- but then the fever hit her, and she got dizzy and collapsed, Applejack crying out for her as she hit the ground. Now her small body flipped back and forth between overheating and freezing, her coat slick with sweat. And she was getting...weird thoughts. Thoughts she couldn't control, thoughts that scared her. Images of her turning and attacking Big Mac and Applejack, the same way Granny attacked her. She didn't like it.

She was jolted from her thoughts when her door creaked open, and a high, lilting voice cut through the eerie silence.

"Apple Bloom? We knocked on the door for ages, and no one answered. I hope it's alright we let ourselves in."

Apple Bloom's glazed eyes slide over to the doorway, where Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo are grinning and holding sleeping bags. That's right- they'd agreed to have a sleepover tonight, didn't they? Granny Smith had promised them the last of the cider, and Applejack was going to let her stay up late...in the commotion, they'd all forgotten. She shook her head slowly.

"Guys, I don't think y'all should be in here. I'm sick, and so is Granny..."

"But you were fine when we saw you earlier," Sweetie Belle cuts in again, approaching the bed. "Maybe you ate something bad? I could get you some water and crackers, that always settles my stomach." She hasn't noticed the bite, with Apple Bloom's hoof over it. She gets closer still, and Apple Bloom squeezes her eyes shut as she gets those weird thoughts again.

When she looks again, Sweetie Belle is by her side, but she notices that Scootaloo is hanging back in the doorway, looking around nervously. Scootaloo, to her credit, has picked up that something is deeply wrong, her wings twitching as she takes a slow step back. A part of Apple Bloom is relieved. Good, Scootaloo, She thinks, Back up. You'll need the head start. For what, she isn't quite sure.

Sweetie Belle coos over her, taking on that sugary-sweet caring role that she does when she's trying to be like her big sister. She reaches up to feel Apple Bloom's forehead, and Apple Bloom gets another one of those bad visions. She imagines herself lurching out of bed and biting Sweetie Belle's leg, and when she hears Sweetie Belle scream, she realizes that it wasn't a vision at all. She tastes the coppery blood in her mouth and she's ashamed and afraid but also hungry for more.

"I'm sorry," Apple Bloom chokes out, eyes wide as she sits up, the bite mark on her neck glistening in the moonlight. "I'm so sorry, Sweetie Belle, I don't know why I did that-"

Sweetie Belle is sobbing now, and Scootaloo just looks at Apple Bloom with wide, terrified eyes, frozen in place with fear. Apple Bloom's limbs are twitching, now, trying to force her out of the bed to finish what she's started, and it's all Apple Bloom can do to hold herself back- though she's unable to stop herself from licking her lips.

As the screams and cries and apologies fill the house, Apple Bloom can hear a loud thumping and a crash from the far end of the hall, and all the sudden Big Mac is standing there, covered in blood with a shovel in his teeth- a shovel also splattered in blood and black bile. He drops it from his mouth as he takes in the scene, metal clanging against the floor. When he speaks, his voice is heavy and authoritative, and Apple Bloom has never heard him sound so angry and afraid at the same time.

"Get the hell out of here! Get out of this house and don't y'all ever come back here again!" He yells at the foals, not out of malice but out of concern, and his booming, deep demands have their intended effect as Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo run out of farmhouse and down the road, running home to their warm beds where they can try and forget what they've seen.

Apple Bloom looks up at Big Mac, and her eyes fill with tears. She has blood smeared around her mouth, and a dark part of her revels in the lingering taste. "I'm so sorry, Big Mac, I don't know what happened, I don't- I'm scared..."

Big Mac looks down at her, his eyes so soft and so sad, and, slowly, he picks up the shovel again.

#mlp #mlp infection au #mlp fim #mlp g4 #mlp redesign

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cl3fairyyy · 3 months

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˗ˏˋ routine // edward nashton x GN! reader ˎˊ˗

summary // edward has always gone through life in solitude. he has the same routine, day in and day out, and he doesn't change that for anyone. he doesn't have time for friendship and looks down on his coworkers; their shallow gossip and strained smalltalk isn't worth his time. his way of thinking is soon flipped on its head when KTMJ hires a pretty receptionist to greet him every morning before work. what starts as innocent pining (as innocent as it gets for edward, anyway), soon spirals into something more, faster than he can control. alternatively, you score a cushy receptionist gig and start crushing on your cute coworker lol.

warnings // very brief mention of healed sh scars. edward and the reader smoke- reader is GN but is described as "pretty" multiple times. eddie is a little strange in this but that is just customary for him atp lol. a little angsty but mostly fluffy coworkers to more bc eddie deserves more soft fics :c no use of y/n!!

word count // 4.5k

notes // I haven't written a fic since my wattpad days so my apologies if this isn't great </3 I have been pining after the green man for far too long and have so many ideas in my system that need to come out !! I hope Edward isn't too OOC and would love any feedback on how to write him better :)) I might do a pt 2 if anyone is interested hehe

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Edward has never found any substance in socialising at work. He has never found the tedious break room small talk and uninteresting (probably fabricated) gossip that floats around the office to be very meaningful, and for the five years that he has worked at KTMJ, he has never had so much as a conversation, let alone friendship, with any of his colleagues.

His daily routine is fairly simple: wake up, go to work, come home, eat (if he remembers), and sleep. All without interacting with anyone. Edward lies to himself, convinces himself that he prefers, even enjoys, living like this. He has crawled through this city, through this life, in solitude, and he has always been fine.

But the ache in his heart and the lump in his throat when he lies awake at night, running calloused fingers over faded scars, say otherwise.

Edward is lonely.

His mind tends to wander when he turns in bed to look out the window. He watches groups of friends, drunk and stumbling down the old, cracked streets of Gotham, their rapturous (and rather obnoxious, he thinks) laughter echoing through his open apartment window. He imagines himself drunkenly walking alongside them, sharing inside jokes and funny anecdotes that make their cheeks red with laughter, and when he drifts off to sleep, he dreams of waking up in another body, another life, where he simply belongs.

He wakes up on a day like any other, in his cold, empty apartment, alone. He begins his routine, shoving a piece of expired bread in the toaster as he neatens his tie and pulls on his loafers. He is happy with this routine. He eats alone at the table, checking his watch, mindful of the 8:15 bus. He leaves his apartment and catches the bus just as it arrives at his stop. The driver, an older lady, offers him a smile. He keeps his head down. He is happy with this routine. He enters the office earlier than usual, hoping to get in some extra work to avoid staying any later than he must. He is happy with-

He pauses.

The receptionist, a woman far too old to not be retired, does not greet him with the flick of her pen as she completes the morning crossword.

The routine is disrupted.

His coworkers are crowded around his boss' door, straining to see through the tiny window separating "us" from "them." Edward's mind is clouded with confusion as he catches the eye of one of his colleagues, a man named Will, a man he can't stand, a man who acquired his position (as Edward's supervisor) straight out of college, through daddy's money and connections.

The routine is disrupted.

"Word is that we have a new receptionist." He fills Edward in. Edward wonders if he only tells him this through some feeling of obligation, rather than wanting to share the latest office gossip with him. He simply nods, making his way to his desk.

Back to the routine.

After possibly the most intimidating introduction to a boss you have ever experienced, you are given a brief tour of your new office and shown to your new desk. You are given your new tasks and set to work on your new job.

To be honest, it isn't entirely difficult. You are certainly overqualified, but you can't complain about being paid above minimum wage, in Gotham, in your twenties, for such a simple job. You remember reading that the best way to make a good first impression at a new job is to introduce yourself to your new colleagues, and, despite the anxiety welling in your throat, you put on a bright smile and set off to do just that.

For the most part, your colleagues are nice, a bit bored, but they seem interested in you and that surely must be a start, right?

The girl whose desk you're currently standing in front of (her name is Kate, you think?) perks up suddenly, seemingly remembering something. She gestures for you to sit next to her, and you do just that.

"You seem nice. Like, really nice. But you seem like the kind of person who is so nice that it borders on naiveté." You tilt your head in confusion but nod for her to continue. "I want you to, y'know, actually have a chance of fitting in here. So let me give you some advice."

She glances around inconspicuously before lowering her voice and tilting her head back ever so subtly. "That guy over there. Glasses. Yeah- okay, try not to make it so obvious that I'm talking about him. Don't bother trying to get a word out of him. The guy doesn't talk to anyone, and believe me, we have tried getting him to. I don't know if he's shy or thinks he's better than us or what, but he seriously is, like, mute. All he does is come to work and go home. He even eats his lunch at his desk."

You try and mimic her subtlety, glancing up to catch a glimpse at the desk tucked neatly in the corner, and you're met with eyes behind glasses staring right back at you. You quickly look away, your cheeks burning at the embarrassment of being caught talking about someone.

She smiles sympathetically at you.

"I know this schtick you've got going on. Introducing yourself to the office so that we all like you."

She snorts at your expression and continues.

"Hey, chill out. It's seriously endearing. I was the exact same when I started and, to be fair, it seems to be working for you. I just don't want you to get offended or anything trying to talk to Edward over there, and getting nothing out of him, y'know?"

You offer Kate a grateful smile and rise from your seat.

"Thanks for the warning. I think I'd like to at least say hi to him anyway."

All she offers you is a shrug, as if saying, "don't say I didn't warn you," as you wander over to Edward's desk.

You smile at him, introducing yourself and holding out your hand to shake. Okay, he's actually pretty cute up close, you think, with big green eyes concealed by glasses that have slipped slightly down his faintly freckled nose. He meets your enthusiasm with a blank stare and a readjustment of his glasses, and your shoulders deflate a little.

"You're, uh, you're Edward, right? That's what it says on your name tag, anyway."

Silence.

You giggle nervously.

"Well, I- anyway, I'm the new receptionist. I'm really happy to be working with you."

You're surprised at the sincerity in your tone, and Edward must be too, because you swear you notice his stoic expression falter for a second.

Your hand begins to shake as it remains in front of his face, and the air grows thick with awkwardness. It feels like every single pair of eyes in the office is on the both of you. You begin to retract your hand when Edward gingerly reaches forward and shakes it limply. His bored expression doesn't change as he does so.

"Likewise."

With that single word uttered, he carries on typing away at his computer, completely ignoring you. Your legs seem to work at their own volition as they carry you back to your desk, your cheeks pink.

Unbeknownst to you, Edward has been observing your every move since you stepped out of the boss' office. His desk is at the perfect angle, giving him a direct view of your own, and he had watched you approach all of your colleagues to give your little introduction speech. He had seen you chatting discreetly with Kate, and he had caught you peeking up to look at him. He had figured Kate had warned you to steer clear of him, and the thought had made his stomach sink.

He thought you were very pretty, and since he had first caught a passing glimpse of you, his mind instantly had began to wander to thoughts of him approaching your desk, introducing himself confidently and charming you all within your first interaction.

He had shaken his head at that, embarrassed by his little fantasy. He has never known the feeling of confidence in his life, and he had quickly resigned himself to thinking that you would be yet another coworker he would never interact with, besides a quick "good morning," and "good night," at the beginning and end of each day.

The routine continues, and he is happy with that.

The routine continues until it doesn't, until you meekly approach his desk and smile at him, and oh God up close you are so much prettier, he thinks, and then you're extending your hand for him to shake, that same dimpled smile on your face fading when he doesn't even acknowledge the action.

Of course he manages to make you uncomfortable within the first five seconds of interacting with him. Before his mind can catch up with his body, he is shaking your hand and uttering the first word he has spoken in this office in a long time.

He instantly has to break the intense eye contact he has held with you, pretending to type numbers into his computer, praying the colour of his cheeks doesn't betray him.

When you walk away he feels guilty, he wishes he could will you back to his desk so he could play off his awkwardness as a joke, so he could pretend he is someone much cooler and much more interesting than Edward Nashton.

But he can't.

He has to watch you walk away, back to your desk, your head down to hide your embarrassment.

When 5pm hits, you stand from your desk, stretching. God, that spinny chair does something awful for your back. You're packing up your things when Edward passes your desk. You offer him a smile as you wish him goodnight, fully expecting him to ignore you.

Instead, he pauses and turns to give you a small nod before exiting the building and all of a sudden it feels like your face is on fire and your heart is pounding like you've just ran a marathon.

Oh no.

Of course you get a crush on your first day, and of course it has to be on the one person in the building that has uttered one singular word to you.

You lie awake that night, tossing and turning in bed as thoughts of your colleague cloud your mind. Sure, you've always had a thing for nerdy guys, but nerdy guys who have a reputation around your office for being a complete recluse? Seriously?

But he had spoken to you, he had acknowledged your existence. So what the hell does that mean? You sigh, rubbing your eyes before popping a melatonin. Your mind is racing a thousand miles a minute and you know there is no way you're getting to sleep otherwise.

Edward's mind swarms with thoughts of you as he lies in bed, willing himself to fall asleep. He picks up his phone, reading the time, and sighs, opening up your social media page for seemingly the thousandth time that night.

He has already scrolled through your entire account, has already studied every single photo and video you have posted until he has them memorised. He swipes through pictures of you at bars with your friends, videos of you dancing on vacation with tan lines and pink cheeks, and the countless selfies you have with your dog on your page.

He imagines you introducing him to your friend group and him befriending them over drinks in your favourite bar. He imagines taking you away on lavish trips to Europe, Asia, South America, all the places you have on the bucket list posted on your profile. He imagines a domestic life built together, sharing an apartment with you and your dog, and he falls asleep with an unfamiliar warmth in his chest, hope rushing through his veins for the first time in a long time.

Over the next few months, you grow closer with your colleagues- close to the point that you even see them outside of office hours. Close to the point that, when deadlines are met and the entire office throws a party to celebrate, Kate always manages to convince you to tag along. Close to the point that, after a long week, you and the small circle of friends you have made go out for drinks to unwind- and you have even found yourself inviting your other coworkers to join you.

All of your coworkers, except one.

The guilt consumes you every time you pack up to leave, smiling and laughing with your colleagues, when you catch a glimpse of Edward hunched over his monitor, ready to log even more hours of overtime. You have always considered inviting him along, but the only words he ever utters to you are quiet greetings every morning and the occasional "good night," when he leaves the office before you do. You don't even know if he likes you.

You certainly like him.

You're sure the blush on your face is undeniable every time you accidentally lock eyes with him when you swivel absentmindedly in your chair, or when you hand him his mail (which is rare for him to receive, you've noticed). You always try and find excuses to talk to him, and every time you do, you're left stumbling over your words and pink in the cheeks while he remains completely unfazed, unbothered and silent.

You're determined to at least invite him for drinks. At any rate, if he says no, you can comfort yourself with the knowledge that you tried to develop some kind of friendship with him (while secretly hoping for more).

It is such an easy task, one you have discussed frequently with your coworkers many a time, who have repeatedly encouraged you to offer an invitation to Edward- so you don't understand why it feels like lead weights have been tied to your feet and sandpaper has dried out your mouth when you mentally prepare yourself to go and speak to the infamous office recluse. 'It's no big deal! It's just drinks with colleagues!' you remind yourself, but the rapid beating of your heart does nothing to comfort you.

You finally internally berate yourself enough to stand up and, as casually as you can, wander over to Edward's desk, a friendly smile on your face. Your shadow over his desk forces him to acknowledge you.

You clear your throat somewhat awkwardly before saying with as much (casual) enthusiasm as you can muster, "me and some of the others are gonna head out for drinks pretty soon. We'd love for you to come!"

You notice his eyes subtly squint behind his glasses as he sizes you up, before shaking his head, his gaze flickering back down to his monitor.

"Can't. Got some messy paperwork here that needs correcting, and it can't wait until Monday."

Your smile falters slightly and you manage to nod in understanding. "That sucks. We would've really liked you there. I wouldn't want it to eat up too much of your evening, so I won't keep you from it. Have a nice weekend, Edward!"

His head lifts at your mention of his name, and when you smile at him, turning to leave, he clears his throat. quietly

"I'm, ah, I'm sorry about that. Maybe some other time..."

You nod in agreement, giving him one last smile before heading out with your colleagues. Oh well. At least you tried.

Edward screams at himself internally for being stupid enough to turn you down, for having so much work on his plate that he has to reject an offer to spend time with you. His logic tries to argue with him that you are just a distraction from his greater plans, but for the first time in his life, he finds himself listening to his heart rather than his head.

The routine is disrupted.

The following Monday, instead of clocking in at 8:30am, Edward finds himself in the office at 7:45 that morning to begin his work day. When you enter the building (earlier than usual, he notes), you manage to shake off the shock of seeing anyone else here at this time, and give Edward a little wave.

You sigh as you sink into your chair, lazily replying to the emails that have piled up over the weekend. While this cushy job has its benefits, God, the actual work is boring.

You catch yourself repeatedly turning subtly in your chair to watch Edward work. Even though he's so far away, you recognise that concentrated look he has on his face when a particularly messy set of fraudulent taxes have him stumped. Before you can register what you're doing, you're walking across the empty office right up to his desk and Jesus, your hands are sweaty as hell.

You manage to discreetly wipe them on your slacks before he looks up at you, his stressed expression all the greeting you need to begin talking. "I know we usually say good morning at my desk, but you were clocked in even earlier than me this morning." Your sentence ends with an anxious giggle, and when he narrows his eyes in confusion, you continue. "I, um, couldn't help but notice that you looked a little stressed... can I get you something to help? Water, coffee, anything? I'm all finished catching up on my emails so..."

You trail off a little awkwardly and you swear you see Edward's lip quirk up in a tiny smile before returning to his usual poker face. You mentally slap yourself for expecting to get anything out of him; it's not even 9am and you've already annoyed him. Great.

"If it's really no bother... I take my coffee black, one sugar. Thank you."

He says the last part quietly, looking down. You smile, and head for the break room to get his drink, your hands shaking giddily. You have somehow gotten more words out of him in five months than any of your colleagues have in five years. You see that as a win.

Edward sees it as the complete opposite. His brain is in chaos trying to focus on work but constantly wandering back to new daydreams of you. Daydreams of living together in your shared apartment, where you make him coffee every morning and bring it to him in bed. He can't help admiring you from afar, the way your well (tight) fitting slacks cling to you in the best way, and he has to physically rest his head on his desk to remind himself of where he is before his thoughts get too carried away.

You place the styrofoam cup down in front of Edward and he nods gratefully. You take a sip from your own cup, watching him work, before you realise you're being weird, still lingering around his desk like some creep. You cough awkwardly. "I'm, uh, going to go sit back down now, let you get back to it. I hope the coffee isn't too gross."

It's perfect, Edward thinks as he watches you wander back to your desk, and well after 5pm, when everyone has left, he fishes through the trash can uncer your desk and retrieves your styrofoam cup from that morning, placing it in a ziplock bag and taking it home with him.

This is Edward's new routine. He comes into work early every day and sits in the empty office, doing as much work as he can so that he can muster up the courage to one day, finally join you after work instead of being swamped with tasks. For weeks, every Friday, you invite him to come drink with your little group, and every Friday he finds some flimsy excuse to flake on you, anxiety tightening his throat and dampening his forehead.

You begin thinking you must be bothering him- he hasn't once accepted your invitation, and you tell yourself after each awkward encounter, 'this is the last time.' Yet, each week, you find yourself stood at his desk, legs trembling and mouth dry, anticipating rejection.

Until, one Friday in late February, he gives you an awkward smile, shuffling the mess of papers on his desk.

"I, ah, managed to wrap up these returns... I'll come along, if you want me to."

You can barely believe your ears, and your shock must be evident because Edward begins to flush under your gaze. You clear your throat, a bright smile on your face as you bounce on the balls of your feet. "Oh, that's great! We're ready to leave when you are."

Your small group bursts out of the office, your noses red from the February chill. You notice Edward lagging behind a little, and slow your pace to walk alongside him.

"I'm really glad you took us up on our offer finally. We found this sweet little hole in the wall bar only a little way from here, and happy hour lasts until 9 on Fridays." You grin at him. "I know I don't know much about you, but I really think you'll like it. The vibes are super chill, and they play some decent music. You like The Cure, right?"

Edward tilts his head curiously, and you flush as you scramble to explain yourself, so you don’t come off as an actual stalker.

"I, just, um... I could hear you listening to them last week when I came into work early."

He smiles, and the sincerity of it makes your knees go wobbly.

"Yeah, hah, I- um- listened to them a lot when I was young. I guess I never really grew out of it." He chuckles nervously, fiddling with the strap of his work bag.

You find a booth in the corner, and your group crams in, sharing the latest office gossip and complaining about how heavy the workload has been recently. You find yourself sat next to Edward and you smile at him as you settle back into the cracked vinyl of the booth, sipping your drink.

"I can't imagine coming into a bar and ordering water after how much you've worked this week. How are you not halfway through a bottle of whiskey right now?" You laugh lightly, beginning to feel pleasantly buzzed. Edward readjusts his glasses and thanks God that the red LED lights hide his pink cheeks. "I'm not really a big drinker... I prefer to be in control of my actions." He pauses, eyeing you clutching your drink in his peripheral vision, before clearing his throat. "N- not that there's anything wrong with drinking. I just, uh, have never really been a fan. I don't think it tastes very nice."

You giggle, slapping his arm lightly. "You don't need to explain yourself to me, Edward. I was only kidding."

After an hour or two, and a few more cocktails, the bar begins to liven up a little. Most of your friends have gotten up to dance, but you ignore them, deep in conversation with Edward about Gotham's current political climate.

"I thought I was the only one! Seriously, that shitbag of a mayor gets nowhere near enough criticism. They're corrupt, the lot of them, and I can only hope they get what's coming to-"

You pause, realising Edward is distracted. He fidgets with the sleeve of his jacket while rapidly bouncing his knee up and down, and you notice him cringing at the volume of the music.

You lean forward, resting a hand on his arm, your voice quiet as you whisper in his ear, "wanna go for a smoke?"

Your voice is a lovely contrast to the music blaring from the speaker, Edward thinks, and he can smell your perfume with you in such close proximity. It's sweet and flowery, and he wishes he could have you this close to him forever.

He nods, quickly standing and leading you out of the packed bar. The cold air hits you like a slap in the face as you make your exit, and you immediately regret leaving your jacket on your seat as you hug yourself, trying to stay warm under the broken heat lamps.

Edward fishes a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and holds it out to you. You smile gratefully, plucking one from the box and holding it between your teeth. Your freezing hands tremble, fumbling the lighter in your hands, and you groan in frustration as the wind keeps blowing the flame out. Edward watches you from the corner of his eye and chuckles lightly, a newfound wave of confidence surging through him.

"Want a hand?"

You sigh, shutting your eyes and nodding in defeat. Edward laughs again, and it is a lovely sound; his laugh has an almost falsetto quality to it, and you can't help but smile back at him, your cheeks warm.

Edward takes the lighter from you, his other hand reaching to cup over your own, protecting your lips from the biting wind as he lights your cigarette for you.

It is such a simple action. 'There's nothing behind it!' you think, but it holds such an undeniable sense of intimacy. His warm hand lingers on yours, warming your entire body, and he doesn't break your gaze when he finally pulls away to light his own cigarette.

The two of you stand in silence for several moments, watching the smoke you breathe out dance into the night sky, disappearing from view. You feel so relaxed around him, and you turn your head to watch him study the night sky, his eyes darting this way and that before landing on you. He smiles shyly.

"I had a nice time tonight. I... honestly wasn't expecting to."

He notices your face fall slightly before he quickly continues. "I wouldn't usually call this kind of place my thing, but... I found myself really enjoying myself. The company certainly didn't hurt."

You smile at that, and he eagerly returns it.

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping, but... I'd like to take you out sometime. Just me and you, away from all the noise."

Edward can hardly believe the words coming out of his mouth, and he's convinced he's dreaming. The smile on your face only grows.

"You mean, like a date?"

The redness of his cheeks deepens, and he nods, his knees feeling weak. You begin jotting something down in your notepad before pressing a folded-up piece of paper into his hand, blowing a plume of smoke just past his face. He can almost taste the nicotine and tequila on your lips as you lean towards him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm looking forward to it."

With that, you flick your cigarette on the floor and turn on your heel, heading back into the bar. Edward unfolds the slip of paper to be met with the phone number he has had memorised since your first day working at KTMJ five months ago.

The routine is disrupted.

#dano riddler #dano riddler x reader #edward nashton #edward nashton x reader #paul dano #riddler 2022 #riddler x you #batman 2022 #edward nashton x you #riddler x reader #danonation #danocel #the batman 2022 #the riddler

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whispersoftheton · 2 months

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Anthony bridgerton x wife!reader. Maybe his wife has quite a childlike innocence that the women of the ton take to be weirdness and they tend to isolate her but she never knows why. Maybe they’re newly married and she decides to invite some of the ladies for tea but no one shows up and she’s upset because she’s confused and Anthony comforts her and joins her for tea instead to cheer her up.

Hey! Thank you so much for requesting this & for being so patient! This wasn't meant to be this long but it sort of took on a life of its own. I hope you enjoy it <3

Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none just comfort :)

Word Count: 1.1K

Every square inch of Aubrey Hall's walls flourished with the season's most stunning flowers, the gardens lush as far as the eye could see. The breeze did little to cool you off from the summer heat as you sat under the tent, sipping your afternoon tea overlooking the meadow alongside Violet Bridgerton. It had been a tedious day of tending to various duties around the household, and you were expecting company from some ladies of society later that evening. It seemed your schedule had been considerably more than full since your wedding a few months ago. Rather frankly, you were just as exhausted as you were delighted in your new marriage to the Viscount. Keeping up with the Bridgertons all while being the latest lady of the house proved to be quite the task. Sure, your introverted preferences to stay within the walls of your home with a good book or spend quiet time in the gardens studying the plants were different than the interests of the ladies of the ton. However, you always tried your very best to keep everyone surrounding you in good spirits while performing your obligations, always looking toward Violet for approval, wanting to stay within your welcome. She was the Viscountess before you, after all. You could only dream of living up to her in your new position. Overseeing every small detail runs smoothly across your home, not to mention the impending weight on your shoulders due to the responsibility of Anthony's sisters coming out in the following seasons. You didn't know how long you could keep this facade up if you were being honest with yourself. But you had standards to upkeep, ways in which the Viscountess held her own beside her husband, and the last thing you ever wanted to do was let Anthony or his family down.

The sun blared upon the exquisitely green grass; surrounding the field on the outer edges were countless trees with blossoming flowers overflowing the gardens. Springtime at Aubrey Hall, indeed, was like no other. You turned your attention toward the Pall Mall game. Your husband stood before his siblings, mumbling something you were sure was some tease towards Eloise, making you smirk. Anthony turned toward the field and adjusted his grip on the mallet before making his final shot. A generous mix of disappointed grumbles and cheers erupted from the handful of Bridgertons as he made the final winning score. Half of them scrambled to debate the shot while the other half stood by, giggling toward them.

Anthony left his siblings to argue among themselves over the game he now reigned as champion over. Eloise was clearly bitter and left feeling she had been made a mockery over this loss after spending her spare time practicing for this very moment. Anthony placed his mallet on the stand alongside the others and approached you. He graciously extended his hand toward you, motioning you to go with him before the both of you bid goodbye to his mama and slipped out of sight and into the grand home.

"Eloise is taking quite hard, isn't she?" You said as he guided you through the doors. "She must have thought her practice would allow her to best you once and for all."

"Having hopes of besting her older yet clearly more skilled brother? Unlikely, my love." Anthony taunted, evidently still on a high from his victory. You stood in the main room while Anthony poured himself a drink, beckoning you to join him before you politely declined.

"I cannot. I am having the ladies over for tea shortly, and I cannot be anything less than perfection for their arrival." Anthony wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in for a brief kiss. Enough to have you wrapping your arms around his neck and yearning for more as he pulled away just enough for your noses to brush tenderly against one another.

"No moment in time exists in which you are not perfection, my love." Anthony's smile warmed your heart as you relaxed against him. "They will love you as much as I do; I am sure of it." His validation and loving gaze melted any lingering stresses still dancing around in your head. All that was left was to check off some last-minute preparations, and the tea could commence.

The late afternoon sun cast dispersed shadows across the cobblestone path. Anthony strolled into his home since returning from a lengthy afternoon of business meetings and running several errands around town. Anthony had hoped to come home to you excitedly telling him of your afternoon tea with the ladies of the ton. Instead, he found the halls seemed eerily calm for this time of day. He entered the main room and caught you sitting quietly on one of the sofas in a far corner. You curled up beside the unlit fireplace, twirling your fingers anxiously in your lap when you felt Anthony take a seat beside you.

"Sweetheart." Anthony paused before placing his hand in your lap. You didn't know if it was for comfort or to stop you from fidgeting. His warmth was welcome either way. "Is something wrong?" He cautiously asked.

"No one came." The words strained from your throat. "I know your mama and sisters left this morning on a day's travel, but I hoped-." Your voice broke before resuming. "I hoped at least someone would have-." Tears brimmed your eyes, and scattered tears stained across the top of your dress, some still falling down your cheeks. Anthony's hand cupped your face, his thumb gently preventing the tears from their continued flow. He took your hands in his and placed a lingering kiss on your knuckles before standing before you and offering you his hand. Without another word, Anthony dragged you along the halls and out into the gardens. Various flowers bloomed around you, and he brought you to one of the rarer flowers now flourishing on the property.

"What are we doing here?" You questioned while admiring the intricate patterns in which the vine had taken, the beautiful springtime flora temporarily making you forget the catastrophe of this afternoon. Anthony stepped closer from behind, arms wrapping around you as he whispered in your ear.

"It is when I am gazing upon the most exquisitely beautiful flower in the garden that I think of you." Tears again swelled inside you, but for a different reason this time. "The day will come when the world will see the beauty I am fortunate enough to hold near every day. In the meantime, I get you all to myself, hm?" The warmth and comfort of his words and presence enveloped you, brushing away the day's worries and woes with an ease only he possessed. His voice was a soothing balm for your soul that always had a way of convincing you everything would be okay. Because when you were around Anthony, you knew it would be.

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I DO NOT HAVE WATTPAD. I do not consent to having my work reposted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. if anyone sees my work anywhere that is not ao3/tumblr or under any other username that is not whispersoftheton, it has been reposted without my permission

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton netflix #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton season 2

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sinfulsalutations · 4 months

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𝕔𝕦𝕕𝕕𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕒𝕕 𝕓𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛɪᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴡʀᴇᴄᴋᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱQᴜɪɴᴛ, ᴜʜ, ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ʏᴇᴀʜ ɪᴛꜱ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

⋆ ★ *ᴇᴍᴇʀɢᴇꜱ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ʜᴇʀᴍɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴄᴀᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜʀᴏᴡꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ* ʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪ ɢᴜᴇꜱꜱ

⋆ ★ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴏɴ ᴀᴏ3 ⋆*･ﾟ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ꜰᴏʀᴍ

Hunter

Hunter gets overheated/stimulated easily due to his heightened senses so he doesn’t cuddle for very long in pressed together positions.

BUT he likes proximity, being able to hear your breath and heartbeat, seeing every little dimple and curve of your body, knowing you are here and you’re his.

So he will press his head to your chest to listen to your heartbeat and relax with the rise and fall of your chest.

And if you run your hands through his hair you’ll coax the most blissful sighs out of him.

Tech

He’s fidgety, so staying in one cuddling position is a struggle. Always needs to readjust because one spot can get uncomfortable and awkward very quickly.

It gets tedious, especially at night in bed when both of you are grueling to sleep.

However, he’ll try his best for you.

Likes to tangle all his limbs with yours; legs, arms, fingers as your interlock and hold hands, etc.

Also traces and rubs patterns into your skin or over your clothes absentmindedly. You’re his favorite fidget toy.

Might ramble to you. Whether or not you respond and actively have a conversation doesn’t matter to him. He is simply glad that you’re here to listen.

Wrecker

Cuddle bug!

Any free time with you he will actively seek your body wrapped around his arms.

Loves when you sit on his lap on a couch or seat, thighs pressed outside each of his own; he’ll trail his arms up and down your waist, maybe cheekily have a feel of your ass once or twice (sorry, he can’t help himself).

Also likes when you’re just intermingled on his cot, staring up while you talk about everything and nothing.

Wrecker runs very warm, and you might have to push him away from his firm grasp when you begin to sweat and pant a little. Despite his sweet complains and pleads to come back, he’ll let you go nonetheless. But you’ll return to his arms inevitably.

Crosshair

“Why would I want cuddles?” he says, already itching for your touch.

Doesn’t actively seek it out, but god he relishes every time you want to cuddle.

Likes it when you lean your head on his shoulder or on his lap as he cleans his rifle or something else along those lines. It gives him enough mobility to move but still that contact each of you crave.

He might itch for more if he isn’t doing anything with his hands, and may trace patterns onto your arm, shoulder, back, thigh, knee, anywhere that’s convenient and in reach.

Although he’s aware that you like it, he begins doing it mostly for himself. And also, it gives him an excuse to secretly admire you.

Echo

Initially, he’s nervous you’ll feel uncomfortable cuddling with him because of his prosthetics and build.

So when you do express affection and craving for that sort of intimacy, he feels inept.

With more time and trust in the relationship he warms up to it more.

Enjoys wrapping his non-scomp arm around you and encourage you to wrap your arms around his waist.

Will keep his leg prosthetics untangled from yours unless you initiate it.

Likes to plant kisses on your forehead before trailing down to your ear to mutter (sweet) nothings.

His love translates to his cuddling, you quickly discover. Languid and romantic. Though he severely dreads the moment you inevitably separate.

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charmandabear · 4 months

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Office Hours - Chapter Two

Summary:

You really want to get Astarion back for making you feel so flustered, but as a result you find yourself in a bit of an uncomfortable position.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 3.7k Tags/Warnings: unprotected p in v sex, under-the-desk blowjobs, semi-public sex, vampire bites, modern au, college/university au, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, poor gale doesn't deserve this

Oh shit she's writing? I had like six other things planned but I can't keep away from this world. Once again thank you @zipzoomzaria for the beautiful screenshots and also the inspo for Professor Astarion, and @aw11tht33tha for the beta!

You don't need to have read part 1 for this part to make sense, but it does help.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

Ever since you slept with Astarion - or, perhaps more accurately, he fucked you mercilessly over his desk - you haven't been able to get him out of your head. It's been a little embarrassing, frankly. Every time you pass him in the hallway, a single glance over those round wire frames has you suppressing the moan that bubbles in your throat. One whiff of his fragrance and your pussy clenches in a Pavlovian response.

You're standing in front of your mailbox in the main office, reading some memo from the chair about season selection for next year. It's always a tedious process where no one can agree and you somehow all end up with shows you hate.

You smell him before you hear him, and you can feel your ears grow hot. He comes up behind you, standing closer than is probably necessary, and reaches above you to empty his own mailbox.

“Pardon,” he says politely, but you feel like he’s going out of his way to brush against you. A shiver runs down your spine as he very gently grazes the back of your neck while shuffling through the papers.

He turns and starts chatting amicably with Grace. How can he stay so cool when you're practically in shambles? You pretend that you're still reading the short memo just to collect yourself. When he finally leaves the main office, you manage to turn around and imitate some semblance of a normal person. Grace catches your eye and frowns.

“Are you feeling okay? You're looking a little flushed,” she asks, genuine concern coloring her voice. You twist your face into a smile, hoping that it reads like gratitude rather than annoyance.

“Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Probably just a little dehydrated,” you say, putting a little extra rasp in your voice to sell your story.

“I’m about to leave for lunch, I can grab you something from the student union, if you're thirsty.” She smiles sweetly, fully unaware of the double entendre.

“I'm good, I have some water back in my office. I appreciate the offer, though.” The smile is now plastered to your face as you move to leave the office. You bump into Karlach while trying to make a hasty exit.

“Gods, soldier, you okay? You look like you just got out of a sauna.” She claps you on the shoulder and your knees buckle. The technical director had spent 10 years in the army, so you can't really fault her for the nickname, or the smack to the shoulder, for that matter.

“Just a little thirsty, is all,” you reply, continuing to scoot your way out of the office.

“Yeah ya are!” She points two finger guns at you and flashes a big suggestive smile. You freeze for a half second, then realize she’s making a generic lewd joke and not pointedly calling you out for your current condition. You awkwardly finger gun back as you finally slip through the doorway and book it to your office.

You sit down at your desk and grab your water bottle, taking a long sip. It's unbelievable how much of a hold he has on you. What you wouldn't give to be able to fluster him as much as he does you. Have him struggle for words. Make him look like an idiot in front of your colleagues.

You think back to your bathtub fantasy from a few days ago. You could not have predicted the dynamic more incorrectly. You really thought that you'd be the one in control, that you could have him coming undone for you. The image of him whimpering beneath you still sets your heart racing, though it can't be further from the truth. Your breath hitches slightly as the scenario plays out vividly in your mind, like your own personal erotica.

“It must be rather exciting, whatever's got your blood going that way.” His sultry voice interrupts your debaucherous thoughts and you yelp in surprise. You glare at him leaning in the doorframe, hands in his pockets and collar casually unbuttoned, looking like an absolute treat. He chuckles and saunters into your office, settling into one of the chairs across from your desk and crossing his lithe legs. Despite your newfound attraction, he's still an arrogant little shit.

“I thought you couldn't come in uninvited,” you scowl, keeping your voice low for fear of someone overhearing.

“I don't recall being invited last time, but you didn't seem to mind,” he says with a laugh, and you squirm under his piercing red gaze. “Regardless, the rule only applies to homes, not individual rooms within a public university.”

Your frown deepens, unsure if he's being condescending or not.

“Is there something I can help you with, or are you just here to frustrate me?” You lean back in your chair and cross your arms, trying to imitate his casual authority. You're not terribly successful.

“You seem to be doing that perfectly well yourself, the way I could hear your arteries pumping from down the hall.” His smile widens, flashing just a hint of fang, and your resolve weakens. He stands and stretches his arms above his head, his shirt raising just enough for you to see a sliver of porcelain skin. You’re positive he’s just doing this to annoy you.

“Well, when you have a free moment, stop by my office, I have something to show you,” he drawls, an almost bored lilt coloring his tone. “And do try to keep that pulse of yours under control, it’s distracting to the point of vulgarity.” He glances at you over his glasses one more time before retreating into the hall again.

You cross your legs, trying to ease the ache between your thighs. He's absolutely insufferable. And he’s so much worse now that he knows he has this power over you.

You gather your materials for Voice and Speech, plotting ways to enact your revenge.

***

Against your better judgment, you find yourself walking toward Ancunín’s office after class. You take a moment before knocking on the door, smoothing down the front of your dress and tousling your hair to give it a little more volume.

Suddenly the door opens and Mol comes barrelling out in a huff.

“D’you believe this berk? Gettin’ on my tail for ‘academic integrity.’ Ain't nobody more integrous than me!” she grumbles, adjusting her bag angrily. She turns her heated gaze to you.

“Can you talk to your boyfriend and tell him to leave me alone?” she spits and you splutter involuntarily.

“Mol, we’re not–”

“Come off it, miss. Everyone sees the way you look at ‘im. Just work your magic so I can get back to gettin’ a college education.” And without another word, she's off. You blink, trying to make sense of what just happened. Are the students talking about the two of you?

Shaking your head, you knock on the door frame as you walk into his office. It's just as cozy as last time, warm light emanating from lamps in every corner to compensate for the blackout curtains over the windows. Honestly, how does anyone not know he's a vampire? You can almost hear his excuse, something about how “direct sunlight is ruinous to one’s skin.”

“Destroying students' lives by keeping them academically honest?” you smirk as you gently close the door behind you with your foot. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I swear, that girl is too clever for her own good. I'd almost respect it if she didn't get on my last nerve,” he sighs, putting his glasses back on and glancing up at you. His expression softens for a second before quickly shifting to mischievous. You slide over to him, leaning against the edge of his desk as you face him.

Any animosity you may have held dissolves as he looks up at you, his hand absentmindedly stroking your thigh just under the hem of your skirt. You shiver as you try to keep your voice steady.

“You said you had something to show me, professor?” You emphasize the title with the gusto of a young porn star. He smirks and pulls you down until you're straddling his lap. You wrap your arms around his neck and grind your hips into him, feeling the beginnings of an erection. He lets out a little puff of air that can almost be mistaken for a moan. He buries his face into your tits, running his nose along the neckline of your dress and slides his hands under your skirt to cup your ass. You breathe in sharply, your breasts rising to meet his lips.

Then a knock at the door.

You both freeze and stare at one another. You hear a muffled voice on the other side.

“Dr. Ancunín, do you have a minute? I have something extremely important to tell you,” Dr. Dekarios from the School of the Weave shouts through the door.

Astarion instinctually replies, “Just a minute!” and the two of you share a wordless exchange.

-What the fuck are you doing?

-I don't know, I panicked!

-What am I supposed to do?

-Hide, perhaps?

Without thinking you slide off his lap and under the desk. Just in time, too, as Dr. Dekarios doesn't wait for Astarion’s permission to open the door and waltz right in.

“Dr. Ancunín, thank goodness, I hope I'm not interrupting anything.” You can hear the Arcana History professor rush in and eagerly sit down in the red velvet lounge chairs across from Astarion’s desk. You groan internally as you realize that you might be stuck here for an unbearably long time.

“Actually, Dr. Dekarios, I was on my way out,” Astarion says as he starts to stand before quickly reversing that decision. You realize with a smug sense of satisfaction that he’s still slightly aroused.

“Completely understand, I'll keep this brief, then. So, the other day, you and I spoke of the use of bardic magic and its position amongst playwrights in Renaissance England.”

“Yes, I recall,” Astarion responds through gritted teeth. He sinks back down in his chair, resigned to sitting through this conversation.

“And how it was common practice at the time to use magic from the college of swords as decreed by Elizabeth? Ben Jonson, Marlowe, Beaumont and Fletcher, they all used college of swords magic.” Dr. Dekarios’ voice increases in pitch with his excitement. You suppress a sigh, preparing yourself for a long wait in this cramped space. It’s not particularly comfortable, especially with trying to keep out of the way of Astarion’s long legs.

Although…

You might not have to keep out of the way. Maybe if you just… brushed your hand along his leg…

Astarion coughs to hide the sudden intake of breath your touch causes. He crosses his legs and you smile knowing it's to give himself a little reprieve. A feeling you know all too well.

“Yes,” Astarion says, his voice frustratingly steady, “I recall your enthusiasm in telling me this.”

You're trying to read his response. Is he into this? Is this a game he wants to play? You test your luck again, dragging your fingers up his thigh more deliberately. His leg quivers and he shifts his posture as the Arcana professor continues.

“Well, I had a thought. Consider this: Shakespeare brought about a major shift in how we think of the Western theatrical canon as it pertains to bard magic, correct?”

You scooch forward and press your tits into his knees that are now pinched tightly together. You slide your hands up his inner thighs, prying them apart slightly. You lean into his legs further as your hands continue their journey upward, squeezing as they get to the top of his thigh.

He kicks suddenly, a soft thump into the back of the desk. Is he telling you to stop? You pull back and glance up at him, the top of the desk obscuring most of his face. He's stiffly nodding along to Dekarios’ rambling.

“And remind me, what other major storytelling convention did Shakespeare also shift during this time?” You honestly can't tell if he’s actually asking, or giving Astarion a mini exam in his own specialty.

You wait for a response from him. He lets his thighs fall open and gently nudges your hip with the side of his shoe. No, his foot.

This mother fucker is playing footsie with you?

Oh he is definitely into your little game.

You push his legs open again, this time sliding your hands all the way up to his cock, and you feel it twitch beneath the wool of his pants. You gently stroke him and his hips give a subtle twist into you.

“I'm not sure–” Astarion begins, but stops short when his voice cracks. You nuzzle his bulge, running your lips across it as it hardens. You slip a hand under him and give his balls a gentle squeeze. You can hear his breath stutter, but it's unlikely Dekarios can as he quickly answers his own question.

“The humors, correct? My understanding of non-magic literature isn't fully up to snuff, but I am correct in remembering this, yes?”

You lick a fat stripe across the fabric and you hear a metallic click above your head, like his watch just made sudden contact with the surface of the desk. You can imagine the veins in his hands bulging as he clasps them together tightly.

“Hm, no, ah yes, you are correct. Most English Renaissance playwrights understood characters as a balance or imbalance of the four humors.” Astarion manages to keep his voice relatively even, and you know you need to up your game. You reach up to undo his belt buckle as quietly and efficiently as possible. Luckily, you’re able to hide the noise within Dekarios’ exclamation.

“Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking! So, hear me out. What if these two shifts were related? In moving away from college of swords magic, Shakespeare felt less constrained by the four humors. Or perhaps the other way around?”

You reach into his pants and free his cock, now fully hard, and tease your fingers along his shaft. His hips buck a little more forcefully, as though controlling his movement is growing more difficult. You grip his pelvis tightly, holding it in place, and relishing the fact that you have the control for once. You flick the tip of your tongue across his slit and his hips twitch again under your hands.

“Could be…” is all Astarion can manage to reply. Hopefully at this point Dekarios is in a full-on oration and he won't need to contribute much, if at all.

You pop the head of his cock into your mouth, working the underside of it with your tongue. You clamp your arms down on his thighs, pulling them closer to you and pushing them into your tits. Your inner thighs grow damp as your own arousal quickens. You squirm as a miniscule moan works its way into your mouth. Not loud enough for anyone to hear, you hope, but you're certain that Astarion can feel the vibration because his hips jerk again. His torso and face above, or at least what you can see of it, gives little away.

“And this could even,” Dekarios continues, showing no sign of awareness of anything else happening in the room, “signal the shift into realism, could it not? Beginning with Shakespeare and culminating with Chekhov and Ibsen in the nineteenth century?”

You take in more of him, relaxing your tongue and letting him fill your mouth, discovering his taste. He almost lifts off his chair in his attempt to thrust into you, and you use it as a way to take him in deeper. Your jaw is beginning to ache with how slow you're going, but it's worth it to feel Astarion’s frustrated discomfort.

You can hear him take a slow breath before speaking again.

“You know who would absolutely love this discovery of yours?” His voice is low, smooth, as you bob your mouth on his cock. “Tav, the classical theatre professor. Her office is right down the hall.”

You choke and he deftly covers the sound of your gag with a cough.

“Bless you,” Dekarios says after a fraction of hesitation. He continues as though there was no interruption at all.

“Then I shall share my findings with her! Down the hall, you say?”

“Room 208.”

“Excellent!” Dekarios stands and you wrap your hand around the base of Astarion's shaft, letting some saliva dribble out of your mouth to lubricate it. You can hear the wizard quickly make his way out the door.

“Gale!” Astarion yelps as you twist your hand and swirl your tongue in tandem. He clears his throat and corrects his decorum. “Dr. Dekarios, the door, please.”

“Oh, of course! Apologies,” he says with slight chagrin, and then you hear the latch on the door click. Astarion rolls his chair back and grabs your hair, pulling you out from under the desk.

“You saucy little minx,” he growls and you stumble forward and into his lap, your lips crashing into his. He easily tears through your leggings and underwear, exposing your dripping cunt to the open air.

This man is wracking up quite the clothing bill.

He slides two fingers into you, roughly stretching you out and you groan into his ear.

“You didn't seem to mind,” you manage to squeak out, repeating his words from earlier with significantly less dignity. You grind onto his fingers with his cock trapped between you, and your clit slides against his shaft. Another shuddering breath rockets through you as your whole body clenches around him.

He yanks his hand out of you and you whimper at the sudden emptiness, but you don't need to wait long for him to grab your waist and sink you down onto his cock. You can feel the skin toward your perineum tear slightly but the stinging pain is nothing compared to the delicious stretch that comes with him bottoming out. He shoves his fingers in your mouth and you arch your back into him, the taste of your own juices flooding your tongue.

He keeps his other hand firm on your lower back as he thrusts up into you. You cling onto his neck, pulling his mouth toward your breasts as they rise and fall with your stuttering breaths. He takes his hand away from your mouth and slides the hem of your dress all the way up to your chin. His lips latch on to your nipple poking through the soft cotton of your bra.

“Gods, fuck,” you groan as you continue to roll your hips into his, and he flicks his tongue against your tit. You push down even further onto him and pull the cup down, pushing your now bare breast into his teeth. His eyes flicker upward, glasses sliding down his nose slightly. You bounce harder on his cock and grip the back of his neck tightly.

“Fuck, please, bite me,” you whine, aching to feel every part of him in you. He doesn't need to be told twice and he sinks his fangs into the sensitive flesh around your nipple. You cry out but try to stifle the noise by pressing your open mouth into his hair. You can smell that citrusy fragrance he wears and your fingers claw into him.

He sucks your blood out from around your tit, and with every swallow he laps his tongue against you, over and over. You're certain his devil tongue will be your demise.

Your pace increases and it becomes harder to suppress your moans. You clamp your mouth shut and bury your face into his ear. He releases your breast and roughly kisses you to keep you quiet, the taste of iron filling your mouth.

You come with an explosive cry that gets swallowed into his kiss. As you're still riding the wave of your orgasm you can feel his, his hips rutting as his dick throbs with the pulse of his semen.

The two of you finally slow, the sticky mess between you squelching lewdly. You listen intently past the sound of your heavy breathing to try to hear any indication that someone overheard. When you deem it safe, you let out a sigh of relief that dissolves into giggles. He drops his forehead into your shoulder as the hem of your dress gets overtaken by gravity and slides down your front

You disentangle yourself from him, wincing slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of your sore pussy. You get a better look at him, your blood still smeared on his lips and chin, his now-flaccid dick slumped above his waistband. You're certain you can't look much better, dress rucked up around your waist, hair mussed and sticking every which way.

You methodically put yourselves back together, Astarion stuffing his wet dick back into his pants, you straightening your dress and hair. You catch his gaze again and somehow he still manages to make you blush, his crimson eyes peering over his frames. He reaches out to tuck a wayward lock behind your ear.

“Maybe next time we’ll have sex in your office,” he chuckles. You swat his chest playfully only to find yourself drawn into him, not wanting to pull your hand away. It's strangely romantic, and if you were able to think clearly, his hands snaking around your waist might bother you. But your head is still spinning and your cunt is still throbbing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, and little could upset you right now.

That is, until the doorknob turns and Dekarios pops his head back in.

“Looks like she’s not–” His voice dies off quickly when he realizes what he's walked in on. He coughs, mumbles an incoherent apology, and backs out quickly.

“I swear to the gods I'm getting a scroll of arcane lock for that damn door,” he growls under his breath, and you lean your forehead against his chest in deflated embarrassment.

#astarion #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion ancunin #astarion smut #baldurs gate smut #fanfiction #smut #professor astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x you #bg3 au #college au #bg3 modern au #office hours

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adiluv · 10 months

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❥ PHOTOGRAPHER + GENERAL HCS. ˚⊹꒷

⚜️୧・꒰word count꒱ 1129.

📕୧・꒰warnings꒱ none!

👑୧・꒰adi moment꒱ unfortunately i am writing for french 'people' now… how sad… /j lol—to be real, though, i’ve actually started playing identity v again and ended up sparking some interest for joseph ꒰netass gave me tranquility, as a treat꒱, so here we are! feel free to send in requests, whether it be for him or other characters! hope you enjoy! ꒰ㅅ´ ˘ `꒱

꒰⚔️꒱・A closed-off aristocrat with a slight tendency for egotism, Joseph is certainly one of the more tedious residents to woo. Congratulations for ꒰somehow꒱ managing to do so! Beneath his haughty and withdrawn persona, he’s an incredibly observant, caring, and loyal individual—and he does his best to make sure that you feel loved whenever he’s by your side.

꒰⚔️꒱・Although I consider him to be far from optimistic, considering everything that’s happened within his pre-manor days, I do still imagine him to be a sort of hopeless romantic. This is a sentiment you’ll become well aware of through the many dates that he plans for the both of you—whether they be candlelit dinners, strolls in the garden, or something else. These dates do occasionally go astray due to the ever growing amount of inhabitants sharing the space, though he does his best to keep/get things back on track. Please reassure him if things get a bit too hectic—he’s very much prone to panicking.

꒰⚔️꒱・As a man of the arts, you’re quick to become his new muse. He loves taking photos of you at any and every moment he can, regardless of how mundane it is. Depending on your own sentiments of the matter, this could potentially be a root of disagreements—especially considering that the camera seems to follow him every time you’re together. Similarly, he’s a big fan of painting you, originally using the photos he took of you as references, though he quickly abandons them once he gets the hang of things—he’s a fast learner when it comes to you.

꒰⚔️꒱・Of course, though, he values your happiness far more than his desire to preserve you, and he’ll try to stop taking so many photos of you if you ever express discomfort. ꒰Of course, the keyword here is ‘try’.꒱ He slips up on occasion, so please try to be patient with him—it’s his way of showing love, and he tends to get a little over dramatic at times.

꒰⚔️꒱・Joseph is also a rather clingy type of lover, and jealousy is ever quick to sink its fangs into him. The fear of losing you, whether it be physically or emotionally, is relentless in haunting him once you start dating. Even so, it isn’t something he vocalizes often, due to his fears of being considered as weak. Whether it be him hovering close to you whenever you’re too close to another survivor, or the way that he subtly begs you not to leave his side, it is something that you come to notice.

꒰⚔️꒱・Ignore his signs of jealousy, and you might just find that other survivor being targeted during matches—but he’ll ꒰reluctantly꒱ catch himself if you call him out on it. Afterwards, he’ll just resort to being a pouty mess around you, though some extra affection is quick to restore his good mood. You might even catch the Joseph Desaulniers apologizing to the other survivor afterwards—though you’d best bet that he’s swearing them to secrecy. It’s embarrassing, truly! You know nobles like him are meant to be composed at all times..!

꒰⚔️꒱・When it comes to facing you in matches, well… It really does depend. His most common strategies include going friendly for your entire team ꒰and spending the time by your side꒱ or simply avoiding you until everybody else has been chaired and he can give you dungeon. However, there are times that he’ll have to go full swing on you—he fears that the baron might punish the both of you, otherwise. He tries to be gentle on you when this happens, grazing you ever so lightly with his rapier, but he’ll always come running to Emily’s infirmary once the match is over… just to make sure.

꒰⚔️꒱・Assuming that you haven’t been hurt by him in a match, though, it does take some time for him to catch back up with you. Joseph is a massive cleanfreak, and absolutely despises the idea of being dirty—something caused both by his social status and the illness that took Claude away from him. He tends to make a beeline to his shower whenever he returns from matches, a habit that you’ve gradually come to pick up due to his hesitancy to cuddle with you when you haven’t. All things considered, it is a good habit, so you don’t mind it all that much.

꒰⚔️꒱・When it comes to things like PDA, I do imagine Joseph falling more on the conservative side ꒰once again due to his upbringing꒱. He’d really only engage in it when he’s feeling jealous, and for the most part prefers to keep all amorous gestures private… though he won’t complain nor attempt to stop you if you give him a quick kiss on the cheek, or something similar. He does, however, use a lot of French nicknames and terms of endearment for you—both in private and public. Mary enjoys teasing him for it, and offers to translate them for you if you don’t know French.

꒰⚔️꒱・Circling back to his fixation on cleanliness, the worst thing for him is falling sick. He’s quick to become upset if he notices himself falling under the weather, and he’ll quickly try to find something to blame for it. While this can grate on the nerves of whoever’s caring for him, being angry distracts him from his fear—though he’ll try to tone things down if he notices that he’s riling you up. Regardless, he’s grateful that you’re putting in the effort to care for him, even if he initially tries to shoo you off for the fear of getting you sick, too.

꒰⚔️꒱・If you’re the one sick, however, things tend to go much differently. He’s a mix of worried and distant whenever it happens, constantly obsessing over your condition and endlessly pestering Emily—begging her to make sure that you’re alright. At the same time, however, you won’t catch a single sight of him while you’re still ill—the thought of seeing you in such a state causing his stomach to churn. He’s quick to apologize once you’re better, pressing kisses on every part of skin that he can reach… Though expect a slight scolding to accompany his tenderness.

꒰⚔️꒱・Ending this with a cuddling headcanon..! Joseph absolutely adores having you close to him. Whether it be you sitting in his lap while he reads a book or him having an arm wrapped around you as he rants about bad matches and annoying survivors, cuddling is a necessity for him. He’s not against the idea of falling asleep while holding you, either, but be warned that his grip gets shockingly tight once he drifts off. While attempts at escape don’t fully wake him, he’ll try to convince you to stay with half-asleep murmurs of ‘don’t leave, mon ange…’ or ‘stay a little, mon amour…’. Unfortunately for you, they’re rather effective.

i have a taglist, which you can sign up for here!

#꒰📍꒱﹕my writing ⋆#identity v #identity 5 #idv #id5 #idv photographer #idv joseph #joseph desaulnier #joseph desaulniers #joseph desaulnier x reader #joseph desaulniers x reader #identity v x reader #idv x reader #identity v headcanons #idv headcanons #identity v headcannons #idv headcannons

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nocturnesmoon · 2 months

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Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - Chapter 1: The Wandering Fool

Wordcount: 6.8k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - Religious trauma, PTSD, Hallucinations, Paranoia, Anxiety, Disturbing Themes, let me know if i missed anything

Description: You ran from it all for a reason, it's easier to disappear when everyone thinks you're dead, but what happens when someone wants to bring you dangerously close to your past, the one you've been trying to run from for so long?

A/N: Trying to not panic over the fact i'm finally releasing this- Hope you enjoy it!!

[Next Chapter]

Through all your problems in life, your most prominent ones always seem to have a connection between the weather, and unnecessary questions. Since the dawn of time people have had this annoying notion of being very nosy.

There aren’t many places in the world you've been to where it's different. They can deny it all they want, it's all the same no matter where you go. Simultaneously the weather has never quite agreed with you. It makes your nonstop travel tedious, a draining task that often takes more time than you'd like it to.

Even here, with the amount of time it took you to get here in the first place because of the weather. It's an ironic turn when only a few days after your arrival, the sun turns the concrete into a fire from hell. A stark contrast to the storms and rain, that kept your flight delayed, again and again.

The heat makes you want to never leave that little flower shop, with the big fan in the corner. If it wasn't for the sharp floral smell, and the continuous buzzing of the thing, you could even have considered working here. It's not prone to traffic of many people, and those who are here are usually in a hurry, so they don't engage you in too much meaningless chatter, while you would work.

Unfortunately, you rarely have that luxury, every turn and twist in your day-to-day life, threatening you with the underlying feeling of being caught, of being known.

A loud sound erupts from the back, when the old man drops a pair of scissors. Children squeal outside the shop, as soon as the ball goes into the hoop placed above the window. It's a disaster waiting to happen. However, it kept the children happy and busy, in the early hours of the morning, when there was nothing to do yet, and the heat wasn't high enough to spoil their activity.

The quiet sound of snips continues soon after, the man continuously giving you odd looks from your request. You don't pay it any mind. Your hands nervously clutch at your wallet, the ache in your knuckles barely noticeable anymore.

One of the kids outside pick up the ball again, launching it at the hoop but missing by an inch. The ball bounces back, and you realize it before you see it. The silence between the kids is almost comical, the squealing and happy yelling gone within an instant.

A little streak of crimson runs down from the kid's cheek, the bruise already forming with unnatural colors. The other kids flock around them, fuzzing about with caring tones and careful touches. One of the older ones finds a rag to gently dab away the blood.

You wonder if it would still be warm to the touch, metallic in taste, an awful sign of life.

The kid's eyes keep staring ahead, through the window. You could pretend that they're looking at the pretty flowers, but you hold their eye contact with purpose. They look defeated in their shock, too big of a reaction for a little accident in your flawed opinion.

You could've stopped them, prevented it before it happened, they wouldn't have gotten hurt.

They continue to stare you down, a frown settled on their lips. Do they really think that you could've stopped them. The kids would've laughed at you at best. The eyes multiply tenfold when the other kids notice the injured one's staring. You keep it up, not backing down despite the uncomfortable feeling of too much attention on you. You've been too exposed today.

You've had eyes in the back of your neck ever since you left your room this morning. Not the usual way either, this time it's been from an unknown source.

You don't miss the man leaned up against the wall to a clothing boutique. His hood raised up, his lips moving to speak every now and then. He's doing a good job at pretending to watch the kids have fun and play.

The old man clears his throat. He's already arranged the flowers beautifully, they now rest on the counter, waiting for you to pay up.

You put down your payment in coins, ignore his grumbling in favor of grabbing the flowers and getting out of there in a hurry.

The café has been your only place of respite. A quaint little space you found when you first came to this place. It sits open to the streets, while still managing to feel packed away. Behind those old curtains, and dainty accessories adorning yellowish walls, is the best coffee you've had in years.

Ding

A pleasant little sound fills your ears every time you open the door, and step down in the lowlight place. As much as you liked it, every time you were here, you'd be fighting your instincts to make the sound again and again and again. Your own mental oblivion urging you forward.

Coffee is already placed on your table. Steam rising from the little blue cup, the one with a chipped side, unofficially assigned to you. The little corner is always free when you come in. There was always the question of whether the little spot was unpopular, or if there were other external factors for its lack of use.

It was hard to tell, by the already general lack of customers and patrons, but the little seat was always there for you.

Confined in your own little corner, you would spend the mornings of the past month sipping coffee, and looking like you belonged in a prison cell. With the amount of paranoia your posture exuded, it's impossible to not think you had something going on.

Luck has a tendency not to follow you in places like these, so you refrain from interacting too much with anything. It leaves you looking a bit like a social reject, but you comfort yourself in the knowledge that in a month, none of these people will see your face again.

At least people don't ask questions here.

You walk over to the counter and place the bouquet of spider lilies down next to the registry. Being careful not to disturb the beautiful order the nice old man had put them in. Your eyes linger for but a moment.

A meek old woman owns the place. Elena. She took a quick liking to you the first you arrived here a few weeks ago. She seemed to understand you in an underlying way, she never asked you the hard questions, she accepted your secrecy in a way only a mother who's seen the worst can do. It freaks you out.

You still feel bad about lying to her.

Had she been someone else, you might've been more inclined. To let the woman know who -what- you really are, would only put her in more harm’s way than necessary. That would even be before she could get a chance to hate you, for the things you've done to stay alive.

The wood protests when you settle into the chair. You pull back on the urge to wiggle in it. The old woman was nowhere to be seen, but the little rustle of pots and pans in the back gave you clear indication of where she is. There's always the fresh smell of newly baked pastries in the mornings, just before everyone wakes up for their daily hustles.

Not many people would come this early, making it a regular occurrence for you to spend that time here. Little hole in the wall only really served the continuing patrons, most others took to the more populated places.

A flash of light shines through the thin curtains, illuminating the dust swirling around in the air, as well as the colorful pillows carefully placed in each chair. They felt out of place to everything else in here. Newer. You quickly learnt a lot of things about the mentality of the people living here, you had to if you intended to blend in inconspicuously. Something you found out the hard way, was that the old woman tended to take things personally.

It didn't matter how much you meant it positively, negatively, no meaning at all. One little comment a faint evening, and the next day the pillows were all replaced.

You squint your eyes from the raging orange and put your focus back on the coffee. It's no longer steaming as much as before. You hadn't originally picked this place because it would provide you cover. In all fairness, if the place wasn't as cozy on the inside, it would likely be shady enough to be conspicuous, from the odd looking outside alone.

Yet still, it serves as your little paradise.

You find your brain goes quiet when you're in here. You can sip your coffee in peace, unaware of the shadows creeping in the corners of your eyes. It's numbing. Your little respite away from the danger outside, the danger within, and with Elena's nurturing soul, it makes you not want to leave.

Ding

Unfortunately, fate has a funny little tendency to give you the middle finger. It has never been on your side, and you doubt it is ever going to be.

Your little paradise is about to be invaded. With lingering smells of gunpowder, and blood so thick it will stain your soul. Patches of blonde and black hair, one making its way to your corner, and the other stationary at the door.

You take a sip of your coffee. It tastes wrong.

The blonde woman pulls out the chair opposite of you. She takes a moment to get comfortable before leaning in, her arms neatly folded on the table. She's playing on your domesticity, your familiarity, you know her too well to expect anything else. You don't doubt if you were look up, you'll see those blue eyes full of desperation, ready to ask you to move heaven and hell for her.

She's a few years too late.

Much to your surprise she keeps quiet when you take another sip. How kind of her. It doesn't last long. As soon as you put the chipped cup down, and acknowledge her, she opens her mouth to speak.

"No" you intercept her.

She closes her mouth, opens it, closes it. "You haven't even heard what I have to say," a small smile plays on her lips. It seems innocent enough. You know her better. She has blood on her hands, the same way you have blood on your teeth.

"The answer is no."

"I wouldn't come to you if it wasn't serious," her folded hands tighten, "You know that." She's honorable, as far as you know, but you're not ready to get back into your harness, so she can pull on your collar.

The next sip burns your tongue. You bite down on it, choke the yelp deep down in your throat. "Laswell..." you speak her name with urgency. The quicker you can shut her up and get her to leave, the quicker you can get back to making your plan to move.

"I need you to just hear me out alright?" she pauses, "it's in your best interest."

She's not letting you leave this place unless you agree.

Your eyes dart over to the man standing at the entrance. There's more than one way to get out of here, the one he is blocking is the least convenient. But you suppose you do owe it to Laswell to hear her out.

If you narrow it all down to the dirt and bones, she is the only reason why you're sitting in this café alive, while remaining dead to the world.

Your would-be grave is far from here. Dug and scraped with your own charred hands and broken nails.

Crack crack, bury the sin beneath blood and bone.

You can still hear it when you unfocus your brain, they won't let you forget.

"It's him, he's back" the words soil your throat, and they didn't even come from your own lips. "He's brought his group back along with him, and they're causing a bigger disturbance," It's sickening that she's even bringing this up.

She continues despite your grimace, "I would have pulled out every other resource I could before coming here, but you're the only person I can rely on to see this through."

She wants you to go back.

Go back, Go back, Go back.

"You're the only one I know that has both skill and cause."

Your eyebrow twitches, and you bite down on your tongue to not retaliate. You can taste the metal before you relent. The last thing you want to do is cause a scene in here.

The old woman doesn't deserve this.

"I understand your apprehension to this, but you know how important it is that we put a stop to him, you should want this more than anyone else."

The chair screeches as you push yourself to your feet. Your palms connect with the table, and it in turn rattles. The man who was standing stationary at the door breaks form. He reaches behind him, and let's his hand settle on something.

Not that you thought she would come here unarmed.

Laswell calls your name, bringing your attention back to her. She's a lot calmer than her jumpy backup. "It's just a talk, nothing more for now," it's all lies is what is.

"Bring attack dogs to all your family meetings?" you don't settle back into the chair. You were done with this place the moment Laswell and her soldier set foot in it.

She spares a single glance back at her friend, something reassuring in her face, it makes him ease back up to form. "Fine, there's no going around it with you," she wants it to all be lighthearted, to ease you in, you won't fall for it again.

"I am cashing in the favor, you'll be properly paid of course, and you can settle a score, does it really sound that bad?"

"Yes."

You stare into her blue eyes. She smells faintly of smoke. Her eyes won't leave you, but you see the contemplation in them, the searching of your figure. She's looking for the right bait, looking for the best way to sink her hooks into your ribs and drag you along.

"I don't want to have to do this to you..." her voice is quieter. It almost surprises you, but you know what she's talking about. She's in a bind herself.

She's not going to wait forever for you to say yes, and she needs you. On paper you are the perfect candidate for whatever she has planned. Though you doubt your mental profile lives up to the required standards. Certain things can be overlooked in desperation, you suppose.

"I'll hear you out," you start "somewhere else." The determination in her eyes border hope. It's pitiful that she thinks you'll have so much influence on her mission. You're really not all that.

You have the basic training, but also enough history to disqualify you, from any position within the military ever again. Laswell let's out a sigh of relief. Was she really that worried?

"Everything alright petal?" your eyes snap to Elena, a pot of something steaming in her hands that she places on the counter.

Laswell's backup twitches, seemingly surprised that the place wasn't as empty as he thought it was. You give the old woman a curt nod. It's enough to make her go about her day as normal, and you silently thank God that she isn't one to question.

"Always pick the jumpy attack dogs?"

Laswell stands up, breathing in harshly. If she doesn't like your resistance, she can pick someone else. "The squad is still weary from the last op." She explains.

You nod quietly in response. At least that's one thing you can sympathize with.

"Come, I'm not going to wait around for you to change your mind."

You hope Elena likes the flowers.

You feel like an idiot. Not even an hour out of the town you resided in, is an off the map military base. You are disgusted, appalled, shocked, disappointed. Every word in the book they could find.

You had prided yourself in being able to outrun anything. When Laswell helped you fake your own death, it was even easier. The amount of preparation you had to do when moving from place to place, was to put it mildly, extensive.

Somehow you completely missed this place.

It has your head reeling. Not even the rumbling of the car, or the passing outside, is enough to distract you. You catch Laswell eyes in the rearview mirror. She was first to get behind the wheel, which is a...choice.

Allowing out a soft sigh, you let your head rest against the window. The base is out past the middle of nowhere. You'd go crazy if you had to count all the corn fields you've passed by now.

Oh look...a cow.

"Nervous?"

The man next to you startles you out of your thoughts. You spare him a glance, not allowing yourself to linger too long at a time. He's casually dressed, his weapons hidden cleverly beneath layers of clothing.

If you remember right, Laswell called him Gaz. Odd nickname but not like you can judge, you've been called way worse.

He's got a good build, even with the blue hoodie you can see how his muscles fill it out. You don't doubt he could deck you fast if he wanted to. There'd be very little you could do about it, so out of form as you are. Occupied with everything else and staying out of sight, you haven't much time to keep yourself excessively fit.

Laswell picks her attack dogs well.

How sweet the sound of his bones breaking beneath your boot would sound.

You shake your head, grimacing at the thought. The little cracks that fill your ears are deafening.

"Don' worry, Cap's nice enough"

You don't doubt it, you just can't find it in yourself to care. Promises can so easily be broken; at the end of the day everyone wants something. That something has a tendency of putting you in danger, so you're not particularly excited.

"Gaz..." Laswell looks through the rearview mirror, making brief eye contact with the sergeant. Does she really think you that unhinged to not handle a simple conversation. A bit insulting.

"What...jus' making conversation," Gaz mumbles and turns his head to the side, subsequently joining you in looking out at the passing cows.

How much would she even tell Gaz about you. He couldn't know much, over half the things you're included in would be classified, and he's but a sergeant. His standoffish stance in the café was likely just to assess the danger, but the switch up is kind of freaking you out.

He seems nice enough overall, but you can't decide whether or not you actually want him to be. In a way it would be easier if he wasn't. You're not here to cultivate new friendships, you're here because you don't have another choice.

Whatever conversation he tries to make, dies out for the rest of the ride.

As soon as the car is put in park, Gaz jumps out. Gone within a blink of an eye, which you came to expect. The rest of the way was spent in awkward silence, and as much as you'd rather have silence, it was bad even for your taste.

Laswell takes it upon herself to lead you through the base. It's hard to ignore the looks and glares you get. You're an unknown variable, and without Laswell, you likely seem like an outright danger. It's a bit uncanny, to think that you once stood on their side, shoulder to shoulder with a sibling made of war.

She doesn't talk to you as you walk through base. You rely on your prior knowledge of the layout of UK military bases, to know where your exits would be. She parts with you in front of the "captains" office, a small throwaway promise to come get you once she has talked to him.

You don't question it, but it does make you raise a brow. Has she even told the captain you'd be coming? He would be the one supervising you when Laswell wouldn't be there, it's a pretty big thing to leave him in the dark about.

As soon as she closes the door, you let out a frustrated gust of air. This was already turning more complicated than you wanted it to be. Why didn't you resist a bit more, protest a bit more, you didn't even negotiate better terms with her. The shock alone, of seeing her again so soon after everything, rendered you unable to think logically.

At least the hallway is relatively empty.

Shadows start to creep in the corner of your vision. Thousands of little things hide there, occupying the otherwise empty space around.

You read the inscription on the door; Captain John Price.

The captain wasn't completely unknown to you. Though it all stems from rumors you heard, when you were a recruit. A few of your teammates had spoken about him in quiet whispers. Back then he didn't have the rank of Captain yet, nor a whole taskforce to command. He's come a long way.

Could they be similar?

No.

No one else could be like that, not that far. Especially not an old Idol, that would just be cruel.

"Kate you can't be serious...have you seen their file."

You perk up when you hear the slightly raised voices from inside. They're talking about you. You tilt your head closer. A grumbled brass voice sounds out, it reminds you of that of a dragon, most likely one belonging to the captain. You try to put a face to the name, but you can't remember any of the old pictures you saw. Every vivid image in your mind is distortedly different.

"You asked me to find extra help, this is it."

You'd laugh in her face if she was out here. There are much more qualified people than you, even with dealing with a group such as this.

"You could read one line in this and know they should not be handling a gun; much less be sent out in possible high-pressure situations."

You nod along for no one to see. You've done this song and dance trying to get reenlisted, twice before. More for the protection aspects than anything else. It would’ve been a lot easier getting your hands on weapons that way, instead of the unconventional way you've resorted to in your time away.

You did give yourself a bit of credit. Despite everything you had fared quite well for yourself, without Laswell's extended help. It came with strings, so you had turned it down.

At least you weren't dead in a ditch somewhere, which to be quite fair, you wouldn't put it past you for it to happen.

"John..."

"Kate..."

You start to wonder if Price would look like a dragon in human form. He already has the voice to match. Maybe he has a fiery beard, a tone that commands the respect of thousands. Would he hoard his possessions, to a disturbing extent?

The door scrapes against the floor when its opened. The sound makes you want to tear your ears off.

"Come on in" Kate waves you inside, making sure to close the door behind you. His office is simplistic, no personal touches around, only the standard issued items rest on his desk. From what you remember, he's used to moving from place to place often, it's likely that this office won't be his anymore by the end of the week.

"This is Captain John Price" She introduces you, and you offer him a nod of hopefully mutual respect. It's not reciprocated.

At first glance you notice two things about the captain.

One.

He stands tall. You don't doubt no matter how many meters you have in you, the man has ways of making you feel small.

He has a beard, beautiful eyes too, when you find it in you to look past the serious expression. It tells you all you need to know about him. At least he's not incompetent, he knows you shouldn't be here. Anyone would know after a single glance at you, even if Kate seems to think otherwise.

And two.

Price doesn't look like a dragon.

You don't know why it disappoints you. You knew very well he would not, and still, you find your heart sinking just little at his dismissive look.

It's a fantasy.

You stopped dreaming years ago; you have no intention of starting the childish notion again. You see enough things that weren't real, why add to it.

Price let's out a long sigh. His frustration with you is clear, but Laswell is steadfast in her opinion, no matter the resistance she wants you in this. The look she's sending his way, does as much as a firm set of words would. He folds his arms over his chest, looking back at her with as much determination as she is.

The quiet is...intruding.

You feel like you're witnessing something that you shouldn't be. The type of conversations, that your boss would have about you in private, to decide what to do with your behavior. You feel a need to say something, to break the silence and remind the two in the middle of a staring contest, that you're still here.

"Fine" Price concedes reluctantly, "but if there is anything-"

"There won't be any problems," she assures him "right?"

You freeze up the moment she refers to you. What were you supposed to say to that. You didn't want to be here, it was only out of obligation to her, to pay the blood debt you owe her.

You shrug your shoulders, finding a spot in the floor to stare at. The stain morphs and changes, subtly getting bigger and smaller, wider, and thinner all at once. It bleeds into the tile. You try to place a shape to it, but it changes too fast for you to decide on anything.

"Right then," Price moves over to his desk and pulls out a folder of multiple files. "You're going to want to know who you're going to work with," he slams the folder down on the wooden table. It creeks. You fight back a flinch.

"Kate has promised me you're going to be able to help," he doesn't sound convinced, "we'll see what you can do."

Laswell gives Price another glare. It would be comforting -her protectiveness- if it wasn't shrouded in obligation. It's laughable how much she believes you can solve her problem.

"You'll be accompanying the 141 in this, they've been working on this for the past month." Laswell chimes in as Price gets out the files of each respective member.

"I thought you needed my help immediately."

"I told you I was going to pull out all other resources before bringing you back into this." There's something pitying in her eyes, it makes you feel sick.

You were always going to be in this. No matter how much you hated it. It has been a part of so much of your life, there's nothing you can do to peel it off your skin. Lord knows you've tried to.

"Yes...We've been gathering as much information as we can on the group," Price leans his hip against the table. "We haven't found much, like the last time they were around, their efforts are very secretive, but we know where they're grouping. We have received reports, threats, missing persons rapports, all the signs the same group gave a few years ago, it seems very possible they have the same leader as well."

"The Divine Principle" you dig your nails into your palms. Your eyes catch the captains, now suddenly more attentive of you.

"You-"

"That's what they call themselves. I've hunted them before; I thought Laswell said." You don't bother looking towards the woman on your left, this is between you and the captain. He didn't seem to be quite convinced of your knowledge or skills. You didn't blame the man. You couldn't prove your skills worthy just yet, so your knowledge had to suffice.

You don't know why you suddenly feel the need to prove it to him, but there's something about his presence that makes you want him to like you. It's a rare feeling, the last time you felt like this you-

"She did, but she did not explain much about you, other than what's available in your file."

"I know enough to know they aren't good people," you switch up your stance, mimicking the way he was standing when you first came in. Your attention catches on the files again. You wonder who they could be, what their skills would include, if they would collide with your own.

You weren't used to working in groups like this, it was going to be different.

"Then you also know how important this mission is, they've done irreparable damage in the past, we can't have it happen again."

Price pushes one file towards you, holding the other three files in his grasp. "Gaz, who you already met as I understand it." You nod, thinking back to the man. Part of you had expected to meet him again, you should've realized he likely already was in the taskforce if he was accompanying Laswell.

"There's Soap, he'll be enthusiastic having a new member on the team I'll assure you that." Price places his file for you to see, giving you a moment before moving on. John MacTavish, Scottish by the looks of it, and an interesting hair choice of a mohawk. You're almost surprised they let him keep it.

"Lastly Ghost, and myself" he puts down the last file. It has no attached picture, but that isn't what initially grabs your attention as out of place as it is. What settles deep in your bones, is his name.

Simon Riley

Simon.

That Simon.

Your brow furrows as you read his name over and over and over again, gradually wishing he had a picture so you could confirm it for yourself. You hadn't seen or heard the name in years, not since you left Manchester. Was there really a chance it could be him.

"There's no picture," you pick up his file, as if reading his name closer would bring clarity to your adding questions.

"Never is," Price observes your hesitance the way you give Ghost's file more attention than the rest, "Do you know each other?"

"Might, it was a long time ago though, I doubt he'd even remember me."

He observes you for what feels like forever, trying to look past your carefully crafted mask, to gouge out the state of the relationship. "Well, it'd be good to have some familiarity on the team," he shrugs "can make the transition easier for you."

Yeah, if he doesn't despise you still.

You don't feel the need to tell the captain of your possibly declined relationship with the man. There's still a chance it's not him. You don't know why you're trying to fool yourself that it's not. You knew even back then that he wanted to join the military, that it had been all he ever wanted.

He's a lieutenant now. Despite everything you can't help but feel a little proud of him for making it this far, even if it's tinged with sadness.

"Will it be a problem?" Laswell brings your attention to her. Her voice layered with a sense of supposed knowledge that she is not supposed to have. It's hard to not get a little irritated, at this point you have no idea how much information the woman has in her skull. Information that you'd love nothing more than to erase from her memory.

"No, it will not" she isn't expecting any other answer. It's not like she's suddenly going to let you go if you do. Worst case scenario she restricts your workspace to avoid a conflict, and if she so desperately wants you to do this job, then you need your space.

"Make it quick, yeah?"

Gaz comes to a stop in front of the door to your little motel room. He makes a quick glance down each side of the hall. Deeming it clear, he leans back against the yellow tinted walls. Too bad he can't see the shadows breathing down his neck.

Though you'd never experienced anything shady or violent, you knew there was a rising criminal activity in the motel. You just never really spent enough time here to witness any of it.

"Yeah yeah," you grimace fumbling with your keys. You really should get rid of some of them, most of them didn't have a purpose anymore. Though like with most things, you had a hard time letting go.

The inside of your the little room you rented is exactly as you left it. Dresser door broken and splintered, curtains half closed, shadows looming in every corner and crevice.

Home sweet home, or something to that effect.

It's not a lot, but you don't complain, you've certainly lived with worse. Not staying in one spot for more than a month at a time didn't leave many options for work, so you had made do.

As much as you trusted Laswell's skills, and her promises, you had your own wariness to battle against. This way was the only one that actually made you feel like you had an advantage, against those that meant you harm.

The duffel bag with most of your belongings, had been hastily shoved into the dresser the morning prior. You find it uninterrupted in the same place, as expected. You glance towards the window and mark your possible exit. Should the man outside turn for whatever reason, the window would be loose, and you could break through the rusted glass frames.

For now, though, you had to trust that this taskforce you were to temporarily join, didn't actually want you dead. Yet.

Your variables are changing, and fast. There isn't a bigger part of you that enjoys this, and meeting up with Simon again could only prove trouble. He probably still held some resentment towards you, there's only the small hope that he keeps things professional.

You look down into your bag, rummaging around in the sealed pocket to locate your pile of papers. Years old and stained letters, some answered, some not. It was your only means of communication for a time, until it all stopped. You don't think he ever found out why, he would've contacted you if he did right? Or maybe he had decided then and there you weren't worth his energy.

Pushing the thoughts aside proved a much harder task than normal. You had gotten used to putting all into a tightly sealed box in your brain, but now that you knew for certain it would all come flooding out, it proved it harder to contain overall.

There isn't much to collect from the room itself, most of your things were already packed and ready for an easy go. You pick up an extra set of shoes and stuff them in before venturing to the bathroom.

You had to give it to this place, they had some of the most uncomfortable bathrooms you'd had the pleasure of occupying. The mirror is stained and dirty, the tile an ugly brown color, and not even to talk about the toilet itself, or the odd smell. Though the latter could be explained by you and your own ministrations.

Your eyes land on the cross tossed into the tub. Little thing on a chain, the same one you had worn for years at a time. Dried blood still gives it that discoloration.

Your knees click when you reach down and place it in the cup of your hand. To think that this little thing carries so much of you. It has seen it all, witnessed your greatest heights making you feel light as a feather, and watched all your sins unfold, burning like hellfire against your chest.

You've never hated a thing more.

Slipping it around your neck is a thoughtless process. The muscle memory in your fingers do the work for you, securing the chain on the back of your neck, like reattaching a leash.

You stand up straight and walk to the sink. Your toothbrush has fallen, it's green hue so faded it's turning white in some areas. You really should just get a new one.

Your reflection catches in the mirror, and you make the mistake of not looking away. Your face turns to a blob of colors and bleeding effects. There's nothing to tell and nothing to see. Your eyes cave in, your nose splitting apart, your ears fuse with your hair and your fingers are too long dragging off your skin.

You barely recognize yourself anymore. You know it's in there, begging to come out, but it'll only come worse than before if you let it.

It all morphs together. A thousand different shadows standing behind you, their long digits running over your arms and shoulders, beckoning you forward. They lean into your ears, fester in your brain, in your eyesight. The shadows in the corners are always the worst in front of mirrors.

It's your fault. You know what you did. You know that they would've still been alive if you hadn't done it. Why are you still here. Why do you think you can hide? You always go back, it's your place, it's ingrained on your skin.

There's never been an out for people like you.

You grab your toothbrush and exit the bathroom.

"You really been livin' in here?"

You clasp a hand over your mouth, masking the shriek you would've let out. You thought he was going to stay outside.

Gaz looks into mirror hanging next to the dresser with the broken door. He inspects his reflection, rubbing a thumb over a smudge of dirt on his neck.

"It was a temporary solution," you tell him as soon as you get your spiraling mind under control. You walk over to the duffel bag on the bed, throwing in the rest of your dwindling belongings.

You can feel his eyes on you, likely judging you. At least he has the decency to keep his mouth shut. You couldn't afford nicer in your current situation, and moving as frequently as you were, this was the least costly option.

"For how long?"

He walks over to the bed, glancing into your bag once before continuing his move around your room. You didn't truly know the answer to that question yourself.

Very long, too long, as long as you can hide like a coward.

"As long as necessary," you answer him while zipping up your duffel bag. It slings around your shoulder, fits neatly against your back. It's a familiar lightweight. Perhaps it wouldn't be that bad, you were planning your move anyway.

He gives you a curious look, waiting for you to elaborate. You don't. His shoulders sag a bit when he seems to realize. "Hurry it up," he says and walks to the door, "don't got all day, we have a plane to catch."

He leaves you alone in the hollowing room. It turns a shade darker when the sun shifts outside the window. The shadows consume more of the room. Millions of little eyes watching you in secret.

You walk over to the wall and kneel. It feels wrong to do. There's so many little dents and scrapes hammered into it, the pattern of the wall hiding the little room perfectly. You bang on it once and quietly. Moving the cutout piece out of place, you reach inside to find the gun.

You check it, still fully loaded, and put it down amongst what little clothes you have. It's only for necessity of course, nothing vicious yet.

Come come come.

Your head tilts towards the window, the curtains managing to flow ever so slightly. They bleed into the background, the murky watery color splitting with the patterns on the walls, and the greenery outside.

All of it dark and gloomy. Threatening.

Your legs carry you there. The sun has disappeared behind a set of clouds, leaving dark promises of rain and thunder. The whispers are always the loudest when you're alone. They're not always saying anything. Sometimes they're shaming you, reminding you, other times it's incessant noise.

Occasionally they take shape. Shadow figures with creepy smiles, wide bloodshot eyes. It hides down in the forest behind the motel, to watch you through the window to your room. It's crooked grin bleeds and oozes. You forcefully blink a few times, trying to will it away, but you know it won't disappear until you get distracted, or it wants to go.

You don't hear it; it merely mouths it to you.

He'll find you.

And the scariest part is, you know it's right.

There's never been anywhere you could hide.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

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cgogs · 4 months

Text

Oneshot #1 - Nothing / dsmp pjo au (c!dnf) 2k

this is a little bit of an experiment to see if i like writing this pjo dsmp au, and if people like reading it. its super short, but i wanted to get out a little bit of writing to see if i was into it. if i like it i'll start working on more :] so basically feedback is APPRECIATED

“You’re awake.” “How could you tell?” “I can always tell. Idiot.”

“You’re awake.”

Dream blinks. The bottom of the top bunk comes into focus in all its wooden glory. He’d been staring at a blur for the past half hour, desperately trying to stay awake.

“Dream?”

Okay, that really is George talking, and not some sleep deprived delusion. George’s head peeks over the side of the bunk facing the window, moonlight eclipsed by his hair. He can barely see his features, but he knows exactly the look George is giving him. Something between judgmental and concerned.

“How could you tell?” Dream whispers back.

“I can always tell. Idiot.”

George likes to tease him for sleeping like a corpse, hands laced together over his stomach. Dream moves his hands to his sides before George gets the chance to mention it.

“D’you want me to do the thing?”

“No.” The last time he let George use his sleep magic, he had a nightmare worse than the ones he was running from in the first place.

“I’ve gotten better at it!” George promises, sounding a tad desperate. “Let me try.”

Some of their cabin mates begin to shuffle in their sleep. There’s a quiet, ‘shut up’ thrown their way, sounding a little bit like Tommy. Probably Tommy.

Dream lowers his voice further. “I’m going for a walk.”

There’s a pause. But it doesn’t seem like he hates the idea. “We’ll get in trouble.”

Dream sits up, swiveling his head around the room to see if anyone’s paying attention. From the back, he can see everyone sound asleep in their beds. When George was claimed, the Hermes cabin elected to put George in the very back corner of the room. The general sentiment seemed to be that they were afraid of George emanating some kind of sleep stink or something. George seemed sad being ostracized, which was understandable.

It was easy for Dream to swap with his new bunkmate, which delighted the boy. George had said he was only pulling long faces because he wasn’t able to bunk with his best friend anymore, which. Dream had no particular emotional reaction to. Please trust him on this.

(Later, Hypnos would claim more sons, and the Hermes cabin would get over it, and Dream will just have to seethe in silence.)

With the coast clear, he stands carefully.

“Mr. D is going to turn you into a tree.” George rolls to the other side of the bed to watch, glaring at him through the wood railing.

“Come with me.”

“What? I don’t want to get in trouble. Can’t you just lay back down?”

Dream holds out his hand, reaching up. “Just trust me.”

He’s aware that it isn’t exactly a convincing argument. George tentatively takes his hand, anyway. His hands are soft like they haven’t worked a day in their lives, which might be a little true. But they’re only kids, so time will tell.

George keeps hold of his hand even as he climbs down the ladder. It makes Dream sort of feel like, a knight or something.

“You’re, like, my princess.” Stupid thing to say. Whatever, he already said it, and George is already trying not to laugh so he doesn’t wake everyone up. He holds his breath through a snort, which makes a silly noise, which makes Dream struggle not to laugh as well. Domino effect of stupidity.

Dream tries to communicate with his hands that they could be careful of the creaks in the floor, which he’s previously memorized. George sleepily nods his head like he understands, still smiling dumbly, and immediately steps on one of the loose boards, letting out a very long and tedious creak.

Okay, fine. If any of the kids in the cabin snitch, they’ll know they aren’t truly Hermes’ child, and the unclaimed ones can cross him off their list.

Outside, the air is warm and perfect, like it always is. Or should be, anyway. George’s hand is cold.

“Okay, so, where are we going?”

Dream points up to the roof, and George’s expression sours.

“You didn’t say anything about climbing.”

“Well, I’m not gonna take you to the woods if you can’t be quiet.”

“Is that where you go? Won’t nymphs catch you?”

“We’re the babies, they think we’re cute. They just tell me to go back.”

“We’re twelve, not babies.”

“Yeah? Then get climbing.”

George stomps the ground petulantly, but doesn’t go back inside. Dream has to let go of his hand to show him how to climb up. The breeze sifts through his hair gently, the cool air clings to his skin. He’s made this climb a few times, not that it’s hard. But he can hear his friend groaning with every new foothold he has to take.

It’s a big cabin, it’s got to hold a lot of kids. He pities the kids who have to sleep in the top rungs, they have to climb up and down at least two ladders to get in and out of bed. Maybe the ones on top are, like, the strong half-bloods. Ares and Hephaestus and stuff.

Dream pulls himself up on top of the roof with ease.

“Not so hard.” Dream gloats, smiling at George still struggling on the last edge.

“Help?” George frowns pitifully, voice small and winded. He holds out his hand. “Please?”

Dream takes his hand and pulls him up. “I’ve gotcha.”

He wobbles a bit on his feet, but steadies. George is only in his pajamas, his own sacred artifact. Sometimes he’s seen him walking around camp in his pajama bottoms. There’s only two beads on his necklace, opposed to Dream’s six. He thinks he’ll have to turn his necklace into a bracelet and get a new one pretty soon.

“I’m so tired.” George whispers, rubbing his eyes with force.

“You’re always so tired. Do you mean it this time?”

George moans grumpily. He’s standing like he’s waiting for Dream to tell him what to do. So he does.

Dream takes his hand and guides him to lay down on one of the flat parts of the roof, above a protruding window. The wood is old and creaky, and tomorrow Sapnap (who sleeps at the top of Cabin 11, though Dream thinks it's pretty obvious who his godly parent is) will tell Dream to stop going up there in the middle of the night for what is probably the tenth time.

Together, they look at the night sky. There's few clouds, like always, and somehow all of the world’s constellations are clear. Like New York isn’t right next door.

That one is Andromeda, next to Cassiopeia. He learned that in class the other day. “Class” used loosely– they try hard to have stuff for kids to do around here.

“Is this what you do?”

Dream looks at him. “Hm?”

“Like. When you leave your bunk you just come up here? When you don’t go to the woods.”

“Yeah. I like the silence.”

“Hm.”

There’s a long pause. Then, George asks another question, sounding even more sleepy than before. Something unnatural tugs at Dream’s eyelids when George comes near.

“Did your nightmares come back?” His voice is quiet, so quiet, so not even the sky may hear.

Dream didn’t want to say as much in front of so many people. Even if they were asleep. He nods. “Let me help.” George pokes his shoulder.

“I’m scared!” Dream laughs quietly, “You did a terrible job last time.”

“Okay, whatever, I’ve been practicing.” George says, accent really peeking through. His mother is from Oxford, if he’s remembering correctly. Work visa. Not that Dream really understands what that means. He just understands George sounds very British, and it’s fun.

“Really? And who have you been practicing on.”

“Sam.” George seems rather proud of himself. “Sam, and it was good and I did good. So you should let me help.”

“Oh.” Dream really thought he’d catch him in a lie. “What does Sam even dream about?”

George rubs his eyes, moaning in thought. Which is a strange way to describe it, but that’s what George does. He rolls away, attempting to yawn away from him. He’s been trying not to yawn near people. It’s cute, but doesn’t make much of a difference. Dream yawns, despite his best efforts. George rolls back when he’s through.

“Sheep.” Is all he says. He leans his head on Dream’s shoulder. “Let me help.” “Why are you so adamant?”

“Because it’s, like, the only thing I can even do. Everyone can like, make cool plants or be super smart. I just sleep.” George hesitates, but follows through. “And I like you. You’re my best friend.”

Dream’s heart swells, enough to melt his apprehension. Or, maybe it’s the desperation that comes with sleep deprivation. It occurs to him he never changed out of his jeans.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Do it.”

“You’re scared?” George looks up. His eyes are the kind of blue you see in the scariest parts of the ocean. The color of trenches that touch the center of the Earth. “Don’t be scared. You’ll wake up no matter what.”

“I wasn’t scared of that, but, I guess now I am?” It’s hard to keep eye contact. Something about the sleepy glaze of George’s eyes makes Dream’s soul want to give up. Whatever that means, he’s not sure.

“Sorry. It comforts me to think about.” George holds his arm gently. “You have to look at me. Remember?”

Truthfully, he didn’t. He doesn’t remember anything about how George lulled him to sleep. But he follows his instruction, and soon enough he can feel darkness creeping in all around him. It feels like having the biggest, heaviest quilt gently laid over him. It feels like getting dragged underwater. The sound of the wind in the trees melts into pure silence.

He’s vaguely aware of the sound of a yawn, his or George’s, he’s not sure. And then there was nothing at all.

For the first time in weeks, he doesn’t dream. No nightmares about green fire and the earth swallowing him whole. No death, no inevitable fates and failures he can’t avoid. Just, cold nothing.

He’s woken up by someone poking his cheek. He’s slow on the uptake, which is unlike him, but it’s so early in the morning some of the sleep lingers like a shroud. It’s a nymph. She’s not very happy. You can’t keep doing this.

And when George is asleep, he’s really asleep. And using magic tuckers him out– he’s only just started trying to use it. There’s like, a meter he’ll have to level up. At least that’s what George said.

Bottom line, he’s hard enough to wake up when he hasn’t exhausted himself. Dream is tasked with the impossible job of carrying George back down and into bed.

It’s a good thing he weighs nothing.

#pjo dsmp #c!dnf #my writing

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xhdream · 2 months

Text

on zoom

pairing: ceo jooyeon x fem!reader

genre: smut wc: 1.3k

cw: sub!reader, masturbation (m/f), spanking, dirty talk

you’re in the middle of a zoom meeting with ceo!jooyeon

you did not expect it at all. you just got out of the shower when you received a message that there’s something urgent to talk about. there was nothing you could’ve done except put on the first nice blouse you pull out from your wardrobe, brush your hair and open your laptop in a rush.

because of jooyeon, your boss, you quickly got used to work from home outside of your work schedule. he constantly finds you little unexpected tasks to do or edits to make on something you sent in hours ago, causing you to work even from the grocery store.

ceo!jooyeon is feared by most of your colleagues. he’s demanding, with high expectations, and some may say - high ego too; but you don’t find him scary. you find him tedious. infuriating. maddening to look at, because of how attractive he is.

even now, as you watch him sit back against the headboard of his bed with his blond hair messy and falling into his eyes every time he shifts over to grab a sheet of paper in just a plain black t-shirt… even now he’s unbelievably mesmerising. he has his glasses on, the ones you’ve seen him wear a couple of times during meetings, but everything else from the casual clothes to the view of his clean nightstand and multiple pillows is new and very… intimate.

you try to shove away the thoughts, and focus on his words coming from your laptop without staring too much at his lips, which has always been a challenge.

“will you go get it, please?” he asks, but please from jooyeon’s mouth doesn’t mean he’s asking if you can do something, it means that you have to do it. now. “i want to see something and we’re done here.”

your voice trembles while you look for the right way to word your answer. “i will send you an email with everything from the report so you have everything that may come in handy. right after we—“

“why can’t you just show me the report now?”

his gaze pierces through the screen, making your palms sweat against your bare thighs.

“i don’t… remember where i put it,” you mumble, looking around your room awkwardly, as cold shivers shoot through your half naked body that’s still warm from the long bath.

ceo!jooyeon knows that’s a lie, cause you’re the least neglectful employee he’s ever had. he sighs before tilting his head up to skim your silhouette. he’s an observing person, so the way you sit stiffly barely even moving your arms is not that unnoticeable to him as you think.

he asks when did you become so unmindful of your work, and you apologise, saying that you’re sure you’re going to find it, and if not - it’s probably in your office.

you run your finger on the keyboard nervously, praying the fact you’re naked from the waist down won’t risk your job. your eyes don’t leave jooyeon out of sight as he licks his lips with a contemplative look on his face. the lamp on his nightstand lights up his sharp features nicely, and they only get you more and more distracted. his jawline, his neck, his adam apple, his collarbone that’s peeking from his shirt…

“you should be more careful, y/n. i’m not keeping you here only because you’re hot.”

you nod, as his words echo in your head.

“do i make you uncomfortable?”

“not at all,” you reply on the instant although this was the last question you expected to hear. your high pitched tone eventually turns into a hollow chuckle. “why would you think that?”

“do i turn you on then?”

you breathe in trying to grasp where this is going.

“i think i do,” jooyeon smirks from finding the answer on his own. he fixes the position of his laptop that’s sitting on top of his stomach before placing one arm behind his head, and turning his attention back to you. “you turn me on too, but you probably already know that since the day i hired you. right, sweetheart?”

“actually no,” you admit, “i didn’t know that.”

jooyeon lets out an airy chuckle and glances at you surprised. “i thought i was obvious. i think about kissing you all the time.”

your hand crawls between your inner thighs, and you shamelessly allow your fingers to brush against your exposed clit. it’s all happening under the table; the camera doesn’t catch anything that’s below your stomach, but it’s enough for jooyeon to notice your uneasy breaths and the way you gulp.

“you’re so freaking hot,” he continues in a more relaxed voice, “especially when you wear those tight skirts at work… i can only imagine how pretty your ass looks without them.”

at this point he’s turning you on so much that your index finger easily slips through your folds without you even spreading your legs properly.

“i can show you if you want,” you say softly through a heavy sigh.

those few words bring out a new type of smile on jooyeon’s face - a greedy one; like he just won something, but it’s clear he will still want more.

“go ahead.”

as you stand on your feet, moving your chair back, you observe the way his lips part and his gaze turns more dazed, but also focused at the same time.

“so your pussy has been naked this whole time? were you planning on telling me at all? turn around.”

you hear shuffling noises from the speaker, as you make a step back. when you peek behind your shoulder to make sure what jooyeon wants to see is all caught from the camera, you see his face a lot closer which means that he pulled his laptop forward in order to reach his dick more comfortably.

“gorgeous from head to toe… fuck,” he groans, and the sound of it is so arousing it makes you clench desperately around nothing. “wanna spank that ass so bad.. do it for me, doll, spank yourself.”

your hand rises in the air and quickly lands on your right cheek; a few more slaps follow by jooyeon’s command mixing with his moans. a few for lying about the report, and a few more for attending a meeting with your cunt naked.

“now suck on your fingers and touch yourself,” he mutters, changing the speed of his fist. “slowly.”

as you stay bent over your chair like he said, you move your fingers from your reddish butt cheek towards your heat. two of them glide with ease through your dripping hole, and the feeling is so satisfying, an immediate whine escapes your lips.

“jooyeon—“ you moan from the pleasure of going deeper. despite the building rush, you crave to feel more than just that. you need his presence, his touch all over you.

“yeah, sweetheart?”

“i need more…”

“i know, i know…” his voice comes out heavier than usual, because he needs the same just as much as you do. the sound of his fist starts to become clearer. “keep touching yourself, pretty girl. look how wet you are for me.”

hearing those things from his mouth turn you so lightheaded and impatient, you don’t realise your fingers start moving in and out with their own pace that’s not to jooyeon’s liking. first, you hear the frustrated scoff; the remark that breaks off your pleasure - second.

“you’re disappointing me today, doll, can’t you follow simple instructions anymore?” he listens to your panting while his own arousal begins to overwhelm him too, but he controls his emotions pretty well, even after he keeps switching the speed of his hand depending on your body language. “no?”

you start to disagree, but too late.

“sit down.” his demand rings in the silence of your room, building up your desire. “you should know better, doll. now that pretty pussy is gonna get punished because you refuse to listen.”

after you spread your legs wide for the camera, your hand rises again and drops for a new slap.

“be glad i’m not there to do it myself. i’m not that gentle.”

! please do not repost, copy or translate my works

#xdinary heroes smut #xdinary heroes hard thoughts #xdinary heroes hard hours #xdh smut #xh hard hours #jooyeon hard thoughts #jooyeon smut #jooyeon x reader #xdinary heroes x reader

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velvet-paradox · 9 months

Text

Naughty

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x Female reader Length: Medium Summary: You like your man a little mean and he obliges. Warnings: NSFW 18 + ONLY, reader discretion advised, established relationship, name calling (dumb, dummy, toy, slut), strong language, porn with very little plot, a lot of brain rot going on here friends, light slapping (but not painful), oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talking, detailed smut. P.S. I may or may not have a lovi obsession just sayin'. OK BYE Tagging: @synnersaint

She likes it when he's mean.

When he comes home hot and still full of spit and vinegar. Says it turns her on to get a little kaleidoscope glimpse in to what his enemies get the full taste of. Of course he's never truly mean to her, how could he? He loves his little dummy back home. With her glittering eyes and open arms, waiting patiently for him mission after mission. Her hugs are the best. Welcoming him home, where he belongs, even if he does reek of gun residue, sweat and gore.

Blood doesn't bother her, whether it be her own or Keegan's, she's not shy with the sticky stuff. She's cleaned his wounds with bare hands and when she's finished she's got more dirt and grime under her nails then he did. She's even stitched his forehead once or twice, much to his disapproval even though when he chances a look in the mirror, he can barely see the scars.

She's good.

Too good.

Too good for him, she doesn't deserve the junk and turmoil he brings to her doorstep. Wounds that won't heal, scars that won't fade. But he tries. He tries to be a good man when he's not running point, when he's not given instructions to just barrel through and get the job at hand, done. Keegan wants to be a good man; good enough to deserve you.

He looks at your photo when he's alone in his tent, on the road, in the helo. When the world is just too fucking loud, he's careful to take it out of his front left breast pocket (safe keeping of course), looking at your beautiful handwriting first.

FROM ONE DUMMY TO ANOTHER XOXO

He'll smile at it, beneath his ghost balaclava or bare and streaked when he's all alone, before he'll turn it over. Still after these tedious months, he gets that tingle in the pit of his stomach, the ends of his toes, the balls of his feet, the seam where God himself split his sac.

You don't have to be naked to look this fucking good. In fact, you're fully clothed, only your soft hands are available, giving two peace signs on the back of his motorcycle. Two of his most precious guilty pleasures.

"Come on, come on." Your whine cuts through the forgotten music in the background, the faint smell of a homecooked meal wafts up the stairs and renders the man completely useless.

Keegan is transfixed at the leash in his hand, the black leather is soft and worn in his palm, the chain clinks quietly when he moves his wrist and finally looks down. Stunned once more by your beauty. On your knees in a lacy one piece, slinky at best, leaving just a hint of peek-a-boo skin through the fine material. The leash is of course attached to the collar around your neck, next thing he sees is your wiggling, hips swaying as if you had a tail, sticking out your tongue in a lewd and obscene manner.

"You said we were gonna' play," you pouted as Keegan smiled down at your desperation. Distance did make the heart grow fonder and stitched your desires back together. "Don't you wanna' play with me?"

"Of course I do baby," Keegan pet your pretty face, humming when you nuzzled against his palm. "I'm just trying to figure out which hole I'd rather stretch out tonight."

The gasp and look in your eyes hit him straight in the groin, knowing damn he'd never sunk into that tight ring of muscle as of yet. You'd need preparation, time and training of course and more than just spit as lube.

Keegan shuffled and wound the chain around his thick fist, drawing you up on your knees. "You wanna' play? Let's play."

….

Your noises are music to his ears, long forgotten are the spraying bullets and shouts of commands, what's left, the only sounds that matter are of desire. Not too long ago were you taunting him from over your shoulder. He forced you to stand, about face, hands on the wall as he kicked your legs open. Biting his tongue at the way you arched your back and made your ass jiggle, pushing back against him as he tried to remain as still as possible. Which wasn't easy.

You never took it easy it on Keegan, he was a man of war. As much as you'd tease him, make that pretty noise when you wanted something badly enough to vocalize it, he'd lose his composure. Keeping the balaclava on just a little longer until he couldn't take it anymore.

He tossed you to the bed after that stunt, crawling over you, the clips of his fresh gear snagging on the lace as he covered your mouth with one hand, pinned your hip down with the other and stared into your fluttering eyes.

"You sound so good baby, so damn needy for me. You can hardly stand it, huh? Look at you, already moaning like a slut for me, just for me right? No one else."

You shook your head frantically, mumbling behind his palm until he lifted it away from your lips. "What's that, pet?"

"No one. No one else, I promise. Just you," you licked his hand sensually, keeping your eyes on his face as you laid back down. "I only want you to slut me out."

Keegan chuckled lowly with a nod of approval, pinching your side. "Good girl. Now just keep letting me know how good you feel, yeah? 'm gonna' keep going until you're shaking, making a fucking mess, is that understood?"

Your enthusiastic face made him hard.

Keegan ripped off his mask and got down on his knees, dipping the bed with his weight. He delighted in your squeals and giggles, fitting your legs over his shoulders, licking his lips when he realized the only the thing separating his mouth from your pussy was a pair of flat snap buttons.

Now listen, Keegan is no slouch when it comes to eating pussy. He knows what he's doing. If there were a (pun intended) eating contest, there would be a trophy case decorated with a few honorable medals as well.

The first time he tasted you, you almost broken his nose, bucking up hard into his face. You apologized repeatedly but Keegan just laughed it off, saying that would be the best excuse for his twice broken nose already. He licked his name against your clit. Letter by letter, shapes and swirls as he claimed your cunt.

K was a pointed tongue slashed against the hooded nub, the first E was gentle and flat tongued, the other E was followed by a slow and deliberate suck, G was a sloppy swirl and A and N were hummed to a tune of his own making.

Your hands moving to brush back his hair felt so damn good on his scalp, panting and wiggling for him. It had been two weeks too long. "Please baby that's it, that's it." Your voice was already fucked.

"I know you fucking love it," Keegan grunted against your sex, taking a moment to grace your slick folds with the bridge of his nose, chuckling lowly when you keened. "You just fucking love it when I devour you whole, don't you? Yes you do, tastes so fucking good."

When Keegan got lost in the sauce there was no telling just what he'd say, what string of commands or obscenities he'd loop together in some sensual tapestry that left you breathless.

"Yeah? I taste good?"

Keegan lifted his head, remnants of black grease paint over his pretty eyes looked up at you from between your legs, making them tremble in his grip. "You taste divine, princess."

With that, Keegan brought you to the edge, licking and sucking, toying with your cunt when he tagged in his fingers to join in the fun, those thick fingers breached your hole and stretched you out over and over until you begged. Sobbed for him to let you cum, that you couldn't hold it back any longer and oh how did Keegan love it when you begged!

"Come on sweetie, you can do better than that. Turns me on when you do it…. so fucking beg."

He licked your arousal from his fingers, making an absolute show of it too. "Good job, baby. You did such a good job for me." Keegan groaned as you panted to catch your breath, laid out and limber. He could throw you over his shoulders if he wanted, flip you over with ease, your limp body just going through the motions. Keegan could (and has) had you in every position possible and some that required a bit of technical work, a little fine tuning, angling his hips just so, holding your neck or lacing your fingers together.

Keegan is a man of many talents, in and out of the bedroom as he shifts and takes off his belt-- one handed. Your glassy eyes shine in the dim light from the room, predatory as you drink him in while he undresses.

Your hands are on his waist, burning hot before gives a gentle pat to the outside of your thigh, rolling you over on to your stomach. Sometimes he can't help himself and he gets this primal surge deep in his groin to obliterate you, break you, fuck you raw and stupid until you're a sloppy little mess of limbs and cum.

The smacks to your ass are deliberate and you raise up only to be pushed back down, Keegan grunted at you to keep still, to spread your legs, keep that one bent, just like that.

Keegan edges himself, rock hard in his hand as you dips just the crown of it around the base you, still wet. That bit of pre-cum on the tip is enough to wiggle between your cheeks with ease.

You shudder when he does that thing you like.

His spit slips between you, another glob of it makes it a sound leaving his mouth and hitting his shaft.

"Jesus Keegan, fuck me already. I need it."

"Oh I've got just what you need you dumb little pet," he grabs the leash, tugging on the chain as you pull on the sheets. "Whose my dumb little girl, huh? Is it you, baby? Are you my dummy girl?"

"Fuck. Yes."

Keegan yanks on it, jerking your head back. "Say it. I wanna' hear you say it."

Fuck; he's throbbing.

"I'm your dumb little girl. Just so fucking-- God that feels so good... I'm so dumb, so dumb for your cock, baby. Please."

"Good job." Keegan cooed and then thrusted in deep. "Let's slut you out then, yeah?"

….

God you're pretty. Clawing at the sheets as he fucks you through another orgasm. The clanking, your moans and body bending, arching into his touch like a needy cat. Pet me pet me pet me.

"Baby please," you paw at him, sentences die on your tongue, failing to make it out of the column of your throat. "I'm gonna' cum again." Now on your back with your knees pretty much to your chest, rocking on his cock with his momentum, the leash pulled skin tight.

"Awww of course you are. I can feel you squeezing me, my dumb little girl is getting her pretty little hole fucked out. You're so fucking hot," Keegan moaned out, he dragged a hand down his face, salt and sweat, paint staining his hands before he smeared it over your chest. He's marked you in a number of ways but to see you marked like this, with his mystery always got him going.

"Just like that-- ha!" you drawled, an almost pained 'oh my God' seeped into the air behind clenched teeth. Keegan mimicked you instantly, keeping his hand pressed between your tits. "I'm gonna' cum again, don't stop!"

Keegan's chuckle held desire and humor, fitting one of your legs over his shoulder, smearing his face against your calf. He was tempted to take a bite, too. Those intrusive thoughts always got the better of him.

"You think I could ever stop fucking this pussy, huh? Fuck yeah, squeeze around me again baby. You're such a good girl for me," Keegan was rewarded by his own praise when you leaned up to watch him split you open, spit on your pussy and fuck you harder.

What can I say? The man has stamina.

"Oh my God! Keep going keep going, fuck."

Your legs started to shake the minute Keegan's thumb met your swollen bundle of nerves, throbbing around his cock, crying out for more more more, that you couldn't take it. You came with a whine, sobbing with your release that flooded around the base of his cock. Keegan growled and gave it, chomping down the sensitive meat of your leg.

"Good job, baby. You look so fucking cute when you cum, when you're all brain dead," Keegan hissed through his teeth and pinned you down, heavy hands on your knees as he spread you open. "Open up for me, let me finish inside you. Gonna' fuckin' fill you up, two weeks is bullshit. Stay awake baby," he gently slapped your face in quick succession, jerking your chin to make you look at him and only him. "Don't get all dizzy on me now dummy, you've got some more dick to take."

She's really going to get it now...

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uramilf · 5 months

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Day Seven - All I Want for Christmas

Warning: SMUT

Matty might have been finished work, but it didn’t mean he was completely free to spend all his time with Y/N. George had decided that he and Charli would be extremely busy after Christmas and that the holidays were the best time to start wedding planning. So Matty had of course been called over to help, and his best man duties were very important to him. While Matty had been spending hours on end compiling a list of wedding guests at George’s house, trying desperately not to forget anyone, Y/N was lounging around her own house counting down the minutes until Christmas. She had a serious duty to attend to as well: looking after Mayhem. He might not have been her dog, but she felt as though he was. She took him for walks when Matty couldn’t, and he watched from his spot on the sofa while Y/N wrapped Christmas presents on the living room floor.

Matty was getting seriously fed up with guest lists, suddenly wishing George and Charli had less friends. He checked his phone every five minutes to see if his girlfriend had been in contact, but she was too busy carefully putting presents into colour-coordinated gift bags, including the ones she had bought for his family, after realising she couldn’t turn up empty handed to Denise’s house on Christmas Eve.

—————

Matty swung his car into the driveway of Y/N’s house after a long and tedious day of trying to think of every single person who might be offended if they didn’t receive an invite to George’s wedding. He didn’t bother knocking, just let himself through the front door, only to be met with Y/N throwing herself into his arms.

“I’ve missed you,” she mumbled into his neck. “I’ve missed you too, baby. So much.” Matty kissed the top of her head a few times. “Well, I missed you more.” “Did not.” “Did.” “Shut up, I missed you a million times more.” Y/N groaned. “I’m bored now. Fine, you wanna see how much I fuckin’ missed you?” Matty raised an eyebrow before Y/N dragged him up the stairs and into her bedroom, shoving him down onto the bed on his back.

“Jesus Christ, we should argue about missing each other a bit more often,” he smirked.

“Shut up,” Y/N repeated back his own words, before undoing his belt and tugging his trousers down. He was already hard, but trying to maintain his usual control, smirking up at her as if he was totally unbothered. She palmed him over his trousers, waiting until he gave in and stopped being so cocky, then rid him of his boxers and flicking her tongue over his tip.

“Fuck,” he breathed, head flopping back against the pillow.

Y/N started to suck gently on his tip, her hand sneaking up to stroke the rest of his length. She pulled away and spat into her hand before using it to jerk him off slowly, painfully slowly. Matty couldn’t hold in his groans and the occasional murmur of her name.

She slowly lowered her mouth to his cock again, licking the whole way up his length before taking him into her mouth, gagging slightly when he hit the back of her throat. He couldn’t help but buck his hips up toward her with a moan. She lifted a hand to pin his hip to the bed.

Y/N started to bob her head gently, building up speed as her tongue slid up and down his length. Eventually she felt bad listening to Matty begging and allowed him to thrust his hips up towards her, although it made her choke slightly and her chin was covered in spit, mascara running. He clawed at the bedsheets as she ran her fingers up and down his thigh. He stopped thrusting and grasped the back of her head, clutching gently at her hair and pushing her down, moans spilling from his mouth.

“Oh, baby, fuck. I’m gonna cum. Keep going,” he panted. “Please don’t stop.” With a few more seconds of her tongue working his length, he came with a groan of her name, gasping for breath as she swallowed every drop. “Fuck me, you’re perfect.” Y/N just smiled.

—————

“So, I got the last of your Christmas presents today,” Matty remarked while Y/N made him a cup of tea. He sat in the kitchen shirtless while she walked around in just a shirt, a habit they had fallen into every time they had sex. “You seriously didn’t need to buy me anything, you already got me my secret Santa present!” “We weren’t even going out when we did that! So technically it wasn’t even a present from your boyfriend.” “I’ve got you something too. I really hope you’ll like it.” “Hypocrite,” Matty smirked. “I’m kidding, I’m sure I’ll love it. But you know, all I really want for Christmas is you.” “Gay.”

—————

Later that night, after Matty had gone home, Y/N lay in her bed and thought through the events of the last few weeks. Went on a date with the guy she was in love with, got asked to be his girlfriend, got invited to spend Christmas with his family, all the while trying to fight the urge to say “I love you”, not knowing what the response would be. She didn’t know that a few streets over, Matty was laying in bed too, thinking the exact same thing.

#the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy x reader #matty healy imagines #matty healy smut #christmas75

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jq37 · 4 months

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The Report Card – Fantasy High Junior Year Ep 2

Bad News Parade

Welcome back to the Night Yorb Fight y’all! Like a true finale, this is a monster sized fight split into two parts. When we last left off, Fig had just reached out to some strange power to keep the Hangvan from flipping as they inched closer to their fleeing foe. But the Night Yorb was also about to enter a portal and fulfill its win condition! Let’s go back to bullets for the second half of this fight:

Adaine uses Bigby’s Hand (flavored to look like Riz’s ringed Mage Hand) to grab the Night Yorb and halt its movement, making Gorgug’s job a lot easier and doing some damage as well.

Gorgug (with help from Adaine’s SECOND nat 1 portent) reels in the Night Yorb so it’s on top of them, but not yet bloodied so the sigilists can’t quite trap it yet.

Kristed does a little extra damage with Toll The Dead, getting it right over the line to bloodied and then hits everyone except for Fig with a Mass Healing Word.

Adaine goes down (despite the fact that she has Mirror Image up) and Fig once again keeps her from falling off the roof. Her Bigby’s Hand disappears but it's done its job.

Brennan says that the Night Yorb is very close to the portal and they essentially have one turn to defeat it or it’ll escape. Crunch time!

Riz succeeds in hitting a rock with his grappling gun with the goal of tying it to the van and getting it to stop gunning it but does a subpar job at tying the other end to the Hangvan so the tether is weak. Fabian gives an overwrought goodbye to Ecaf before jumping out of the van to try and reinforce the tie and he GETS RUN OVER AGAIN with a Nat 1. He has a PLUS THIRTEEN to athletics and this has happened TWICE IN ONE FIGHT. Amazing. He takes 22 damage but the Hangman picks him up again.

The Night Yorb does a windstorm attack that Riz avoids but everyone else takes damage from. Adaine is unconscious so she gets a death save fail automatically. Fig and Adaine are thrown from the top of the van (Gorgug stays up). Kristen loses Circle of Power and Bless. Ecaf shatters (though Fabian doesn’t see cause he’s outside). Boggy and Baby disappear.

To make matters worse, the Yorbies chant the Night Yorb’s name and heal it to above bloodied again.

Fabian goes down due to some Yorbie attacks but stays in the saddle of the Hangvan.

Riz, because he can’t stop, tries to do a hard turn and fails, but manages to roll high enough to keep the van from flipping. BUT, Brenan says he can elect to fail if he wants so he does, reasoning that it might hurt the Night Yorb AND make it easier for sigilists to access the sigil on top of the van. And hey, the Night Yorb is gonna escape in one turn anyway. Might as well go for broke.

With the van flipped, Kristen takes enough damage to go down. Only Fig, Gorgug, and Riz are still up.

However, even with resistance, the Night Yorb takes enough damage that it is bloodied again!

Gorgug tries to do the sigil and fails. Fig tries next and gets a Nat 20 against the Night Yorb’s Nat 1! More importantly, her deception beats Gorgug’s insight so she’s able to do it subtly enough to make Gorgug think HE did it. (Riz sees what really happened but Fig swears him to secrecy) Truly the greatest wizard of our age.

The Night Yorb is defeated and turns into a sick mural on the top of the Hangvan that glows in the dark (thanks production crew!) The sun has returned! Photosynthesis is back baby!

That feels like it should be the end of the fight, right? But no. What follows is a like 20 minute slog where Brennan makes them pick off the remaining Yorbies as they bake in the oppressive heat of the desert. They really want the Night Yorb to be a load bearing baddie whose minions disappear once he’s gone but nope. They have to do the tedious dirty work. They might not be able to fast forward through it, but I can:

Everyone down is brought back up.

Gorgug rolls a Nat 20 investigation about Balthazar and so I guess his shadow or soul or whatever is in the van mural now too? Sure.

Cassandra has texted Fig “Is Kristen mad at me?” 20 times in a row.

They try and get a Yorbie to just give up and they’ll get him a job at Basrar’s but even with a 38 persuasion he doesn’t take the deal and Fabian stabs him to death. Too bad dude. You coulda been the next Jawbone!

Cassandra asks Kristen how the battle went but Kristen ignores her.

Two guys pop out of nowhere to continue fighting them and Murph loses his mind. This isn’t plot relevant but Murph broke down so hard I can’t not mention it. So tactical, so late.

You really get the sense of exhaustion that all the kids feel in having to continue to fight long after their hearts are no longer in it (except for Riz, who’s having a blast). Everyone describes how they’re doing physically and it is NOT good. Fabian has full tire marks on him from being run over (TWICE). Once cleanup is over, they talk about what they would have done for the summer if they hadn’t been forced on this Night Yorb quest. Adaine wanted to get a job–now she’ll have no pocket money for the semester. Fabian was accepted to a great dance camp but obviously he couldn’t go. Gorgug wanted to work on the van. But Riz is excited that they got to spend the summer together. (Which, aww buddy).

The job is done but they now have 48 hours to book it back to Solace if they don’t wanna miss the first day. It’s a pretty frantic road trip experience, where someone has to be driving at all times and everyone is surviving on gas station snacks.

They finally make it back to Elmville with only a couple of hours to spare and they’re met with memories from their first adventure ever. The place where they found the first palimpsest and the garage where they spied on Johnny Spells. Across from the garage is a diner and they decided to step in and get some real food, even though they’re so close to home. Daisy Cubby is their waitress and she greets them cheerily and congratulates them for completing their quest before bringing them all various dishes that feature ice cream and cottage cheese heavily.

One detail I neglected to mention: after the fight, Fabian asked where Ecaf was and, to spare him the heartbreak of her shattering, they lied and said she was a turncoat the whole time. As they’re about to split up, Fabian, forlorn, asks if she said anything about him before she left and they all hype him up with, “You were too good for her bro,” nonsense in a coordinated friend lie that Fabian totally buys. He leaves the conversation VERY hyped and feeling himself like he wasn’t mooning over a MIRROR yesterday.

(Also, plot twist, as soon as he’s gone, they realize that they can actually mend the mirror, which bring Ecaf back who absolutely didn’t actually betray them. They all agree that it’s better that Fabain ISN’T kissing a mirror though so they just stick her in Adaine’s jacket with the attitude of ‘Yikes! Hope that doesn’t bite us in the butt later!’ Then they all pinky promise to never tell Fabian.)

And now, let’s head into a beloved Fantasy High tradition: splitting up and seeing what’s going on at everyone’s individual houses! Fabian gets home first so let’s start with him.

Fabian

Fabian gets to Seacaster manor and finds that he’s made it home just in time to see off his mom and Gilear who are headed off on a month long vacation. Apparently, Gilear finally proposed and, in a twist a fortune (that’s so suspicious that we’re gonna talk about it later) he won a several months long cruise. They’re going to roll that into a longer vacation so Fabin is going to have the fun of the manor while they’re gone. Fabian, to his credit, is emotionally mature to say, “Good on you, Gilear” about the proposal instead of having a fit about being related to him, but, though he tries to hide it, it’s clear that he’s pretty bummed that he came all the way home just for a quick goodbye and an empty house. Not even his mom’s announcement that because he turned 18 on the road, some of his trust funds have become available to him making him even more flush with cash does anything to make him feel any better.

HIlariel gives Fabian a business card in case he wants to talk to his trust fund manager. Then, she leaves in a flurry of cheek kisses and Fabian is left alone in his cavernous mansion. Brennan drives home the point by making him roll to find his fridge and some glasses so he can pour himself a glass of milk.

Also, I said he was alone but, technically he’s not. In addition to the mound of regular presents left in his room, there’s also some pirates in some parallels who will sing Happy Birthday to him when he opens them. And they’re paid for for the whole year. There really is a subscription service for everything now, huh?

Riz

Next up is Riz who Gorgug drops off at Strongtower Luxury Apartments.Riz finds that his mom has fallen asleep reading legal books because she is NOT a cop anymore and Brennan REALLY needs you to know that. Riz sees that she has a yarn board going and when she wakes up (happy to see him of course) she tells him she’s been working on a case defending one of the organizers of the Frosty Fair Folk Festival (a kind of sylvan music festival) from embezzlement.

But she wants to talk about him! She likes the new look and says it reminds her of his dad. And Riz is very excited to tell her about the end of the battle and the two guys who popped out (so tactical, so late). Unfortunately, Sklonda is forced to dip into uncomfortable family conversation mode. Even though she fought really hard, she’s not gonna be able to keep her police pension. That’s gonna make college or any other post-Aguefort plans tricky for Riz. He might have to beef up his applications with sports or extracurriculars or something.

Riz, ever the problem solver, tells Sklonda not to worry because, actually, he thrives under pressure. In fact, figuring this out isn’t even the hard part. The hard part is that he has to figure out which college ALL of his friends can get into because he has to look out for everybody and he and Adaine have great grades but everyone else, woof. Sklonda has the vibe of a parent whose kid is so sweet and so about to be hit by a dose of reality, but she encourages him to get ready because Junior Year is crunch time. It almost feels like that warning is for us too.

Instead of going to bed, Riz starts working on his own yarn board: college admissions edition.

Gorgug

After dropping off Riz, Gorgug makes it to the tree where his parents (whose new character card hilariously have they/them pronouns because they’re a matching set) greet him, congratulate him, and ask about the mission.

They’re so excited to have a new little (well, big) Artificer in the house (since he’s gonna officially start taking Artificer classes this semester in addition to Barb classes) and are very impressed with the solar lasso he made. They immediately know all the technical workings behind it and Gorgug, who has more practical skill and intuition than technical knowhow, self-deprecates that he just did his best.

Like all the homecomings so far, there’s a tinge of sadness: apparently Zelda’s dad dropped by with a box of Gorgug’s stuff. Seems they’re not a thing anymore though she says hey and he says hey back so it’s cordial if awkward. But, let’s be real, they were super awkward when they were together too.

There’s some other news. The Folk Festival that Riz’s mom mentioned is being held near Gorgug’s birthday and the Thistlesprings are hosting it at the tree. And also, some thick envelopes have come from school that they haven’t opened because they’ve been waiting for Gorgug to get home. Gorgug has had a long day though so they decide to open them together tomorrow.

Adaine, Fig, and Kristen

The girls all live together at Mordred Manor so we’ll do them all together. When they get home, Sandra Lynn, Jawbone, Ragh, his mom Lydia, and Zayn are all there to greet the party with a hastily made birthday cake since they missed celebrating birthdays while on the road. The girls are emotional and grateful and so so tired so they decide the plan is cake and then bed because school is in like four hours. They’re told they can skip if they want and the idea is appealing to Fig and Kristen but not Adaine who actually likes the first day of school. So it’s probably not surprising when Jawbone pulls Fig and Kristen into a sidebar to say that they’re dangerously close to being expelled. Fig doesn’t go to any of her classes and Kristen straight up let her god DIE. The school doesn’t even know that she picked up a third god because she never registered Cass!

Kristen says that she feels kinda unmoored and like she’s just jumping from life preserver to life preserver and Fig says that if she goes to any class more than twice she basically loses interest. Jawbone is super supportive and says that if school isn’t for them, they can totally just drop out, but that they need to figure out what it is they want.

They ask if saving the world doesn’t count for a few class credits and Jawbone says that they could probably talk Aguefort into that but, continuing the parade of nasty surprises, Aguefort isn’t going to be their principal this year because he’s going on vacation with Ayda and won’t be back until the end of the school year. Specifically, they’re time traveling to the past and not only does Ayda hate that she has to go, she thinks it’s super dumb that they can’t just return to the moment they left. She’s right (even though Aguesfort insists it doesn't work that way--this is clearly beef Brennan personally has with time travel media). They’re specifically going to study the “time quangle”, a weird, magical, chronomancy phenomenon that makes time go screwy. Is this a simple hand wave for continuity blips between seasons or a stealth plot point that will help us later? Only time will tell!

Fig actually knew about this trip, but she thought she’d get back with enough time to say goodbye to Ayda at least–rest assured, they’re still together (which we already knew due to what I assume is Fig’s Armor of Agathys being flavored to Armor of Ayda and her activating it in the fight by saying ‘My Girlfriend says hello!”). And Ayda is as sweet as ever. Though she’s not in the episode proper, she left a message for Fig in the past that manifested as trilobite fossils in the present day manor’s lawn: Miss you. Love you. XOXO Ayda. Cute!

But the cuteness is followed by even MORE bad news! Adaine is still broke because her mom is technically still alive so she has no access to her inheritance. Fig’s in deep debt with her record label because she never delivered her second album and also she had to cancel her tour because of adventuring. She has a deadline to deliver the next album by the new year and she doesn’t have that much written. And on top of THAT, devils have been looking for her because, if you recall, she’s technically an archdevil which isn’t just a cool title. It’s a job with responsibilities she hasn’t been fulfilling.

But everyone is exhausted. They can deal with everything in the morning. Kristen asks if she can do a career test with Jawbone the next day because she doesn’t really vibe with school but she doesn’t know what else to do and he of course agrees.

Kristen then meets up with Ragh who just got back from helping Tracker with her whole missionary trip where she’s been rehabbing the moon goddess’s image to be less high elf haughty and more down to earth. He’s being potentially scouted by some bloodrush teams (go Ragh!). More big picture interesting though, he wants to know if Tracker can reach out to her. And here, we get confirmation of what, imo, has been pretty apparent since Kristen’s new character art dropped: Tracker and Kristen are broken up. Ragh has some insider info from traveling with her and is willing to share but Kristen is too overwhelmed to hear it right now. Here’s her plan: Tomorrow, she’ll take a career test with Jawbone and figure out her whole life, the day after that Ragh will tell her what he knows about Tracker, and THEN he can tell Tracker she can reach out. Ragh seems skeptical at the efficiency of that timetable, but he agrees.

Adaine goes up to her room and finds it empty aside from Zayn who tells her that Aelwyn moved out over the summer. All traces of her sister aren’t gone however because the walls have been painted with beautiful abjurative runes and there’s a present and a note left for her. The present is lembas bread cake pops–a Falinel favorite–and a key to her new apartment in Clearbook (their old neighborhood). The note says that Adaine is welcome at her apartment at any time, provided she texts ahead, and that she should enjoy the nemesis ward, which is what the runes are. Apparently, they’re a spell bad guys usually do to be like, “No one can touch my nemesis but me!” It doesn’t allow anyone to attack the person it’s cast on unless they first defeat the caster. In this case, the clear message is, “Even if I’m not there, no one can touch you without coming through me.” Aww! A long way from, “My bitch of a sister.” Adaine says Aelwyn always had a sense of humor before zonking out.

Fig goes to her bed and cuddles with the rock message from Ayda (ow) but she’s soon disturbed as her stomach once again gurgles painfully (double ow). She’s reminded of the strange magic she used during the fight and seeks out her mom for guidance. She tells Sandra Lynn that she’s worried she might have made a deal with a devil and asks if there’s a devil of acid reflux. Sandra Lynn is a little confused but then notices that Fig has spilled something on her shirt–cottage cheese from the diner. Fig remembers her very dairy heavy post-midnight meal and figures that’s why she feels sick. Her mom gives her a quick supportive pep talk about how she was also kind of a hellion as a teen and then Fig goes to bed…or she tries. As soon as she goes down the stairs, she steps directly into a bucket of cement (left there because of home renovations) and rips her fishnet stocking from Doreen! Bummer! And unlucky. So suspiciously unlucky that we’ll talk about it later.

And we close off with Kristen who’s making a classic teen mistake: Checking an ex’s social media post-breakup. Tracker is, by all accounts, doing fantastic. Her latest post has 40k likes. She has double the followers from last time Kristen checked. Whoever is handling her socials is doing a GREAT job making her look cool as she does miracles and fights monsters. And, there’s even a picture of her with a beautiful elven maiden sitting on her lap while she speaks. Her movement, the Wolfsong revival, is the most exciting thing to happen to the stodgy elven city in ages.

Cassandra asks how their social media is doing and the answer is not great. The only followers are Craig (Cass’s one non-Kisten convert), a bot, and most but not all of the other Bad Kids (Fabian opted out).

Cassandra tells Kristen that it’s OK and she understands that she’s been going through a lot–but as she says this she’s wincing and speaking in a very pained way. Cass suddenly gasps in pain and Kristen sees “a little ribbon of red and something sharp move through her body.” Kristen is concerned but even with a 28 Insight roll, all she gets is that “Something hurt her”. Ominous!

But the goddess doesn’t even mention it. “It's okay,” she says softly. “You know, I might only have... I might only have two followers, but it's better than Yes!, right?" She vanishes, and Kristen falls asleep. Personally, I think that would haunt me the rest of the night but I’ve never fought a Night Yorb and then had to drive for 48 straight hours so hey, what do I know?

Detention

All of the Bad Kids (Minus Fabian) for Banishing Ecaf to Adaine’s Jacket and Lying to Fabian

Listen, just because they’re here, doesn’t mean I don’t get why they did it, lol.

Honor Roll

Ayda for Sending Fig A Fossilized Love Letter

She may not be in the episode physically, but she’s MVP status while stuck on vacation with her dad. So sweet!

Random Thoughts

It is so funny how casual everyone in Elmville is about the sun having been fully gone for several months. Like, same shit as usual. But also this is the SECOND time that these SPECIFIC kids have messed w/ the sun so like, it really is business as usual.

I skipped over this in the recap but Moggy the Doggy absolutely eviscerates one of the Yorbies while Adaine is down. Cute and vicious! Just like Adaine.

One thing about Brennan is that he WILL mention unions at the drop of a hat.

Ally’s “Hey Girlie” as Kristen tries to put the mirror in Adaine’s pocket and also get it out will haunt me forever.

Fascinated about what airport security looks like in this world. Is a sword at your side just chill?

Is Cathilda in the manor with Fabian or is he fully alone? She never came up so I’m wondering if she’s been taken away as well.

Everyone but Riz got a beloved NPCs taken away from easy access (Aelwyn is still pretty accessible to be fair, but across town is less accessible than in the bunk bed over you). Obviously, this fits the theme of this season and paves the way for introducing new NPCs. But of course because we’re here to go full Pepe Silvia, I have to at least wonder if it could possibly be part of an in-game plot to isolate the bad kids. My brain says that it’s not because these are all very normal reasons to have people leave your life (except maybe the cruise which is kinda wild). But anything’s possible and I’ve been wrong before. So just want that on the record.

Ditto about the Time Quangle. It very easily could just be a way to smooth over the continuity of something that wasn’t supposed to be longer than one season initially. That’s what would make the most sense. However, I watched The Good Place like everyone else. I’ve missed clues because of assuming weirdness was just due to conventions of the genre. So I’ll be on Quangle-Watch as well.

That Folk Festival came up twice–once with Sklonda and once with the Thistlesprings–so I’m curious to see where that goes. First eps usually set up a ton of the major conflicts for the season so anything mentioned twice is something to remember.

Brennan also mentions the trust business card twice which makes me wonder if there’s something important there. Wouldn’t be the first time important banking was a theme in this show.

OK, so Gilear and Fig switched luck for sure, right? When her mom said she spilled something on her shirt I immediately was like oh no. The Gilearification of Fig. That seems to be the effect but what would be the cause? Some kind of equivalent exchange for twisting fate? A demon who likes fucking with people? It would be one thing if she was just being Gilearified, but Gilear is getting lucky too. First the cruise then the 10% off the taxi to the airport? We don’t have a ton of dots to connect yet, but I’m watching this storyline with interest. Is this the storyline enticing enough for Emily to play Fig again? Also, assuming I’m right about what’s happening, I bet Fig is gonna be lowkey happy Ayda isn’t around to watch this happen.

Zelda/Gorgug break up. Well, at least Sam is happy wherever she is. This one wasn’t as obvious as the Kristen/Tracker breakup but I can’t say I’m shocked. In The Seven, Zelda gets her GED so it would make sense that they’d be wary to go long distance. (Of course, the timeline of that is wonky but, just gonna assume that’s being handwaved by the quangle for now).

Lol at Fig throwing Kristen under the bus (“I feel like Kristen's in a lot worse shape than I am.”) during the talk with Jawbone.

Also Fig saying she’s taken “two fistfuls” of Barbarian classes. Emily, the things that exit your mouth. Chef’s kiss.

Aelwyn Abernant my beloved. OK, you know I have Aelwyn thoughts. Here they are in no particular order:

The Nemesis Ward is such a great detail. So sweet. So dramatic and performative. So Aelwyn. (And, mechanically, fantastic reason to see her again…)

Middle school teacher? She’s a middle school teacher? That’s insane on multiple levels. First of all, just on the face of it: Bitchiest person you know working with small children. Incredible. Did Jawbone just say, “Idk working at a school fixed my entire life so maybe try that?” Second of all, it’s crazy she has a job AT ALL. Did she even graduate high school? Also, I know she’s not mind broken anymore because she reset her brain but even vanilla Aelwyn needs SO MUCH therapy before she should be doing any job, let alone one with kids. And it’s only been like what? A couple of months? Does she have any teaching certifications? Does Elmville just like their school personnel rough around the edges? She’s like 19 and a war criminal. I know Antiope’s sister is a teacher there too and also pretty young but she’s not a *war criminal*. Is she nice to the kids? If so, is she nice-nice or mean-nice? What is the vibe? Brennan PLEASE let us see what Aelwyn in a classroom setting looks like I’m begging you.

Five cats? Aelwyn. Five of them? Are they all just regular ass rescue cats? Is one of them her familiar? Do you really want Adaine to text ahead because you might have guests or is it so you can Prestidigitation away the mess from your FIVE CATS.

OK, Aelwyn thoughts over…for now.

I know that just because you have money it doesn’t mean all your friends’ money issues are suddenly your responsibility but it really seems to me like Fabian could solve a lot of problems for Riz and Adaine very casually.

For a hot second, I was a little surprised that Gorgug had a toothbrush at Zelda’s house but then I remembered how laissez faire her parents are to the point of *wanting* her to do “rebellious” teen things. So that fully checks out lol.

These players are more patient than me because you wouldn’t catch me opening letters later or asking about Tracker later. If you dangle info in front of me, I want it NOW, in-character exhaustion be damned.

Speaking of Tracker: Wild speculation time. What if the reason Tracker wants to talk to Kristen isn’t about Kristen so much as is it about Cass? Because their goddesses are sisters, right? Maybe now that Galicaea has presumably mellowed a bit from having an influx of non-traditional high elf followers, she’s curious about what’s up with her baby sister.

Love the “Happy birthday/Happy death day,” exchange between Adaine and Zayn. I really hope we get more of him this season!

Fig ripping that hairnet fishnet stocking that she’d had since like, episode 2 or 3 really feels like an indication of the, “Everything’s changing this season,” vibes Brennan is putting out.

Brennan phrases the thing that hurt Cassandra as, “a little ribbon of red” which wouldn’t be notable except for the fact that the last time ribbons came up in this show is was because Kristen did something so iconically stupid and thoughtless that she almost died (Ribbon Dance as an attempt to fly, never forget). I wonder if this is another dumb bit to serious symbol situation, like with Riz and Baron. If you want to symbolize Kristen’s thoughtless actions having consequences that are harmful, that’s one way to do it.

In the promo for next week, Kristen says that Cass is a “hard sell” because of her domains but I honestly thing a goddess of doubt and mystery would be really popular if marketed correctly (or like, literally at all). There are straight up evil gods with big followings. I think you could pretty easily drum up support for the mysterious Hot Topic goddess even if she’s not giving easy answers. And like, she’s so eager for one on one interactions. Like idk Kristen, I feel like this has less to do with Cass than you.

I wanted to share this wild piece of information about Kipperlily Copperkettle who I am immediately obsessed with and am now more obsessed with now that I know this.

#Dimension 20 #dimension 20 spoilers #d20 #d20 spoilers #fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #fhjy #fhjy spoilers #spoilers #the report card

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