#pro the delinquents | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 23 days

Text

1968 [Chapter 6: Athena, Goddess Of Wisdom]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.2k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here at the midway point in our journey—like Dante stumbling upon the gates of the Inferno—would it be the right moment to review what’s at stake? Let’s begin.

It’s the end of August. The delegates of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago officially vote to name Aemond the party’s presidential candidate. His ascension is aided by 10,000 antiwar demonstrators who flood into the city and threaten to set it ablaze if Hubert Humphrey is chosen instead. At the end—in his death rattle—Humphrey begs to be Aemond’s running mate, one last humiliation he cannot resist. Humphrey is denied. Eugene McCarthy, dignity intact, boards a commercial flight to his home state of Minnesota without looking back.

Aemond selects U.S. Ambassador to France, Sargent Shriver, to be his vice president. Shriver is a Kennedy by marriage—his wife, JFK’s younger sister Eunice, just founded the Special Olympics—and has previously headed the Office of Economic Opportunity, the Peace Corps, and the Chicago Board of Education. He also served as the architect of the president’s “War on Poverty” before distancing himself from the imploding Johnson administration. Shriver is not a concession to fence-sitting moderates or Southern Dixiecrats, but an embodiment of Aemond’s commitment to unapologetic progressivism. Richard Nixon spends the weekend campaigning in his native California, a gold vein of votes like the mines settlers rushed to in 1848. George Wallace announces that he will run as an Independent. Racists everywhere rejoice.

Phase III of the Tet Offensive is underway in Vietnam; 700 American soldiers have been killed this month alone. Riots break out in military prisons where the U.S. Army is keeping their deserters. The North Vietnamese refuse to allow Pope Paul VI to visit Hanoi on a peace mission. President Johnson calls both Aemond and Nixon to personally inform them of this latest evidence of the communists’ unwillingness to negotiate in good faith. Daeron and John McCain remain in Hỏa Lò Prison. The draft swallows men like the titan Cronus devoured his own children.

In Eastern Europe, the Russians are crushing pro-democracy protests in the largest military operation since World War II as half a million troops roll into Czechoslovakia. In Caswell County, North Carolina, the last remaining segregated school district in the nation is ordered by a federal judge to integrate after years of stalling. On the Fangataufa Atoll in the South Pacific, France becomes the fifth nation to successfully explode a hydrogen bomb. In Mexico City, 300,000 students gather to protest the authoritarian regime of President Diaz Ordaz. In Guatemala, American ambassador John Gordon Mein is murdered by a Marxist guerilla organization called the Rebel Armed Forces. In Columbus, Ohio, nine guards are held hostage during a prison riot; after 30 hours, they’re rescued by a SWAT team.

The latest issue of Life magazine brings worldwide attention to catastrophic industrial pollution in the Great Lakes. The first successful multiorgan transplant is carried out at Houston Methodist Hospital. The Beatles release Hey Jude, the best-selling single of 1968 in the U.S., U.K., Australia, and Canada. NASA’s Apollo lunar landing program plans to launch a crewed shuttle next year, just in time to fulfill John F. Kennedy’s 1962 promise to put a man on the moon “before the end of the decade.” If this is successful, the United States will win the Space Race and prove the superiority of capitalism. If it fails, the martyred astronauts will join all the other ghosts of this apocalyptic age, an epoch born under bad stars.

The night sky glows with the ancient debris of the Aurigid meteor shower. From down here on Earth, Jupiter is a radiant white gleam, visible with the naked eye and admired since humans were making cave paintings and Stonehenge. But Io is a mystery. With a telescope, she becomes a dust mote entrapped by Jupiter’s gravity; to the casual observer, she doesn’t exist at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

What was it like, that very first time? It’s strange to remember. You’re both different people now.

It’s May, 1966. You and Aemond are engaged, due to be married in three short weeks, and if you get pregnant then it’s no harm, no foul. In reality, it will end up taking you over a year to conceive, but no one knows that yet; you are living in the liminal space between what you imagine your life will be and the cold blade of the truth. Aemond has brought you to Asteria for the weekend, an increasingly common occurrence. The Targaryens—minus one, that holdout prodigal son, always glowering from behind swigs of rum and clouds of smoke—have already begun to treat you like a member of the family. The flock of Alopekis yap excitedly and lick your shins. Eudoxia learns your favorite snacks so she can have them ready when you arrive.

One night Aemond takes your hand and leads you to Helaena’s garden, darkness turned to twilight in the artificial luminance of the main house. You can hear distant voices, chatter and laughter, and the Beatles’ Rubber Soul spinning on the record player in the living room like a black hole, gravity that not even light can escape when it is wrenched over the event horizon.

You’re giggling as Aemond pulls you along, faster and faster, weaving through pathways lined with roses and sunflowers and butterfly bushes. Your high heels sink into soft, fertile earth; the air in your lungs is cool and infinite. “Where are we going?”

And Aemond grins back at you as he replies: “To Olympus.”

In the circle of hedges guarded by thirteen gods of stone, Aemond unzips your modest pink sundress and slips your heels off your feet, kneeling like he’s proposing to you again. When you are bare and secretless, he draws you down onto the grass and opens you, claims you, fills you to the brim as the crystalline water of the fountain patters and Zeus hurls his lightning bolts, an eternal storm, unending war. It’s intense in a way it never was with your first boyfriend, a sweet polite boy who talked about feminist theory and followed his enlightened conscience all the way to Vietnam. This isn’t just a pleasant way to pass a Friday night, something to look forward to between differential equations textbooks and calculus proofs. With Aemond it’s a ritual; it’s something so overpowering it almost scares you.

“Aphrodite,” Aemond murmurs against your throat, and when you try to get on top he stops you, pins you to the ground, thrusts hard and deep, and you try not to moan too loudly as you surrender, his weight on you like a prophesy. This is how he wants you. This is where you belong.

Has someone ever stitched you to their side, pushing the needle through your skin again and again as the fabric latticework takes shape, until their blood spills into your veins and your antibodies can no longer tell the difference? He makes you think you’ve forgotten who you were before. He makes you want to believe in things the world taught you were myths.

But that was over two years ago. Now Aemond is not your spellbinding almost-stranger of a fiancé—shrouded in just the right amount of mystery—but your husband, the father of your dead child, the presidential candidate. You miss when he was a mirage. You miss what it felt like to get high on the idea of him, each taste a hit, each touch a rush of toxins to the bloodstream.

Seven weeks after your emergency c-section, you are healing. Your belly no longer aches, your bleeding stops, you can rejoin the living in this last gasp of summer. Ludwika takes you shopping and you pick out new swimsuits; you’ve gone up a size since the baby, and it shows no signs of vanishing. In the fitting room, Ludwika chain-smokes Camel cigarettes and claps when you show her each outfit, ordering you to spin around, telling you that there’s nothing like Oleg Cassini back in Poland. You plan to buy three swimsuits. Ludwika insists you get five. She pays with Otto’s American Express.

That afternoon at home in your blue bedroom, you get changed to join the rest of the family down by the pool, your first swim since Ari was born. You choose Ludwika’s favorite: a dreamy turquoise two-piece with flowing transparent fabric that drapes your midsection. You can still see the dark vertical line of where the doctors stitched you closed. Now you and Aemond match; he got his scar on the floor of the Breakers Hotel in Palm Beach, you earned yours at Mount Sinai Hospital in Manhattan. There are gold chains on your wrist and looped around your neck. Warm sunlight and ocean wind pours in through the open windows.

Aemond appears in the doorway and you turn to show him, proud of how you’ve pulled yourself together, how this past year hasn’t put you in an asylum. His right eye catches on your scar and stays there for a long time. Then at last he says: “You don’t have something else to wear?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Labor Day, and Asteria has been descended upon by guests invited to celebrate Aemond’s nomination. The dining room table is overflowing with champagne, Agiorgitiko wine, platters of mini spanakopitas, lamb gyros, pita bread with hummus and tzatziki, feta cheese and cured meats, grilled octopus, baklava, and kourabiethes. Eudoxia is rushing around sweeping up crumbs and shooing tipsy visitors away from antique vases shipped here from Greece. Aemond’s celebrity endorsers include Sammy Davis Jr., Sonny and Cher, Andy Williams, Bobby Darin, Warren Beatty, Shirley MacLaine, Claudine Longet, and a number of politicians; but the most notable attendee is President Lyndon Baines Johnson, shadowed by Secret Service agents. He won’t be making any surprise appearances on the campaign trail for Aemond—in the present political climate, he would be more of a liability than an asset—but he has travelled to Long Beach Island tonight to offer his well-wishes. From the record player thrums Jimi Hendrix’s All Along The Watchtower.

When you finish getting ready and arrive downstairs, you spot Aegon: slouching in a velvet chair over a century old, hair shagging in his eyes, sipping something out of a chipped mug he clasps with both hands, flirting with a bubbly early-twenties campaign staffer. Aegon smiles and waves when he sees you. You wave back. And you think: When did he become the person I look for when I walk into a room?

Now Aemond is beside you in a blue suit—beaming, confident, his glass eye in place, a hand resting on your waist—and Aegon isn’t smiling anymore. He takes a gulp of what is almost certainly straight rum from his mug and returns his attention to the campaign staffer, his lady of the hour. You picture him undressing her on his shag carpet and feel disorienting, violent envy like a bullet.

Viserys is already fast asleep upstairs, but the rest of the family is out en masse to charm the invitees and pose for photographs. Alicent, Helaena, and Mimi—trying very hard to act sober, blinking too often—are chit-chatting with the other political wives. Otto is complaining about something to Criston; Criston is pretending to listen as he stares at Alicent. Ludwika is smoking her Camels and talking to several young journalists who are ogling her, enraptured. Fosco and Sargent Shriver are entertaining a group of guests with a boisterous, lighthearted debate on the merits of Italian versus French cuisine, though they agree that both are superior to Greek. The nannies have brought the eight children to be paraded around before bedtime. All Cosmo wants to do is clutch your hand and “help” you navigate around the living room, warning you not to step on the small, weaving Alopekis. When Mimi attempts to steal her youngest son away, he ignores her, and as she begins to make a scene you rebuke her with a harsh glare. Mimi retreats meekly. She has never argued with you, not once in over two years. You speak for Aemond, and Aemond is a god.

As the children are herded off to their beds by the nannies, Bobby Kennedy—presently serving as a New York senator despite residing primarily on his family’s compound in Massachusetts—approaches to congratulate Aemond. His wife Ethel is a tiny, nasally, scrappy but not terribly bright woman, five months pregnant with her eleventh child, and you have to get away from her like a hand pulled from a hot stove.

“You know, I was considering running,” Bobby says to Aemond, chuckling, good-natured. “But when I saw you get in the race, I thought better of it! Maybe I’ll give it a go in ’76, huh?”

“Hey, kid, what a tough year you’ve had,” Ethel tells you, patting your forearm. You can’t tear your eyes from her small belly. She has ten living children already. I couldn’t keep one. What kind of sense does that make? “We’re real sorry for your trouble, aren’t we, Bobby?”

Now he is nodding somberly. “We are. We sure are. We’ve been praying for you both.”

Aemond is thanking them, sounding touched but entirely collected. You manage some hurried response and then excuse yourself. Your hands are shaking as you cross the room, not really seeing it. You walk right into Lady Bird Johnson. She takes pity on you; she seems to perceive how rattled you are. “Oh Lyndon, look, it’s just who we were hoping to speak to! The next first lady of the United States. And how beautiful you are, just radiant. How do you keep your hair so perfect? That glamorous updo. You never have a single strand out of place.” Lady Bird lays a palm tenderly on your bare shoulder. She has an unusual, angular face, but a wise sort of compassion that only comes from suffering. Her husband is an unrepentant serial cheater. “I’ll make you a list of everything you need to know about the White House. All the quirks of the property, and the hidden gems too!”

“You’re so kind. We’ll see what happens in November…”

“Good evening, ma’am,” President Johnson says, smiling warmly. He’s an ugly man, but there’s something hypnotic that lives inside him and shines through his eyes like the blaze of a lighthouse. He pulls you in through the dark, through the storm; he promises you answers to questions you haven’t thought of yet. LBJ is 6’4 and known for bullying his political adversaries with the so-called “Johnson Treatment”; he leans in and makes rapid-fire demands until they forget he’s not allowed to hit them. “I have to tell you frankly, I don’t envy anyone who inherits that den of rattlesnakes in Washington D.C.”

“Lyndon, don’t frighten her,” Lady Bird scolds fondly.

“Everyone thinks they know what to do about Vietnam,” LBJ plods onwards. “But it’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t clusterfuck. If you keep fighting, they call you a murderer. But if you pull the troops out and South Vietnam falls to the communists, every single man lost was for nothing, and you think the families will stand for that? Their kid in a body bag, or his legs blown off, or his brain scrambled? There’s no easy answer. It’s a goddamn bitch of a quagmire.”

Lady Bird offers you a sympathetic smirk. Sorry about all this unpleasantness, she means. When he gets himself worked up, I can’t stop him. But you find yourself feeling sorry for President Johnson. It will be difficult for him to learn how to fade into disgraced obscurity after once being so omnipotent, so beloved. Reinvention hurts like hell: fevers raging, bones mending, healing flesh that itches so ferociously you want to claw it off.

LBJ gives Lady Bird a look, quick but meaningful. She acquiesces. This has happened a thousand times before. “It was so nice talking to you, dear,” she tells you, then crosses the living room to pay her respects to Alicent.

The president steps closer, looming, towering. The Johnson Treatment?? you think, but no; he isn’t trying to intimidate you. He’s just curious.

“Do you know what Aemond’s plan is for ‘Nam?” LBJ asks, eyes urgent, voice low. “I’m sure he has one. He’s sworn to end the draft as soon as he gets into office, but how is he going to make sure the South Vietnamese can fend off the North themselves? We’re trying to train the bastards, but if we left they’d fold in months. It would be the first war the U.S. ever lost. Does he understand that?”

“He doesn’t really discuss it with me.” That’s true; you know his policies, but only because they are a constant subject of conversation within the family, something you all breathe like oxygen.

“We can’t let Nixon win,” LBJ continues. “It’s mass suicide to leave the country in his hands. The man can’t hold his liquor anymore, getting robbed by Kennedy in ’60 broke something in him. He gets sloshed and shoves his aids around, makes up conspiracies in his head. He’s a paranoid little prick. He’ll surveille the American people. He’ll launch a nuke at Moscow.”

You honestly don’t know what he expects you to say. “I’ll pass the message along to Aemond.”

“People love you, Mrs. Targaryen.” LBJ watching you closely. “Believe it or not, they used to love me too. But I still remember how to play the game. You’re the only reason Aemond is leading the polls in Florida. You can get him other states too. Jack needed Jackie. Aemond needs you. And you’ve had tragedies, and that’s a damn shame. But don’t you miss an opportunity. You take every disappointment, every fucked up cruelty of life and find a way to make it work for you. You pin it to your chest like a goddamn medal. Every single scar makes you look more mortal to those people going to the ballot box in November. You want them to be able to see themselves in you. It helps the mansions and the millions go down smoother.”

“President Johnson!” Aegon says as he saunters over, huge mocking grin. He thumps a closed fist against the Texan’s broad chest; the Secret Service agents standing ten feet away observe this sternly. “How thoughtful of you to be here, taking time out of your busy schedule, squeezing us in between war crimes.”

“The mayor of Trenton,” LBJ jabs.

“The butcher of Saigon.”

Now the president is no longer amused. “You’ve never accomplished anything in your whole damn life, son. Your obituary will be the size of a postage stamp. I’m looking forward to reading it someday soon.” He leaves, rejoining Lady Bird at the opposite end of the room.

You frown at Aegon, disapproving. You’re dressed in a sparkling, royal blue gown that Aemond chose. “That was unnecessary.”

Aegon is wearing an ill-fitting green shirt—half the buttons undone—khaki pants, and tan moccasins. “I just did you a favor.”

“What happened to your new girlfriend? Shouldn’t she be getting railed in your basement right now? Did she have a prior commitment? Did she have a spelling test to study for? Those can be tricky, such complex words. Juvenile. Inappropriate. Infidelity.”

“You know what he brags about?” Aegon says, meaning LBJ. “That he’s fucked more women by accident than John F. Kennedy ever did on purpose.”

“That sounds…logistically challenging.”

“He’s a lech. He’s a freak. He tells everyone on Capitol Hill how big his cock is. He takes it out and swings it around during meetings.”

“And that’s all far less than admirable, but he’s not going to do something like that around me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s not an idiot,” you say impatiently. “He was perfectly civil. And I was getting interesting advice.”

Aegon rolls his eyes, exasperated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry I crashed your cute little pep talk with Lyndon Johnson, the most hated man on the planet.”

“I guess you can’t stop Aemond from touching me, so you have to terrorize LBJ instead.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Aegon hisses, and his venom stuns you. And now you’re both trapped: you loosed the arrow, he proved you hit the mark. He’s flushing a deep, mortified red. Your guts are twisting with remorse.

“Aegon, wait, I didn’t mean—”

He whirls and storms off, shoving his way through the crowd. People glare at him as they clutch their glasses and plates, sighing in that What else do you expect from the worthless son? sort of way. You’re still gaping blankly at the place where Aegon stood when Aemond finds you, snakes a hand around the back of your neck, and whispers through the painstakingly-arranged wisps of hair that fall around your ear: “Follow me.”

It’s not a question. It’s a command. You trail him through the living room, into the foyer, and through the front door, not knowing what he wants. Outside the moon is a sliver; the light from the main house makes the stars hard to see. “Aemond, you’ll never believe the conversation I just had with LBJ. He really unloaded, I think the stress is driving him insane. I have to tell you what he said about—”

“Later.” And this is jarring; Aemond doesn’t put anything before strategy. He grabs your hand as he turns into Helaena’s garden, and only then do you understand what he wants. Instinctively, your legs lock up and your feet stop moving. Aemond tugs you onward. He wants it to be like the very first time. He intends to start over with you, the dawning of a new age in the dead of night.

Hidden in the circle of hedges, he takes your face roughly in his hands and kisses you, drinks you down like a vampire, consumes you like wildfire. But your skull echoes with panic. I don’t want him touching me. I don’t want another child with him. “Aemond…”

He doesn’t hear you, or acts like he doesn’t, or mistakes it for a murmur of desire, or chooses to believe it is. He has you down on the grass under the vengeful gaze of Zeus, the fountain splashing, the sounds of the house a low foreign drone. He yanks off your panties, but he doesn’t want you naked like he always did before. He pushes the hem of your shimmering cobalt gown up to your hips and unbuckles his trousers. And you realize as he’s touching you, as he’s easing himself into you: He doesn’t want to have to look at my scar.

You can’t ignore him, you can’t pretend it’s not happening. He’s too big for that. It’s a biting fullness that demands to be felt. So you kiss him back, and knot your fingers in his short hair like you used to, and try to remember the things you always said to him before. And when Aemond is too absorbed to notice, you look away from him, from the statue of Zeus, and peer up into the stone face of Athena instead: the goddess who never married and who knows the answer to every question.

“I love you,” Aemond says when it’s over, marveling at the slopes of your face in the dim ethereal light. “Everything will be right again soon. Everything will be perfect.”

You conjure up a smile and nod like you believe him.

“What did LBJ say?”

“Can I tell you later tonight? After the party, maybe? I just need a few minutes.”

“Of course.” And now Aemond pretends to be patient. He buckles his belt and returns to the main house, his blood coursing with the possibilities only you can make real, his skin damp with your sweat.

For a while—ten minutes, twenty minutes—you lie there on the cool grass wondering what it was like for all those mortals and nymphs, being pinned down by Zeus and then having Hera try to kill them afterwards, raising ill-fated reviled bastards they couldn’t help but love. What is heaven if the realm of the immortals is so cruel? Why does the god of justice seem so immune to it?

When at last you rise and walk back towards the house, you find Mimi at the edge of the garden. She’s on her knees and retching into a rose bush; she’s cut her face on the thorns, but she hasn’t noticed yet. She’s groaning; she seems lost.

You reach for her, gripping her bony shoulders. “Mimi, here, let’s get you upstairs…”

“No,” she blubbers, tears streaming down her scratched cheeks. “Just go away. Leave me.”

“Mimi—”

“No!” she roars, a mournful hemorrhage as she slaps your hands until you release her.

“You don’t have to be this way,” you tell her, distraught. “You can give up drinking. We’ll help you, me and Fosco and Ludwika. You can start over. You can be healthy and present again, you can live a real life.”

Mimi stares up at you, her grey eyes glassy and bloodshot but with a vicious, piercing honesty. “My husband hates me. My kids don’t know I exist. What the hell do I have to be sober for?”

You weren’t expecting this. You don’t know what to say. “We can help make the world better.”

“The world would be better without me in it.”

Then Mimi curls up on the grass under the rose bush, and stays there until you return with Fosco to drag her upstairs to her empty bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next afternoon, you’re lying on a lounge chair by the pool. Tomorrow the family will leave Asteria and embark upon a vigorous campaign schedule that will continue, with very few breaks, until Election Day on Tuesday, November 5th. The children are splashing and shrieking in the pool with Fosco, but you aren’t looking at them. You’re staring across the sun-drenched emerald lawn at the Atlantic Ocean. You’re envisioning all the bones and splinters of sunken ships that must litter the silt of the abyss; you’re thinking that it’s a graveyard with no headstones, no memory. Your swimsuit is a red one-piece. Your eyes are shielded by large black Ray Bans aviator sunglasses. Your gaze flicks up to the cloudless blue sky, where all the stars and planets are invisible.

Jupiter has nearly a hundred moons; the largest four were discovered by Galileo in 1610. Europa is a smooth white cosmic marble with a crust of ice, beautiful, immaculate. Ganymede, the largest moon in our solar system and the only satellite with its own magnetic field, is rumored to have a vast underground saltwater ocean that may contain life. Callisto is dark and indomitable, riddled with impact craters; because of her dynamic atmosphere and location beyond Jupiter’s radiation belts, she is considered the best location for possible future crewed missions to the Jovian system. But Io is a wasteland. She has no water and no oxygen. Her only children are 400 active volcanoes, sulfur plumes and lava flows, mountains of silicate rock higher than Mount Everest, cataclysmic earthquakes as her crust slips around on a mantle of magma. Her daily radiation levels are 36 times the lethal limit for humans. If Hades had a home in our corner of the galaxy, it would be Io. She glows ruby and gold with barren apocalyptic fury. You can feel yourself turning poisonous like she is. You can feel your skin splitting open as the lava spills out.

Aegon trots out of the house—red swim trunks, cheap red plastic sunglasses, no shirt, a beach towel slung around his neck, flip flops—and kicks your chair. “Get up. We’re going sailing.”

“I don’t want to talk to anybody.”

“Great, because I’m not asking you to talk. I’m telling you to get in my boat.”

You don’t reply. You don’t think you can without your voice cracking. Aegon crouches down beside your chair and pushes your sunglasses up into your Brigitte Bardot-inspired hair so he can see your face. Your eyes are pink, wet, desperately sad. Deep troubled grooves appear in his forehead as he studies you. Gently, wordlessly, he pats your cheek twice and lowers your sunglasses back over your eyes. Then he stands up again and offers you his hand.

“Let’s go,” Aegon says, softly this time. You take his hand and follow him down to the boathouse.

Five vessels are currently kept there. Aegon’s sailboat is a 25-foot Wianno Senior sloop, just roomy enough for a few passengers. He’s had it since long before you married into the Targaryen family. It is white with hand-painted gold accents; the name Sunfyre adorns the stern. He unmoors the boat, pushes it out into the open water, and raises the sails.

You glide eastbound over the glittering crests of waves, slowly at first, then faster as the sails catch the wind. Aegon has one hand on the rudder, the other grasping the ropes. And the farther you get from shore, the smaller Asteria seems, and the Targaryen family, and the presidential election, and the United States itself. Now all that exists is this boat: you, Aegon, the squawking gulls, the school of mackerel, the ocean. The sun beats down; the breeze rips strands of your hair free. The battery-powered record player is blasting White Room by Cream. When you are far enough from land that no journalists would be able to get a photo, Aegon takes two joints and his Zippo out of the pocket of his swim trunks. He puts both joints between his lips, lights them, and passes you one. Then he stretches out beside you on the deck, gazing up at the September sky.

You ask as your muscles unravel and your thoughts turn light and easy to share: “Why did you bring me out here?”

“So you can drown yourself,” Aegon says, and you both laugh. “Nah. I used to go sailing all the time when I was a teenager. It always made me feel better. It was the only place where I could really be alone.”

You consider the math. “Wow. You haven’t been a teenager since before I was in kindergarten.”

“It’s weird to think about. You don’t seem that young.”

“Thanks, I guess. You don’t seem that old.”

“Maybe we’re meeting in the middle.” He inhales deeply and then exhales in a rush of smoke. “What do you think, should I get an earring?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It might shock Otto so bad it kills him.”

“I’ll get two.” And then Aegon says: “It’s not cool for you to mock me.”

You are dismayed; you didn’t mean to hurt him. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You were mocking me. You mocked me about the receipt under my ashtray, and then you mocked me again last night. I’m up for a lot of things, but I can’t handle that. Okay?”

“Okay.” You turn your head so you can see him: shaggy blonde hair, stubble, perpetual sunburn, the softness of his belly and his chest, flesh you long to vanish into like rain through parched earth. “Aegon?”

He looks over at you. “Io?”

“I don’t want Aemond to touch me either.”

He’s surprised; not by what you feel, but because you’ve said it aloud, a treason like Prometheus giving mankind the gift of fire. “What are we gonna do about it?”

If you were the goddess of wisdom, maybe you’d know.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii x y/n #aegon ii x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii fic

218 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Text

Masterlist

A masterlist of (most) I've left out some I'm not confident in/were mushed together through errors in the tumblr app. Reader is always gn unless stated otherwise in post

Oc Pronouns: X

OCS:

Quick Oc Intros - Lee, Host, Elliott (X)

Character Concepts - Yandere Incubus and Paralysis Demon - C.C, Verona (X)

Grand Prize: Yandere Show Host x Reader (Host intro) (X)

Host x Co-host reader (X)

Host Nsfw headcannons (X)

Host with flirty reader (X)

Lee headcannons (X)

Lee"s name (1)(2)(3)

Cutting your finger by Lee (X)

Cinema (Elliot Wiltshire intro) (X)

C.C (incubus) blurb (X)

C.C with anxious reader (X)

oc heights (X)

ocs with flustered reader headcannons (X)

oc's thought of starting a family (X)

oc's reaction if reader has a significant other (X)

ocs with a flirty reader (X)

Who would be willing to share an s/o (X)

which ocs are most willing to let their darling have a pet (X)

ocs react to the reader with the bubbly personality (X)

not writing descriptions for this (nsfw) (X)

how ocs kiss their darling (X)

Putting your hand on ocs thigh (X)

ocs with picky eater (X)

ocs with college student reader (X)

telling them you love them (X)

Mutli Part series:

Accidental Cult:

Starting the cult (X)

Your God gets jealous (X)

God lies to followers for worship (X)

Reader kills for their god (X)

Supernatural Harem Masterlist (X)

Supernatural Harem headcannons:

Baron(demon) nsfw (X)

Maddox (reaper) headcannons (X)

Alasdair (Gurdian Angel) (slight nsfw) (X)

Petting Alasdair"s wings (X)

harem with reader that cant swim (X)

kissing the harem a good morning (X)

harem with reader that likes to lay on their chest (X

painting the harems nails (X)

Alasdair true form (X)

harem stealing your clothes (X)

reader trapped on earth after death (X)

Jeremiah (priest) with angel reader (X)(2)(3)(4)

Misc:

Hurt: Male masochistic yandere bully x shy reader (X)

Opposites: violent male yandere x quiet reader (X)

Male yandere doll maker x doll reader (X)

Submissive male yandere x healer reader (X)

Beast: Male yandere x monster reader (X)

Show time: male yandere show host x reader (X)

Yandere Naga squeezing reader as a punishment (X)

Male yandere x crime boss reader (X)

Male yandere x delinquent reader (X)

Male yandere x superhuman reader (X)

Yandere male delinquent x reader (X)

Male servant yandere x Vampire s/o (X)

Male yandere x touch starved reader (X)

Forgiveness: Yandere cult x god reader (X) (2)

Male yandere fighter x healer reader (X)

yandere god taking interest in a cult member reader (X)

yandere God of death x reader (X)

Touch starved male yandere x supernatural reader (X)

The Beast's pet: yandere male x werewolf reader (X)

yandere supernatural creature x reader (X)

male yandere x vampire reader (X)

male yandere x crime boss reader (X)

Chase: male yandere x monster reader (X)

Pumpkin Carving: Yandere demon x reader (X)

My Guardian Angel: Yandere x reader (X)

Pretty Face: Yandere x serial killer reader blurb (X)

Symbiosis: Mutualism - Yandere cult x genderless deity reader (X) (2)

male yandere x shapeshifter reader (nsfw) (X)

Yandere male spider hybrid (X)

Male yandere x serial killer reader (nsfw) (X)

Yandere naga (X)

yandere husband X monster reader (X)

yandere merman x pirate captain reader (X)

male yandere exorcist x ghoul reader (X)

Masochistic Male Yandere x Friendly Sadistic Reader (X)

Yandere husband x Psychic Reader (X)

Flowers By Your Grave: Unnamed Male Yandere x Reader (X)

yandere male crime boss x male priest reader (X)

Fandom works:

Kai Satou - yttd (X)

Sullivan - Obsolete Dream (X)

Sal - Wadanohara (X)

Maekami - Obsolete Dream (X)

Masochistic Pro hero Hitoshi Shinso (X)

Masochistic Dabi (X)

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere oc #male yandere #Female yandere #yandere x you #yandere masterlist #masterlist #I need more women #tw yandere

4K notes · View notes

ozzgin · 10 months

Text

Hello and thank you for visiting! This place is a little bit of a scattered mess, mostly in the form of my writings and doodles. Here is what you can expect:

Anime: Baki, Boku no Hero Academia, Hakuouki, Inuyasha, Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, Mayoiga, Monster, Naruto, Shaman King, Yu Yu Hakusho

Manga/Webcomics: Killing Stalking, Crows/Worst (Takahashi Hiroshi) or any other delinquent manga (just ask), Suicide Boy, JTHM

Games: Hogwarts Legacy (or Harry Potter in general), Obey me!, Legend of Zelda: BotW + TotK, Silent Hill, Call of Duty, Baldur’s Gate 3

Misc: Alien (& Predator), Horror movie characters, Creepypasta, Star Trek: TOS, Original Work

Status: Temporarily closed!

Anything within common sense is alright. I write female/male/gender-neutral readers or any other variation, for both male and female characters. Not exclusively yandere.

Baki:

Complete list here

Horror:

Complete list here

Original Works:

Complete list here

Monsters:

Complete list here

Boku no Hero Academia:

BNHA Headcanons: Midoriya Izuku as a loving boyfriend

BNHA Characters x Artist! Reader

BNHA Headcanons: Pro-Hero Todoroki Shoto x Reader

Hakuouki:

[WIP Request] Yandere! Hakuoki x Reader (Demon Trio)

Inuyasha:

Inuyasha/Sesshomaru x Butterfly Demon! Reader Headcanons

Inuyasha/Sesshomaru x Butterfly Demon! Reader Headcanons: First meeting

Inuyasha x Reader Headcanons (lime)

Monster:

[WIP Request] Johan Liebert x Reader

JoJo's Bizarre Adventure:

JJBA Headcanons: Pillar Woman! Reader

Naruto (Shippuden):

Yandere! Akatsuki Headcanons: Halloween with their Darling

Kakuzu Fanart (I)

Kakuzu Fanart (II)

Kakuzu Fanart (III)

[Wattpad] Yandere! Akatsuki x Reader Book (ongoing)

Obey Me!

Yandere! Solomon x Reader

Demon Brothers x Reader Headcanons [Belphegor, Beelzebub, Mammon]

Manga/Webcomics:

WORST Characters x Reader

WORST Characters x Reader (II)

[WIP Request] WORST Characters x Cat(like)! Reader

[WIP Request] Crows x Worst Characters x Foreign!Fighter! Reader

Suicide Boy Characters x Caring! Reader Headcanons

Video Games:

[Hogwarts Legacy] Yandere! Sebastian Sallow x Reader

[Hogwarts Legacy] Sebastian Sallow x Ravenclaw! Male Reader

[CoD] Yandere! König & Ghost x Reader Headcanons

[CoD] Yandere! König & Ghost x Reader Headcanons (II)

[CoD] [WIP Request] König x Male! Reader Headcanons

[CoD] König Fanart

[LoZ] [WIP Request] Yandere! Fierce Deity Link x Hylia! Reader

[Baldur's Gate 3] [WIP] Yandere! BG3 Characters x Reader Headcanons

[Baldur’s Gate 3] Bhaal Headcanons

[Baldur's Gate 3] Monster Headcanons

Anons: 👘,🍡,🪐,🐼,🦄,🪷,🫧,🌟,🌼,🦇,🌸, 👽, 🦝, 🦆, 💠 anon (I'm coming for you), (my wife anon), hand-biter spouse; Do let me know if I forgot anyone as I'm trying to keep track!

Tags: #personal (Rambles & Asks), #doodle (Everything I've doodled), #my art (Curated, higher quality doodles), #mail doodle (drawings received from other people), #advice (tips, suggestions etc. to questions I've received)

You can throw a coin to the jester on Ko-Fi, but this is absolutely optional and not encouraged.

Disclaimer: All images are either credited, my own work, or AI generated (Midjourney) if no source is mentioned. The AI content is free to use, reproduce, repost and so on.

#masterlist #pinned post #yandere blog

727 notes · View notes

kaleidoscopic-quiddity · 1 year

Text

reading the bluelock light novels and theres so many fun lil character traits and info thrown in (probably not on the wiki bc the LNs dont have an official english release yet)

isagi was a crybaby and a scardy cat as a kid

he was also really senitive to sounds and they’d make him cry (he just like me fr)

isagi’s always had really great spacial awareness and vision, even as a toddler

nagi lived at student dorms at hakuho academy (which explains why his parents dont live w/ him)

he got into hakuho, an elite tokyo prep school, with only two weeks of studying

there were two different rumors abt nagi amongst his classmates, one saying if you talked to him you’d be cursed with bad luck and the other saying youd find happiness after talking to him, the curse rumor is more popular

(nagi my poor guy, his classmates think hes a weirdo just bc hes quiet an not interested in rich kid pissing contests)

he also has the nickname of ‘thousand year netaro’ bc he sleeps in class so much lmao

he doesnt study but still gets good grades, at least in social sciences

nagi helps his class win a volleyball tournament (that he was forced to participate in) despite knowing nothing abt the rules purely based off of his height, reflexes, trapping skills, and desire to finish the game quickly so he can go home lmao

bachira refers to his mother by her given name, yuu, which would typically be disrespectful af in japanese culture but in this context i think it just displays how close they are + the fact that bachira’s first/best friend is his mama :’)

he walked (dribbled), slept rough, and hitchhiked all the way to osaka from chiba prefecture for 5 days just to go see one of her art exhibitions too

he got a fortune from a shrine that literally read that he will meet his “ 運命の相手” - unmei no aite, literally ‘partner of fate’ or ‘fated partner’, bachisagi soulmate-isms r crazy

he won a 4 on 1 fight with a bunch of delinquents in osaka

rin liked ice cream but really he’d be happy with anything as long as sae bought it for him

the itoshi bros played for the kamakura united youth club, which won the U15 national league

they shared a bedroom growing up

rin gets bad grades in every subject other than english bc hes too busy thinking abt football, and hes only good at english bc he wants to go pro and play internationally

rin got into horror movies and games only after sae left for spain, he likes the thrill they give him, especially splatter films

he found a scene of someone getting chopped up w/ a chainsaw calming after he had a rough day,, damn okay rin in there anything u wanna talk abt edgelord?

“Perhaps because of this stress, he has recently been watching shark movies at night, where sharks attack humans. It’s refreshing to see a giant man-eating shark attack and munch on humans.” what a fuckin chuuni oml

sae got trending on japanese football twitter for scoring a hattrick for real madrid’s youth team

rin did the tongue-out-in-concentration/bloodlust thing pre-bluelock too apparantly

he didnt talk to sae whilst he was in spain bc he didnt want to bother him but he kept up news of him and thought abt him a lot

“He thought he would just shout out loud “I'm the best in Japan!” and hug him, but in reality, that didn't work out that way” <- rins first thought seeing sae after 4 years, excuse me whilst i sob

chigiri went to a ‘jitsugyo’ school, which is like a vocational tech or business school, it also has a foreign name (’lacosute’) so its probably a private school, maybe missionary?

chigiri likes cats awww, there was specially a stray black cat he’d talk to and buy karinto manju for

his ACL is attached to his knee in an odd which which is why he can run so fast

chigiri stopped cutting his hair after he quit going to his school’s football club once he finished rehab for his knee

reo got baya to hire him a whole team of ppl including a coach, nutritionist, nurse, etc once he decided on football, fuckin rich ppl i swear

all the adults who worked w/ reo sing his praises but also said how cheeky he was lmaooo

reo was learning english, spanish, and german in preperation for going pro

he also got a specially made football training VR facility made for him this boy i swear

reo bribed the hakuho football club w/ fancy meat and the opportunity to meet idols to get them to put more effort in

immediately upon meeting nagi reo notices his height and how ‘cool’ and ‘intense’ his trapping is like okay fruit

#bluelock #bluelock light novels #isagi yoichi #nagi seishiro #bachira meguru #itoshi rin #chigiri hyouma #mikage reo #og post //

672 notes · View notes

alovesongshewrote · 1 year

Text

Slightly Stabbed | The Lost Boys x Reader

Plot: you get a little bit stabbed. oopsie? [The Lost Boys x GN!Reader]

Word count: 3807

Warnings: first aid, stab wounds, blood, the reader has some issues but it's ok

A/N: this is literally a fanfic in headcanon form, holy fuck. tumblr almost couldn’t handle this thicc thing

Sooooooo, here’s the thing about dating a group of vampires

They uh

They can smell blood

AND I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE THINKING, BUT WE AREN’T GOING THERE

At least not today

No, today we’re discussing the fun challenge that is Hiding Your Stab Wound From Your Four Boyfriends

(five boyfriends if you want to add michael, and five boyfriends one girlfriend if you want to add star)

Either way

All these bitches can smell your blood, which makes hiding injuries Difficult

It literally doesn’t matter how little blood there is, the second that red shit escapes your flesh prison, they Know

It makes papercuts very difficult, because you’ll be reading, you’ll get the papercut, and then one or more of them will just Appear behind you like

“Hi, could I offer you a band-aid? Or perhaps you could offer to give me a sip of your blood?”

It’s a fuckin

Process

Also, RIP to you if you ever get scratched in the face by something, because some of these fuckers

(paul and marko)

Will just

Lick your face

They don’t even give any warning, they’ll just lick you

It’s

It’s an experience, to be sure

It’s even more of an experience if you go with the idea that they have forked tongues

But anyway, we aren’t here to talk about little injuries

We’re here to talk about Stab Wounds and How To Hide Them

Short answer: you can’t hide them.

Aaand that’s it, thanks for coming to the TEDTalk everyone, rmr to like and subscribe, blah blah blah

Long answer:

Let’s start with how you got the stab wound

Because that’s very important

Now

There are lots of ways to get stabbed

The boardwalk isn’t the safest place

And i mean, you’ve seen the “people are strange” sequence, there are missing posters fucking everywhere

And yeah, all that murder that could be just the boys, but also

There could be other killers wandering around, you don’t know

There are also vampire hunters

And random delinquents

And people who just

Don’t Like The Boys

And by association, don’t like you

Whatever it is, whoever stabs you

They manage to get you one of the few times you’re on the boardwalk alone

To any passers by, it just looks like a fist fight- probably something that came out of harsh words and youthful anger

But alas, the sharp stinging in your side says something else

Actually, it’s less saying something else, and more screaming it

Nevertheless, you manage to fight off your attacker, and then you’re left standing on the boardwalk, your hands covered in blood as you try to put pressure on your wound

It’s a very strange experience

You’ve got a hole

In your side

You’re leaking blood

And you almost don’t know what to do next

But you know you can’t exactly go home like this, so you end up walking through the crowds on the boardwalk, fighting off shock and trying to ignore the bright lights and joyful screams around you as you try to find a bathroom to clean up in

If anyone notices that you’re hurt, you don’t notice them

Eventually, you find a bathroom, and once inside, you lock the door behind you and take a look in the mirror

As you stare down your reflection, you silently pray that the wound looks worse than it is

In part because it looks really bad

Like, bad enough to freak you out

But you’ve also got your fingers crossed that it looks worse than it is because, uh

If you die alone in a random boardwalk bathroom, David will kill you.

And yeah, the thought of an angry david sobers you up pretty quickly

You start doing first aid on yourself

You’re no pro, but you do your best with what you have

You clean the excess blood off of your wound with paper towels and tap water

At first you’re so focused on speed that you forget to be gentle

You regret it

But you quickly learn how to get shit done efficiently without needlessly torturing yourself

And thank fucking god, the wound does actually look worse than it is

The stab wound isn’t deep, and it didn’t hit anything important

It’s just gross

Once the bleeding stops, you frantically wash all of the blood off of your skin

And then you realize that you don’t have much to patch yourself up with

You end up using your jacket, which was already stained with your blood beyond repair

You rip it up for bandages, and then you realize that you’re uh

You’re probably going to have to get another shirt

Because yours has Noticeable Bloodstains

And not only will your Vampires notice that

But so will the General Public

So yeah, you buy a dumb t-shirt from the boardwalk

It says, “i survived the murder capital of the world and all i got was this stupid t-shirt”

You find it hilariously ironic that you are using this shirt to hide the fact that you almost didn’t survive the murder capital of the world

Anyway

You yeet your old shirt into a random fire, and then you head on back to the cave, hoping for the best

(hoping for the best here means: hoping that you don’t start bleeding again)

You don’t

And hey, when you get to the cave, it looks like the no one’s home

So that’s another win for you!

You walk on in and let yourself collapse onto one of the couches

And i mean, you instantly regret it, because ow

But it’s nice to feel something soft and comfortable after the time you had

You can’t relax, though

For one thing, every time you close your eyes you’re back there

Either getting stabbed by a stranger on the boardwalk, or shaking in the bathroom trying not to bleed out

You can feel your breath coming faster as the adrenaline in your system fades away and you start to realize that you were just stabbed

Someone pulled a knife on you, and they stabbed you

They could have killed you, you could have died, and you’re lucky you didn’t, but also, you’re not super lucky because you still got stabbed

And you really liked the shirt that you had to burn

And for another thing

There’s a vampire standing in front of you

When you open your eyes it makes you jump and scream a little

Which irritates your stab wound

Which makes you scream more and curl in on yourself

It’s very confusing to poor paul, who was already very confused because he could smell your blood even though none of your vampires bit you that day

Also, it’s not super relevant but you should know: he does kind of look like the “mom i frew up” meme

Or at least he does at first

Because the second you start to curl in on yourself, he is on you

Usually he’d apologize for startling you, but right now? Right now he can tell something’s up

Your boys might be dumbasses, but they’re more than smart enough to know when something is wrong

So, paul goes all

“Hey pretty thing, are you okay? What’s wrong?”

And you

You don’t want paul to worry, and you don’t want him to get mad at you for letting yourself get stabbed

And you really don’t want to talk about your stab wound in general

You just want paul to go so that you can have a panic attack over it in peace

But he doesn’t go

So you respond with

“I’m fine! Totally, totally fine, I just slept on my side weird and it’s bugging me, that’s all”

And y’know what, you’re actually mildly convincing

Too bad he can smell your blood

Thanks to that fun vampiric trait, he knows you aren’t telling him the truth

So, he leans in a little further, eyebrows furrowed, and he says

“You can tell me, baby. What’s wrong?”

Luckily (depending on who you ask) you don’t have to answer him, because marko drops into the cave

Yeaaaah, you were lucky enough to come home like, two minutes before the boys did

Rip

Anyway, it doesn’t take marko long to notice the scene on the couch

You’re curling up into the armrest and paul is leaning over you

It looks weird

And

You’re clutching your side

And paul looks concerned, so like i said, these boys may have like, three solid brain cells between them (three and a half if you want to count star) but they fucking Know when something’s up

Especially when something’s up with you

So, marko bounces over

And now he’s asking what’s wrong

He leans over the armrest of the couch

So he’s standing like, behind your head

And he asks, “What’s up, hot stuff?”

You lean your head back so you can look at him, you roll your eyes at the pet name, and again you say

“I’m fine. Paul’s just being a dick”

And paul, who now looks majorly offended, collapses onto the couch by your feet and goes

“I am not! I’m being a concerned boyfriend, you’re being a dick!”

Paul picked the wrong place to sit, because you kick him in the leg as hard as you can without hurting yourself

It’s not super hard, but paul acts like you stabbed him, ironically enough

While you and marko grin at his dramatics, david and dwayne drop into the cave

And uhhh, they’re much harder to distract, so good luck with that

Literally from the second they get into the cave, they’re both honed in on the smell of your blood

They make their way towards the couch you’re all crowded on, and as they do, david says

And he projects a bit, so the sound echos off the cave walls

“Why do I smell blood? Paul, Marko, did you start something without us?”

His tone is chiding, maybe a little teasing

But the second he sees their faces, his taunting demeanor drops to something much scarier

Concern

And now david says your name

And his voice gets a little deeper as he asks you why he can smell your blood

As you struggle to come up with an answer, david and dwayne make their way over to the couch

Dwayne, Known Sweet Boy, comes up behind the couch, takes your hand and kisses it

He doesn’t ask you anything, but he also doesn’t let go of your hands

You don’t look at his face

If you look at his face, you know he’s going to look back at you with an expression that is 100% concerned puppy dog, and you will crack like an egg and tell them everything

And then it’ll become a huge deal

And they won’t leave you alone

And you’ll probably cry in front of them

And you’ll make them waste their night taking care of you

And then you’ll get yelled at for being stupid, so no

You do not look at dwayne

Instead, you focus your attention on paul, who’s focusing on david, who’s focusing on you

And for a second, everything is silent

Then david kneels at your side which is fuckin

Rare

He likes to feel tall, kneeling is the Opposite of that

But he does it nonetheless

And he says your name again, and you Don’t Look At Him, you just keep your gaze straight and pretend to be somewhere else

Of course he says your name again, sounding more irritated this time

And he asks

“Why can we smell blood outside of the cave?”

And you relent a bit by answering

“Hey, it’s not like I’ve never bled around you before. Remember that time I fell? Or the time I gouged my shin open? Or the time one of the pigeons bit me?”

Yeahhh, even you know it’s a stupid argument

No matter how much blood you’ve lost around them, you know it doesn’t match this

And marko puts your thoughts to words

He legit says

“Yeah, but it’s never been this bad before, babe. What’s wrong?”

And after that you’re just

Bombarded with the boys asking some variation of “What’s wrong?” over and over

You cling to dwayne’s hand as their voices start to overwhelm you

But then he pulls away

And you just can’t take it anymore

So you yell

And you don’t mean to yell it, you just want to be heard

“OKAY, OKAY, fine, I’ll tell you”

They shut up, and instantly your voice drops like

A million decibels

As you say

“I… I may have been… lightly stabbed.”

There’s a beat of silence and then

“I’m sorry, you were STABBED?”

Dwayne breaks his silence, looking horrified, which is almost funny, because you know his methods of killing are a little more brutal than “stab the victim with a knife”

But then again, he’s never tried to kill you, so

Anyway, dwayne’s outburst is followed by paul and marko both shrieking some form of “excuse me”

(“I’M SORRY, WHAT?” and an actual, “EXCUSE ME?” respectively)

David is silent now as the other three just

Lose their shit

Paul is demanding to know where the wound is

Marko fucks off to go hunt for first aid supplies, but you can still hear him shouting about it

Dwayne has taken your hand back and he looks into your eyes as he asks

“Who did this to you?”

And quietly, you go

“Some douchebag on the boardwalk- look, guys, I was only lightly stabbed-”

And there’s another outburst

Paul and marko both yell that being “lightly” stabbed still isn’t good

Dwayne looks like he might kill someone or start crying, you aren’t sure which, maybe both

And that’s when david grabs your jaw

He’s surprisingly gentle with you- though, considering the stab wound, maybe that isn’t really a surprise

Either way

David makes you look at him, and he asks you

In a voice he reserves for quiet moments, which this isn’t, and special occasions, which this technically is

“Where’s the wound, baby?”

With a sigh, you tear your eyes from his and gingerly lift up your new shirt to reveal a blood-soaked makeshift bandage, which itself covers the shallow wound in your side

Haha, fuck

You wince at the sight of it

But your boys remain stone faced- if anything, they look angry

Except for paul, who also winces, but in a split second he goes from wincing to pissed like everyone else

And you let out a groan, because this is the one thing you were trying to avoid

Anger and concern

Just as you open your mouth to apologize, marko slams a small box of first aid stuff on the floor by the couch

You move to reach for it, but instantly, several pairs of hands are on you, pushing you (gently) back onto the couch

You

Roll Your Eyes

Fuckin vampires, always treating you like glass

“Hey, I’m not four years old,” you say, trying to sit up again, “I can treat my own stab wound”

Yeah, as you say it you manage to catch just how absurd your words sound

‘I can treat my own stab wound’ who says that?

You do, i guess

And you intend to follow through, but hey

You get pushed back down again

“Stay still, wouldya? Goddamn,” Marko fuckin growls as he pins your shoulders down, “We’re trying to help you, so stop moving.”

You give a very defiant wiggle. No one is amused but you.

With an irritated sigh, you resign yourself to staying on the couch

But it doesn’t stop you from trying to get them to leave you alone

“Look, guys, I’m fine. Don’t you have anything better to do than poke at me? Seriously-”

“Ha, you’re cute,” the response comes from paul this time

Paul who has, by the way, taken to holding your legs hostage

He continues with a very blunt

“But seriously, shut the fuck up and let us fix this, ‘kay?”

You glare at him, but with your legs and shoulders pinned, it’s not like you have much of a choice

So you just

Lie there

And try to pretend that this whole thing doesn’t make you want to break down crying because fuck, you couldn’t just almost get murdered, you also had to be a burden

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck

As you lie on the couch, the night’s events replay in your head

And as your emotions build, every shitty thing that happened to you that particular week also replay in your head

As marko starts to patch you up, and dwayne takes over pinning your shoulders down, and david starts plotting the murder of whoever did this out loud, you just

Try to stop them from seeing that you are Not Doing Okay

And here comes second, even tougher challenge:

Hiding Your Feelings From Your Four Boyfriends

Yeahhh, you fail at this one, too

Paul notices the tears in your eyes right the fuck away

It helps that he’s looking at your face, and not focusing on the marko medical drama going on at your side

He reaches up towards your face and he just says

In the softest fucking voice

“Hey, what’s wrong baby?”

And you just

Snap

The tears come to the front, just a bit, but it doesn’t stop you from yelling

“Jesus fuck, CAN YOU ALL JUST FUCK OFF SO I CAN CRY ABOUT THIS ALONE? Go hunt, or something, just- just go away.”

…

They do not just go away

They don’t really know what to do with that

They just know that you’re hurting and it’s bad

And they Don’t want to leave you alone

So instead, paul and dwayne give your leg and shoulder a squeeze, respectively

In like, emotional solidarity

And david leans in towards you so that you can hear him say

“If one of us was stabbed, you would be upset, right?”

You nod and he continues

“So why is it any different for you? You’ve been stabbed, you’re allowed to have emotions.”

You’re in the middle of processing that when marko

dear marko

Gives your shoulder a very awkward pat and says

“Besides, crying is sexy!”

And he states it so matter-of-factly

And he does it with this little smile, that you’re sure is supposed to be comforting, but oh my god

David smacks him on the back of the head for that while you just

Start to giggle

It’s which devolves to a weird mix of laughter and tears

It’s like

Mostly laughter

Meanwhile, paul just starts to openly mock marko for his, “crying is sexy” comment

And before you know it, your side is properly bandaged up

Yay!

But of course, it isn’t over

Less yay!

You’re finally allowed to sit up, and immediately paul yoinks you into his side

He clings to you a little bit, too, like he’s not sure he’ll get to hold you ever again

And yknow what it makes sense, you’re human, and fleshy, and easily breakable, and you got stabbed

He’s allowed to be freaked out, too. They all are

Anyway

The second you’re up, david is on his knees in front of you again

His hands are on your thighs, and now it’s his turn to ask

“Now tell us, baby- who did this to you?”

You give them best description you can, and just like that, they’re all headed for the exit

Except for paul, who’s still clinging to you

But before they can leave you call out to them

And you say, “I’m sorry.”

Every single one of them freezes

The next voice you hear is david’s

He asks

“Why would you apologize?”

And you take a second to answer

Because in your head you have several answers for him, but it is

Very difficult to express them out loud

And as you figure out how the fuck you’re gonna verbalize any of your feelings, the boys come right back to you

Marko plops down on your other side, dwayne stands behind you, and again, david is in front of you

But you can really only focus on david, because once again, he’s on his knees with his hands on your thighs, and he’s looking at you with a mix of confusion and sadness that you rarely see on his face

And finally you say:

“I- um. I’m making all of you worry. And it was stupid of me to get stabbed in the first place, because I could’ve gotten myself killed, and then I fucking cried everywhere, and-”

And that’s where you get cut off

Because david leans in (and moves his hands up your thighs) and he says

“Now, why would you ever apologize for all of that?”

You look up and meet his eyes as he continues, but he’s turning to look at the boys around you as he says

“I mean, if we apologized for being stupid then Paul and Marko would never stop apologizing- and if we had to apologize for getting stabbed, well-”

Everyone looks at marko

And that little shit just grins like he didn’t almost get murdered by a bunch of teenagers, and he says

“I’m not apologizing for that.”

It’s a little shit thing to say, but david nods and says, “Exactly, so you don’t apologize either. It’d be stupid to apologize, okay?”

You nod a little bit, and he smiles and says

“That’s it, babe,” he kisses you on the forehead and he stands

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we have to go commit a murder. We’ll be back, don’t go anywhere. Paul, you’re good staying?”

Paul promptly buries his face in your shoulder and gives david a thumbs up

Marko stands up, stretches, and starts to bounce away

Dwayne leans down and kisses your temple before he also walks away

Marko then runs back to you to kiss your cheek (he got excited about the oncoming murder)

Aaand that leaves you and paul alone

You turn to face him

(you fail, because he’s not going to move his face from your shoulder until he wants to_

And you ask

“Hey, don’t you want to go do some murder? Doesn’t murder sound fun?”

And i mean it does

But that’s not the answer you get

The answer you get is a very stressed sounding

“IF YOU PEOPLE KEEP GETTING STABBED, I’M NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO MURDER BECAUSE EVERYONE I LOVE WILL BE STABBED.”

Yep, you and marko really did a number on this poor guy

So, that starts challenge three

Not Getting Stabbed For The Mental Health Of Your Four Boyfriends

It’s an easier challenge, you succeed at this one

Idk about marko tho, marko’s probably gonna get stabbed again. Not necessarily by a person. Maybe by a fence.

anyway

#the lost boys x reader #the lost boys x gender neutral reader #tlb x reader #poly!the lost boys x reader #tlb david x reader #tlb paul x reader #tlb dwayne x reader #tlb marko x reader #poly!tlb x reader

2K notes · View notes

tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang · 7 days

Note

I'd love to hear headcanons about South's relationship with his grandparents!

Ok this is what I've got for them!

They're the only ones who still call him Minami

He's very soft on them

They have a lot of regrets about his childhood but had no idea where he actually was. Their daughter (South's mother) ran away from Japan to Brazil because she fell in love with Dino while he was visiting Japan. She would occasionally contact them so they did know about South but she would never tell them about where she was, knowing that if she did they would come after her.

They threw South's mother a proper funeral/memorial when South got back to Japan. South appreciated this gesture.

His grandparents love his piano playing and encourage him a lot, making sure he had one in his room.

They knitted some of the plushies he has.

It was a little awkward when South first arrived. They were so happy to see him but South, who's not used to that wasn't really sure how to act with them.

The first time South comes back with blood on his clothes, he wonders if they'll yell at him. Instead his Grandfather chuckles and tells him about his old delinquent days (maybe they aren't the best role models but South is glad to have people he can somewhat relate to).

He likes their cooking

They take him on a bunch of sight seeing tours when he gets to Japan, it's one of the reasons he likes these tours so much.

He's constantly helping them reach things on the higher shelves.

They were so upset when he went to juvie, they visited him as often as they could.

His grandmother is constantly bringing any guests he brings over snacks, including if it's a mini gang meeting he's trying to hold in his room.

He teaches them some Portuguese

He dedicates his first pro fight to them.

South actually expected to dislike them, so was surprised that he eventually became close to them

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tokyo rev #south terano #terano south #tokyo revengers spoilers

67 notes · View notes

shih-coulda-had-it · 9 months

Text

totally reasonable development to the American Dream plan, don't even sweat it

(and the 24+ sentences i owe to the pollers)

Toshinori bounces on his heels, feeling lighter than air with the anticipation of tonight’s activities buzzing along his nerves. He’s dressed in a dark hooded sweatshirt, denim jeans, and the sneakers Gran Torino had bought specifically for their high-quality rubber soles.

And speaking of, Gran Torino should be up on the roofs somewhere…

The front door to the Midoriya apartment opens, and Izuku slips out after a hasty farewell to his mother, which is paired with a lackluster promise to stay safe. Toshinori manages a single jaunty wave before Izuku shuts it, and then his attention is turned to give Izuku’s outfit a critical once-over.

“You don’t have any other shoes?” Toshinori asks, contemplating the red hue of his successor’s sneakers. The rest of the clothes are appropriately sturdy and dark in palette.

“No? Sorry…”

“Eh, it should be fine. There shouldn’t be a lot of traffic up top anyway. Come on, let’s move!”

They make their way to the stairs, but to Izuku’s obvious confusion, Toshinori leads them further up.

“Yagi-san, you said that this was going to be a special Basic Physical Fitness Training session,” the kid says. “Can I ask… who thought of it? You, or Gran Torino?”

“Oh, this is totally my idea,” says Toshinori breezily. “I know the beach clean-up is the ultimate goal, and it’ll stay as your focus before high school, but I realized today that there are some experiences that you just can’t replicate as a holder of One for All! Experiences that even our Quirkless bodies can manage!”

They head higher. Izuku gets more nervous, but gamely follows Toshinori up the fire safety ladder.

On the roof, Gran Torino greets them with a curt, “Boys. This is the stupidest thing I can imagine for you two to do, in the stupidest place possible.” He’s sitting on the ledge, and as Toshinori requested, two lengths of steel pipes are leaned up next to him.

“Musutafu’s perfectly safe,” Toshinori counters. “And with you here, Gran Torino, there’s minimal risk of, well...”

“Falling to your deaths?”

Izuku squeaks. He quivers beside Toshinori, and when Toshinori glances down, Izuku is staring at the pipes, aghast. “What are we doing, Yagi-san?”

“We,” Toshinori says with great dignity, “are training in the great art of parkour. The pipes are insurance for safety, supposing we see real trouble that a pro-hero won’t get to in time.”

“Legally speaking, vigilantism,” Gran Torino interrupts.

“But we’re not going to get caught.”

“Which makes you juvenile delinquents.”

“Gran Torino,” Toshinori complains, feeling delightfully young and unburdened now that he’s gotten accustomed to Torino’s incredible, mellowed-out approach to training Izuku. What trauma? What spars? Toshinori at fifteen didn’t know anything about that, and Gran Torino at his current age looked nothing like the pro-hero who haunted the end of his high school career!

“I’m enabling you, aren’t I?” the old man shoots back. “Don’t I get to express my own opinions?”

“Is it really safe, though?” Izuku asks.

“Of course!” Toshinori picks up a pipe, hefts it, and tosses it over to Izuku, who catches it while wearing a thoroughly beleaguered expression. Then he grabs the other. “Listen, Midoriya-kun. If it’s really going to be a year until you get One for All, then the American Dream plan can afford to be a little flexible! You want to be a U.A. student, right?!”

“R-right!”

“Then we can’t just train your body!” he cries, lifting the pipe like a torch. “We’ve gotta train your willingness to get into a scrap!”

A little more wobbly, Izuku repeats, “R-right!” And because his successor is more polite, Izuku turns to Gran Torino and executes a little bow, adding, “Thank you for letting us do this, Gran Torino! And for keeping an eye on us!”

Torino sighs.

#bnha #yagi toshinori #all might #midoriya izuku #deku #deaged at dagobah au #now that pipe wielding young toshi has been canonized #i GOTTA have them running around town. pipsqueak (nominally in toshinori's case) vigilantes #and their long suffering chaperone gran torino #gran torino: no officer i don't believe i saw any dumb kids taking down this burglar #and he's glaring DAGGERS at a dumpster where toshinori and izuku are hiding #anyways update to the au i'm trying to map out like four chapters #before i post the first #shih.txt #shih’s art

240 notes · View notes

yes-divine-ruler · 1 year

Text

You Take Me So Well - Warren Lipka

pairing: warren lipka x fem!reader

cw: corruption kink, vaginal sex, dry humping, fingering, pot smoking

wc: 2.6k

Taglist/ @v-love @evanpetersfav @demxnicprxncess @kitwalkersgfff @quicksilversg1rl @iruzias @alexxavicry @soaringcloud @laynna-mcknight @humdrumexistence @simp4petermaximoff @evan4ever @paujmr @jangsuzchap @meganxfox @witchyykitten

“What’s that smell?” you scrunch up your nose in disgust and turn to the college boy you’d been spending most of your time with the last few weeks, who was seated on the sofa in his parent’s basement, something lit between his lips.

“It’s pot idiot. Here, come sit,” your friend Warren pats the spot next to him on the sofa, and takes a draw of whatever was in his mouth, shortly followed by a large cloud of grey smoke. It smelt horrendous, but you noticed the way Warren’s body relaxed after he’d taken his first puff.

It spiked your curiosity, everything about Warren did.

You’d never thought you’d be spending so much time with a delinquent in his basement after he’d messaged you on Facebook, complimenting you on how pretty your hair looked and asking you if you wanted to grab a coffee. It was embarrassing enough that your mother had to drop you everywhere you went, and that you always had to lie and say you were spending time with your best friend Beth, but to not even know that Warren was smoking pot? How much more naïve could you get.

Warren knew this, he knew you didn’t have much exposure to anything at all. All you’d talk about is your strict parents; your Christian upbringing, how slutty your mother thought you were when you wore a skirt above the knee and your hair out to the cinema, how angry your father would get if you weren’t home before 9.

Well, it was half passed 7 now, and to your parents’ knowledge you were studying at Beth’s for an upcoming assessment in math.

You crossed your hands in your lap, suddenly feeling cold in the short denim shorts you were wearing. Warren has convinced you over the last few weeks that “life was too short” and “you can’t spend your whole life trying to make everyone else happy”. He was right, and it only made you feel more attracted to him.

You’d kissed, sure, and it was the first kiss you’d ever shared with anyone. It was magical, and it still replayed in your head over and over every time you glanced into his dark eyes and noticed the way a few curls would fall into them from his shaggy head of hair. He was mesmerising to you, your polar opposite, and every minute he wasn’t with you felt like agony.

“Want some?”

You were surprised to see Warren had passed the joint your way, holding it delicately in-between his fingertips as the end continued to burn red.

“How long will it last? If I take one puff?” you were always worried that you’d get caught, that your parents would find where you were, have a mini stroke and then never let you out of their sight again. It would only make it worse if you were high.

“I dunno,” Warren chuckled, his face suddenly blushed and the whites of his eyes tinged red, “maybe a couple hours? Depends how much you have, I guess.”

Your bottom lip wedged between your teeth as you weighed the pros and cons in your head, your heart racing just at the mere thought of the wrath of your parents. The devil’s lettuce, they’d convinced you it was, nothing but a gateway to hell.

“What did I tell you, my little good Christian girl, live a little,” Warren wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and pushed the joint closer to your face. He knew you wanted to do it, and every second that passed steered you closer in that direction.

“What did I say we have to say before we do something?”

You turned to face Warren; his face so close to yours you could feel his breath fanning your face. It made your stomach tie in knots.

“Fuck it,” you whispered, your lips curling into a smile as you took the joint from his hand. Warren laughed, throwing his head back and clapping his hands in amusement.

“That’s my girl,” he said, making your face flush, “now just take it slow, one little inhale, straight in, okay?”

You took a deep breath, and before you could think about it anymore, the roach of the joint was tucked between your lips, and you’d taken the tiniest puff you thought you could muster. The smoke burned your throat, all the way down to your lungs. Pulling the joint from your lips, you let out a string of coughs, your eyes squeezing shut as they uncontrollably were being expelled from your throat.

Warren ran a hand up and down your back, chuckling softly to himself at your inexperience. He could feel your bra strap under his fingers, and it sent a shiver up his spine.

He was just as captivated by your innocence as you were by his lack of. It shocked him now sheltered your parents had kept you, for so long, away from all the good things in this world.

“Warren- can you hold it?” you reach for the glass of water on the table, and bring it up to your lips, gulping down the cool liquid and letting it soothe your sore throat.

Your head was already getting cloudy, and it just showed how low your tolerance was.

Warren polished off the joint after that, his eyes fixed on you as you slouched back on the sofa, your eyes trained on the concrete ceiling and all its intricate little cracks.

“Warren?” you asked finally, after what felt like hours. The last thing you’d notice right now was your phone alarm buzzing in your bag letting you know it was time to start thinking of going home.

“Hm?”

You’d gotten into a position where you were now laying with your back to the sofa, your legs propped up on Warren’s thighs. His hands were placed high on your thighs, his fingertips drawing small shapes across your skin. Every time he’d trace your thigh, little jolts of electricity would shoot through your core, and it made you feel all fuzzy.

You shifted on the sofa, feeling the brush of your jeans shorts as they rode up between your legs, making blissful contact with your clit. You felt this warm wetness, like all the vile thoughts you were suddenly having of Warren formed a little patch of arousal in your panties. Why were you so much more turned on than usual right now? And why did it feel so good?

Warren noticed you struggling to speak, and pulled you by the arms, sitting you up on the sofa. He cocked his head to the side as he smiled slyly at you, noticing the way your breathing had suddenly laboured. He knew pot made you extra horny, and the way you were looking at him right now was the biggest indicator of all.

“I feel-” you couldn’t believe the words that were about to come out of your mouth, “can you make me feel good?”

Warren was taken back by your sudden request knowing you had never been so vocal about that before. You usually felt so guilty engaging in those types of activities, but with Warren here right now, nothing else mattered. Not even your phone as it insistently rung on the floor next to you.

“Are you sure?” Warren questioned you, looking between your doe eyes and your perfectly shaped lips.

“Yes- please,” you knew you probably sounded pathetic right now, but the urge to feel him was becoming increasingly unbearable.

Without hearing a response, you took your chances, and dived in towards him, closing the gap between your lips. Warren melted into the kiss almost immediately, his hands gripping your hips and moving you onto of him. You whimpered, straddling his thighs, feeling the obvious hard-on in the front of his jeans rub against you. It felt so much better than anything else you’d ever experienced.

Even with a dry mouth, Warren’s tongue darted into your mouth, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks and tilt your head to the side. You let him do whatever he wanted, explore your mouth with the eagerness and need that you shared.

His hips buckled up slightly, causing you to whimper against his parted lips, your core getting more and more heated by the second. You needed more, you needed to feel him so badly it hurt.

You disconnected your lips and began tugging Warren’s shirt above his head. He happily obliged, pulling it off and throwing it to the side, before he was tugging off yours too. Between heated kisses, you’d managed to get it off, now exposed to him in only your bra and shorts.

You both took a moment to stare at each other, your hands running down the planes of his toned chest and stomach, until you reached the button of his jeans. Warren groaned softly, his jeans painfully confining the erection he so badly wanted to take out right now.

“May I?” you asked politely, your head spinning, not being able to think of anything else but the man under you who’s heart was racing just as much as yours.

“Mhm,” was all Warren could muster, before his jeans were unfastened and pulled down his legs, too discarded on the floor with his t shirt.

You stood off his lap for a moment, so adamant to get out of your shorts that you kicked them off in almost lightning speed.

Warren stifled a laugh as you sat back down on your lap, his fingers tracing the frill at the hems of your white panties.

“Shut up,” you uttered, tilting your head back as Warren’s lips assaulted the soft skin of your neck, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake, “mom won’t let me buy anything else.”

Now there was only the thin fabric of Warren’s plaid boxers and your panties in the way of feeling the skin on skin contact you craved so desperately.

“They’re cute,” Warren chuckled, coming up from your neck to connect your lips in another fiery kiss.

His hands cupped your backside, his fingertips sinking into the flesh of your ass cheeks. You rubbed against him, letting out soft moans at the feeling of his stiffness against you. His hands guided you to work at a faster pace, moving in rhythm back and forth across his cock through your underwear. Your urge to rub against something, your achy, throbbing feeling for pressure, was finally being fulfilled, and it felt otherworldly.

“How’s that feel baby?” Warren whispered in your ear, followed by a soft groan as he felt how wet you were through his boxers.

The knot in your stomach had gotten so tight, and your body felt so hot, it was almost nerve-wracking to experience. You weren’t sure what was happening, but you were letting it happen.

“So good, Warren,” you moaned, dragging out every syllable as you continued to work your hips against his.

“Want more,” you whimpered, beginning to feel yourself clench around nothing, tingly and desiring to be filled.

“Like what?” Warren teased, biting down on his bottom lip as you got off his lap once more to take off your panties. The blush rose to your cheeks as Warren drunk in your appearance, wanting nothing more than to stretch you out and tear you apart.

“Can you go inside?” you asked nervously, never having been so exposed to someone else before.

“Come here,” he urged gently, patting his lap, pulling his boxers down to his knees as you settled back on his lap.

“You sure you’re ready?” he asked again, his hand coming down between your legs. You waited anxiously for his fingers to touch you, and when they did move between your soaked folds, he easily slipped a finger inside you.

Your back arched as he pushed it in knuckle-deep, gently thrusting it inside you. It felt so good to be stretched out like that, by his big fingers as they worked inside you at a steady pace.

His finger curled, making contact with your spongey sweet spot, a moan leaving your lips from how good it felt.

“Holy shit,” Warren groaned into your hair as your head rested lazily against his shoulder, breathing in his comforting scent and indulging in the way he touched you.

“Want something bigger?” he asked, and all you could do was nod in response against his shoulder.

He lined himself up at your entrance, and with a single thrust of his hips, his swollen tip was between your folds and urging to go inside. The stretch was too much to begin with, a lot of whining left your lips as he slowly lowered you down onto him. But when you’d sat fully on his cock, and had gotten used to his size, he began to piston his hips upwards into you.

“Oh, my goddd,” you almost screamed, letting out breathy moans to punctuate every slow thrust.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Warren spoke between grit teeth, trying his hardest not to cum right there and then from how good it felt to be situated between your gummy, pulsing walls.

“Just like that,” you encouraged, beginning to rise and fall on his cock all on your own, getting used to the momentum he was building.

“You take my cock so well,” Warren praised, “You’re doing so good baby.”

He let you ride his dick, unclasping your bra to let out your breasts, taking a nipple in his mouth almost instantly. Your head lolled back, and the tight knot in your stomach was so close to untying, the curvature of his cock hitting all the right places and filling you perfectly.

The dull pulse in your core switched to a pleasurable ache, and soon you were unable to contain it anymore.

“Warren- I feel like I’m gonna pee,” you stopped your hips, suddenly scared and embarrassed by this sudden revelation.

“it’s not-” Warren shook his head with an amused grin on his face, “you’re gonna cum sweetheart, sit still.”

You hesitantly obeyed, gasping when you felt Warren’s wet fingers make contact with your swollen clit. He rolled it between his fingers, circling around the bud as the foreign feeling returned, and you’d let yourself go this time.

You came on his cock, his fingers gripping his shoulders so tightly you were sure to leave the marks of your fingernails in their wake. You felt Warren twitch inside you as you pulsed around him, whimpering and moaning as the feeling washed over you in waves. Holy fuck, you thought, I’m gonna be addicted to this feeling.

Warren thrust into you as you rode out your orgasm, finishing inside you with a few ravaging pumps. You collapsed onto of him, hearing his heavy breathing in your ear as you sat still, trying to process what the fuck just happened.

Warren moved your hair over your other shoulder, littering kisses up the curve of the side of your neck, having regained his breathing and not feeling so high anymore.

“How was that?” Warren asked in a whisper, although he knew the answer from how fucked out and tired you were.

“So good,” you mumbled your reply, not feeling as high anymore either.

Warren slipped out of you and laid your naked body down on the couch beside him, pulling you into his chest. You closed your eyes, savouring the feeling of his warm body so close to yours.

“Not such a good little Christian girl anymore, are you?” he teased, his fingers playing with your hair.

“Fuck it,” you responded, still ignorant of the tons of voicemails your parents had left you over the last hour.

#evan peters #evan peters fanfic #evan peters fanfiction #evan peters requests #evan peters smut #evan peters imagine #evan peters x reader #american horror story #2nd person pov #fem!reader #american animals #warren lipka smut #warren lipka imagine #warren lipka #warren lipka fanfic #warren lipka fanfiction #warren lipka American animals

723 notes · View notes

fueledbysano · 10 months

Text

𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐋 kazutora hanemiya

"I can be a better man. I can be a better man for you. I hope, you know, if you'll let me. I can be a better man with you."

♱ pairing: kazutora x afab!reader

♱ content/warning: MATURE. MDNI. unprotected sex

♱ a/n: everyone say thank you to @mztoman for commissioning this fic! 🤍 if you are interested for commissioning a fic, full details are in my navigation^

mdni banner by benkeibear 🤍

♱ 2.9K

Kazutora was at a loss. He had been released from prison after several years, but his friends were nowhere to be found, and he had no place to stay. With Chifuyu gone, and Takemichi in jail, he had no choice but to start from scratch, and that meant finding a job and a place to live. He wandered around the city, which once knew in the back of his mind but now seemed like a different place altogether.

Without a family, his gang, and his best friends, he was a new man.

It was the third day Kazutora had spent the entire day searching for a job, finally landing success. He was tired, but as he stepped on the train to head home, he couldn't shake off the feeling of relief instead of the hopelessness that had been gnawing at him for the past few days. Just as he was about to take his seat, he accidentally bumped into a young woman standing nearby, and they both stumbled forward.

Instantly, they both started to apologize to each other, their voices meshing together in a jumbled mess of apologies. Kazutora couldn't help but notice the woman's bright smile, her gentle voice, and pleasant face. Even though it had been a long day, she exuded a certain energy that was infectious.

As they sat down, she let out a sigh of relief and apologized for the inconvenience once again. “Are you okay?” Kazutora asks, “Yes, thank you.” She kindly replied before shortly noticing the stack of resumes on Kazutora’s lap. “Any luck?” Kazutora was surprised by her empathy, and found himself making conversation with her.

“Yeah, a record store.” He softly chuckled. “Record store? How cool… to be honest I thought you were some sort of pro musician, but, near enough.” She chuckled, and Kazutora was intrigued.

“Oh yeah? What made you think that?” He asks. “Well, you have a very unique hairstyle and clothes. And that cool tattoo too! At least, it’s the vibe you give off.” She answered, feeling a strange sense of recognition.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm softly with a smile, “That would be really cool…” He nodded, “But yeah, I do love bands. That’s why I also considered working at the record store.” He explained. Kazutora had always been a solitary person, spending most of his time alone and not really paying attention to the people around him, but something about her felt familiar.

“Congratulations again for getting the job, …” She paused for a moment, realizing that she hadn’t gotten his name yet. “Kazutora.” He smiled and shook her hand. “Kazutora…Hanemiya?.” He chuckled softly, not used to being referred to with his last name, the one that he shared with a terrible human being he unfortunately once called “father”.

and that was the moment when it all suddenly connected for her— this was the delinquent Kazutora she once knew in middle school. The one who pulls his friend out of class, and goes out to gang fights. She couldn't help but think about the incident that had happened in the past. She remembered the day when he was caught stealing from a motorcycle shop, and how he accidentally killed the owner. It was a horrible incident that had left a lasting impact on the whole school and town.

But despite that, she knew that she understood that there was a whole story and context behind that. She had always seen the best in people, and she believed that everyone deserves a chance to redeem themselves. And now, as they had reconnected, she felt as though they were put in each other’s paths..

“It’s me, [ Y / N ] —” “[ L / N ]...” Kazutora finished for her.

Life is funny. They weren’t so close in high school, they’ve had a couple of interactions, all of which were pure, pleasant memories. She was kind, understanding, and she truly saw the good in people, even when they didn't see it themselves.

“You remember.” She was quite surprised, not expecting him to remember her at all.

“Yeah, I have a pretty good memory.” He smiled. “What are you up to these days?” He asks.

“Well, that story is going to take longer than my stop.” [ Y / N ] simply said. “I’ll just say that… it’s nice to have a fresh start.” She added.

“I know what you mean.” Kazutora agreed, and she smiled back, understanding where he was coming from.

Finally, when the train reached its destination, he mustered up the courage to ask for her number. And to his surprise, she gave it to him, with a small smile and a soft "good luck" as the train doors opened.

As he stepped off the train and into the night, he knew that she had given him more than just her number— she had given him hope.

As Kazutora walked through the bustling city to his new job, he couldn't help but think about her. The girl with the sweet and bubbly personality who had shown him so much kindness all those years, and when they met each other again on the train. He wanted to have a connection with her, but he also knew that he first needed to get his life together. He wanted to be the best version of himself for her, to be someone she could be proud of.

He reached the job site and got to work, feeling nervous but also excited at the prospect of starting a new chapter in his life. The work was tough, but he threw himself into it, learning as much as he could throughout the day and impressing his boss with his work ethic.

As the day wore on, while closing up the shop, Kazutora found himself thinking more and more about [ Y / N ]. He wondered if she was thinking about him, too.

"Good job today, Kazutora," she said, a warm smile on her face. He turned around to see her, looking just as beautiful as he remembered. She was holding a cup of boba and had a bright, energetic attitude that made him feel light and confident just looking at her.

“[ Y / N ]? Hey, I wasn’t expecting you.” He gave her a soft, welcoming smile. “I know, I’m sorry…” She chuckled. “It’s just that… you said you work in a record store around here, and… funny, because I work at a dental clinic a couple blocks away.” She says.

“Really? Well, that’s perfect… because then… I can take you home~?” He offered his hands for the bundle of shopping bags in her other hand.”

“I’d like that.” She smiled and handed him her bags.

As the day ended and they made their way back to the train station, they found themselves opening up to each other and getting to know more about their lives. As they talked, Kazutora couldn't help but be struck by how much she understood him. Even though they'd just met, he felt safe and comfortable in her presence.

And as they continued to talk, as the train rumbled on towards its destination, he knew that there was a reason why they were brought into each other’s lives. He was determined to make something more of himself, to be the kind of person he could be proud of, the kind of person she deserved.

“I never really planned on staying here, basically. When I landed my first job out of the city, I got into a relationship with my superior and… well… the jerk turned out to be married. The wife showed up at work and started rambling about how I was a homewrecker.” He couldn't help but feel a sense of anger and frustration on her behalf, angry how someone could take advantage and betray her like that.

“Since then, no one would hire me in town. And I thought fuck it and returned here.”

He asked her what he could do to help, and she told him that she just needed someone to listen. He was happy to do that for her, to be there for her and to offer her a listening ear. And as they talked, she felt a sense of peace and calm wash over her.

They have reached their stop and headed to [ Y / N ]’s apartment complex. “I’d invite you inside, but my roommate is currently moving out so it’s really cluttered.” [ Y / N ] explained. “Ah, I understand, I’ve lived in worse circumstances.” Kazutora jokes. “I practically live in a can of sardines. Plus it’s under a train track so I get three hours of sleep max. But I guess that’s an upgrade from prison.” He chuckled.

“Come live with me.”

"What!?" he asked, unable to hide the shock in his voice

“Yeah… it’s hard to look for a new roommate anyway. I don't have the time for doing all that.” She explained.

Kazutora couldn't believe his luck. He had just met her again after all these years, and now he had the chance to live with her, to spend more time with her, to get to know her even better. He didn't want to mess things up, so he did his best to act calm and collected.

“Are pets allowed?”

“Sure.”

She smiled at him, clearly pleased with his response. "I'm sure you'll be a great roommate," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And besides, it's not like we're strangers. We're old friends, remember?"

He was determined to not make her regret meeting him again, to make himself into the person he always knew he could be, and to show her that he was worth the chance she had given him. He knew that he had a lot of work to do, but with her by his side, it’s like he took a big step forward. After all, maybe he didn’t really lose everything…

Christmas is a time of year for joy, for spending time with loved ones and creating memories that will last a lifetime. And for [ Y / N ], Christmas was supposed to be a time to escape the cold and spend some time with her ex-boyfriend. That's when she remembered the vacation house she had booked, but with no one to go with, she wasn't sure what to do. But then she thought of Kazutora, and how he had been there for her through everything. She decided to invite him to join her on the trip, hoping that he would say yes.

At first, Kazutora was hesitant. He wasn't sure if it was a good idea to go on a trip with someone he had such strong feelings for. But after thinking it over, he decided that he couldn't pass up the opportunity to spend some time with her outside of their daily routine.

As they made their way to the vacation home, they couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. They couldn't help but notice the romantic atmosphere. Each corner of the house was decorated with lights and Christmas ornaments, and the scent of fresh cookies lingered in the air. They could feel the tension between them growing, and they both knew that this trip was going to be different from anything either of them had experienced before.

As the fire crackled in the fireplace, Kazutora and the[ Y / N ] sat close together, lost in their own thoughts. The comfort of each other's presence was palpable, and they both knew that they had been dancing around their feelings for each other for far too long.

Kazutora finally broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know that you were supposed to go to this place with someone else, but I'm glad that it ended up being me." His eyes were locked on hers, and there was a warmth in them that made her heart flutter.

She smiled, taking his hand in hers. "I'm glad it was you, too." She paused, searching for the words to express what she was feeling. As she looked into his eyes, she knew that he felt it too.

They sat in silence for a moment, taking in the weight of their confession.

Kazutora leaned in, his face just inches from hers. "I love you," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've loved you for so long, but I was too afraid to say it."

[ Y / N ]'s eyes filled with tears at his words, and she pulled him close, kissing him passionately. "I love you too, Kazutora," she said, her voice shaking with emotion. "I've always loved you." [ Y / N ] soon found herself sitting on Kazutora’s lap, leaning in for another steamy kiss.

His fingers slowly rested on her hips, his heart rate picking up when he felt a surge of emotions wash over him. For the first time in his life, he was experiencing something so pure and beautiful, and it was with someone he cared about deeply. He was nervous, but excited, and as their lips met, he felt like he was on top of the world. He had never done so intimate before, and he didn't know what to expect, but he knew that this was special.

As they pulled apart, he looked into her eyes, and he could see the love and the kindness that he had always seen in her. He knew that this moment was the start of something beautiful, and he was ready to give his all to make it last.

“You look even prettier straddling me like this, sweetheart~” He admired her face, stroking her cheek. As [ Y / N ]’s lips begin to descend onto him, Kazutora could feel his heart pounding furiously in his chest. He can tell that her body is just as passionately waiting for his touch and kisses. So his hands go over her hips, pulling her closer to his body.

Kazutora’s hands slowly start to move upward, brushing up against her panties. He starts to pull on the fabric, looking at her with intensity. Her heart is beating rapidly right now as she breathes heavily above him. He feels the heat coming from her body, feeling her touch against his. He slowly brings his lips back up to her lips and kisses her deeply, his lust and desire overcoming him now.

He pulls her dress up, leaving her in her bra on top of him.

“Mr. Hanemiya…” She whispered sensuously, slowly working her hands down his pants. “It’s cold, isn’t it? May I warm you up~?” [ Y / N ] bats her eyes, enough for Kazutora not to notice her fingers beginning to undo his jeans. The way his last name rolled out of her tongue perfectly, the only time he’ll ever feel loved hearing it.

He pulls her closer to him and lets out another soft moan, feeling her bare body mold and conform against his.

Kazutora’s eyes go wide as he realizes that she is making this quite intense. At the feeling of her hands going into his underwear, his breathing begins to quicken and his body tenses up as he feels his desires go out of control.

He slowly pulls her up just a bit, just enough to touch his aching tip to her entrance.

“Only if I get to do it first…” He whispered, finally feeling all of her in one swift movement. [ Y / N ]’s hands rushed to his long hair to tug on them, discerning Kazutora’s body as they connected for the first time.

Kazutora feels [ Y / N ]’s lips on his, as gently pressing into his again and again, in sync with her rocking hips. Her kisses and thrusts send a wave of pleasure through his body, making him moan softly and unable to control his desires.

Kazutora wanted to cum right then and there, but he knew he wanted to make this last for her. “Ugh, I love this.” He shuddered, body jolting slightly as she pulsed around his cock. She rocked down on him, purposely letting her hear his desperate whines. Kazutora clutched her ass tightly, her pussy touching his base and breathing heavily as he hit deeper.

[ Y / N ] rocked her hips back and forth, enjoying the sensation of the stretch by his thick cock. Within seconds, his pace starts to grow wild, drilling into her pussy, their hips now clashing together. He was finally getting some action after using his sole imagination in so long.

Gripping both of his shoulders tightly, she began to bounce harder on his cock, the ginger radiance of the fireplace shining on her face which made it heightened the experience for Kazutora. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted so badly…” He whispered right next to her ear.

“I love getting to know you like this…” Her cheeks flushed warm. “I wanna cum…” He sighed and planted his hands back on her hips, his thrusts growing more desperate. “I wanna help you with that.” She moaned softly before speeding up her own pace. “What a good girl, showing me those cute tits bounce while you fuck yourself on my dick.” He grunted, bleached hair sticking to his forehead as they continued to fuck each other.

“Ah, Hanemiya-sama~” The explosive sensation ricochets through her body, making him feel her warm cum gushing down his balls just as he spilled into her pussy. He pulls out and you breathlessly collapse on his chest, feeling the light afterglow from the intense moment.

His eyes softened as he watched you snuggle up to him breathlessly. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he knew that he was going to remember this moment forever. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her body against his, and he knew that he was exactly where he was meant to be.

#tokyo revengers #kazutora x reader #kazutora x reader smut #kazutora hanemiya x reader #kazutora hanemiya #kazutora smut #kazutora x you #hanemiya kazutora

315 notes · View notes